#tell him he has glorious belly fur

[canisalbus]

I realize youre probably more of a dog person, but can i offer fuzzy kitty tummy in these trying times?

(Wall-E sends his love <3)

.

[thewritingginger]

I went and hurt my own feelings again, Babes.

Fandom: Blood of Zeus Pairing: King Seraphim x Fem! Servant Reader Word count: 1.4k+ words Warnings: 18+, Human form Seraphim, Love making, Angst, Sad, Bitter-sweet ending

Enjoy ~

The candle light flickers across the walls of the dark room. Wind howling outside the open balcony doors. The only sounds to be heard inside the room are of the crackling fireplace, shuffling of sheets and a chorus of breath.

On the large bed that is placed in the center of the far wall lies the tangled bodies of you and Seraphim. The union of your bodies is not forbidden for the King can have whomever he wishes but it is the love that has bloomed between you that can never be. He, a King and you are nothing but a servant, a woman who had worked within the castle after your father had no money left to pay his debts.

Although it would be unbelieved by others that you, a mere servant, but a step up from a slave, could’ve captured the attention of the man of men, the ruler of the land, King Seraphim but you and him both know the truth. That from the moment he had laid eyes on you you had much more than his attention. Of course he could have ordered you to his bed, had the power to open your legs with just a single worded command but he didn’t. You weren’t just a woman he wished to add to his harem or be his whore for a night, no he wanted you to willingly give yourself to him for that would be the only way to properly accept the gift he had been given by the Gods.

That was almost a year ago and it wasn’t till a few months back that you laid in his bed for the first time, much like this night.

Atop the mess of sheets and furs your bodies are connected. Seraphim’s head rests upon pillows, his long ebony hair fanned out beneath him, as he stares at your naked form above him. Calloused hands gripping your hips and waist, admiring the softness of your skin against his. His eyes taking you in, watching your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, your giving body moving with his.

Opening your eyes you catch his, cupping his cheeks you capture his lips and he greedily takes yours in return. Tongues tasting each other, the bitterness of wine still paints his lips. His teeth graze your plush lips as he hungrily drinks you in. Sitting up, not daring to disconnect from you, his rough palms hold the swell of your ass assisting you in your movements before flipping the two of you. Laid on your back he sits up, raking his fingers down your frame. Your breath hitches as his digits graze over your hardened nipples, igniting every nerve ending along your torso till he reaches your hips. His obsidian eyes ghosting over you.

With your legs wide and inviting his iron grip takes hold of your sides once again as he begins to pump into you once more. His hips move fluidly against yours, being sure to touch the furthest depths of you. Your fingers dig into the soft fabrics beneath you, head rearing back with eyes screwed shut, mouth ajar letting the sweet sounds of your pleasure fill the cold night’s air.

“Look at me, My love. Let me see you fall apart, give me your desires.” His deep voice vibrates through you to your very core as his strong hand cups your cheek directing your gaze back to him. His touch had brought you back down to earth.

“Seraphim.” You gasp his name like a prayer. His grip holds you up as his forehead rests against your’s. Your nails dig into the skin of his arms and his shoulders, toned muscle flexing under your clawing.

“Take me. Devour me. Do as you wish for I’m yours.” Your words come out broken up by breath and by moans but the look in his dark eyes tell you more than words could ever do justice.

His pace does not hasten but strides with more power, more force. You can feel him pouring himself into every push. His love and desire for you lies in the wake of his graveled groans and sloppy kisses. The glorious pain of pleasure twisting in your belly builds and builds till it nearly breaks you in two but the hands of the man above you keeps you as one as you begin to unravel.

Your lips part, slacked open with songs seeping out. Your eyes straining to stay open as you give all of you to the man coming near to his end as well. Holding you close, his hot breath against your ear and cheek, the strands of his hair tickle your bare shoulders as he makes his last final powerful pumps in your giving core before his movements come to a halt and the warmth of his seed fills your belly. You both sigh into each other’s lips. Coming down from his high, catching his breath, he places soft loving kisses along your neck and shoulder.

Falling onto his back beside you, you turn to drape an arm across his chest. He covers your naked bodies with a fur pelt to shield you from the cold, his hand running up and down your arm. He looks down to catch your gaze, both firm and gentle much like his own. Your hand on his chest draws up to trace the scar that cuts down his left eye with your fingertips as you’ve done so many times before. His hand catches yours and places a soft peck on your palm, your eyes still locked.

You feel tears threatening to seep from your eyes as you look at the man you can’t love. Pulling your hand from his you lay on your back looking to the ceiling.

“Have I done something wrong, My love?” His final words pulled a single tear from it’s duct and before you could whip it away he noticed.

“Have I hurt you?” He hovers above you, thumb catching the tear staining your flushed cheek.

“It is not you who has hurt me but merely our positions.” You pull his hand from your face and sit up fully, back to him. The mattress moves as he does, his breath brushing across on your shoulder.

You’ve had this conversation before. The talk of how you two should part ways. How being together will never work and shall always be frowned upon. If only things were different.

“Then I shall free you, you don’t have to be mine or anyone else's servant.” His lips are placed on your shoulder. You can’t take this so you reach down for your crumpled dress on the floor but he stops you.

“Seraphim, it wont-”

“Then marry me. Become my Queen.”

“Your people will not accept me.”

“I don’t care.” He tries to say but you stop him there. Turning you look at him.

“But I do. Not for me but for you. If people look down at me they may do the same to you and I won't allow myself to be the cause of it.”

“Do you not wish to be with me?” You give a half hearted laugh. Kneeling before him you cup his face in your hands.

“If our union wouldn’t cause troubles that reached further than us, you have to know I’d say yes. Loving you is like breathing, I can’t not do it and without it feels like I might die. But-”

“Don’t say but, please.” He pleads, grabbing your wrists before tangling his fingers in your hair. “Stay with me. Be with me. You are the one the fates had set for me. For no other could be capable of loving me as you do and I for you. You know it, we’ve both known it from the moment our eyes met.”

He’s right. But at the same time he’s wrong. 

It’s as if the Gods had played a cruel joke placing you in this world like this. Two souls destined to forever be connected but kept apart. Like the moon and the sun. Lovers that are made to circle and chase one another but to never be in the same place at once. However, unlike the sun and it’s moon your lives are not meant to eclipse. But knowing this painful truth doesn’t stop you from staying.

The game the two of you play is masochistic. It causes you pain but you can’t stay away.

Laying back down, your head to his chest. His arms wrapped around your frame, drawing lines up and down your back coaxing you to sleep. And as you drift off to the land of nod you listen to the sounds of his heart beating and yours breaking once more.

I’ve thought about doing more King Seraphim works in the future so you have any ideas or are in support of that let me know :)

Feedback and interaction is always appreciated!

💛 ~

~ Valentine’s Masterlist ~ ~ Masterlist ~

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.11 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Stretch finally has Edge's address, but as always seems to happen in this town, answering one question only makes two more spring up to take its place.

Read ‘Unconventional Wisdom’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The dog spent all morning napping behind the counter, not rising for broom bristles nudging him nor Stretch stepping over him awkwardly so he could grab a few boxes from the top shelf to fill up the front racks. He did snore loud enough to be heard over the radio, but eh, so did Red so Stretch was used to it.

It wasn’t until the jangling cowbell over the door heralded the arrival of a group of kids that the pup gave up on his snoring and wandering out to inspect the new arrivals, tail already happily wagging. Predictably, the kiddos were enamored of their newest employee, although guard dog might be overstating things a bit. Okay, maybe a lot; it looked like Red hadn’t been able to get back to sleep last night because the once-filthy dog with a mess of tangled fur was now freshly washed and brushed, and he smelled a lot like the shower gel from Red’s bathroom. Cleaned up, he was a handsome dog, looking as fluffy as an enormous toasted marshmallow. Not exactly threatening, fluffykins here was probably gonna spend most of his shift on moral support duty.

The little girl who was currently the main recipient of the dog’s enthusiastic face licking giggled and asked, “What’s his name?”

“uh.” That gave Stretch a pause. He shrugged. “doesn’t have a name yet, i’ll have to ask red what he thinks.”

“Should name him Rover,” one boy put in helpfully.

Another boy chimed in, “Or Bingo!”

“Cheeseburger!” A little gal firmly declared as though no other name would do and Stretch couldn’t help laughing.

“is that a name suggestion or a lunch request?” he teased. All the kids giggled, including the one who’d suggested the name and Stretch gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug. “tell you what, here.” He pulled out a pad of paper from under the counter, flipped past the pages filled with inventory lists and cribbage scores to a blank one and wrote carefully at the top, ‘Name Our Dog’. He set it in one corner of the counter triumphantly, “there! now anyone can suggest a name and red can choose the best one.”

All the kids seemed in agreement that this was the best course of action, each taking a turn to scribble their suggestion on the sheet. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if ‘Cheeseburger’ was at the top of Red’s picks.

The kids eventually abandoned the dog and started a round of intense negotiations over what penny treats to buy today. Stretch left them to it, settling to sit on the stool to wait for them to bring up their selections to the register. His mind wandered idly back to newest side quest: getting to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

He’d already tried to look the address up on his phone’s GPS and wasn’t too surprised to see that it didn’t come up, naw, that would be too easy. So, first was figuring out how to get there and second would be figuring out how to get there. Not like he had a car and somehow, he doubted that Backwater had a thriving Uber economy. Maybe he could hitch a lift with someone? People were always coming into town in those big ol’ pickup trucks and the folks around here were pretty friendly, plus Edge seemed to be pretty well known. They all probably knew exactly where Edge lived and stopped by for pie and tea all the time. Surely someone would be delighted to help out, particularly if they were one of the lookie-loos from Mama’s who wanted to see Stretch and Edge on another man date, thank-you-but-no-thank-you.

That would probably be the easiest way to go about it, but Stretch found he was strangely reluctant to take that route. It felt a little like cheating, considering the roundabout way Edge went about handed out his address.

Anyway, if he’d wanted to go down that path, he could’ve simply asked Red days ago, but that right there was an entirely different can of worms that he didn’t want to share with any of the early birds. Red never forbade him from hanging out with Edge, but he’d been pretty clear time and again that he wasn’t too keen on it, either. Might be best if he kept any mentions of Edge to a minimum unless Red brought him up first.

He’d just figure it out himself, thanks, and he wasn’t any puzzle master, not like his bro was, but he had a little pride buried around here somewhere. Edge set him a challenge, damn it, and he was gonna see it through.

His absent gaze strayed down to the pile of bicycles outside the store, kid-sized, sure, but hey, wait a second—

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, and the debate on whether to get two packs of everlasting gobstoppers or three paused as a half-dozen heads perked up like prairie dogs from a sugary plain. “if i wanted to buy a bicycle around here, where would i go?”

Heads ducked down again in a hastily whispered conversation, then the spokeskid popped up again and said, decisively, “Try over at the thrift shop. Miss Maggie always has old bikes for sale.”

“thanks.” He should’ve known. The only other option right in town was the tractor supply shop and while driving up on a John Deere would make a hell of an impression, it was probably well out of his price range. The kids crowded over with their handfuls of spoils and Stretch dutifully rang them up and if he tossed in a dime of his own to cover them, eh, wasn’t like they’d ever know. He handed over a paper sack of treats to a chorus of thank yous and the divvying began before the kiddos even got out of the shop.

“Oh, Edgar Allen said to tell you hi!” One little girl called back to him. She was gone out of the door before he could even think of a reply, all of them clamoring onto their bikes, their faces chipmunk-cheeked with their spoils.

Edgar Allen, shit, yeah, that was right. He’d pretty much been the first stop on this questline and Stretch’d been meaning to do something for him. He’d already rethought the magazine idea; what if it turned out that scarecrows couldn’t read, kinda insensitive there. He’d have to think of something, though, owing someone didn’t sit well with him even if that person didn’t qualify for traditionally alive.

In the meantime, the dog, bereft of childish companionship, wandered back behind the counter and flopped down with a huff, sighing deeply.

“yeah, go on and take a break,” Stretch told him, “you were working pretty hard there.” He stretched out a leg to pet the dog carefully with his foot and wasn’t too surprised that it didn’t care one bit about his shoe, only pliantly rolled over to give him better access to the belly region.

Stretch obediently kept petting, hell, he obeyed better than the dog. But his thoughts were still on the upcoming journey to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

~~*~~

Red relieved him in the shop a little later than normal, looking a lot like he’d just hauled ass out of bed. His shirt was the same one as earlier, only with a fresh crop of wrinkles and his eye lights were still bleary with exhaustion.

Almost, Stretch offered to stay later and let Red get a little more sleep, considering it was his fault Red got woken up in the middle of night. But the baleful glare Red sent his way was an unspoken warning that such an offer probably wasn’t gonna go over well. He kept his jaw shut tight and took the paper sandwich bag Red handed over before heading out the door. Time to get this side quest rolling, literally, he hoped.

The few times he’d met Magdalen May he’d figured right from the get-go that she, like Red, was a partaker of the Sheriff’s son’s prize cannabis crop. Not only because of her dreamy demeanor but also whenever she came into the store, she was surrounded by an almost visible cloud of pot stank so strong that Stretch got a contact buzz while she was shopping through the meagre selection of yarn that Red kept. By the time she left, Stretch would have a craving for Cheetos so strong he’d be ready to start gnawing on his fingerbones for a cronch.

Stepping into the thrift shop was a little like hot boxing in a hoarder’s closet but Stretch soldiered on, squinting as his vision adjusted from the bright light of day to a dimness barely above attic-levels. He went past shelves of gewgaws and boxes of dusty records, old clothes hanging from racks that looked like they’d been commandeered from a lot of remaindered furniture. There were tables piled high with ancient radios, cameras, electronics that Stretch didn’t know the name of and surely didn’t work, existing only to be parted out by an amateur scientist or an electrician in search of cheap parts. Antique glass was set high on the shelves, catching dusty light and sending a kaleidoscope of color to scatter over the room, freckling it in greens, reds, and yellows.

The entire store radiated a glorious sort of chaos and if it weren’t for the fact that he already felt a little woozy, he would’ve stayed for a while and poked through some of the wares. Maybe even find a new book for Red buried in the nearby piles, see if he’d be willing branch out into cowboy romance for a change.

He heading to the back of the shop where Miss Maggie was sitting in a rocking chair surrounded by boxes and shelves, knitting with flashing speed despite the foggy miasma hanging in the air. Her long white hair was smoothly braided and pinned up on top of her head, her weathered skin tanned dark and leathery. The weave of bright yellow yarn trailing from her needles was spread across her lap in an incongruous contrast to her dark, billowing skirt and the light sweater she wore against the chill of the air conditioning.

“Hello, Papyrus,” she greeted him with the sort of rough, croaky voice made over the years by a thousand packs of Marlboros. She didn’t look up, her attention completely focused on her knit and purl.

That gave him one hell of a pause. “how did you—” Stretch stopped. Great, he was in the soothsayer chapter and hadn’t even had time to prep. Yeah, okay, he didn’t really have any room in his life for another side quest, maybe let this one go. He didn’t actually want to know where she got her intel, not really, especially not with his head already spinning a little. He stuck his hands in his pockets to hide the way they wanted to curl into fists, rocking back and forth on his heels. “heya. i haven’t gone by papyrus in years, it’s stretch, thanks.”

“A wise choice,” Miss Maggie said. She sounded…different, somehow. He’d talked to her a few times now and strangely, today he couldn’t seem to place her accent. It wasn’t like the other townsfolk, all of them had a certain warm, down-homey charm, and usually so did she. Her words today were crisp, sharp-edged, nothing like the dreamy peace he was familiar with when she came into the store for coffee creamer and vanilla wafers. She glanced up at him over the wire rims of her glasses, her gaze as sharp as her tongue. “Names have power. A wise man keeps his true name to himself.”

“um. sure,” Stretch couldn’t stop himself from giving the door a longing glance. This was starting to seem like a bad idea, Miss Maggie seemed to be having a personality crisis, maybe he should come back after lunch. “that’s some very handy wisdom, but i’m here about a bike?”

She ignored that. “You have issues with names,” Miss Maggie told him. She kept knitting, needles flashing furiously in a rhythmic clickity-clack as steady as a metronome. “don’t you.”

“huh?” Stretch didn’t exactly have any flesh to get goosebumps with, but he felt a chill nonetheless, prickling maddeningly over his bones. His head was whirling, everything around him seemed to blur except the old woman in front of him. His tongue felt strangely thick as he whispered a question he didn’t want to ask, “i don’t…what do you mean?”

“Mmm, yes,” Miss Maggie sighed out, “so many names you’ve had and rejected. Had and left behind when you ran away, far, far away.”

“stop,” Stretch said weakly. His soul was starting to pulse with aching intensity behind his breastbone. The room filled with an electric heaviness like a coming storm, the rich green smell filling the room suddenly nauseating. “please, don’t.”

“Brother, lover, yes, but never father, not even once.”

“shut up,” Stretch said thickly. Or tried to, the words seemed to clot and stick at the back of his throat, refusing to travel over his useless tongue.

“And now you’re taking on new names,” she raised her head, and here in the dim, her eyes seemed like dark pools of pure blackness that reflected nothing of the flickering overhead lights. Her grin seemed unpleasant and wide, showing pale pink gums in an endless maw. “Is it friend you seek or something else, I wonder?”

As she turned towards him, her sleeve caught on the sugar bowl set on the table next to her, sending it tumbling to the floor. The burst of sound as it shattered pushed through his dazed distance like the snap of dry twig broken over a knee. Stretch jerked, blinking hard, and all the nebulous emotion in him surged forward, gathering and coalescing into real anger. He was starting to get sick of this shit, if everyone in town wanted to act like this place was Sleepy Hollow’s second-cousin, that was fine by him. He was happy to play along, but not if they were gonna keep sticking their shovels into his past to see what other skeletons they could dig up.

“look, fuck you,” Stretch snapped out. He turned back to the door, tossing over his shoulder. “never mind, i’ll figure out something else!”

“Wait!” And he didn’t want to wait, he wanted to push on through the door, but his stubborn feet suddenly refused to move. Miss Maggie clumsily thrust aside her knitting, hardly noticing her teacup wobbling, spilling tea and leaves out into her saucer in a wild splash. That funky weird woman vibe abruptly eased and so did some of the stench in the air, flavored instead with lavender tea. She waddled over to him, her long skirt dragging on the floor. Even bent over with age, she was impressively tall, hardly shorter than Stretch was, and he was a mini-skyscraper to most Humans. She looked up at him, her eyes a watery, pale blue, surrounded by a sea of wrinkles, how could he ever have imagined they were anything else?

Miss Maggie reached up to touch his cheekbone with fingers nearly as thin as his own.

“Oh, sweet child,” she said with mournful gentleness, and her voice was the smoky-sweet, grandmotherly one he recalled. “S’all right. Ain’t nothing wrong with setting aside a name you’ve outgrown, nor in taking on a new one.”

All his bright, burning anger collapsed inwardly, a card house with the center support removed, and hurt welled in him instead. He was crying, he realized distantly, tears stinging in his sockets, running down his cheekbones to gather on wetly his chin. He didn’t realize he was going to speak until he did, choking out, “it feels wrong.”

“How you feel and how things are don’t always match,” she agreed. She held out her arms, her gnarled hands open to him and Stretch leaned into them, burying his face in the soft, knitted shawl draped over her shoulder. She smelled like weed and lavender, a strange, exotic mixture. “i’ll get you all wet,” Stretch mumbled, muffled into the cloth.

She petted his skull gently, “It’s all right, child. I’ll dry.”

He held on tightly for a long time and when she finally drew back, she lightly touched his forehead with the tips of two dry fingers.

“You can get to his home through the forest,” she said, and it seemed to Stretch he could almost see it, clear as a picture someplace behind his sight. “Follow the exchange down about a mile, you’ll see a turnoff on the left. Don’t you stray from the path, you hear me, sonny?” Those pale, rheumy eyes searched his face for understanding. “Easy to get lost out there.”

“i won’t.”

“Good.” She let him go and shuffled back to her chair to picked up her knitting again. “Now, you mentioned something about a bike.”

For a moment, Stretch stood there, practically wobbling on his feet. He felt like he’d woken up from an unexpected nap, still floating in between the sleeping and waking worlds. Then he blinked, snapping awake, and looked around almost wildly. Until his gaze snagging on one of the shelves, or more specifically, something sitting on it, and held.

“a bike, i did.” Stretch walked over to the shelf where a bandana was sitting, a bright turkey-red plaid, and picked it up, holding it out for Miss Maggie to see. “how much for this, too?”

By the time he left the shop, he was in a fine mood despite his savings being a little lighter. He was pushing a rattly old bike with a squeaky chain and a horn that let loose with a hoarse ‘awhooga’ when the dusty rubber bulb was squeezed. The bandana was stuffed into his short’s pocket and the first thing he was gonna do was deal with that, then he’d worry about some maintenance. Probably better to find out if his new bike was streetworthy before taking his act on the road.

He used the walk back to the store to draw in a few deep, refreshing breaths of the heat-smoggy air, letting it clear his head.

“miss maggie sure smokes some strong shit,” Stretch muttered to himself. He left the bike leaning against the porch around back and headed over to the main road, taking his normal walking route down towards the corn. There were no kids on the makeshift baseball diamond today, looked like they’d headed off somewhere else to enjoy their penny candy.

The grass was yellowed and dying under his sneakers as he went off the beaten path, heading towards the rustling corn. Was it his imagination, or did those whispers get louder as he approached, even eager? The corn got lonely sometimes, Edgar Allen had said, but it didn’t mean any harm.

Somehow, he didn’t think the skeleton they’d found in the fields back in Doris’s day would agree.

“um, hi?” Stretch tried. There was no one around to see him and he still felt ridiculous, talking to the damn corn. “look, i dunno if you can understand me, but if you do, could you see that edgar allen gets this? i wanted to thank him for helping me out and i thought it’d look good on him.”

Carefully, he laid the bandana over a crux of green leaves and stalk, tugging to make sure it wouldn’t simply blow away. He left it there and turned back to town, hoping that the scarecrow got the message; as much as he wanted to thank the guy, he really didn’t feel like taking a second go in the corn maze to do it. He didn’t look back until he got back to the side of the road and there he paused, frowning. The splash of red should’ve been vivid against the sea of green but there was nothing, not so much as a glimpse.

He craned his neck, searching, but it hadn’t fallen to the ground and the wind wasn’t strong enough to carry it off. Maybe the corn had gotten the message after all? Yeah, he was going with that, and he headed back to take a look at his new bike, hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully, which was a heck of a trick for someone without lips.

Yeah, he felt pretty good today and why not? He had a place to stay, a job, someone looking after him, and a dog. And now he had a bike. Things were looking up, Stretch decided.

Things were looking up.

~~*~~

tbc

[trashyswitch]

Virgil’s Insecurity

Virgil is an infodumper, who has been compressing his infodumps due to annoying people in the past. But this time, Virgil can't hold it in! So, he runs up to someone who just might help him without judgement.

This was requested by an anonymous person who left a 🦇 emoji on the prompt. Thanks for the prompt! And I hope you enjoy!

Virgil, being the quiet man he is, has always felt unbelievably insecure about one thing: infodumping. Why was he insecure about infodumping? Well, he’s afraid of talking someone’s ear off to the point of rejection. There have been a couple moments where his conversations turned into infodumping, and the people he had spoken to ended up yelling at him for being annoying. A few more repeated conflicts later, and Virgil had stopped infodumping altogether. There was no point in infodumping to anyone if he was just going to scare them off. 

But there were times in his life where Virgil just couldn’t keep it inside of his mind anymore. He HAD to tell someone! ANYONE! He had to tell someone about his love for tickling. 

Yes, you heard that right: tickling. Virgil knew just about all there is to know about tickling. He knew about how nice it felt to laugh, the different ways to tickle a person and what tools work wonders on the skin. He also knew about the baby teases and the evil teases that can fluster a person and make it tickle more, he loves reading the online fanfictions that people make, and he also loves seeing the variety of tools used in the fanfictions. 

But talking about it? HELL NO! That’s such a weird thing to talk about! He can barely properly say the word, let alone talk about it! Well...he can talk about tickling. But it has to be infodumping or it’s not gonna work at all. 

Today was one of those days where he just could NOT keep his thoughts in his head. He was certainly trying, but it was killing him inside. He had already fallen into a meltdown over his yearning to talk about his insecurity. But...IT’S EMBARRASSING!

Finally, after way too much thought, Virgil just bursted out of his room, crying loudly and sprinting to the closest room. That just happened to be Logan’s room. Virgil bursted into Logan’s room desperately. his makeup was falling right off his eyes and his cries were filled with hiccups and sobs.

“I C-C-CAN-CAN’T HO-HOLD *sob* HOLD I-IT TO-TOGETHER ANYMOOOORE.” Virgil shouted to him, flopping his face into Logan’s lap and bursting out in long cries and heavy sobs. 

Logan immediately put his book down and looked at Virgil in concern and surprise. “Whoa! Hi Virgil. I’d say ‘what brings you here this afternoon’, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.” Logan reacted, putting his hand on Virgil’s head and petting his hair for some sort of comfort. “What’s making you fall apart, Virgil?” Logan asked. 

“I-I wanna infodump but...I can’t.” Virgil told him, still crying. 

“Why not?” Logan asked. 

“I...I’m too afraid to because I’ve annoyed so many people with my infodumping before and I’m scared to annoy you.” Virgil said very quickly. 

Surprisingly, Logan is very good at listening when he’s given the opportunity to. So, he decided to not question anything else and decided to go along with it. 

“Infodumping?” Logan calmly reacted. 

“Yes infodumping but I’m too scared to. What if I lose a friend because of my strange infodumping topic? What if I can’t make any more friends because of how much I infodump?” Virgil asked, still talking quickly. 

His crying was surprisingly lessening the more he talked. So, Logan let him talk. 

“I’ve been wanting to infodump for a long time now but I’m scared to. The topic I always infodump about is embarrassing.” Virgil explained. 

“Is it Panic! At The Disco related?” Logan asked. 

“No, it’s tickling.” Virgil replied quickly. He immediately gasped to himself in horror. “AAH SH-” 

“Tell me about it.” Logan ordered. 

Virgil had his mouth covered. He looked at Logan with surprise. “W...wait...what?” Virgil asked. 

“Tell me about tickling.” Logan told him again with a smile. 

Virgil’s eyes widened as he removed his hand from his mouth. He gulped and let out a nervous chuckle. “But it’s weird and embarrassing and it makes no sense and you’re gonna judge me for it even if you’re just sitting there and saying nothing I can tell that you’re silently judging-” 

“Infodump to me about tickling.” Logan told him. 

Virgil paused his rant and just sighed. He finally let himself go. 

“Tickling is an activity between 2 or more people that causes playful behaviour and immense laughter through soft and hard types of touch. There is soft tickling and very soft touches such as feathers, makeup brushes and furs. And then there’s the rough tickling which involves hair brushes, electric & manual toothbrushes and long fingernails.” Virgil explained. 

“Interesting.” Logan told him. Despite his monotone expression, Logan was actually interested. 

“Yes, people use more than just their fingers for tickling. But even using the fingers in different ways can determine everything. If you flutter your fingers on the skin only slightly, the lightest touch can drive a person crazy. If you scratch the skin or dig and wiggle the fingers, you’ll make them scream. And, if you squeeze the skin and even skitter your fingers all over the place, you’ll make them squirm all over the place.” Virgil explained further. 

Logan smiled. “Good to know.” He replied. 

“Now, there are a huge variety of tools that can be used as tickle tools. Paint brushes, markers, and pipecleaners can all be used for tickle tools. Even animals like hamsters, guinea pigs and rats can be used for tickling. Also, cleaning tools are very useful for tickling as well. Such as: Q-Tips, gardening gloves with spikes or claws and feather dusters.” Virgil added. 

Logan chuckled. “I’ll never look at a feather duster the same way again.” Logan admitted to him. 

“Trust me, I haven’t either.” Virgil admitted back. “Certain clothing choices can increase a person’s sensitivity to tickling. Oil can make everything more slippery as well as ticklish, and body lotion can make the ticklish sensations just as worse. Though most clothes cause tickling to diminish, there are clothing options like leotards, that make a person even more ticklish.” Virgil told him. 

“Any person can be considered adorable when they’re tickled. These adorable ticklish people are referred as ‘Ticklees’, or ‘lees’ for short, which means ‘loves being given the tickles. When there’s a person who wants to tickle and tease someone, that is called a ‘tickler’, or ‘ler’ for short. Anyone can be a lee, but there are specific tickle tropes that people will use. For example: those who start off as tough, cute, apathetic or constantly grumpy can be turned into a giggly mess from a few tickles and teases.” Virgil admitted. 

“Interesting…” Logan admitted. 

“Technically I may come off as a grumpy person, but for good reason: I am anxiety and I’m meant to keep Thomas safe from embarrassing himself or doing something stupid. And I am pretty ticklish just about everywhere, specifically in the upper body spots compared to the lower body. Though, I will admit: Remus had found incredibly strange ways to tickle my feet, which ended up tickling the HELL outta me.” Virgil continued. 

“So Remus used to tickle you?” Logan asked. 

“Yes! A lot actually. I think the one tickle tool that REALLY kills me, is the facial hair. Remus’s mustache was a tool he would use A LOT against me. But the tu-...stomach was the worst. Stubby facial hair was also bad. It tickled worse than the NAILS did. Even the hairbrushes couldn’t compare to Remus’s ‘glorious’ mustache. Oh! And the mustache along with the nibbles? HOLY SHIT! That would kill me INSTANTLY!” Virgil described. 

“Fascinating…” Logan said with a smirk. 

“And even that’s just the tip of the iceberg! Remus being the weird man he is, has tied my arms up and tickled my armpits to oblivion, and tied up my feet to tickle them as well. But that’s only if he’s feeling super evil. The rest of the time, he’s willing to just do the tickling, the tools and the nibbling. And then there’s Janus: he’s tickled me a few times, and certainly made them cou- HEHEheheheheheh! Hehehehehehey!” Virgil explained, before bursting into giggles and laughter. 

“Yes?” Logan replied with a smirk. 

“Whahahahat ahare yohohohou dohohohoihing?!” Virgil asked. 

Logan smiled as he continued to dig his fingers into Virgil’s ribs. “Oh nothing...Just keep talking.” Logan replied. 

Virgil squeaked and shook his upper body back and forth as a big smile showed up on his face. “Ihihihihi cahahahahan’t! Ihihi cahahahan’t!!” Virgil protested. 

Logan chuckled. “Come on, I think you can.” Logan replied, tweaking and squeezing his ribs. 

Virgil squealed and pushed against Logan’s hand. “Jahahahanuhuhus uhuhusehed tohohoho tihihihicklehe mehehehehe! Hehehehe wahahas gohohood ahat ihihihihit!” Virgil told him. 

“Really? Fascinating.” Logan reacted in a semi-monotone voice, mixed with sarcasm. 

“Hehehe wohohould tihihickle myhyhyhy eheheheheahahars wihith ahaha feheheatheheheher, and tehehehease thehehehehem tihihill- AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHO BEHEHEHEHELLYHYHYHYHY!” Virgil screamed, bursting into loud laughter as his stomach was tickle attacked by Logan’s skilled fingers. 

“He would tease you till what Virgil? You appeared to have been interrupted by some lunatic who’s laughing nearby.” Logan joked. 

“THAHAHAT MEEEHEHEHEHE YOHOHOU DOOHOHOFUHUHUHUS!” Virgil yelled as his upper body fell backwards. 

Logan caught Virgil and brought him to the ground carefully. With Virgil now on the safe ground, Logan summoned a pair of cat claws and skittered his fingers all over Virgil’s belly and sides. 

“NOOOHOHOHOHOHO! THAHAHAHAT TIHIHIHIHICKLEHEHES!” Virgil squealed like the world was ending. 

“Really? I had no idea.” Logan teased. 

“YEHEHEHES YOHOHOHOU DIHIHIHIHIHID! IHIHIHI TOHOHOLD YOHOHOHOU!” Virgil argued loudly. 

“My, then I must not have heard you then. I must have zoned out or something.” Logan replied with an evil smirk. 

“YOHOHOHOHOU’RE SOHOHOHO MEHEHEHEHEHEAHAN!” Virgil yelled at him. 

“Instead of calling me mean, how about you repeat what you said to me? Then we’ll be on the right page.” Logan suggested. 

“NOHOHOHOHO! YOHOHOU AHAHARE THEHEHEHE WOHOHORST LIHIHISTEHENEHEHER EHEHEHEVEHEHER!” Virgil shouted at him. 

“Do you even hear how loud you’re being? I’m practically going deaf. It’s no wonder I’m bad at listening.” Logan joked. 

Logan made his cat claws disappear and summoned a Q-tip next. He spun it in his hands. 

“Whehehehehehe...wahahahahahait...whahahat ahare yohohohou dohohohoihihing?” Virgil asked nervously. 

Logan looked at the Q-Tip carefully, as if observing it. Then, he looked down at Virgil’s belly and lifted up the shirt. “Aaah...Here it is!” Logan declared before poking the belly button. 

“NOHOhoho!” Virgil jolted. 

“The world-famous belly button. Everybody’s got one. They’re these little tiny holes that used to give us milk when we were just tiny fetuses in our mother.” Logan explained. 

Virgil giggled and covered his face out of embarrassment. 

“Even the word ‘belly button’ seems to make people blush for some reason.” Logan told the silent audience. Suddenly, Logan stuck the Q-Tip into the belly button. “Though I couldn’t tell you why it makes people all flustered and blushy. Do you happen to know, Mr. Giggles?” Logan asked. 

“AhahahAHAHAHAHAHA! YEHEHEHEHEHESSSS! *snort* IHIHIHIHIT’S AHAHAHALL TIHIHICKLYYYYY!” Virgil squealed and snorted. 

“Ah yes: the lovely snort! ‘Tis an adorable laughing feature that some people possess. It usually occurs when the ‘lee’ as you call it, gets tickled to the point where they need air as quick as possible. So, it’s either inhaled as a hiccup, or as a snort. For Virgil, it is the latter.” Logan explained. 

“STAHAHAP TEHEHEHEHEASIHIHING MEHEHEHEHE!” Virgil shouted at Logan.

“Nah, I don’t want to. Teasing you is too much fun.” Logan admitted. 

Virgil whined, covered his mouth with his fists and shook his head in embarrassment. He couldn’t take it! He was too good at this! His infodumping had helped him way too much! 

“Are you regretting infodumping to me?” Logan asked, slowing down his tickles. 

“NOHOhohohoho...Ihihihi’m nohohohot.” Virgil admitted. 

Logan lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He was aware Virgil liked being tickled. He was told by the man himself. But he had no idea he liked it THIS much! If Logan had known before, maybe he wouldn’t have stopped so soon. But...the poor man needed to breathe. 

“Whyhy did y-you stohohop?” Virgil asked. 

“I...was giving you a chance to breathe. Everyone, especially anxious people like you, need to breathe.” Logan told him. 

“Ihi know that. Buhut...I don’t want toho stop.” Virgil whined. 

“Okay. How about a few light tickles instead?” Logan suggested. 

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” he replied. 

“Do you have any ticklish spots that make you giggle?” Logan asked. 

Virgil nodded and pointed at his feet. Logan looked down at the spot and crawled himself over to the pair of feet. 

Logan tried tickling the foot with just a small scratch. “EEEK!” Virgil squeaked, pulling his foot away. Logan tried tickling the other foot with all 4 of his fingers scratching up. “AAHAhahahahaha!” Virgil laughed, pulling his other foot away as well. “Yohohou’re gohonna have to sihit on my lehegs to tickle them.” Virgil warned him. 

“I was beginning to wonder that.” Logan replied before crawling himself beside the feet and sitting himself on top of Virgil’s lower calves. Virgil almost immediately started giggling as he felt the weight of Logan’s body on himself. 

“Ohohokahay. Yahoo can stahaha-hAHAHAHAhahahahaha! Eeehehehehehehehehahahahaha! Ihihit tihihihicklehes Lohohohohogahahan!” Virgil giggled and laughed, 

“Oh really? Remember the last time you tried to tell me that? And how did it turn out?” Logan asked. 

“Ehehehevihihihil! Ehehehevihihihihil neheheherd!” Virgil yelled back. 

Logan paused his fingers and turned around to look at him. “Evil? Did you just call me evil?” Logan clarified. 

“Yehehes. Ihi did.” Virgil replied, still giggling at Logan’s reaction. 

Logan gave Virgil a surprised look. Then that surprised look morphed into an evil smirk. “You shouldn’t have said that…” Logan warned him. Then, Logan summoned a long feather and began to wiggle the feather in between Virgil’s first toes. 

Virgil widened his eyes and yelped in surprise. “HAHA-HEHEHEHEHEY!” Virgil yelled. 

“Hey? Hay is for horses.” Logan rebuffed happily, proud of himself for that joke. 

“WHYHYHY AHAHAHA FEHEHEHEATHEHEHER?!” Virgil asked. 

“Because feathers are the most important tickle tool of all tickle tools. Tickle tickle tickle~!”

Virgil covered his face. “NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Virgil screamed through his hands, growing pink in the face.

“Oh No! The poor feather is going in between all your toes! Whatever will you do?” Logan teased dramatically, seesawing the feather between all the other toes as well. 

“CUHUHUHUHUHT IHIHIT OHOHOHOUHUHUT! IHIHIHIHIT’S SOHOHOHO BAHAHAHAHAHAD!” Virgil yelled and begged. 

“Hmm...You didn’t really mention anything about ticklish feet within your long infodump...Were you holding back?” Logan mentioned. 

“NOHOHOHOHO IHIHIHI WAHAHAHASN’T!” Virgil shouted back. 

Logan clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Such a shame...I don’t quite believe you.” Logan rebuffed in a calm, but sarcastic tone. It didn’t take long for the nerd to lift up Virgil’s toes and for Logan to tickle under his toes. 

Virgil screamed and snorted like the end of the world was near! “STAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAP! IHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T BREHEHEHEHEHEHEHEATHE!” Virgil screamed. 

Finally, Logan decided to still the feather. The man was growing tired and indeed needed a few minutes to breathe. And if that’s Virgil ‘the ticklee’ saying it, that means he needs it badly. 

Virgil took some time to properly breath and replace the oxygen he was lacking. All the while, he had a huge smile on his face that could not be whipped off his face no matter how much he tried. It was like seeing the aftermath of a child’s giggle fit after laughing for 10 minutes straight. Logan could actually admit to himself that it was adorable, but he would never admit that outloud. Similarly to Virgil, he had a reputation to uphold. 

“You okay Virgil?” Logan asked. 

Virgil lifted his head up a little. “Whaha...Whahat hahahappened toho lihihihight tihihicklehehes?” Virgil asked through his giggles. 

Logan chuckled to himself. “I threw that idea out the window apparently.” Logan replied. 

Virgil let his head fall onto the ground again as his giggles overtook him. “Myhyhy feheet ahahare tohoho tihicklihihihish fohohor thahat.” Virgil admitted. 

“Specifically your toes are.” Logan corrected. 

“Yeheheheah…” Virgil replied. Buhuhuhuhut...ahare your feet ticklish?” Virgil asked. 

Logan chuckled. “Yeah, they’re very ticklish. It’s why I always wear shoes whe-” Logan was interrupted by a sudden tackle from the man wearing purple. 

“That’s great news!” Virgil yelled suddenly before sitting on his calves. 

Logan squealed and covered his mouth in disbelief. Did he just make that high squeal sound?! NO! Virgil was taking off his shoes, and throwing them onto the couch. 

Who knew such a cute little ticklee could be such a dynamic tickler?!

[legolaslovely]

Wake Me

A/N: Happy happy Fili Friday my friends! I’m so happy I got a story done for this week. This is one of my favorite tropes, as some of you definitely know *wink* so I hope you guys enjoy! Have a lovely day with our sweetest boy.

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Word Count: 2,130

Warnings: fluff, smut, masturbation, oral sex, orgasm delay but this isn’t a huge thing or very central but putting it here to be safe

Summary: Oof another caught masturbating story that’s all you need to know

Fili’s boots and eyelids were especially heavy tonight as he trudged through the dark corridors. This was the fifth night in a row he had made this walk from the throne room to his chambers in the dark, wee hours of the morning. The torches lining the walls had been extinguished long ago, he saw no smoke hovering about the ceiling and a cool chill was allowed to race around his icy nose and ears. 

Left, right. Left right. Halfway there, he thought, trying to push away the frustration of another day of long meetings. He inhaled deeply and the cold air that rushed into his lungs made him shiver. Then he smiled to himself, a small twitch at the corner of his lips, as he thought about the warmth that would greet him when he entered his chambers.

He rolled his bottom lip in his mouth as he allowed little thoughts of her to cloud his mind. What was she doing? Was she just drifting off to sleep or was she deep in a world of dreams? He closed his eyes and walked blindly through the corridors he knew so well, imagining how he was minutes away from sliding into a bed that had been warmed by her body. Was she wearing the soft nightgown that would catch on his calloused fingertips as he wrapped his arms around her? Or was his thick tunic folded around her to keep her warm while he himself wasn’t there to do the job?

His eyes snapped open. Maybe he’d crawl into bed beside her and find her wearing nothing at all. Bare chest, bare belly, and bare legs, waiting for him to wrap himself around her and burn her skin with his desire that was now pulsing through him at the mere thought of her.

His mind was hazy and he almost passed the door to his chambers. He back-stepped, opened the door as quietly as he could, wincing at the loud click of the lock, and slid inside. She was sleeping. As she should be, he thought. 

He toed through the room toward a solitary candle that was left burning by his side of the bed. Just under it lay a note.

Wake me when you return, (it read).

His eyes were glued to her as he undressed. None of his questions were answered. She was buried in blankets and furs and only her wild, undone hair, closed eyes and pink nose were visible. He extinguished the candle, but his curiosity burned and he knew the only way to know what state she had gone to bed in was to climb in and find out for himself. But he wasn’t ready to do that.

The sight of her had sent him throbbing against the laces of his trousers. He shuffled, cursing himself for even bringing up these thoughts this late at night. The uncomfortable and now agonizing need was his own fault. But could he really be blamed? This week of unending meetings had left him without relief or release and he craved his One now more than ever. And he was sure she felt the same way. 

He palmed himself for some sort of friction but it only made the throbbing worse. He could wake her up. She had written the note. Maybe she had something important to tell him, maybe a letter had come or she had urgent news. He could wake her and they’d discuss whatever it was and since they’d both be awake anyway... No. Look at her, she’s sound asleep, he thought.

He sighed and turned from her. He was tired. It was late. He had more meetings at dawn. He should ignore this and go to sleep, it will go away. Then there was a rustling from the bed and hope bloomed in his gut. She’d rolled over, releasing one shoulder from its cocoon of furs. His question was answered. She was wearing his tunic.

He bolted to the wash room, leaning one hand on the empty tub and feeling the soft wood bend under his grip. The laces of his trousers fought him until he finally snapped them with a curse. His cold fingers against the scalding skin left him hissing, but it felt so good. He wished with everything in him that it was her fingers around him, her thumb teasing over his head and spreading the thick precome down his aching length. He was hard for her. He wanted her.

He felt his hair brush against his shoulders as he threw his head back. A groan escaped through a clenched jaw and a bit lip, though he tried his best to stay quiet. He screwed his eyes shut and watched the flashes of light morph into her face. She looked up at him and smiled as her lips stretched around him.

Then his heart leapt. He tried to turn, to see the owner of the arms that had wrapped around him, but he wasn’t allowed.

“Shh,” she whispered, breath fanning over his neck. “It’s only me.”

He let go of his erection, feeling the adrenaline pulse through his limbs. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. She was his faithful partner and here he was, pleasuring himself in secret like a dwarfling- unable to wait, unable to control himself. “I didn’t- you were not meant to see me like this, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. Her voice swam over him and gathered where he needed her most. Her round lips danced over his neck as her hand met his and brought it back to his member. “And don’t stop,” she said.

Her fingertips were feathers on his arm, making the blond hairs stand on end. “Keep going,” she said, dragging his long, braided waves over his shoulders to free his skin for more steaming kisses.

In seconds, he was overwhelmed by the sensation of her and powerless to her commands. His entire back was burning from her heat and little electric currents raced through him from his neck straight down to his cock which was growing ever heavier in his hand. He leaned back into her, melting into her perfect touch and groaned her name.

“I told you to wake me,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“You were sleeping so soundly.”

“I can never sleep soundly without you.”

He would have sent her a smirk. He would have pinned her down on their bed or against the wall of the washroom, but he was completely at her mercy. All he could do was continue to pump himself, as if she would disappear if he stopped.

His hips began to stutter, to thrust uncontrollably into the tight circle of fingers. Waves of black nothingness surrounded him, and only her lips and hands brought bolts of blinding light. He thought his chest would rip open or collapse or simply detonate, but then she stopped him. She reached forward and stilled his hand, kissing his cheek and whispering to him.

“I’m not done yet.”

She circled around him. It took great concentration for him to force his eyes open and when he saw her grinning, he cursed her.

“I’m going to-”

“No you’re not,” she said, placing her hands wide over his chest. “Breathe.” His pecs rose and filled her palms and when he glared at her again, she tilted his chin toward their bedchamber. “Sit on the bed,” she said.

He did as he was told, but she didn’t come to him. Instead, she walked to the small table by the wall and stood with her back to him. 

“What are you doing?”

He heard the scratch of a flint and the tiny roar of a single flame. Her face glowed in an orange light as she looked at him over her shoulder. “Lighting a candle. I thought you’d want to see.”

“What do I get to see?” he asked, stretching out a hand and beckoning her to him.

She stood between his knees and ran a finger over one of his dimples- that glorious little concave of skin beneath his beard and next to his smirk. “A prince gets whatever he wants. He only has to ask.” The dimple vanished.

“Then I ask you to take off this tunic you stole.”

A brilliant smile flashed his way. She took the bottom hem in her hands and lifted the tunic over her head and dropped it on the floor. His hands found her hips and slid up over her belly and her sides until he could cup her breasts in his hands. She allowed a single kiss to the center of her chest before she lifted his chin.

“I know you love it when I wear your tunics,” she said. 

“I also love it when you take them off.”

He felt her eyes like torches on him as she fell to her knees. Small, warm hands burned through his trousers and made his muscles jump as they moved from his knees to his hips. Then she stopped. She rested her cheek on his leg and looked up at him with wide, liquid eyes and he felt his chest swell. 

“Do I get to ask for things as well?” she asked.

“Anything.”

She rose and framed his jaw with her hands. “Kiss me, please, my love.”

He was helpless but to obey. He lifted her into his lap and swallowed her surprised little noise, gluing and melting and touching and attaching. When was the last time he’d kissed her? When had he last taken her pink, pillowed lips between his own and licked into her delicious, warm mouth? It had been days. And now he wanted to kiss her for days.

She pulled away, her breath heavy and catching and his pride bloomed at her flushed state and her shy smile. “I wasn’t done with you,” she said. 

He nodded. Oh, how he wanted to cage her beneath him and take her right then and there but this was her night. He’d let her do anything she wanted to him. So he let her sink back to the floor. And he let her slowly peel his trousers from his legs until she threw them away. He let her torture him with long kisses over his belly and hips until she finally took him into her mouth.

A short time ago, when he was alone in the washroom, all he wanted was his immediate release. He wanted it done and over with so he could go to sleep and feel less agitated the next day.

Now, he wanted this to last forever. He could watch her forever. Of course, she knew every trick to drive him wild- every sensitive spot, every turn on, she knew exactly how to swirl her tongue to make his toes curl. Of course every single moment felt even more thrilling than the last, but the thing that he loved the most was how she looked when she was pleasuring him this way. 

He often dreamed about how she smiles at him when she rips a moan from his throat. It’s a confident, sexy little thing, a lift of the corner of her lips as they’re wrapped and stretched around him. He wanted to see it now. His fingers pulled her thick hair away from her face, gently carding through the locks, and he watched her eyes roll back at the feeling. There’s that smile. It sent a wave of pleasure through him that sat at the base of his spine, waiting for the go ahead to rocket forward and finish him.

She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She knew he was dead set on keeping his eyes open to watch her every move, but his own eyelids were fighting him. The waves of pleasure were getting too strong for him to keep his composure. His chest shook and she knew as well as he did he wasn’t going to last much longer.

She took him until her cool nose tangled in his blond curls and sucked hard. That was it for him. He came in her mouth with a shout, barely able to keep still enough to watch her take everything he had to offer. He slowly came down from his high, feeling like an outsider looking in as he felt her climb into his lap again. She urged him to lay down and kissed him endlessly, warm little pecks sending the last of the electric shocks away and replacing them with warmth and comfort and her. 

“Go to sleep, my love,” she whispered, tucking herself into his side.

“No,” he grumbled.

“Hm?”

“No.” He rolled over her and quickly took dominant control over the kiss he’d planted on her lips. “It’s your turn.”

Taglist! Thanks for reading, friends! @emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​ @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fizzyxcustard​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @dashesofink​ @teagarages​ @dark-angel-be-thirsty-af​ @zulfiya-the-warrior-princess​

[hardkinkbadkink]

Incubus!Jask at Kaer Morhen, having enthralled the witcher boys (+Ves? Your call.) wanting to watch them fuck only to be surprised they’re all... small? Maybe it’s the mutations fault. No matter. Jask makes them get off with each other by making them lap at each others’ cocks like they’re cunts, fingering one another until they’re squirming like pups begging for Jaskier’s cock to breed their needy holes because no other cocks will do. Bonus for puppy play, and forced orgasms (1/2)

(2/2) because I could see someone like Eskel or Lambert snapping out of it for a moment while Geralt is humping their thigh and being horrified until Jaskier talks him down, asking “don’t you like being my pup? Doesn’t it feel good to have your little cunny touched?” Until they’re re-enthralled for Jaskier’s sole amusement.

so this is,,, my favourite prompt i’d ever got? truly? and that’s not to say that the other asks i get aren’t fucking amazing cos they very much are but this just hit all the points for me. all of them. lord have mercy.

this is filthy overstim tiny cock mind-controlled porn thru & thru oof i’m a bit hot under the collar not gonna lie to you babes

now also on the ao3 near you

***

At first Jaskier'd thought it was a joke. How could he not? The concept of a witcher letting him tag along for the monster-slaying ride was rich enough. The idea--the very idea of being invited to the place that was basically Geralt's home, and home to his brothers, to other witchers--

It was, very much, not a joke, if the cold ache that's seeped through his joints and the monolithic, run-down keep standing stark against the grey sky are anything to go by.

"This seems like a needlessly intricate plot just to kill me, you do realise. You could easily have done it at any moment and I wouldn't even notice you draw the blade."

Geralt never appreciates this particular vein of his humour.

"I won't--"

"Yes, yes, you won't kill me, I know, you boring old man."

The heavy oaken door squeaks horribly when Jaskier pushes it open with some considerable effort. Geralt doesn't move to help him, the great brute that he is, resigning instead to stewing in his insufferable self-righteousness.

The inside of the keep is no less cold than the outside, though there are at least three lit hearths in the big, open hall alone. At least there's no snow. Jaskier looks around, overwhelmed by how awfully bland and devoid of style everything is. A long table with two equally long benches on either side seems to be the hall's biggest attraction, and Jaskier nearly weeps at the thought of the sad, sad souls that have come through here. No wonder Geralt is the way he is.

"Witchers--" Geralt continues suddenly when Jaskier's already long moved on from the subject.

"--are immune to incubus magic, yes, Geralt, you told me. I do listen sometimes, you know."

"He never listens, though, so he assumes nobody else does either," comes a beautiful voice speaking the whole truth and the truth only.

Jaskier turns as quickly as his stiff limbs will allow him.

"Eskel," Geralt growls in--what, a threat? Even in his own home, the man resorts to threats?

"Eskel!" Jaskier repeats with the cheer it deserves. He's heard only great things about Eskel. He extends a hand in greeting, and shivers when Eskel takes it in his own, gloveless in this awful chill. "Pleasure."

"The pleasure's all mine."

Eskel's smile, Jaskier thinks, is quite striking, just as the rest of him. Broad shoulders and thick thighs, dark hair peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, a playful glint in his golden eyes, the exact copies of Geralt's--

He shivers again, and not from the temperature.

Another set of footsteps echoes through the hall, obnoxiously loud. Geralt walks silently, like a cat slinking in the shadows. Eskel seems about the same way. Whoever this is must just enjoy being a right pompous prick for the sake of it.

Jaskier gets introduced to Lambert and grows a little bit warmer when all three witchers gather around him, tower above him, really, walking, talking mountains of muscle and strength and gods, fuck, Jaskier's so hungry.

He shouldn't have agreed to come, but Geralt's assured him they'll figure it out.

They are yet to figure it out.

But he gets as many cups of mulled wine as his little heart desires, and Geralt soon brightens up around his brothers, cracking jokes as they all shove at each other playfully like they're still wolf pups instead of hundred-year-old men.

The evening, all in all, ends up pleasant. Jaskier falls asleep calm and safe, ignoring the sucking emptiness inside him.

***

So here's the thing.

Sometimes, he thinks Geralt makes himself forget about Jaskier's inhuman heritage.

Sometimes, he thinks maybe Geralt really believes he doesn't need to feed on energy because he scarfs down half a loaf of bread at breakfast.

Sometimes, he wishes someone would strike him down, so he doesn't have to be so achingly hungry anymore.

And everyone's being so nice to him, so accommodating--he's embarrassed to ask them for anything more when they already give him so much.

And, here's another thing.

Witchers are not actually immune to incubus magic.

Jaskier's never had the heart to tell Geralt.

The poor dear once told him no when Jaskier half-jokingly asked to suck his cock and really thought his mighty witcher-brain is immune to Jaskier's power.

It is decidedly not the truth.

Jaskier makes it a whole week, waiting for Geralt to offer himself or anyone else up--Jaskier would even take a sacrificial virgin in a pinch--but he stays famished and weakening by the day.

He means to only take a little, at first. He finds Eskel and Lambert in the courtyard. Compelling them to drop their swords and follow him inside is child's play.

Jaskier walks them up to his bedroom--the only chamber in this whole blasted keep that's even remotely warm--and thrums with anticipation as he practically skips up the steps.

He means to only take a little, so he gets Lambert on his knees and makes for Eskel to shove his undoubtedly glorious cock down his throat, except--

Except that he doesn't think Eskel's cock could reach Lambert's throat in any capacity.

Oh.

When Lambert peels away his own leathers, and his dick turns out similarly sized, Jaskier burns with curiosity.

He motions for his boys to come forward, half-tangled in their clothes still, and they come to sit on the bed with him. He pets their precious tiny pricks and they squirm deliciously.

Oh, he's got to find Geralt.

He leaves them to undress and sprints through the keep at inhuman speed, dipping his head into various rooms until he spots the shock of white hair. Geralt's defences are so embarrassingly low, Jaskier doesn't even have to try particularly hard to catch him under a spell.

Eskel and Lambert are knelt dutifully in front of the bed, their clothes strewn all about, their expressions blissed-out like Jaskier's never seen them before. He helps Geralt undress--gods, and Geralt's prick is even smaller, somehow--before directing him to his knees between his brothers.

Jaskier practically vibrates with eagerness.

He meant only to take a little, but now he thinks he'll have all of it, and then some for dessert, until he's bursting with it.

Gods, the possibilities are endless.

Jaskier makes himself comfortable, leaning back on the cushions, facing his obedient pups.

"My good boys. My darling, perfect pups. You're even more breathtaking than I could ever imagine."

Someone whines pitifully at the words.

"Oh, it's high time someone took care of you, isn't it? Look how wet your gorgeous cocks are getting, and I barely even touched you."

He wants to touch, but even more he wants to watch.

"Eskel, my lovely, why don't you lay down for me? That's it, heart. Open your mouth nice and wide--"

Jaskier looks on, transfixed, as his pups shuffle to accommodate his wants; Eskel on his back on the furs, Lambert straddling his face, cute prick hovering just above his parted lips. He's got Geralt on his belly, face buried between Eskel's legs.

"My, look at you. Go on, dears, you must be ravenous."

He can't settle on where to look--to watch clumsy tongues lap desperately at each other's cocks, or their faces twist in unadulterated pleasure. Just as he fixes his wandering gaze on where Lambert's got his lip between his teeth, he catches a glimpse of Geralt rutting his tiny prick against the edge of the fur.

He waits until he can just feel the static of release cloying the air, all his pups whimpering as they approach the precipice--and orders them apart. They kneel again, their chests heaving and cocks throbbing, clad only in their medallions.

"What would my pups want? Do you want to fingerfuck your needy holes, since none of you have a cock to do it? I'll give you something bigger, when you're all nice and loose."

"Please," Geralt says quietly and crawls up the bed. He comes to straddle one of Jaskier's thighs, his prick flushed a delightful pink, deliciously wet at the head, and Jaskier's sure greater men would have succumbed.

"Oh, is my puppy desperate?"

Geralt nods frantically as he rides Jaskier's thigh, spreading sticky precome all over the fabric of his trousers.

"You'll have to wait your turn to get bred full, then, heart, since your brothers are so patient."

He brushes Geralt's hair to the side and shivers when Geralt comes with a series of lovely, high-pitched moans, feeling the shadow of his pup's release at the base of his spine.

"Good boy. But you're so greedy, darling, you've left your brothers waiting. Better make it up to them, yeah?"

Geralt nods again and scrambles off the bed to push at Eskel's chest and get him to lay back down again. This time Geralt throws Eskel's legs over his shoulders and laps hungrily at his hole. Jaskier makes Lambert return to sit on Eskel's face, turned the other way as he rides Eskel's tongue and moans wantonly.

They both take a finger beautifully, even before Jaskier hands them the oil.

Gods, Jaskier has to palm his own cock when he thinks about his pups, made-over and trained to be killing machines--helpless as he forces them to take their pleasure, squirming on each other's fingers and tongues, moaning and whimpering and begging in broken, breathy whispers to be taken and bred and filled.

He watches Eskel stretched on three fingers, his powerful thighs quivering. Jaskier feels the frantic crescendo of his pup's orgasm, can taste the panic that rises in him because he didn't get the permission to come yet.

"Do you like Geralt's fingers, darling? Want to come on them? Go on, Eskel, my lovely, let go for me."

Eskel's little cock twitches before he comes with a sob, draining his heavy balls all over his belly, but he never stops driving his fingers relentlessly into Lambert's slack hole.

"You too, Lambert, baby, come for me whenever you feel like it. Look how good it was for your brothers."

Lambert only takes a few more harsh thrusts before he nearly collapses forward, seizing up and shooting his load over Eskel's chest with a full-bodied tremor.

"Good. Gods, you're all so good, so lovely, you make my heart ache."

They make other parts of him ache, too.

When Geralt moves up to dutifully clean Eskel's skin of seed, from his flushed chest all the way to his sensitive cock, Jaskier's resolve breaks.

He divests himself quickly of his clothes, and his pups stare adoringly, hungrily, at the sticky-wet tip of his cock.

And Jaskier immediately knows that he loves all of them equally--but he needs Geralt to have the last turn, and he's wanted Eskel ever since he'd first laid eyes on him that first day.

"You can all come up on the bed now, loves."

His pups drool all over themselves, watching his prick bob between his legs, and Jaskier can't believe they were to deprive themselves all winter, when they so fiercely want for a big fat cock to stuff them silly. His heart breaks for them, just a little.

He kisses Lambert deeply, his darling too out of it to do it properly, licking into Jaskier's mouth with a sloppy tongue like the desperate puppy he is. They all try to get comfortable around him, even with the aching emptiness between their legs, but Jaskier's quick to remedy that.

"Lambert, my sweet, be a dear and open Geralt up while I breed Eskel's tight little hole."

Jaskier reclines with his back against the wall, so he can see Geralt open his legs wantonly and Lambert quickly get between them.

But most importantly, he can urge Eskel onto his lap, his pup's glorious thighs spreading wide over his own as he looks at Jaskier with blind adoration.

"You want my cock, darling? Want to finally be so very full?" Jaskier asks in a whisper, giving Eskel his full attention, like his baby deserves.

"Please, please." Eskel's soothing, deep voice trembles a bit as he tries to speak. "Want you so bad, it hurts."

Jaskier shushes him before pressing his lips gently to Eskel's. The kiss is more cohesive than his last, Eskel groaning quietly when Jaskier sucks on his tongue.

"I know, you just want to get fucked, nice and proper, huh? I bet you get no relief on the path, with that pitiful little excuse for a cock--want me to breed you like the good little fuckhole you are, darling? I'll leave you dripping."

He smooths his hands over Eskel's thighs to urge him up, so he can press his throbbing cockhead against Eskel's greedy hole. It swallows him all at once, steals the breath from his lungs when Eskel's bottom presses against the tops of his legs.

"Oh, Eskel, my love--" Jaskier rambles, because the feel of his pup, coupled with the sight he makes--wide open eyes, glazed-over in elation, his lips swollen and pink, his tiny prick hard again and bobbing against his belly when Eskel begins bouncing on Jaskier's cock--

Gods, how did he ever think he could have just a little?

"Take what you need, whatever you need, darling, oh, you're divine, you're perfect."

Eskel whimpers and leans in to bury his face in Jaskier's neck, overwhelmed, but Jaskier doesn't mind. He rubs his puppy's back, and keeps fucking him, as slowly and as quickly as Eskel needs from him, sinking into his sinful hole again and again until Eskel shakes with it, until he can't go anymore.

Jaskier pushes him gently onto his back and keeps driving into him, faster now, and Eskel sobs beautifully with each thrust. They share a feverish kiss and Jaskier finally gets his hands on that alluring chest, squeezing Eskel's pecks and rubbing his nipples gently. Eskel arches into his touch and moans raggedly.

"Such a good boy, such a good pup--do you want me to touch your cute prick, love? Want me to rub your little clit?"

Eskel nods, his voice climbing frantically around a string of yes yes yes. It barely takes a full touch to his swollen, ruddy prick before Eskel pulses around Jaskier's cock, thrashes on the bed with his head thrown back.

"Stunning, oh, that's perfect--"

Jaskier pumps his darling pup full of hot seed and marvels when Eskel immediately quakes through another orgasm, before the first even subsides. Jaskier peppers his face with tiny kisses, wants to drown Eskel in affection. When he makes to pull out, Eskel whines and claws at his shoulders.

"I know, I know, pup, but I need to see to your brothers. Gods, I wish I had something to plug you up with, so you're always nice and full."

He does manage to pull out, and gets to watch Eskel's puffy hole leak out his spend copiously. He leans down to lap it up, because how can he not? Eskel's legs grip vice-tight around his head for a moment.

Eskel's still convulsing periodically when Jaskier arranges him on his knees, straddling one of Geralt's thighs, so they can hump each other like the needy pups they are.

"Lambert, love, would you like to suck a real cock, finally? I can shove it down your throat before I breed your lovely hole."

And Lambert scrambles to get his mouth on Jaskier's come-streaked cock so fast he nearly falls backwards and off the edge of the bed.

"Careful, dear, so you don't choke. Gods, you are just my perfect cock-hungry sluts, aren't you? How will I ever let you go?"

Geralt whimpers beautifully next to him, and Jaskier looks over to his other boys while he cards gentle fingers through Lambert's hair.

Eskel's too sensitive, Jaskier knows, and yet he still ruts his prick against Geralt like he'll die without it. Their foreheads rest together. It only takes the smallest nudge to have them kiss, tentatively at first, then increasingly more hotly, until they're both moaning with the intensity of it.

"Is this how my pups spend the winters? Rutting against each other desperately, lapping at your pathetic little pricks like they're cunts? Writhing on fingers because there isn't a cock in sight to fill you like you so very crave?"

Geralt shakes violently and grabs fistfuls of Eskel's hair when he spills, yet the rhythm of his hips never falters. Jaskier smiles at them warmly, tugs Lambert's head up and down, relishing the tight clutch of his throat.

Except there's something threatening to ruin his perfect evening, and he can feel one of his pups slipping from his thrall.

Eskel jerks away slightly, as much as he can with Geralt still straddling his leg. His eyes aren't filled with bliss and lust, but wide with confusion and, inexplicably, terror.

"You--" Eskel begins, trying to wrestle out of Geralt's hold.

Jaskier shushes him calmly. "Oh, darling is something the matter? You do like being my lovely pup, don't you?" He can see Eskel pause when he no doubt notices his sopping wet hole drooling all over the sheets. "Don't you like your little boy parts touched, love? Doesn't it feel good to be stuffed with my seed?"

Eskel's sharp, golden eyes quickly lose their focus. Geralt whines and leans in for a kiss. Eskel opens his mouth somewhat reluctantly, still.

"That's it, pup, just let yourself be cared for, isn't that better? If you're good I'll have you warm my cock all night."

Jaskier still has some tricks up his sleeve, so he snaps his fingers and has Eskel crashing through a sudden, dry orgasm, his lovely prick throbbing visibly.

"Maybe it's for the better you don't have real cocks. I can have your little boy pricks coming again and again, just as a woman would."

Lambert gives a strangled groan around Jaskier's cock, his release thick and heavy in the air without anyone even glancing at his dick. Amazing.

Jaskier urges his lovely pup up, gives him a chaste kiss before asking,

"How do you want it, darling?"

"Hard," Lambert replies without hesitation, and settles on his hands and knees, his pink, sloppy hole perfectly on display.

Jaskier urges Eskel and Geralt to lay down, grind their oversensitive, aching pricks against each other. Their whimpers are a beautiful background for the slow, dizzying push of his cock into Lambert's tight body.

"Oh, love, you've got such a nice, tight cunt, fuck--"

Lambert chokes on a breath, forces his hips back, overeager and hungry for every bit of cock he can get. Jaskier couldn't deny him, wouldn't want to anyway.

"That's it, that's right, I'll fuck you until you can't stand it anymore, darling, you'll be feeling it for days."

His hips hasten, until he's snapping into Lambert with brutal force, jostling the whole bed, spurred on by the constant babble of more, harder, yes, yes.

"Will you finger your sore hole, thinking about my cock? Will you try to get Eskel's tiny prick into you, to satisfy the ache?"

Lambert keens, and shakes his head vigorously.

"Just you, need your cock, need a real cock--"

The slap of Jaskier's balls against Lambert's is indecently satisfying. Jaskier brings his hand down with a crack on Lambert's magnificent arse, and then a few more times, when Lambert hollers and the sharp scent of his intensifying arousal makes Jaskier half-rabid.

"Like that, darling? Want to be abused? Want me to bruise your little cunt until you sob with it?"

"Please, please, oh--"

Sobbing is not far off, it seems. Jaskier feels the tingle of power in every part of his body, in the air around them, everywhere, everywhere, raw carnal energy for him to devour.

Jaskier comes before Lambert does, but his pup isn't far behind, milking the last of Jaskier's release as he spills onto the sheets with a broken whimper.

"Don't stop, don't stop," Lambert whispers and tries to impale himself on Jaskier's cock further.

"Greedy. Greedy, slutty pups, you've been neglected for so long, you can't get enough, can you?"

He thrusts languidly, because if there's one thing he doesn't lack, it's stamina.

They fuck for long minutes, Lambert steadily growing louder in his pleas and his moans, Jaskier sweaty and out of breath trying to keep his darling satisfied. Each thrust fucks his seed deeper into Lambert with a wet squelching sound that makes Jaskier dizzy in its obscenity. Which is perhaps why he pulls out of Lambert entirely and rolls his pup to lay belly-up before him.

"How would you like to come inside a nice, warm body, love?"

Lambert whines, his golden eyes blown entirely black.

"Geralt, my darling," Jaskier calls softly, and Geralt looks up at him with red-rimmed, shining eyes. "You'll be a good pup and ride Lambert, won't you?"

"Want a real cock," Geralt says faintly, voice cracking, but he's already climbing to sit astride Lambert's belly, facing Jaskier. "Want your cock."

"You'll get it, heart, you'll get it as much as you want--if you're a good boy for me."

Jaskier doesn't think Lambert's cock is longer than his fingers, but it's nice and thick and just big enough to fit inside Geralt without slipping out, at least until Geralt tries to fuck himself on it.

"Jaskier, Jaskier, please--" his pups call out to him, all three in a beautiful symphony.

He's suddenly obsessed with the thought of Lambert coming inside Geralt, so when Jaskier gets in him his hole is nice and sloppy with spend.

Lambert's cute little prick is not big enough for Geralt to bounce on it like he so clearly wants.

Easily remedied, that.

"Geralt. Geralt, my darling, the light of my life, my perfect little puppy--" he prattles on in a soft voice before he gives a measured slap to the very tip of Geralt's cock.

The effect is immediate. Geralt sobs, just the tiniest bit, tightens around Lambert like the most amazing little boy, until Lambert writhes and comes with a scorching hot shout of someone getting to breed a warm hole for the first time in a long time.

Jaskier is dizzy with all this power, lust-drunk and floaty. He can barely contain it. He has to be careful, usually, when it gets this intense, but his perfect pups can take it, were made to take it, gods, gods--

A sharp burst of energy makes his witchers all shudder with release, squirming as it takes them by surprise, their little cocks come-soaked and oversensitive.

"Geralt," Jaskier says, and he slurs a bit in his haste. His composure is slipping. But his boys are so delicious, so eager and obedient and Geralt spreads his legs so very wide just to show Jaskier his loose, fucked-out hole, and what is he meant to do if not give in to the temptation laid out before him?

Geralt feels so intoxicatingly, unreasonably good, the spell nearly snaps. Jaskier has to keep himself firmly in check, even when everything around him becomes an impossible blur. He fucks Geralt on his back and his stomach, on all fours and against the wall. Vaguely, he registers the small tingle in his abdomen when his other pups come, too, again and again on each other's fingers and tongues, wailing and screaming as Jaskier unconsciously wrings pleasure out of them long after it'd crossed the line of overstimulated pain.

"Geralt, my lovely, my darling little whore, fuck--you're all so good, so, so good, ah--"

His pup's tiny fucking prick twitches when Jaskier closes a palm around it, finds it deliciously soaked and so very sensitive. He licks the single tear that spills down Geralt's cheek and rubs the heel of his palm over Geralt’s cockhead.

Jaskier blacks out when he finally breeds Geralt full of come.

***

He wakes up wrapped up in his beloved pups, keeping his hold tightly on their minds.

The room had grown cold, but he's feverishly hot between three strong bodies. Curious, he touches a finger to the swollen head of Lambert's soft prick, watches him twitch his hips away even asleep. Jaskier pillows his head on a burly chest and closes his eyes.

He'll let them rest for the day, but by nightfall, Jaskier would very much like to be treated to an extravagant feast again.

[songsofbloodandfire]

ffxiv write 2020 - Prompt #5: Matter of Fact

((New character alert! Who would have figured the altaholic would have another character...))

<”Where have you been?!”> 

The terse words caught A’soye off guard, making the fur on his tail bristle even as his ears flattened like that of a child caught doing something wrong. Over twenty-five summers old and his mother could still make him feel like a wayward kitten. Though given the things he’d witnessed the old huntress living through, he suppose she’d earned that right and then some. 

She’s sober again, I see.

A’soye loved A’sharae, but the woman had spent more time in her cups the last few years than she did out of them. At least when she was in a drunken stupor, she was content to either chase anyone who would take her into their bed or sleep the days way. Sober, she was unpredictable and surly at the best of times, almost suicidal and violent at the worst. 

“I have to work, mother. If we want to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, I have to work.” The matter of fact tone was more suited for a parent chiding their child than the reverse, but it seemed to quell the initial rush of frustration the older Antelope expressed. 

A’sharae paced along the well worn wood floors of their apartment, years of tenants having left scars in the pale surface that were likely older than he was. It wasn’t a glorious place to live, but it was clean and safe, which he couldn’t say for some of the places his mother had chosen for them over the years. The bitter thought was suppressed quickly by a rush of worry when he realized just how agitated his mother was. This wasn’t just withdrawal induced frustrations, but something much clearer and focused. 

It wasn’t like A’sharae to allow anything to bother her this deeply. Not enough for her to let him see it. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a simple question, but he could almost feel the weight of what he knew was surely going to be a loaded answer. 

A’sharae didn’t respond at first, glaring at him for refusing to speak in the Antelope tongue. It’d become a point of contention for them over the last few years. She wanted him to use it and keep it alive, just as she had passed all of the skills and traditions she knew as a huntress over to him to ensure they would survive. While he appreciated that, he also felt little connection for a tribe that had fallen before he’d even been born. 

“I did it finally. I destroyed the caves, but that isn’t the important part.” Her last few words were sharp to head off protests or concerns he might have had given A’soye hadn’t been thrilled with her desire to destroy them to begin with. “That isn’t all. Your sister is alive.”

The same matter of fact tone he’d used on his mother only moments previously was used against him, dropped on his head line a tonze of bricks. He knew he’d had siblings, half siblings given his father hadn’t been the Nuhn of the tribe, but some nameless and faceless Highlander. At least they assumed it had been a Highlander given his build and height was bigger than normal for a full blooded Miqo’te. As far as he had known, since it had been what his mother knew, all his siblings had died. 

“Which one?” He knew the names of his siblings, but he’d never gotten the chance to know their faces. Granted, given the less than stellar job A’sharae had done in raising him, he doubted she knew them either. 

“A’sana. She was…” The older miqo’te trailed off, frowning as she dug through her memory of a time in her life she tried desperately to forget. “Maybe five summers old when the tribe fell. According to A’dorel, she’s alive. She has to be...the old magics on the tribe’s land were active…” He had stopped listening when she mentioned A’dorel. A’dorel Nunh was dead, as dead as the rest of the tribe and from what little his mother had spoken of him it was for the best. The man had been a fool who’d barely been capable of leading the tribe, let alone producing children. The fact that his mother spoke of him meant she’d likely been hallucinating and it made him question if she’d actually managed to carry out her plans to destroy the once sacred place of their tribe. 

“Ma...why don’t you go lay down, hmm?” A’soye knew better than to question her. A’sharae’s mind might have been fractured and damaged, but she was still a dangerous woman when pushed and he didn’t want to find out if she’d turn on him given the chance. “Go lay down and rest. You look like you haven’t slept in days. When you wake up, I’ll have dinner for the both of us.”

A pained look managed to break past the agitation of the other miqo’te, something that almost looked like betrayal. “I’m fine!” The woman’s tail flicked for a moment, her ears pulled back as fangs flashed in frustration but the show was over quick, replaced by tired resignation. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll try to find A’sana. She needs to know the truth before she ends up undoing everything I’ve done.” 

As much as A’soye wanted to tell his mother no and try to get her to understand the delusions she was likely experiencing weren’t real, he instead simply nodded. “I will, ma. Go rest.” 

He would have loved to tell himself that he simply wouldn’t do it but he knew he couldn’t let it be. Something didn’t set right with him, not with A’sharae still so visibly upset even as she retreated to her room. He’d look into it, if only for his own peace of mind.

[sapphicambitions]

Queliot Dog Park AU

Quentin and Julia both get into Yale for grad school, move into an apartment together in town.

Julia instantly makes friends and joins clubs. Quentin, not so much.

Afraid of repeating his undergrad loneliness, Q decides he wants a dog. a buddy that has to hang out with him and love him and he doesn’t have to try and make awkward conversation with

So Julia goes with him to the local shelter to look at dogs

Q falls in love with this young golden retriever that is just full to the brim with love and sunshine and the pup’s excitement brings Q out of his shell and Julia’s like “yeah, this is the one”

They adopt him and name him Chatwin.

Having a dog is so good for Q. It forces him to establish a schedule and get outside to take Chatwin on walks and when his brain wants to crash in around him, he can focus on giving belly rubs and the softness of fur

Chatwin loves going on walks and playing in the apartment but he’s also totally cool to just curl up with Q while he studies

Julia tells him about a dog park in town, so Chatwin could socialize with other dogs. They go together one sunny Saturday

The dog park is just off campus and has just enough space for Chatwin to run around and make friends

Q recognizes a few people from his classes and around campus

The blonde girl from his 10am friday class sits on a bench at the very edge of the park, her little Maltese too scared to run and play with the big dogs

Penny, who sits next to him in the same class and does NOT like him is there too, blatantly ignoring Quentin and playing fetch with his husky

Penny’s girlfriend is there too, Quentin doesn’t know her name but recognizes the curls, with her german shepard. it’s cute how the husky and the german Shepard play together.

And there, lounging on a bench in the center of the park, sits a gloriously tall and handsome man that Quentin has never seen before. The man is wearing a button up and vest at a dog park of all places and doesn’t have a dog attached to him at the moment, but he’s watching a group of dogs play, so it’s gotta be one of them.

Chatwin has a great time, and passes out the second they get home.

Quentin spends the whole week thinking about the stranger with no dog

He goes back next saturday, same time, alone.

The stranger is there again, wearing sunglasses and a different fancy outfit that equally looks like it doesn’t belong at the dog park. but he’s sitting on the same bench and no dog in sight.

Chatwin runs to play with the other dogs the second he gets off his leash and immediately begins sniffing a dog that Quentin can’t pin a breed to, some sort of rescue mutt

Quentin catches up to his dog, and tries to make eye contact with the stranger. he fails.

There are lots of dogs running around and Q tries to figure out which dog belongs to the man. He places his bet on the glorious poodle running around with the pack of dogs.

Chatwin and the dog he had been playing with earlier get into a little scuffle, not anything serious, just your average dog “don’t cross my boundary” scuffle that is easily resolved but still makes Q nervous.

He calls for Chatwin at the same time he hears another voice call out “Swayze, come here!”

The mutt dashes to the elegantly dressed man, tail wagging so excitedly it nearly knocks him over

“Your dog’s name is Swayze?” Quentin can’t help but say

The man looks up at him from under his sunglasses, caught off guard. “Uh, yes,”

And then he and his dog leave, Chatwin looking longing after the other dog and Quentin checking out the ass of the other man as he walks away

He goes back the next week.

Swayze and his owner are there, and they’re both accompanied by a woman and her pit bull.

“Margo, will you please just let me set you up on this date?” the man says, “She’s young, she’s eager, she’s got a knife obsession, totally your type”

His friend rolls her eyes and focuses on petting her pit bull. “Princess and I don’t need anyone,”

Chatwin runs right up to Swayze, and the two immediately begin running around

“Our dogs like each other,” Quentin says to the man, who looks pleasantly surprised to see him

“So they do.” And then a beat later, like the man has decided he can trust him. “I’m Eliot,”

“Quentin,” he says, almost too eager

“And I’m Margo,” the woman cut in, a sly smile on her face as she looks back and forth between the two men

Quentin makes friends

Next Saturday he makes a beeline for Eliot who greets him with a smile that makes his heart beat faster

They get to know each other

Quentin confesses why he got Chatwin, how he’s struggled with fitting in and how it’s nice to have a four legged best friend with unconditional love

Eliot says that he got Swayze the second he moved out of his dad’s house after high school. He had been hell bent on starting over, so he went to the shelter to find a glorious dog to match his stunning personality and style (his words, not Q’s) and somehow fell in love with the scared mutt in the corner that just needed a grooming and a lot of love in order to start over in a wonderful new life

Eliot sounded casual about it, but Quentin could see he was trying not to get choked up

Eliot invites Quentin (and Chatwin) to a barbecue that he and Margo are hosting that night.

Quentin goes home and gushes to Julia

Quentin and Chatwin show up at Eliot and Margo’s house (cottage, more like) and follows the smell of the grill to the fenced in backyard. Eliot is cooking and laughing with Margo, but the second he sees Q, his smile becomes brighter and he waves, calling out Quentin’s name

Q smiles in a way he hasn’t in a while, and lets Chatwin off his leash to go play with Princess the Pitbull and Swayze the Mutt. He joins Eliot and Margo and for the first time, feels like he belongs.

Quentin and Eliot’s first kiss is 100% a 101 Dalmatians moment where they get tangled in Swayze and Chatwin’s leashes

[maka-in-klay]

Klango’s Origin - Part 3

Don’t worry, I remembered to upload again today! :D I don’t really have anything much else to say again, other than I hope you all enjoy this new part as much as you’ve loved the others.

Part guide will be provided at the bottom, as usual! ~~~

For many months, Klango journeyed across worlds upon worlds, passing through many settlements, lands and cultures, but he never found any place that seemed right for him. Sometimes he would stay many days in one land. Sometimes it would only be a night. He fancied himself as a lone traveller, with no home to go back to.

He was in the heart of the Blue Ynt South, one fateful day, inspecting the wares of a young farmer at a market, when all of a sudden all the light in the sky seemed to drain away. As he turned all around, wondering what was going on, the Ynts began to hurriedly toss sheets of camouflage over their stalls, pulling them down low until it seemed as if there never was a market to begin with. 

The owner of the stall Klango had been examining pulled him under the cover, telling him to stay still and be silent. But the hoop-head was a curious guy, and he couldn’t resist taking at least a small peek.

High above, a massive, winged creature circled the skies, blotting out the sun in the clearing. The only light came from a few luminescent fruits that Klango had been checking out, which now lit up the inside of the canvas that covered the stall.

He ducked back under the cover of the stall, and turned to the owner. “What is that?”

The blue Ynt responded in a nasally voice, lilting cicada-ish: “That is, right there, that is the Shadowbird, yes. A big creature that has been plaguing our land! Eating Ynts like snacks, yes! It came from another world, ah, another world. We thinks it will be moving on soon! We hopes. For our children’s sake, yes.”

Klang nodded, sneaking another glimpse of the creature. “Incredible. . . Do you know where it lands?”

The Ynt farmer was happy to escort Klango to the foot of a terrifyingly high mountain that the animal perched upon while it napped, but he would go no further. So, the hoop-head climbed the treacherous mountain alone, and it took him many hours, but at last he stood at the snout of the massive beast.

It was furred, and it had six eyes, all of which were closed, as it was sleeping. Klang stood directly in front of the creature’s nostrils, which blew warm air all over him whenever it exhaled. The beast was terrifying and glorious, all at once.

He stepped close, reaching out a tentative hand to stroke the nose of the beast. It was velvety, like the nose of a horse, and the animal did not seem to feel it. While it still slept, Klango took the chance to examine the beast, take note of anything he deemed, well, noteworthy.

He found it to have six eyes, pointed fangs, a ridge of tufty fur stretching down the length of its spine, enormous paws like those of a monstrous cat, six pairs of feathered wings, and a long, tufted tail.

Klango began to make his way back up to the creature’s head, but, when he had just reached the belly, it began to move! Acting fast, he leapt onto the beast, clambering onto its back to grip the fur between the second and third pairs of wings. Large as it was, it did not seem to notice this - and, after a quick stretch of limbs and wings, it took off into the air.

It soared over the land, high up in the sky. Klang peered over the edge and caught a few glimpses of the Ynt communities below, but he did this seldom, and very carefully, lest he fall off. The beast flew over the world, once, twice, thrice, then started to ascend even higher! Soon, they broke free of the clouds, and through a clump of shimmering stardust. Klango sat up, awestruck, as for the first time in years he could see Creation again in all of its glory.

But, as the beast was turning while he sat up, it caught a glimpse of him in one of its black eyes. Letting out a terrifying screech, it began to buck, upseating Klang and flinging him off its back. The hoop-head called out a farewell as he fell. Then, he realised he was falling.

He barely had time to scream, “AAAAAUGH-” before he hit solid ground, and everything went black.

~~~

"Hey, new guy? Hello? You awake?"

Klang sat up immediately, but a massive headache pierced his head, and so he flopped back down just as quick. “. . . Heryl? S’that you?”

“Huh? What’s a Heryl?”

The deja-vu faded, and Klango realised that it wasn’t at all the Skullmonkey he’d hoped it was. “Never mind. . .”

He opened his eyes to see a being standing above him. They looked similar to himself, with four limbs, buttons on their torso, and in the overall shape - but their colors were all different, and, instead of a hoop, they had two stems poking out of the top of their head. The being held out a hand to help Klang sit up, which he took hesitantly.

Looking around, Klang realised he was in a long, pale hallway. Writing covered the walls of the hall, and it all seemed. . . familiar. He mentally compared it to the Hall he had known on Guhrli; yep, this was a Hall of Records. He must be on one of the worlds of a son of Quater.

Standing, he turned back to the being, who was still and staring at him silently, a small, pleasant smile spread across their face. “Er - Where am I?”

“The Neverhood, of course!” The being replied, without hesitation.

“Erm. . . Never heard of it.”

“A klay neighbourhood, created by Hoborg, sixth son of Quater?”

Klango nodded slowly. “That sounds more familiar. . . But, in the Records- isn’t it referred to as ‘The Everhood’?”

The being laughed. “Guess you haven’t read the update yet. I’m Kleff, by the way.” They grinned as they introduced themself. Klango couldn’t help but return the contagious smile. “Klango. Or Klang, whatever you prefer.”

“Alright, Klang.” They reached out a hand to shake, which Klang readily took.

When Kleff took the lead and brought Klang outside, it was night. Or, at least, with no discernable sun, it was dark out, and no other beings could be seen.

Softly glowing paths lit up the ground with their swirly patterns, and joined a larger swirl in the middle of the area they stood in. A spindly tree bloomed in the centre of the area, covered in blossoms, vines and spikes, and tall buildings surrounded the tree in a circular pattern, each unique to their neighbour.

~~~ Thank you so much for returning to read! <3 Part One here. Part Two here.

Part Four here.

Part Five (END) here.

[icedcappujaeno]

fish, knives, and everything nice with: taeyong

A story of your adventures with your dog and the gang leader next door.

→ genre: fluff, slight angst → words: 5.5k → pair: gang leader!Taeyong & doctor!reader

warnings: assaulting, knives, violence, smoking

( a/n: It’s finally done! goodbye writer’s block--hopefully. I’ve always wanted to write something revolving around Taeyong’s duality, and I hope you all enjoy reading this! also, sorry for mobile users. i really am. it frustrates me too. )

“Oh my god, Fish! Did you eat my slippers again?!”

You won’t really consider your day-off as a day of relaxation – clearly, it was the other way around.

The one pair of your newly bought flip-flops was now in your dog’s mouth, chewing on its rubbery goodness as one of its straps is almost at the edge of its end.

You pulled the lone flip-flop and sighed, slightly annoyed as Fish’s saliva run down with gravity on your floor. It was probably he needed some attention lately as you’ve been working on consecutive afternoon shifts of five o’clock to two in the morning, sometimes even more with overtime and endorsements. You’re really trying to be understanding, but this has gone too far.

“Fish, I swear to god,” you started, but as you looked at his eyes, the scolding retracted from your lips back to your throat. Large, dark pools of brown stared at yours as if begging – questioning if he did anything wrong.

“Oh no no, baby, it’s okay,” you cooed as you sat to his level, arms wrapping around the soft fur of your beloved golden retriever in its glorious fluff. “I’m sorry baby, but please don’t eat mommy’s slippers again…”

As if he could understand (which you know he does), he licked your cheeks and a soft giggle came out of your lips. He maybe a handful, but at least his company and fluffiness make it worth all.

You unwrapped your arms around his fluffy body and went to get his leash.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

Fish responded with a (happy) bark and started to run in circles in excitement. It was truly inevitable to laugh, and once you caught him you secured the leash around his body, his tail wagging left and right.

“Alright, let’s go.”

It was past four o’clock when you got back, both you and Fish tired from the stroll. You were fishing the keys to your apartment from your bag and noticed a guy with an ash brown hair sitting just outside your neighbor’s door (which you have never seen), a cigarette between his index and middle finger as he casually scrolled on his phone.

He seemed to notice and acknowledge your presence, nodding to your way with a small smile on his lips.

You nodded back in a silent greeting, trying to at least curve your lips upwards but the scent of the smoke from the cigarette was displeasing your smell. As an advocate to a “smoke-free” world and as a medical professional, at the scent of a cigarette smoke, your nose scrunched up – and that’s what you did.

The face of disgust was obviously painted on your face and he noticed it clearly, which caused him to bite his lower lip. He sighed and extinguished the small cig on the ash tray beside him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, clearing his throat.

Fish started barking at him when he spoke, and you shushed him but to no avail. The man simply chuckled and came closer to you and your dog, not minding as if Fish is going to bite him and devour him to pieces.

“He’s so cute,” he said, a wide grin forming on his lips. “So, you’re the one crying at one in the morning huh.”

Fish never stopped barking at him, yet the man looked at you with those brown eyes, and when you thought it was menacing – you clearly thought wrong. It was full of softness and excitement as it bore onto yours.

“What’s his name?”

“Fish.”

He looked at you skeptically, a brown brow raising slowly. “You named your dog Fish?”

“Yeah…I get that a lot,” you chuckled sheepishly.

“Okay,” he shook his head, clearly amused with your dog’s name. “Hello Fish! I bet you’re a good boy!”

Upon hearing his name along with the words: good boy, Fish seemed to settle down and wag his tail and panting in excitement. The man’s hand went over his head and Fish looked at it expectantly, closing his mouth, waiting his hand to land on his head.

And it did.

He ruffled your dog’s head, much to its excitement. His grin never left his dark lips while he muttered phrases of compliments to Fish.

You took note of what he’s wearing, a black shirt with a print on it partnered with ripped jeans. You noticed the piercings on his ears and a slit on his eyebrows – the latter fascinating your aesthetics.

“Ah, so you’re my neighbor?” You said while he continued to pet your dog.

“I guess…” he replied nonchalantly. “You’re the one next door?”

“I am.”

“So we are,” he laughed, standing up while bowing slightly and extended his arms out to your way. “I’m Taeyong. Nice to meet ya. And Fish, of course.”

You took his hand and shook it lightly, noticing how calloused it was, but not noticing the scars on it with the dim light.

“Nice to meet you as well, Taeyong. I’m (Y/N).”

You broke the contact and bowed lightly to show respect back. “Well, Taeyong, it was nice meeting you. We have to head back now.”

“Oh, sure,” he moved slightly to let you and Fish pass through the narrow corridor.

You and Fish walked pass him and as you opened the door to your apartment, Fish already ran inside while you took a glance back to your newly introduced neighbor.

“See you around.”

“Yeah, see you ‘round (Y/N).”

The endless PM shifts almost had your circadian cycle broken, and you’re really trying your best to at least do some of the chores during the day when the sun is up – but your body seemed to miss the covers of your bed and the fluff of your dog as always.

Going home at 3 in the morning doesn’t really sound safe as well but staying in the hospital means more work which will cause you to think about Fish – which, will make you lonely.

At those 3 AMs when you’re about to open the door to your apartment, Taeyong would follow – not in a strange way. Rather, you figured that it is also the time where he comes back to his home. When he noticed your presence, he’d only nod and smile in greeting like the first time you met. You return the gesture, although, in those times, it made you curiously wonder what kind of job Taeyong have.

And in those times, you’ve always failed to notice the bruises on the side of his lips and sometimes even a small black eye – courtesy of the dim and others, broke lightning of the corridor to your respective apartments.

An hour has passed since you came home – and you’re ever ready to crash on your bed when you hear your doorbell rang.

It’s four in the fucking morning, you groaned, mentally cursing at the one ringing the bell.

Oddly enough, Fish doesn’t bark at the door as he just continued to sleep on his bed beside yours.

Your hands flew to the strands of your hair in annoyance, angrily stomping your foot to the door and peeked at who’s standing behind your door.

It was Taeyong, his hand propped on the wall beside your door with his head looking downwards to his shoes.

You opened the door forcefully and when you were about to lash out on him for interrupting your bed time, his body leaned to you – head touching your shoulders for support. Your arms instinctively propped him in support, noticing how ragged and heavy his breaths are. His head was still hung low, and you noticed spots of dark red on his faded white converse sneakers.

“Taeyong? What happened?”

His head just shook in reply, and you shifted your weight to support him properly, putting an arm around his shoulder and letting him lean to you as you guided him to your couch. His body heavily plopped down on the couch, and all the sleepiness from earlier wore off when you looked at his face –

A wound on his cheek with the blood now dried, a bruise on the side of his left lip about the size of a cent, and a black eye.

“Holy shit, Taeyong!” You quickly collected your composure and got your first aid kit on the shelf, dropping it on your coffee table and ran back again to get some ice cubes to put in the ice pack. “What the hell happened?!”

“Nothing serious,” he groaned, and he was visibly enduring the pain. You sat beside him when you finished preparing for giving the first aid treatment – holding his cheek with your hand while the other cleaned the bruises with a warm towel.

“Nothing serious? Really? With all these wounds and bruises and blood? Holy shit, who did this to you?” You told him as you handed him the ice pack which he put over his black eye.

“You’re gonna wake Fish up,” he chuckled weakly, and how you wanted to add another bruise on his face for making a joke while in this condition. The pressure on your hand as you cleaned the bruise got heavier which made him wince. “Come on (Y/N). I’m just joking.”

“Exactly my point!” you blurted, then proceeded to get the betadine from your first aid kit, pouring some on a cotton ball and patting it to the wound on his cheek. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

Taeyong only remained silent but there was a weak smile tugging at his lips as he looks at your furrowed brows when you disinfected his wounds. He had to admit though, he was – knocked down, but it isn’t as worse as before. He didn’t need to tell you that though – he knew it’ll only add up to your worries and he didn’t want that.

Also, you look cute while working on something.

Fish had already moved from his side as you attended to Taeyong, not minding his presence at all. While you continued to attend to his wounds, his hand moved slightly to scratch Fish’s belly which he obviously loved.

After minutes of silence that seemed like forever to Taeyong, you sighed heavily, putting a band-aid over his bruises.  You fixed your first aid kit and grabbed for your phone, dialing the polices’ number.

He saw this and snatched the phone away from your hands, ending the call before they could even answer.

“No cops,” he said, a little shaky. Although with a black eye, his dark orbs were glaring to yours – a lion dangerously eyeing for his prey, very different from the kitten eyes he had earlier. He ended the line before someone could even answer.

A shiver ran down your spine along with an audible gulp. He returned your phone back when he noticed your actions and stood up, almost falling back down on the couch if his hand didn’t support himself up by the couch.

“Thanks doc,” he said hoarsely, trying to avoid your gaze. You only nodded in reply.

Taeyong started limping back towards your door, and before he turned the knob he looked back to your direction, still trying to avoid eye contact with you.

“Best if you don’t tell this to anyone. Especially the cops.”

It was then confirmed in your mind that your neighbor was no ordinary man.

It has been a few days since the incident, and even though you’re still working on the same time shift, you never saw Taeyong go home. It’s not that you mind, but you had to admit that you kind of miss the smiles and “good morning, rather good night” moments you shared with him.

You heard furious knocks one afternoon, but not towards your door, but to your neighbor’s. You figured that you should tell whoever’s knocking that Taeyong isn’t going home anymore, so you grabbed your robe, hugging it to yourself when the cold air of November hit you when you opened your door.

The one who was knocking was the landlady, and her badly drawn thin brows were knitted and the wrinkles on her forehead were very visibly folded in annoyance.

“Ah, ahjumma, do you need something with Taeyong?”

“Yes!” she shouted, pointing to his door. “He missed the pay for the 2nd time now!”

You bit your lip and nodded, as if to sympathize with the older woman.

“Seems like he isn’t home, but I’ll tell you when he gets back.”

Her lips turned into a frown and her knitted brows didn’t bulge even the slightest bit. Her hands rested on her waist and when she seemed to be convinced with your statement, she grunted.

“Fine.”

And she left, stomping her way to the stairs.

You sighed and shook your head. To be honest, you don’t know what’s currently happening with your neighbor’s life, but you know that he’s involved in some shady things to not get the police involved. You never told anyone about that incident though, only you, Fish, and Taeyong knew.

You never got your sleep back to prepare for your graveyard shift again – and later that night, you decided to pass through the nearby convenience store to get some coffee to wake you up in your duty.

When you got out, not a few meters away from the store, as you walked into the part of the street with a broken streetlight, you felt an arm slung around your shoulder, and when you looked down there was a pocket knife pointing at your side. He was obviously taller than you, maybe a bit bulkier than Taeyong in built – and your body started to shake in fear.

“Give me your wallet and phone and I’ll let you live," you heard him hiss, the sharp edge of the knife was cold against your clothed side.

You could only nod weakly and when you were about to give him your bag – your heart beating rapidly and sweat began to form on your temples. Your mind is telling you to fight, kick him in the shin or elbow his face, but you were too scared to move even an in inch.

When you heard footsteps, not from your own or the man beside you, you prayed to whoever celestial being out there that to whoever these footsteps belong will help you.

And he did.

“Well, you let her go,” a voice called from behind, and even though it sounded familiar you still couldn’t be relieved with the knife still pointed at you. “And I’ll let you live.”

“Mind your own fucking business—” and when your assaulter turned around to see where the voice came from, a straight jab landed on his face. You took the opportunity to escape and run by your savior’s side, and your eyes can’t help but form droplets of tears that threatened to fall.

You never noticed who it was when you ran, but when you looked up to the ash brown lump of hair and familiar face, all the fear bubbling inside you was starting to disperse.

You noticed that Taeyong wasn’t alone, he was with two other men, one standing tall at around six feet tall, and the other not falling behind in terms of height. Meanwhile, Taeyong moved in front of you while the assaulter curled up in pain on the ground, and you can see blood coming out of his nose.

One of Taeyong’s friend squatted and poked the man’s side when he tried to stand. “Is Taeyong’s punch really that hard? Man, yesterday we just sparred and I didn’t reacted like this, right Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun, the man slightly shorter than the one who squatted, just shrugged and inserted his hands inside the pockets of his coat. “You didn’t hyung. Maybe he’s just weak as fuck.”

“Lee Taeyong,” the man murmured in agony while he tried to stand, his hand trying to cover his face both in embarrassment and to prevent the blood from his nose from dripping further. Taeyong took a step forward and he limped backwards. “Fuck you.”

You couldn’t see it but Taeyong’s eyes trained on the man’s figure with a predatory gaze, and even though he hasn’t said a word after he blew a punch on his face, you could feel his menacing aura that made him cower in fear.

“What should we do with him boss?” The tall man stood and cracked his neck side ward and rolled his shoulders, as if ready to pounce on the guy on Taeyong’s orders.

Jaehyun almost did the same, except he cracked his knuckles instead.

“I’m still thinking of it, Johnny hyung.”

As if he sensed the incoming danger coming his way, the man crammed up to run away from your group, leaving you all surprised for a few seconds. You let a deep breath out when the guy was out of your sight, but your knees are still weak from what happened.

If Taeyong and his friends didn’t come, you couldn’t imagine what will happen. Who will take care of Fish? Who would pay your rent? How will your colleagues know whose patients will you endorse?

Endorsements, patients.

“Holy shit, my patients – I’m gonna be late!” You shrieked, your eyes widening when you look at the time.

Taeyong gripped your wrist lightly, his face very different from the hardened features he wore not a few minutes ago. “Seriously doc? You were almost on the bridge of life and death and you still think about work?”

You blinked a few times and freed yourself from his hold. “Seriously Taeyong?” You said, imitating his tone. “You could say the same about yourself – knocking on my door on the bridge of life and death and you could still joke around last time?”

Johnny’s lips formed an ‘ooooh’ while Jaehyun’s eyes widened in amusement with his mouth agape. Someone actually did slam Taeyong – verbally, which was really rare within the gang since it’ll get back to them. You noticed the two trying to hold their giggles while your neighbor only looked at you with wide eyes.

After collecting himself, he glared at Johnny and Jaehyun and the two looked away in opposite directions.

“I’ll walk you to the hospital,” he offered, voice husky from the cold air. “Just tell ‘em you met some friend on the way and he was kinda clingy – the reason you’re late.”

You accepted the offer, and while it was a little embarrassing to have 3 guys escort you to the hospital, not to mention they were pretty much all good-looking, and you were really thankful to them as you felt safer walking with company.

Of course, a lot of your nurse colleagues saw this, making you the hot center of teasing for the entire benign duty.

Fish was currently resting his head on your lap while you work on your case studies one morning on your off, papers scrawled on the floor along with piles of books on your coffee table. You were already on your second cup of coffee and as you were typing your observations –

“You haven’t paid for the past two months Lee Taeyong!” you heard the landlady scream which made you jump from your seat – the effects of caffeine kicking in. Fish also jumped in surprise when he felt your leg bounce, but nevertheless he sensed no danger, so he went back to sleep.

You really wished that you could be in Fish’s place at least for today.

The elder lady’s voiced continued to roar from the outside, but you didn’t hear anything from your neighbor. Maybe he said something, but it was too soft beyond the walls to pass, or maybe he didn’t. You really hope he wouldn’t punch your landlady the same way he punched the assaulter from that night when he snapped.

The shouting lasted for at least ten minutes and when it stopped, you couldn’t help but pry, so you stood up, taking a break for at least five minutes so you could at least ask how your neighbor was coping.

He was still by his door when you saw him, leaning onto its frame while his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows were furrowed, and you knew that this added up to his problems, and you’ll be honest to say that you took pity on him. You were still holding to your door, only half of your body out just to peek on him.

“Hey,” you whispered but loud enough for him to hear. “You okay?”

He was slightly startled when he heard your voice, but he pressed a small smile on his lips. “Never better doc.”

You nodded and bit your lip. Of course, he wasn’t okay. Who would be when you’re about to be kicked out of your home just because you couldn’t pay for it?

Fish followed you without you noticing but when he got out, instead of running away from you which you expected, he went straight to Taeyong and nudged his head on his denim pants. His tail was wagging and then he licked Taeyong’s hand.

Taeyong seemed to soften with your dog’s gestures and sat to his level, when he started petting him, Fish licked his face and his eyes closed in reflex, but his nose was crinkling and then you heard him laugh softly.

“Hey buddy, that tickles.”

When you look at Taeyong this way, you realized how different he was from the Taeyong that saved you from that night. That Taeyong was menacing, simply his gaze was enough to scare the man away, his aura was dark and cold, and with the way his companions addressed him – how Jaehyun and Johnny acted around his presence, you could compare that Taeyong to a lion – the leader of a pack.

But the Taeyong in front of you now, his calloused hands rubbing the head and scratching the sides of Fish, his eyes soft while curved upwards, and a genuine, wide smile plastered on his lips – the Taeyong in front of you now is a kitten.

You walked towards their direction and sat like Taeyong did, rubbing Fish’s back as well. Fish obviously loved the attention and rolled over to lay on his back, wanting more and belly rubs, of course.

“Alright there, bud,” Taeyong said and stood up, opening the door to his apartment. “We can’t pet you here, it’s fucking cold and we’ll all get sick. Come in.”

Fish complied fast enough and entered his apartment which made you wonder if you were really his owner – to which Taeyong laughed at your amused reaction. He reached out his hand to yours and you accepted, standing up and you took note of how rough his hand felt against yours.

He let you enter first and to your surprise, it was pretty much normal, except from the knives resting on top of his coffee table. You were pretty sure that they weren’t used for the kitchen, it was the same type of knife the assaulter had from that night.

“Guess hiding that won’t do much,” he chuckled while shrugging, and he put his coat down on his couch while Fish excitedly circled himself around your neighbor. “Sit down doc, I’ll make us some hot choco.”

“Oh no, thank you—”

“I’d still make it,” and he was already by his kitchen, setting the pot over the stove to boil some water. While waiting he went over to the couch and sat, gesturing for you to take a sit as well. You did, and Fish sat down next to yours, but on the floor. His tail still wagged expectantly while he looks to you, and you couldn’t resist those doe eyes and started rubbing his head.

Taeyong watched the exchange in amusement, leaning forward and placed his elbows on his knees while he observed you – there were twinkles in your eyes every time you coo Fish’s name, and the soft giggles coming from your soft lips were melodious to his ears. He remembered how soft your hands felt when he dragged you inside, and the look of concern painted on your features when you were treating his wounds that evening, as well as how you looked at him earlier with sadness in your eyes when the landlady scolded him.

How could someone care so much, even if they are complete strangers and worlds apart?

“Taeyong?”

The sound of your voice broke his thoughts and he blinked, tilting his head while looking at you questioningly.

“The water’s boiling – it’s been whistling for almost a minute now,” you chuckled, noticing how he just broke himself from spacing out.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” he stuttered, springing back on his feet and walked to the kitchen counter to make the hot chocolates.

The tinkling of the spoon as he stirred the drinks were the only noises heard for a moment, and Fish settled down on the floor, using your foot as his pillow with the relaxing silence. Taeyong returned to couch and placed two mugs of hot chocolate on his coffee table, sliding one in your direction. You nodded and smiled when you held the mug in your hands, warming your skin with the heat it radiates.

The silence of comfortable as you both enjoy the drinks he made. You really wanted to say something though, especially talk to him about his rent, but you figured it was a sensitive topic for him to talk about.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, as if he was reading your thoughts. “I’m just a little short this month, but I can pay that shit in no time. Those bastards just haven’t paid me yet so.”

He placed his mug down and ran his hand through his ash brown tresses. “Why am I explaining to you, holy shit,” he laughed.

“I mean, what’s wrong with that?” You asked confusingly, and you placed your mug down as well and gently placed your hand on his shoulder. “We’re friends and neighbors, so that’s natural.”

“Why are you so kind?” he shook his head but the wide grin on his lips never disappeared. “I’m just a rascal loitering around while you go there on that white coat of yours saving lives like mine. It’s fucking amazing.”

“Eh,” you got your mug again and took a sip, emptying its contents. “It’s actually tiring.”

“Well at least you’re doing good stuff while getting tired. I get tired doing the complete opposite,” he laughed.

“To be honest, I was surprised you didn’t land one on ahjumma nor raised a voice at her earlier,” you chuckled along him.

“Ah, you gotta respect women y’know? Is what my mom told me a hundred of times.”

You didn’t know what to answer anymore but one thing’s for sure, Taeyong wasn’t as bad as you thought. Maybe what he does is, but you know that deep inside, he is a nice person.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” you looked at him with interest. “I don’t exactly know what time or day you’re here, but when I’m in the hospital and working and you’re here, can you baby sit Fish for me?”

He looked at you incredulously, but he wasn’t saying a word.

“My heart and mind will be cleared when I know someone is watching over him, eating his actual food instead of my slippers, stuff like that?” you continued. “I’ll pay you, I promise. I’ll also give you the key to my apartment in case…”

His eyes never left yours even when you finished, but just seconds after he burst a hearty laugh. You don’t exactly know what’s funny with what you said but his laugh is contagious, causing you to emit a soft giggle as well.

“Alright doc,” he said, wiping a tear from laughter from the side of his eye. “You’re funny and I like Fish, and you said you’ll pay me, so of course I’d took the bait.”

You mirrored the grin on his face, your eyes curving upwards in delight. “Thank you, Taeyong.”

Two weeks had passed and Taeyong lived up to your deal – he took care of Fish while you were on duty, letting him stay on his apartment. He also had paid for his rent with a little of it coming from your pay to him along with that guy paying his debt.

You also spent a lot of your free days with him, sometimes just hanging out in his apartment or yours, and sometimes even helping you out in your case studies by making you coffee and keeping you sane with company. In those times, you both shared a lot about yourselves, like you learned that he liked no music genre, it’s mostly influenced by his friends. NCT, the gang that he’s in, has no leader honestly, but the members treat him like one, so he acts like one.

Currently, you shared your schedules with him, so everytime you’re on graveyard duty, he promised to walk with you to the hospital which you are grateful for.

Everything seemed to be back to normal until one night, you saw Johnny peeking through your door quite frantically, knocking a few times and calling out to your empty apartment.

“Is there something you need?” You spoke, and his gaze followed the direction of your voice. He exhaled deeply when he saw your figure and walked, towering over your frame when he stood.

“Hey, you’re (Y/N), right?”

You nodded and furrowed your eyebrows. “Yeah, I am. You’re with Taeyong, right? Do you need something?”

“Technically, it isn’t me who needs something,” he shrugged. “It’s Taeyong.”

Your hand opened your door fully and worry started painting your features. “Why? Where is he? Is he okay?”

“Uh,” the taller man bit his lip, scratching his head as if he didn’t know what to tell you. “Just…just come inside, yeah?”

You nodded and hurriedly went inside Taeyong’s apartment, with the tall guy following suit. Inside was also the other guy that was with him that night, Jaehyun, as you remember, standing up from the smaller couch on the side when he saw you. He nodded but he looked at you blankly, and when your eyes trained to where you and Taeyong shared the hot chocolate, you saw him lying on it, his eyes closed but he was wincing.

Fish was by his side, licking his face but when he noticed your presence, he immediately jumped to your side, bumping Taeyong in the process to which he grunted. Your dog tried to get your attention but all of it was focused on Taeyong right now, observing the black eye around his left optic areas and a bright red bruise on the side of his lips, the former covered with an ice pack over it.

“He was walking your dog when this small group of our rival noticed him,” Jaehyun explained. “Glad we were meeting up with him so those shits ran when they us, but Taeyong hyung’s already been blown.”

“Funny though, he was hugging your dog,” Johnny added. “It was cute at first but—”

Taeyong glared at Johnny as if his life was on the line if he finished his sentence.

Johnny stopped midway when he met Taeyong’s gaze. “We already did some first aid like the usual, it wasn’t a serious beating tho—”

“Not a serious beating?” You rolled your eyes at Jaehyun and returned your gaze back to Taeyong. There was a small smile forming on his lips and peeked through half-lidded eyes.

“(Y/N), calm down,” Taeyong chuckled hoarsely. “At least Fish is okay.”

“Lee Taeyong, I swear—”

“This ain’t as bad as that night, I swear,” he sat up slowly and Jaehyun came by his side to help him. One hand held the ice pack to keep it in place, while his other placed gently onto yours. He nodded to Jaehyun and Johnny and they seemed to get the message and left the two of you alone.

The smile that etched his lips remained when he looked at you. Your eyes were still furrowed as you looked at him. His index finger poked your forehead and chuckled. You looked so god damn cute even you’re worried like this.

“I’m fine doc,” he said. He placed the ice pack on the table and slowly, his head leaning towards yours with your foreheads bumping.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said, and although the black eye you’re staring into right now told you otherwise, there is this gut feeling inside that you can trust to what he said.

“Fine,” you grumbled, closing your eyes in relaxation, and at this point your noses bumped together. His hands cupped the side of your cheeks, slowly…slowly waiting for his lips to descend upon yours –

But Fish had other ideas and snooped his snout in the small distance between you and Taeyong, which caused you to separate from him. Taeyong laughed awkwardly and so did you, and Fish seemed to notice your happiness and licked your face. Your nose scrunched up when he did and Taeyong’s laughs turned genuine, hugging your dog’s backside while lightly patting it.

“Ah, Fish!” He pulled him over, causing your dog and Taeyong to roll on the floor. “Why do you have to do that?!”

You giggled and decided to join them on the floor.

“God damn it,” Johnny sighed, lightning a cigarette up as he leaned by Taeyong’s door frame. “You think we should leave?”

Jaehyun shrugged, not even looking up from his phone. “They’re laughing their assess off, so I guess?”

[archadianskies]

the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

@dbhrarepairs  Sunday Day 7: Free Day; Fantasy + Supernatural; RK900/Simon

It is an unspoken rule: you are safe in Jericho. There are no ranks, no royalty, and certainly no witch hunters. Simon’s worked hard to keep it this way for five years now and strives to ensure it will stay as such in the years to come. It is, by all accounts, but a humble bakery in a bustling integrated town and it’s not the biggest nor the fanciest, not by far. But for Simon it’s home. Literally. He and his twin brother Daniel live upstairs.

Jericho’s reputation means it has its fair share of interesting patrons, most of whom Simon has eventually befriended. Most notable are those from the castle: Royal Scholar Joshua, Royal Protector North, and the princes themselves; Prince Leopold and Prince Markus. Not that Simon ever set out to sell to castlefolk but apparently no one makes berry loaves quite like he does or so Prince Markus says- something something his magic imbues baked goods with emotional properties. 

The Autumn Harvest Festival is soon to be upon them and Simon is kept busy, so busy he’s enlisted the help of fellow baker Kara and her little daughter Alice. She even manages to ensnare her towering husband Luther to help by heaving sacks of flour freshly packed at the mill and bring them to the bakery. King Carl will throw a grand celebration that will last all week, and the town will near triple in size as visitors flock in from out of town. It’s exhausting work but incredible money and Simon knows he can’t pass it up. He’ll spend the next week deep in preparation.

It’s one sunny afternoon, tempered by a breeze carrying the chilling promise of winter, that a new customer wanders into Jericho. It’s too early to be tourists and it’s too late to be a regular patron.

“Hello, welcome to Jericho.” Simon greets the older, greying man. He has tired warm eyes, his face weathered by time but also slashed with curious scars. “What can I get for you sir?”

“I uh, I’m new here. Me an’ my boys just moved in, just outside of town by the forest.” 

“Oh! You bought the hunter’s cottage.” Simon smiles warmly. “I’m glad. It’d been empty for so long now and it’s at such a lovely location.”

“Heard a lot about this place.” He mumbles gruffly, scratching his nape. “My sons, they’re…different. ‘Specially the younger one. I just wanted to suss this place out before bringin’ ‘em in.”

“They’re safe here at Jericho. No judgement, no hunters.” Simon vows solemnly. “They can eat here and my brother is a potions master so they’ll have plenty to drink of whatever their heart needs.”

“Hank Anderson.” The man introduces himself, and when Simon shakes his calloused hand he sees ropey scars all over it too.

“Simon Lambert.”

“I know I’m a bit late for the morning loaves but you got anything heartier? Meatier?” Hank looks around, curiously inspecting this and that.

“I still have a beef steak and peppercorn pie, how does that sound?” Simon offers, and Hank breaks into a grin.

“Sounds perfect.”

*~*~*

North perches up on the counter, plucking a blueberry tart and dropping a couple of coins into the till. “Saw that the hunter’s lodge was bought last week.” Her speech is muffled by her chewing. “A family?”

“Yes, a father and his sons.” Simon sighs and sweeps a few crumbs off the counter, trying to shoo her off to no avail. “I met him the other day, he seems nice. Curiously covered in scars though.”

“A soldier? A knight?” North guesses, expression piqued with interest. “Another hunter?”

“I don’t ask questions here.” Simon reminds her lightly, pouring her a glass of chipper tonic to boost her afternoon mood. “I hope to meet his sons soon. Maybe Alice will have a playmate, the dear girl’s been so lonely.”

“Hey, you got any of the cinnamon scrolls left?” She nearly tips over the counter in her attempt to peek behind, and Simon lunges to steady her.

“North!”

“Well do ya?” She grins at him, puffing a lock of hair from her face. Her magic emanates from her, an aura like wildfire, and sets her brown eyes ablaze. He rolls his eyes.

“I do. Two to go like usual?”

“Yeah if I don’t feed Josh he’ll just work til he passes out. Or try and eat his books, I dunno.” She drops more coins into the till as Simon carefully places the sticky scrolls in wax paper. “Tell me about the new family when you meet them, okay? I’m pretty curious. And y’know, doin’ my job. If he’s some shady guy then the Fam needs to know.”

“Will do.” He promises, handing her the scrolls and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Take care and say hello to Josh for me.”

*~*~*

When Hank visits the next day, there’s a huge dog at his side. It’s easily the size of Alice, and should it stand on its hind legs Simon knows it would probably see eye to eye with Luther himself. The bakery isn’t too full, but it isn’t empty either and the customers eye the canine warily. “This is err, this is Connor.” Hank gestures at the canine who immediately sits and offers what Simon thinks is a rather cute doggy smile. 

“Can I pat him? PLEASE?” Alice pipes up, peeking from behind Simon. “He looks SO fluffy!”

“He is fluffy, little Miss.” Hank chuckles. “Go right ahead.”

Alice darts out from behind him and rushes to the dog, immediately sinking her hands into his fur. “Hiiiiii Connor! I’m Alice!” Connor responds by flopping down and rolling over, showing his belly as his tail swishes side to side happily.

“You know,” Simon comes around to stand beside Hank, arms crossed, “I thought you said you were going to bring your sons here. There was no mention of a very large but very cute dog. What breed is he? Goodness he seems like a hunting mastiff and wolf hybrid.”

“...We’ll go with that, yeah. I never really did know.” Hank shrugs, grin a little self-conscious. “I didn’t raise ‘em, I sorta...just...took them in. They needed a home and someone to care for them.”

“Them?” Simon echoes, brows raised. “There’s another?”

“Uh yeah, there’s two of ‘em. This one is Connor, the other is Ronan. He’s not too good with people yet he’s sorta jus’ hiding until he gets used to this new place.”

“Two sons and two dogs, goodness me.” Simon laughs. “Well, feel free to take a seat and choose something to eat. I’ll pour you some of Danny’s restful tea.”

He loses himself to the humdrum of work, occasionally glancing over to where Hank is sitting on a bench by the window, his dog becoming a bed for Alice as she naps then and there atop his fluffy fur. It’s a steady trickle of customers, and plenty of soft amused smiles are coaxed from them when they see the little girl and the very large dog. The afternoon passes by, mellow and golden like time trapped in honey, and all too soon he’s counting the coins in the till and Kara is sweeping the floor. 

“Ah shit, I’m so sorry I guess I dozed off.” Hank chuckles, smile sheepish as he scratches his nape and stifles a yawn. “Guess that tea worked, huh?”

“I’m glad it did.” Simon smiles, bending to run his hand through Connor’s fur now he’s no longer handling foods. “You’ve been so well behaved, Connor, what a good boy.” He tweaks the tip of his ear playfully and the dog chuffs in response, squirming and wriggling until its sitting upright at attention. 

“Connor! I got you a snack!” Alice’s voice calls out sweetly, and she hurries from the kitchens holding a tray of meat scraps left from the beef pies. All too late does Simon see the knife teetering on the tray, and how Alice’s foot catches on the broom as Kara sweeps.

“Alice-!”

There’s a blur, something dark and fast, inhumanely fast knocking Simon over and lunging for Alice and when Simon’s senses catch up to him, there’s a very naked young man holding her with one arm, and holding the knife in his other hand. 

“Connor!” Hank nearly upends the table in his rush to cross the distance, and the very naked young man seems to belatedly notice he’s caught the knife blade-side in his hand. There’s blood running in rivulets from his grasp, there’s meat scraps all over the floor, and there’s a distressed girl in his hold who suddenly bursts into tears.

“Alice! Oh Alice!” Kara retrieves her daughter, and Simon still isn’t sure what is happening is actually happening.

“...Your dog is your son.” Simon manages at last. Hank’s shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around the very naked young man.

“...Err, yeah.”

“...I’ll get some bandages and salve.” He declares, and just leaves for upstairs.

With Kara and Alice sent home, Simon closes the bakery more for his own sanity than to keep it from prying eyes. He just needs time to process this, that’s all. He’s a witch, Jericho has always been a safe haven for witches whose magic had been exploited by the humans for a decade before King Carl’s adopted witch son fought hard for the right to be equal. Jericho has seen all sorts of magic users, even those with daemons, but this? This is magic he’s never encountered before.

When the initial shock has faded, and Connor’s in a set of Danny’s clothes with his palm tended to and healed, Simon decides the right thing to do is pack some leftover meat pie and walk the Andersons back to their cottage and hear them out. There is no judgement in Jericho, afterall, and Simon likes to learn about his patrons. 

“I uhh,” Hank sighs, scratching his beard and looking over at Connor. “I used to live in the neighbouring kingdom. My son Cole and I got into a nasty carriage accident in winter. He’d just turned six, love and light of my life. I rushed him to the closest healer but he’d been out with his friends, using red ice crystals.”

Simon winced. Red ice was a byproduct of common potion-making; red quartz that had its power depleted, but when heated by regular human flame and inhaled, could give the human user intense and vivid highs using the distorted remnants of magic. As much as the King tried to control it, especially since his own flesh and blood son was addicted to it, it’s still rampant in the kingdom. Simon remembers that well, and he also remembers befriending Prince Leo and listening to his sorrows and letting him weep and rage and just be. He recalls the withdrawals but he also recalls the bud of hope blossoming into friendship, friendship between a witch and a human. Red ice destroyed lives, but only if people failed to nurture those under its power.

“There was a witch who came to my aid and though they tried their best, worked for hours trying to heal Cole, he passed away.” There’s great sorrow there, a gaping chasm of grief Simon cannot ever comprehend. He reaches out and gently squeezes Hank’s shoulder.

“And then Hank found my brother and I.” Connor pipes up with a small smile. “We were being trained to become attack dogs by witch hunters.” The smile vanishes. “It was...a very cold, cruel upbringing. I was given to Hank as a trial to see if I could be weaponised by humans.”

“Didn’t sit right with me, seeing someone reduced to a dog meant to just obey without question.” Hank says gruffly, shaking his head. “I could see he was something more. When Ronan came along I just knew I had to give them a better chance.”

“It took us a while to find ourselves.” Connor confesses, his smile returning though it’s tinged with sadness. “We were mindless attack dogs for a while still, until we could break out of our conditioning.”

“And you’re more human than some sorry sods I’ve dealt with.” Hank grumbles, eliciting a laugh from Connor.

“Oh! I-” He smiles brightly, not bothering to finish his sentence before he breaks into a run and starts to strip off his borrowed clothes, near tripping flat on his face when he shucks off the boots. Connor leaps forward fluidly and then there’s the large brown shaggy wolf bounding ahead, playfully tackling an even larger, even darker wolf. The two roughhouse enthusiastically, oblivious to the way Hank rolls his eyes as he and Simon make their way down the path to the cottage, the abandoned clothes draped over Hank’s arm. When they’re close enough, the darker wolf sits bolts upright, Connor still pinned under him. He sniffs the air and then focuses his startling grey eyes on Simon. 

“Ronan, this is Simon.” Hank says slowly, grasping Simon’s elbow to stop him. A sliver of fear pinches Simon’s spine as he realises his muzzle is stained with blood. Connor wriggles beneath him, managing to butt his brother on the underside of his jaw with his head. It breaks Ronan’s stare, and he nips at Connor to chide him. Hank’s grip on Simon’s elbow is strong, and he guides him forward very slowly. Ronan snaps to attention again, eyes locked on him. Simon takes a deep breath, uncovering the pie and holding it out.

“I’m the baker at Jericho.” A pause, voice soft. “And I’m a witch. I thought I’d come introduce myself, since I met your father and your brother earlier today.”

“You’ve been hunting, haven’t you boy?” Hank’s voice turns warm and fond, and he steps ahead of Simon to reach out and gently muss the fur between Ronan’s ears. The wolf noses his cheek affectionately, chuffing in reply. “Yeah you stink of raw meat. Did you leave some for your brother? Of course you did, I know you did.” He laughs as Ronan presses his nose to his neck before resting his large head on Hank’s shoulder. “Alright alright, round the back and wash up. Simon’s come all the way from town with a very nice pie for us.”

Where Connor is all warm browns and soft friendly smiles, Ronan is cold greys and reserved observations. He is, as Hank noted, wary and sussing things out. They share the pie, and they converse, with Ronan making the occasional comment. Simon keeps the conversation honest and light, giving as much as Hank had given. He talks about a loving family before their magic manifested and being turned out on the streets and becoming a kitchenhand. Of learning how his emotions could be infused into foods made with his own hands, of how Danny could do the same with liquids. Nights spent feeding each other hopes and dreams and comfort. Ronan watches him with interest, brows creased. To steer the conversation away from darker thoughts he tells them about all the early mistakes, how Danny had forgotten to feed the yeast so the dough didn’t rise enough and when Simon baked it it tasted of bitter annoyance. They all share a laugh, and Simon notes with amusement the Anderson brothers tip their head back to laugh just like their father only their teeth are far more sharp.

“Ah it’s late, I must head home. There’s dough to prepare before bed.” Simon stands to excuse himself, and Ronan stands immediately after.

“I’ll walk you home.” He falters a little when they all blink at him in surprise. “It’s dark, and the roads are dangerous at night.”

“Well.” Simon smiles. “I guess I’ll be the safest traveler in the kingdom tonight.”

It’s true. There certainly can’t be any traveler safer than he, not with a giant wolf padding by his side. Ronan is hyper alert, sniffing the air and looking this way and that, striding just a little ahead of Simon to scout the area. Where Connor can vaguely pass off as a large crossbreed, there’s no mistaking Ronan and his hulking form. They aren’t affected by the moon as told by those old tales, no their form is more akin to putting on another set of clothes, Connor had told him. It’s simply another way to be. 

When they reach the town gates, Simon turns to his personal guard with a smile.

“Thank you for being such a gentleman, Ronan, I do appreciate it.” He reaches out without thinking, surprising the both of them when he gently pats his head. “I hope you visit Jericho soon.”

He visits him the very next day, in fact. Even as a human, he’s taller than most and cuts an imposing, intimidating figure. Ronan enters the bakery hesitantly, still unsure, still trying to find his feet amongst humans. A pair of young women dart him glances and smiles, giggling to themselves and whispering furiously as their cheeks pink with blush. Simon agrees that yes, Ronan is rather handsome, though he’ll never say it aloud.

“Hello Ronan.” He greets with a bright smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“I...wanted to see you. And Jericho.” He adds almost as an afterthought, and Simon ducks his head with a laugh.

“And here you are.” He gestures at one of the empty tables. “Take a seat, I'll bring you something to eat and drink.”

There’s a lull in customers so Simon takes a seat opposite Ronan, cup of tea in hand. 

“You mention your brother working here but I haven’t seen him.” Ronan comments, looking around.

“Danny works for one of the court officials most of the week, so he just prepares the brews on the weekends.” Simon explains, taking a sip of his favourite warm and calming tea. “Most people come here to buy breads and don’t tend to stay and eat so it’s not like we really ever run out.”

“So it’s mostly you?” 

“Yes. I love it here.” Simon smiles. “It’s my own little place. It brings me joy when people enjoy my food and that in turn helps me make more food for them to enjoy.”

*~*~*

It becomes a routine, having at least one Anderson, if not all three, visit him at least every second day. Simon ends up setting a large meat pie aside every time, so he can drop by after closing and off them the ‘leftover’, and once the pie is eaten Ronan will walk him home. He takes great comfort in his company, the large hulking wolf a warm presence at his side and Simon does indeed feel much safer even if Danny complains of him reeking of dog. With the festival drawing ever closer, Hank and Connor are employed by the guards as part of extra security measures meaning Ronan is often the only one at home after Simon finishes closing the bakery. Not that he minds, since little by little Ronan’s opening up to him and the conversation flows easier, is less stilted and hesitant. He finds himself looking forward to their time together, and revels in each little personal victory whenever he manages to coax a smile or an ever elusive laugh from the other man.

He sends Kara and Alice home just as the sun dips below the horizon. The festival is in two days time and at the end of each day the bakery is completely empty of goods as people stock up. It’s a good feeling, a feeling of pride and accomplishment that also translates into flavourful, rich foods with every new batch Simon makes. The regulars know that the sweetest, happiest pastries must be bought just before the festival when Simon’s riding the giddy feeling of anticipation and excitement. He can’t fault them; it’s true, after all. He makes sure to set aside a whole basket of goods for the royal family, and this time he also sets side a richly stewed mushroom and beef pie with spices baked into the crust for the Andersons. The bell above the door tinkles, and heavy footsteps plod into the bakery.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed!” Simon calls out, wandering back from the storage room. There’s a gang of broad muscular men led by a severe looking man in black robes. 

“Oh we know.” He smirks, and his eyes are cold as ice. “So this is Jericho, hm? A filthy little rats nest for all the rats to scurry to.”

“Everyone is welcome here in Jericho,” Simon says firmly. “Even witch hunters. So long as you leave your prejudices at the door.”

They laugh at that, and the leader steps closer and closer to Simon. “You think you’re safe here? That just because you’ve made fancy rules we’re supposed to obey them? Your kind are meant to serve us.”

“And this bakery does indeed serve bread to humans.” Simon points out lightly with a faint smile. “As it does to witches.”

“Not anymore.” The man snarls and backhands Simon before grabbing him by the throat. “Just because the King adopted a filthy witch doesn’t make it all better. Your kind will never be equal to us.” 

He claws at the man’s hand, trying to gasp for air. His henchmen laugh and begin to smash the chairs against the tables, against the shelves, against the windows. Simon manages to kick his assailant square in the chest, causing him to stumble back and let him go. It only enrages him further and Simon’s vision bursts into stars as the man punches him to the ground. A boot plants itself on his head, pressing him down onto the floor and Simon watches helplessly as the men ransack his beloved bakery and ruin the next day’s preparations. He thanks the Fates he locked the storage before stepping out, and that he’d sent Kara and Alice home already. 

“Captain Perkins! We have to go!” One of the men shout, and there’s a commotion as they all rush to leave. Captain Perkins stares down at Simon like he’s stepped in filth, sneering at him before pulling his foot back and kicking him in the stomach.

“This isn’t over yet, vermin.”

It’s fine. It’s alright. No one else got hurt. The gift basket for the royal family is safe and sound, and for all the destruction the men didn’t even think to steal the money from the till. Though Simon supposes this wasn’t for monetary gain at all. He sits up gingerly and then properly vomits red, his head spinning and his stomach sore. His vision still pulses with lights, his jaw aches and his limbs don’t want to listen to him. It takes him four tries to get to his feet, and he only succeeds because he scoots ever so slowly over to the counter. His palms are shredded from the broken glass but he’s upright now, and somehow, somehow all he can think of is that he’s late and Ronan will be waiting. So he gathers his travelling cloak, places the pie very carefully into a basket, and leaves through the back door.

It’s fine, everything is fine and Simon’s not sure if it’s magic or just his own stubbornness that takes what just happened and locks it in a box, throws away the key, and buries it in a grave. He has a cemetery for events like these, like his parents throwing him out with Danny when their powers manifested, like being chased from their town, like the time Danny got sick with fever and almost died and said the most horrible things to try and get him to leave so he wouldn’t fall ill too. It’s fine. It’s gone. 

A big dark wolf bounds out from the forest behind the hunter’s cottage, its gait springy and joyful before it turns into an urgent run as Simon limps down the path. He clumsily tugs at his travelling cloak as Ronan shivers back upright, his face a mask of horror as Simon hands him his cloak so he isn’t standing there naked. 

“Simon-!”

“Ronan it’s cold, wear this.”

“You’re bleeding, you’re-!” He pulls him into his arms suddenly, sniffing and nosing him and Simon tries to batt him away in surprise.

“You smell like a hunter. A witch hunter-” Ronan decides whole sentences are too much for the moment and simply scoops Simon up into his arms and rushes him inside, ignoring his protests. He sets him down on a chair in the kitchen. “Wait, I’ll get Hank’s healing kit.”

Simon feels a little embarrassed. He’s fine after all. Oh and the pie is fine, he discovers triumphantly as he places the basket on the table and unearths the lovely creation still wrapped in a tea towel. Just needs a bit of time in the oven, and it’ll be ready for dinner.

“Simon what happened?” Ronan demands, reappearing with a small chest in his hands and proper clothes on his body. “You reek of witch hunters and blood and- and- something else. Something familiar but I can’t place it.”

The chest is placed on the table, Ronan glancing at the pie briefly before he opens the kit and fishes out a small bottle and some gauze. Gently, ever so gently, he daubs tonic on Simon’s injuries.

“Simon? Please talk to me.” There’s a plea in his tone, panic in those stormy grey eyes that Simon’s always fancied were beautiful. 

“Oh um,” his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth like he’s stuffed it full of flour. “Um. A band of witch hunters ransacked Jericho and destroyed all my furniture and they ruined my festival preparations but it’s ok I saved your dinner.”

There’s a moment, a pause, a long drawn out pause as Ronan looks at him in utter horror.

“What?”

“Oh and the gift basket I prepared for the Manfreds, that’s alright too. And the till. They didn’t take any money and no one was hurt so it’s okay. It’s fine.”

“You were hurt, Simon!” Ronan near shouts at him, panic leaking into his voice. “They hurt you!”

“I’m okay. I sent Kara and Alice home before they arrived. A shame about the bakery though, they really did just...break...everything…” It takes him far too long to realise he’s crying, that tears are running down his cheeks and he’s gasping for breath and his stomach still feels tight and raw. “They destroyed everything and I won’t have anything ready for the festival and we really needed the money, I was going to buy Danny a new cloak and a pretty bonnet for Alice’s birthday and-” He’s sobbing now, and the physical pain somehow feels right, too, a rightful mixture of heartache and a stomach ache and a jaw ache and a headache. Ronan’s still looking at him in horror, and then he’s leaning forward and wrapping Simon up in his arms and Simon nearly howls with sorrow as he cries and cries and cries.

He’s not sure how much time passes but the door is kicked open and Connor leaps through in his wolf form before scrambling back into a more humanoid form. His teeth are still wrong, his ears still a little pointed and tufty. “I smelled blood! I smelled witch hunters! Simon what happened?!”

“That’s exactly what happened.” Ronan snaps, though the anger isn’t directed at Connor at all. Simon manages some sort of noise, a confirmation of sorts as he clings to Ronan, cheek mushed on his shoulder. He’s tired but he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Hank huffs and puffs into the cottage a short while after, throwing Connor’s clothes to the side the moment he sees Simon’s sorry self.

“Shit, Simon! What the fuck happened?!”

“Captain Perkins.” Simon recalls belatedly. “The witch hunters- one of them called the leader Captain Perkins.”

Connor and Ronan freeze, eyes wide. 

“Perkins oh that sick motherfucker.” Hank curses, rage in his eyes. “He did this to you?”

“He destroyed Jericho too.” Ronan adds curtly, lips pulled back in a snarl. “And he made sure to do it a day before the Festival.”

“Um, I did manage to save dinner though?” Simon gestures at the pie. 

“...Simon, that’s-”

“Very kind of you.” Connor says gently. “I’ll get the oven going. Dad, can you make tea?”

“Err, right. Yeah. I can make tea.”

“It’s best if you get out of these clothes and into some clean ones.” Ronan helps him up and Simon’s legs are as wobbly as a newborn foal. Spots wink in and out of his vision and he winces, clinging to Ronan tightly. “It’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you Simon.”

They have pie while he wears Ronan’s clothes and they sip tea Hank made and all the while Connor and Ronan exchange venomous glances, seemingly having an entire conversation without words. Or maybe they did use words. Simon really can’t concentrate. He’s given something purple to drink and very gently guided to a large bed and heavy quilts are tucked over him and he thinks someone brushes his hair back from his face and kisses his temple but he’s not sure if that really happened or just something he wishes happened to him. Simon sleeps and he doesn’t dream of anything.

When he wakes it’s late, far too late for baking loaves and pastries, and it should horrify him but if there’s no functioning bakery then it’s really not a problem is it? There’s a bowl of fruits and a glass of juice on the bedside table along with a note telling him to stay here and rest. Alright. He can do that. What else is there to do, anyway? He nibbles on blueberries and some apple slices, drinks the glass of sweet peach juice and then slumps back under the quilts. He sleeps and dreams of picnicking under starlight with a large dark wolf curled at his side.

When he wakes again it’s late, so late the sun is long gone below the horizon and the nightly chill has filled the house. A wolf’s howl breaks through the quiet, joined by another a moment later. Simon smiles sleepily, testing his feet on the floorboards and finding being upright agrees with him again. Snagging his cloak from the stand, he wraps it around himself before stepping outside. He can see Connor and Ronan in the distance, heads tipped back as they howl in harmony. They turn to look at him, their movement as one, before Connor breaks away and runs back into the forest. Ronan remains still, unmoving, like a statue carved of granite. Simon sighs. He has to do all the work around here apparently. Closing the distance between them, Simon realises he may not have the nose of a wolf but Ronan reeks of blood. When he’s close enough, he can see the wolf stained in red, not just on the muzzle but all over his entire body as if he’s soaked himself in it. Which he has, probably, and a hysterical little giggle escapes Simon when he realises this is the fate of Captain Perkins.

“I see you and your brother went hunting tonight.” Simon reaches out slowly and runs his hand along the side of his muzzle, the fur wet and sticky with fresh blood. “Tasty?” The wolf pulls back its lips in a snarl of disgust, huffing his disagreement and Simon laughs. “No, witch-hunters probably taste foul. All that hate in their veins rotting them away. Best you didn’t feast on them.” He’s trembling- from fear or exhilaration he’s not sure. Maybe both? Quite possibly both. It’s the thrill of exhilaration that leads him to wrap his arms around the wolf’s neck and he doesn’t even mind the blood. “Thank you. Now he’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

There’s a rush of magic, a thrum so strong he feels it in his bones and all at once he’s embracing Ronan in his human form. He wraps him up in his cloak. “You really ought to have waited until we were inside you silly dog.” He scolds lightly, lips curved up in a teasing smile. 

“My brother and I run hot, it takes a lot for us to feel cold.” Ronan mumbles, his mouth still stained red. “It’s you who should still be inside.”

“I’ll go back in a second.” He takes a moment to fuss over him, to slick back his dark hair damp with sweat and blood so it doesn’t stick to his face. “Really though, thank you.”

“Hank has made sure to notify the King himself, and Jericho will be rebuilt. His Majesty granted you access to the royal kitchens so you can still bake while your bakery is reconstructed.” Ronan speaks so earnestly Simon feels overwhelmed tears prick his eyes. 

“Does the King know what happened to Captain Perkins?”

“...He fell to beasts in the forest. He shouldn’t have tried to travel after nightfall.” Ronan says lightly, a grin twitching at his lips. 

“It’s because he didn’t have a guardian at his side.” Simon quips. “Otherwise he’d have been the safest traveller in all the kingdoms.”

Ronan looks at him with such fondness, leaning in to bump their noses together in a gesture that strikes Simon as rather puppylike. 

“I’ll protect you, Simon. If you’ll let me.” 

Simon doesn’t answer right away, taking a moment just to admire Ronan Anderson under the bright moonlight naked as the day he was born save for Simon’s travelling cloak. He knows he should feel horrified. The brothers are, in some way, monsters to be feared. There’s something humorous about all this, though,  about everything that’s happened, that’s led to where they are right this very moment. It’s a funny little turn of events, and he chooses to see it that way, chooses to bury another box and in that box is the fear that should have been felt. 

He realises he loves him in a monstrous way, that all this feels right and sanctified and just. He presses his mouth to his, and their first kiss tastes of death and victory at all once.

“I’d like that very much.”  

[paradisobound]

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 22

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 3.4k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing 

Rating: Explicit

Updates will be every Sunday around 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3 | WATTPAD**

A/N: I’m heading off to see Endgame so you get the chapter 3 hours early! :) 

Phil didn’t know what sadness truly was until he was walking through London Heathrow airport with his tail between his legs and his bag on his shoulders, dried tears on his cheeks. 

It had been the saddest goodbye he’d ever had to give someone and frankly, he used to say that was definitely when he had left his parent’s home to go to Uni in Manchester. 

But he’s hurting and he feels like he left a bit of his heart in Los Angeles with Dan. And as he steps foot into his flat, jet lag kicking his ass, he cries harder than he allowed himself to in LAX after leaving Dan behind. 

He feels a bit ashamed about it. He feels like he shouldn’t be crying over leaving Dan in Los Angeles because Dan found out the night before he’ll be in London in a few weeks time for a movie premiere. But as Phil thinks about the way Dan cried at the airport as he said one last goodbye in the car outside, he cries that much harder. 

He’s supposed to go pick up Spike from PJ but he feels lousy and like he needs a day to recuperate. But he also knows that PJ is going to want to hear about Dan and LA and he’s not quite sure if he wants to speak about that yet. 

When the last of his tears stop and he texts Dan to tell him he made it back okay, he takes a cool shower to wash off the stench of airplane and then gets dressed and heads out to the nearest tube station to go to PJ’s. 

PJ answers the door when he gets there and Spike is immediately attacking Phil’s legs, trying to get his attention. Phil didn’t realize how much he missed his energetic pup until he was picking him up and cuddling him against his chest as he squirmed. 

“How was he?” Phil asked, running his hand through Spike’s fur. 

“He was great!” PJ said, opening the door wider so Phil could walk inside of his flat. “Only destroyed one slipper but I got it from Poundland so no harm done.” 

Phil let out a snort and let his pup back down on the floor so he could continue to sniff and run around Phil’s legs. 

“Do you want any food or a drink?” PJ asks, moving quickly towards the kitchen. “No offense mate but you look a bit sickly.” 

Phil shook his head and followed PJ to the counter where he sat on one of the stools. PJ passed him a glass of water and Phil picked it up, taking a long sip of it, not realizing how dehydrated he felt. “I’m pretty jet lagged if I’m being honest.” Phil answers finally. “These time zones are kicking my ass.” 

“How was Dan?” PJ asks, seemingly out of the blue. Phil doesn’t know why it catches him off guard but it does. 

“He’s fine.” Phil says. “I mean, he had a few things he had to go to that I went with him to but other than that, we mostly just stayed in.” 

“Any saucy details?” 

Phil looks up from his glass of water and sees the way PJ is smirking at him. Phil feels his face flush as he thinks about the night before―was it the night before? Time zones are confusing…where he and Dan shared such intimate moments together. His stomach tingled at the thought of having sex with Dan and how glorious it had felt. And they had sex twice. The first time and then another time later that night before they went to sleep. Phil was honestly never forget the sight of Dan coming undone above him as he rode him so well. 

“I’m not getting into them.” 

“No?” PJ picks. “Didn’t go dancing in the sheets?” 

Phil blushed and hid his face as he laughed nervously. “Peej!” He cried. “I’m not talking about my sex life.” 

“Oh!” PJ exclaimed, poking a finger into Phil’s arm. “So there IS a sex life to be spoken about! How was it? Did you both…rock each others worlds?” 

Phil groaned and put his hands back down as he cocked his eyebrow at PJ and shook his head. “I’m not saying.” 

“But you’re blushing!” 

“Maybe so.” 

PJ gave him an all knowing smile and then rested against the counter on his elbows. “I talked with Louise a bit and she was saying how she has some new projects for us to work on when you return back to work.” 

“Like what?” 

PJ swatted his hand in the air. “I don’t know…probably some bloody useless thing that Louise is too lazy to do herself.” 

Phil groaned again. He wasn’t fully in the mood to go back to work and he wasn’t fully in the mood to deal with anything Louise was going to throw his way. Especially when he’s been struggling a bit with thinking about the BBC in context with his future ever since he had that conversation with Dan. In fact, it’s been gnawing at him a bit. 

“I really am not ready to go back.” 

“When is your first day?” 

“Tomorrow.” Phil answers. “Louise only gave me a week, including traveling. I didn’t get a lot of time.” 

“That sucks mate.” PJ says. “Suppose I shouldn’t keep you then so you can go back to your flat and relax for the evening.” 

Phil nodded, standing up and pulling down his sweatshirt that had come as he sat. He bent down and picked up Spike in his arms before walking with PJ to grab Spike’s things and put the backpack onto his back. 

Phil took the tube back to his flat and as soon as he walked inside and let Spike go, he clambered over to his couch and laid down, shutting his eyes and falling nearly immediately to sleep. 

***

Jet lag fucked Phil over. 

It fucked Phil over because it was currently 3am and he was sitting wide awake with a mug of coffee in his hand as he scrolled through his social media on his laptop. He’d taken about a six hour snooze that afternoon and was paying the price now as he struggled to fall back asleep. He pretty much gave up a half an hour ago and resided to just staying up. 

He’d tried texting Dan but he knew he wasn’t going to answer because Dan was currently flying out to New York for the next few days to film one final scene for his movie before it goes into post-production. 

So Dan was honestly probably on a plane somewhere else and he wouldn’t get to talk to him until tomorrow. 

Fuck, he missed Dan so damn much. 

His eyes well up a bit again and he wills for himself to not cry. He’s done enough of that. He’ll be seeing Dan soon. He has to keep reminding himself of that. Dan will be back in London in just a few weeks and they’ll be here, in Phil’s flat. It’ll be okay. 

He sets down his mug of coffee on his night stand and lays back down in his bed, shutting his laptop screen. He closes his eyes and tries to get himself to maybe get a few more hours. 

They don’t ever come before his alarm goes off at seven but he still wished he could have. 

He dresses and leaves his flat, giving Spike plenty of hugs and kisses and belly rubs on the way out to make up for not being around much. He manages to get himself onto the tube and then get to the BBC without anything major happening. 

He gets let into the building and then on the way up to his office, he finds himself the be the product of stares and even a few glares. He shakes them off and tries to ignore them as he makes his way to his office. 

Phil takes a seat and digs out his laptop and his little keychain that he bought for Darcy and sets them on his desk. When he looks back up, PJ is looking at him with an intense stare that doesn’t quite compute with the same warm greeting he had gotten yesterday at PJ’s flat. 

To say he’s confused is an understatement. 

“Why is everyone staring at me today?” Phil finds himself grumbling. “I don’t understand.” 

“Have you not seen literally all of the stories on social media?” PJ asks, his voice a bit higher in octave. 

Phil shakes his head. He honestly hasn’t posted much on social media, nor has he been on it. The last he posted was to say he was posting a new video this week. 

“Mate, your pictures with Dan are literally slapped all over Twitter. Even the tabloids that are hitting the shelves have you as their cover photo.” 

“Excuse me?” Phil asks, feeling his stomach twist and knot within him. 

He immediately pries open the top of his laptop and opens up Safari. He googles Dan’s name and immediately is bombarded with 50+ search results for stories all about him and Dan’s day out in LA…one of the tabloids even got a photo of them eating alone, in private. 

“You look pretty cosy with Dan.” PJ says. 

“What about it?” Phil asks, feeling his voice rise a bit in tension. 

“Nothing, really but are you and Dan dating?” 

Phil felt his skin heat up and his face flush a bit in a mix of anger and also anxiety. “Yes.” He says, his voice wavering a bit. “Dan’s my boyfriend.” 

“Is this just recently or…?” 

“PJ, you know this this. Dan and I just got together when I was in LA.” Phil says, his voice laced with some disbelief. He didn’t even know where this was coming from. “These pictures, PJ, were taken without Dan and I’s permission. They were taken by some low-life paparazzi’s who want to sell their photos of famous people to tabloids to make money.” 

Pj threw his hands up and sat back in his chair. “I don’t want you to get angry.” PJ began. “I just simply wanted to know―friend to friend.” 

Phil felt his blood cool down a bit as he relaxed back into his own seat and let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, PJ. That wasn’t fair to snap at you…it’s just, now that I’m beginning to see what Dan goes through each day, it’s hard to not get defensive when something like this happens.” 

“I know.” PJ says. “I also didn’t mean to suddenly get defensive either. I know it’s not my place to know about you and Dan. I honestly just think I’m still a bit shocked at the entire thing if I’m being honest.” 

Phil let out an incredulous laugh. “It is all a bit mental when you think about it. Like who have thought last year at this time that looking forward, I’d be dating the world famous Daniel Howell.” 

“It’s right crazy.” PJ says. “But, as long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy.” 

“I’m happy, Peej.” Phil adds. “Dan has to come to London in a few weeks for a premiere that he needs to attend. Maybe we can arrange a time for you to come over to my flat and properly meet him? I think you’ll really get along well with him.” 

PJ smiles at him and nods. “I’m sure Sophie will be excited for that.” 

Phil forgot how much Sophie fangirled over Dan. 

Just as he opens his mouth to speak something more about it, the door to Louise’s office opens and Phil looks up just in time to see her poke her blonde hair outside of the frame. “Ligouri and Lester, come to my office so we can discuss your next projects!” 

Phil gives a glance to PJ who gives one back and Phil stands up, picking up his laptop and the key chain before he follows PJ to Louise office and they shut the door behind them. 

***

“New York is cool and all but it’s cold and a bit damp and I really want to be back in the sun.” 

Phil chuckles as he reads Dan’s text out loud to himself. 

Phil: You’ll never make it in London 

Phil types back his message and then locks his phone and sets it beside him on the couch. Spike was at his feet, gnawing on a play bone that Phil had gotten him in consolation of leaving him for so long. Phil was supposed to be working on his new project that Louise had given him and PJ. But he honestly felt like he couldn’t be bothered and he didn’t know whether or not that a good thing at the moment. 

He was busy working on editing his video when his mum called and asked about LA so he told her all about it. And then his brother called right after and he got sidetracked when Dan texted just now. 

He had promised his subscribers that he would get out a new video this week with someone special and they already figured out it was Dan and now they’re even more excited for the video. So the pressure on him right now was pretty great. 

But he honestly forgets all of that when Dan texts him and it’s like he placed back into an alternate reality. 

Dan: guess well just have to live in LA then :(

Dan: you’re also forgetting that i used to live in wokingham lol 

Dan: i just like the sun of LA

Phil’s heart picked up speed. Did Dan just reference them living together? He felt a bit foolish, getting his hopes up so high when they’ve barely been together. He already can feel that Dan is his person but that still doesn’t help the anxieties that plague his mind. 

Phil: Don’t want to move to London and live with the queen? 

Dan: Move to LA and you’ll be with trump? 

Dan: fuck nevermind lol ill move to London 

Phil lets out a snort and rolls onto his side on the couch, Spike’s head picking up a bit as he looked at Phil to see what he was doing. He did feel a bit restless. The jet lag was still sitting heavy behind his eyes. Maybe he’d take Spike to the park. 

Phil looked down at his pup, who was now rolled onto his back. He bent forward and rubbed Spike’s belly, causing Spike to jerk and look at him. “Want to go to park?” 

Spike immediately rolled over and stood up, prancing. Phil chuckled and got up, pushing his phone in his pocket long enough to walk to the closet and grab Spike’s lead. 

He bent down and hooked it on him before grabbing the necessary items like a doggy bag and stuffing them into his pocket. He walked out the door with Spike practically dragging him and headed down the street to the park. 

He continued to text Dan the entire way, only stopping when Spike nearly pulled him into a light pole. When they got to the park, Phil found an empty bench near an open area of grass, currently unoccupied and let Spike off from his lead to run around a bit. Spike never went far, and if he did, a simple call of his name always brought him back to Phil. 

Phil watched his carefully and eyed the people around him. He didn’t know why, but he had an uneasy feeling creeping under his skin. He couldn’t quite place in his mind where it was coming from, but the instinct to look behind him overcame his thoughts and he turned his head, only to see no one even around him besides a young couple and their child, walking down the dirt path. 

He let himself relax as he enjoyed the slight breeze in the air as Spike eventually ran his energy out and he was back at Phil’s feet, huffing and puffing and whining for a treat. Phil reached in his pocket and pulled one out, sneaking it to Spike. “You’re a good boy, but I need to stop giving you so many treats.” 

He ruffled Spike’s fur a bit before re-hooking his lead and getting up from the bench. They walked towards the exit of the park and Phil was just deciding he might take Spike to the new pet-friendly cafe just a few blocks away when he heard it. 

The click. 

He thought he was imagining it at first, his anxiety getting the better of him. But then there was another…and another…and suddenly, he turned around and there was something with a camera, crouched down at the ground, taking photos of him. 

Phil panicked. What does he do? Does he say something? This has to be just a paparazzi? 

“Phil Lester!” The man called out, lowering his camera. “Do you mind telling me where Daniel Howell is?” 

Phil quickly shook his head. “No. I―.” 

“Are you and Daniel Howell dating?” 

Phil bent down, picked up Spike in his arms, and ran. He doesn’t know how far he ran or where he even went, he just did. And he eventually landed way farther than he had intended with his flat on the complete other side of the park. 

He let down Spike, but not before taking a few deep breaths into his fur to calm him down. He still doesn’t know what that was. He doesn’t even know what to do. He feels his chest tighten and he wills himself to stay clam. 

It was just paparazzi. It was just paparazzi. 

He finds himself reaching into his pocket and calling his mum as he takes Spike’s lead in his hand and starts walking him in the correct direction. 

“Child!” His mum said. “What’s going on?” 

“Mum, a paparazzi just took photos of me and Spike at the park and he started asking me questions and I didn’t know what I could do so I ran and I don’t even quite know where I am all that I know is…” 

“Phil, honey, calm down. Please take a breath!” His mum soothed. “What was the paparazzi asking?” 

“They were asking about me and Dan.” 

“And did you say anything?” 

Phil shook his head. “No. I panicked and I just said no to their first question and ran off.” 

“I told you we should look into getting someone, Phil. Someone who can help you out.” 

“Mum,” Phil finds himself saying. “I don’t think getting someone like that is going to help. I’m not even sure what that was that just happened.” 

“It was a paparazzi trying to get into yours and Dan’s business, sweetheart.” 

Phil felt his heart de-flat because he knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t bother him or it shouldn’t bother him. 

“But what do I do?” 

His mum sighed on the other end. “Sweetie, I’m not sure I have the answer for that question.” She said gently. “Why don’t you talk with Dan about it?” 

Phil sighed. “I don’t know if Dan is who I should be talking to about this.” 

“Well, it’s his lifestyle that you’re getting mixed up in, Philip.” 

Phil bit his lip. He didn’t want to get into this right now. He called for advice and a little bit of coddling and he wasn’t ready to get a full conversation handed to him about “Dan’s life”. 

“I don’t want to get into this right now.” 

“I know, but I don’t want you hurt, Phil. I really don’t.” 

“I know, mum.” 

He finds himself already at the door of his flat and he sighs in relief as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and pushes himself inside. 

He let’s Spike in the flat first and let’s the little pup fly through the flat towards his food and water dishes in the kitchen. He says a quick goodbye to his mum with a promise to call her later and then feels himself fall onto the couch. 

Maybe watching some TV for a little bit will help him out? 

He reaches for the remote to this TV, which he doesn’t use that often, and turns it on, flipping through the channels. He’s about ready to press the Netflix button on his remote when a finds himself on some entertainment news station that he’s never paid any attention to before. 

But his mouth drops open and he feels like he’s going to vomit as he watches him and Dan walking together in The Grove on his very screen in front of him. It was when they were walking from the restaurant to the little place where they ate their food. And as if Phil couldn’t feel sick enough, the headline on the bottom read: 

“Daniel Howell SPOTTED with His New Beau in Los Angeles!” 

[hardkinkbardkink]

anon asked: Incubus!Jask at Kaer Morhen, having enthralled the witcher boys (+Ves? Your call.) wanting to watch them fuck only to be surprised they’re all... small? Maybe it’s the mutations fault. No matter. Jask makes them get off with each other by making them lap at each others’ cocks like they’re cunts, fingering one another until they’re squirming like pups begging for Jaskier’s cock to breed their needy holes because no other cocks will do. Bonus for puppy play, and forced orgasms because I could see someone like Eskel or Lambert snapping out of it for a moment while Geralt is humping their thigh and being horrified until Jaskier talks him down, asking “don’t you like being my pup? Doesn’t it feel good to have your little cunny touched?” Until they’re re-enthralled for Jaskier’s sole amusement.

so this is,,, my favourite prompt i’d ever got? truly? and that’s not to say that the other asks i get aren’t fucking amazing cos they very much are but this just hit all the points for me. all of them. lord have mercy.

this is filthy overstim tiny cock mind-controlled porn thru & thru oof i’m a bit hot under the collar not gonna lie to you babes

now also on the ao3 near you

***

At first Jaskier’d thought it was a joke. How could he not? The concept of a witcher letting him tag along for the monster-slaying ride was rich enough. The idea–the very idea of being invited to the place that was basically Geralt’s home, and home to his brothers, to other witchers–

It was, very much, not a joke, if the cold ache that’s seeped through his joints and the monolithic, run-down keep standing stark against the grey sky are anything to go by.

“This seems like a needlessly intricate plot just to kill me, you do realise. You could easily have done it at any moment and I wouldn’t even notice you draw the blade.”

Geralt never appreciates this particular vein of his humour.

“I won’t–”

“Yes, yes, you won’t kill me, I know, you boring old man.”

The heavy oaken door squeaks horribly when Jaskier pushes it open with some considerable effort. Geralt doesn’t move to help him, the great brute that he is, resigning instead to stewing in his insufferable self-righteousness.

The inside of the keep is no less cold than the outside, though there are at least three lit hearths in the big, open hall alone. At least there’s no snow. Jaskier looks around, overwhelmed by how awfully bland and devoid of style everything is. A long table with two equally long benches on either side seems to be the hall’s biggest attraction, and Jaskier nearly weeps at the thought of the sad, sad souls that have come through here. No wonder Geralt is the way he is.

“Witchers–” Geralt continues suddenly when Jaskier’s already long moved on from the subject.

“–are immune to incubus magic, yes, Geralt, you told me. I do listen sometimes, you know.”

“He never listens, though, so he assumes nobody else does either,” comes a beautiful voice speaking the whole truth and the truth only.

Jaskier turns as quickly as his stiff limbs will allow him.

“Eskel,” Geralt growls in–what, a threat? Even in his own home, the man resorts to threats?

“Eskel!” Jaskier repeats with the cheer it deserves. He’s heard only great things about Eskel. He extends a hand in greeting, and shivers when Eskel takes it in his own, gloveless in this awful chill. “Pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

Eskel’s smile, Jaskier thinks, is quite striking, just as the rest of him. Broad shoulders and thick thighs, dark hair peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, a playful glint in his golden eyes, the exact copies of Geralt’s–

He shivers again, and not from the temperature.

Another set of footsteps echoes through the hall, obnoxiously loud. Geralt walks silently, like a cat slinking in the shadows. Eskel seems about the same way. Whoever this is must just enjoy being a right pompous prick for the sake of it.

Jaskier gets introduced to Lambert and grows a little bit warmer when all three witchers gather around him, tower above him, really, walking, talking mountains of muscle and strength and gods, fuck, Jaskier’s so hungry.

He shouldn’t have agreed to come, but Geralt’s assured him they’ll figure it out.

They are yet to figure it out.

But he gets as many cups of mulled wine as his little heart desires, and Geralt soon brightens up around his brothers, cracking jokes as they all shove at each other playfully like they’re still wolf pups instead of hundred-year-old men.

The evening, all in all, ends up pleasant. Jaskier falls asleep calm and safe, ignoring the sucking emptiness inside him.

***

So here’s the thing.

Sometimes, he thinks Geralt makes himself forget about Jaskier’s inhuman heritage.

Sometimes, he thinks maybe Geralt really believes he doesn’t need to feed on energy because he scarfs down half a loaf of bread at breakfast.

Sometimes, he wishes someone would strike him down, so he doesn’t have to be so achingly hungry anymore.

And everyone’s being so nice to him, so accommodating–he’s embarrassed to ask them for anything more when they already give him so much.

And, here’s another thing.

Witchers are not actually immune to incubus magic.

Jaskier’s never had the heart to tell Geralt.

The poor dear once told him no when Jaskier half-jokingly asked to suck his cock and really thought his mighty witcher-brain is immune to Jaskier’s power.

It is decidedly not the truth.

Jaskier makes it a whole week, waiting for Geralt to offer himself or anyone else up–Jaskier would even take a sacrificial virgin in a pinch–but he stays famished and weakening by the day.

He means to only take a little, at first. He finds Eskel and Lambert in the courtyard. Compelling them to drop their swords and follow him inside is child’s play.

Jaskier walks them up to his bedroom–the only chamber in this whole blasted keep that’s even remotely warm–and thrums with anticipation as he practically skips up the steps.

He means to only take a little, so he gets Lambert on his knees and makes for Eskel to shove his undoubtedly glorious cock down his throat, except–

Except that he doesn’t think Eskel’s cock could reach Lambert’s throat in any capacity.

Oh.

When Lambert peels away his own leathers, and his dick turns out similarly sized, Jaskier burns with curiosity.

He motions for his boys to come forward, half-tangled in their clothes still, and they come to sit on the bed with him. He pets their precious tiny pricks and they squirm deliciously.

Oh, he’s got to find Geralt.

He leaves them to undress and sprints through the keep at inhuman speed, dipping his head into various rooms until he spots the shock of white hair. Geralt’s defences are so embarrassingly low, Jaskier doesn’t even have to try particularly hard to catch him under a spell.

Eskel and Lambert are knelt dutifully in front of the bed, their clothes strewn all about, their expressions blissed-out like Jaskier’s never seen them before. He helps Geralt undress–gods, and Geralt’s prick is even smaller, somehow–before directing him to his knees between his brothers.

Jaskier practically vibrates with eagerness.

He meant only to take a little, but now he thinks he’ll have all of it, and then some for dessert, until he’s bursting with it.

Gods, the possibilities are endless.

Jaskier makes himself comfortable, leaning back on the cushions, facing his obedient pups.

“My good boys. My darling, perfect pups. You’re even more breathtaking than I could ever imagine.”

Someone whines pitifully at the words.

“Oh, it’s high time someone took care of you, isn’t it? Look how wet your gorgeous cocks are getting, and I barely even touched you.”

He wants to touch, but even more he wants to watch.

“Eskel, my lovely, why don’t you lay down for me? That’s it, heart. Open your mouth nice and wide–”

Jaskier looks on, transfixed, as his pups shuffle to accommodate his wants; Eskel on his back on the furs, Lambert straddling his face, cute prick hovering just above his parted lips. He’s got Geralt on his belly, face buried between Eskel’s legs.

“My, look at you. Go on, dears, you must be ravenous.”

He can’t settle on where to look–to watch clumsy tongues lap desperately at each other’s cocks, or their faces twist in unadulterated pleasure. Just as he fixes his wandering gaze on where Lambert’s got his lip between his teeth, he catches a glimpse of Geralt rutting his tiny prick against the edge of the fur.

He waits until he can just feel the static of release cloying the air, all his pups whimpering as they approach the precipice–and orders them apart. They kneel again, their chests heaving and cocks throbbing, clad only in their medallions.

“What would my pups want? Do you want to fingerfuck your needy holes, since none of you have a cock to do it? I’ll give you something bigger, when you’re all nice and loose.”

“Please,” Geralt says quietly and crawls up the bed. He comes to straddle one of Jaskier’s thighs, his prick flushed a delightful pink, deliciously wet at the head, and Jaskier’s sure greater men would have succumbed.

“Oh, is my puppy desperate?”

Geralt nods frantically as he rides Jaskier’s thigh, spreading sticky precome all over the fabric of his trousers.

“You’ll have to wait your turn to get bred full, then, heart, since your brothers are so patient.”

He brushes Geralt’s hair to the side and shivers when Geralt comes with a series of lovely, high-pitched moans, feeling the shadow of his pup’s release at the base of his spine.

“Good boy. But you’re so greedy, darling, you’ve left your brothers waiting. Better make it up to them, yeah?”

Geralt nods again and scrambles off the bed to push at Eskel’s chest and get him to lay back down again. This time Geralt throws Eskel’s legs over his shoulders and laps hungrily at his hole. Jaskier makes Lambert return to sit on Eskel’s face, turned the other way as he rides Eskel’s tongue and moans wantonly.

They both take a finger beautifully, even before Jaskier hands them the oil.

Gods, Jaskier has to palm his own cock when he thinks about his pups, made-over and trained to be killing machines–helpless as he forces them to take their pleasure, squirming on each other’s fingers and tongues, moaning and whimpering and begging in broken, breathy whispers to be taken and bred and filled.

He watches Eskel stretched on three fingers, his powerful thighs quivering. Jaskier feels the frantic crescendo of his pup’s orgasm, can taste the panic that rises in him because he didn’t get the permission to come yet.

“Do you like Geralt’s fingers, darling? Want to come on them? Go on, Eskel, my lovely, let go for me.”

Eskel’s little cock twitches before he comes with a sob, draining his heavy balls all over his belly, but he never stops driving his fingers relentlessly into Lambert’s slack hole.

“You too, Lambert, baby, come for me whenever you feel like it. Look how good it was for your brothers.”

Lambert only takes a few more harsh thrusts before he nearly collapses forward, seizing up and shooting his load over Eskel’s chest with a full-bodied tremor.

“Good. Gods, you’re all so good, so lovely, you make my heart ache.”

They make other parts of him ache, too.

When Geralt moves up to dutifully clean Eskel’s skin of seed, from his flushed chest all the way to his sensitive cock, Jaskier’s resolve breaks.

He divests himself quickly of his clothes, and his pups stare adoringly, hungrily, at the sticky-wet tip of his cock.

And Jaskier immediately knows that he loves all of them equally–but he needs Geralt to have the last turn, and he’s wanted Eskel ever since he’d first laid eyes on him that first day.

“You can all come up on the bed now, loves.”

His pups drool all over themselves, watching his prick bob between his legs, and Jaskier can’t believe they were to deprive themselves all winter, when they so fiercely want for a big fat cock to stuff them silly. His heart breaks for them, just a little.

He kisses Lambert deeply, his darling too out of it to do it properly, licking into Jaskier’s mouth with a sloppy tongue like the desperate puppy he is. They all try to get comfortable around him, even with the aching emptiness between their legs, but Jaskier’s quick to remedy that.

“Lambert, my sweet, be a dear and open Geralt up while I breed Eskel’s tight little hole.”

Jaskier reclines with his back against the wall, so he can see Geralt open his legs wantonly and Lambert quickly get between them.

But most importantly, he can urge Eskel onto his lap, his pup’s glorious thighs spreading wide over his own as he looks at Jaskier with blind adoration.

“You want my cock, darling? Want to finally be so very full?” Jaskier asks in a whisper, giving Eskel his full attention, like his baby deserves.

“Please, please.” Eskel’s soothing, deep voice trembles a bit as he tries to speak. “Want you so bad, it hurts.”

Jaskier shushes him before pressing his lips gently to Eskel’s. The kiss is more cohesive than his last, Eskel groaning quietly when Jaskier sucks on his tongue.

“I know, you just want to get fucked, nice and proper, huh? I bet you get no relief on the path, with that pitiful little excuse for a cock–want me to breed you like the good little fuckhole you are, darling? I’ll leave you dripping.”

He smooths his hands over Eskel’s thighs to urge him up, so he can press his throbbing cockhead against Eskel’s greedy hole. It swallows him all at once, steals the breath from his lungs when Eskel’s bottom presses against the tops of his legs.

“Oh, Eskel, my love–” Jaskier rambles, because the feel of his pup, coupled with the sight he makes–wide open eyes, glazed-over in elation, his lips swollen and pink, his tiny prick hard again and bobbing against his belly when Eskel begins bouncing on Jaskier’s cock–

Gods, how did he ever think he could have just a little?

“Take what you need, whatever you need, darling, oh, you’re divine, you’re perfect.”

Eskel whimpers and leans in to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck, overwhelmed, but Jaskier doesn’t mind. He rubs his puppy’s back, and keeps fucking him, as slowly and as quickly as Eskel needs from him, sinking into his sinful hole again and again until Eskel shakes with it, until he can’t go anymore.

Jaskier pushes him gently onto his back and keeps driving into him, faster now, and Eskel sobs beautifully with each thrust. They share a feverish kiss and Jaskier finally gets his hands on that alluring chest, squeezing Eskel’s pecks and rubbing his nipples gently. Eskel arches into his touch and moans raggedly.

“Such a good boy, such a good pup–do you want me to touch your cute prick, love? Want me to rub your little clit?”

Eskel nods, his voice climbing frantically around a string of yes yes yes. It barely takes a full touch to his swollen, ruddy prick before Eskel pulses around Jaskier’s cock, thrashes on the bed with his head thrown back.

“Stunning, oh, that’s perfect–”

Jaskier pumps his darling pup full of hot seed and marvels when Eskel immediately quakes through another orgasm, before the first even subsides. Jaskier peppers his face with tiny kisses, wants to drown Eskel in affection. When he makes to pull out, Eskel whines and claws at his shoulders.

“I know, I know, pup, but I need to see to your brothers. Gods, I wish I had something to plug you up with, so you’re always nice and full.”

He does manage to pull out, and gets to watch Eskel’s puffy hole leak out his spend copiously. He leans down to lap it up, because how can he not? Eskel’s legs grip vice-tight around his head for a moment.

Eskel’s still convulsing periodically when Jaskier arranges him on his knees, straddling one of Geralt’s thighs, so they can hump each other like the needy pups they are.

“Lambert, love, would you like to suck a real cock, finally? I can shove it down your throat before I breed your lovely hole.”

And Lambert scrambles to get his mouth on Jaskier’s come-streaked cock so fast he nearly falls backwards and off the edge of the bed.

“Careful, dear, so you don’t choke. Gods, you are just my perfect cock-hungry sluts, aren’t you? How will I ever let you go?”

Geralt whimpers beautifully next to him, and Jaskier looks over to his other boys while he cards gentle fingers through Lambert’s hair.

Eskel’s too sensitive, Jaskier knows, and yet he still ruts his prick against Geralt like he’ll die without it. Their foreheads rest together. It only takes the smallest nudge to have them kiss, tentatively at first, then increasingly more hotly, until they’re both moaning with the intensity of it.

“Is this how my pups spend the winters? Rutting against each other desperately, lapping at your pathetic little pricks like they’re cunts? Writhing on fingers because there isn’t a cock in sight to fill you like you so very crave?”

Geralt shakes violently and grabs fistfuls of Eskel’s hair when he spills, yet the rhythm of his hips never falters. Jaskier smiles at them warmly, tugs Lambert’s head up and down, relishing the tight clutch of his throat.

Except there’s something threatening to ruin his perfect evening, and he can feel one of his pups slipping from his thrall.

Eskel jerks away slightly, as much as he can with Geralt still straddling his leg. His eyes aren’t filled with bliss and lust, but wide with confusion and, inexplicably, terror.

“You–” Eskel begins, trying to wrestle out of Geralt’s hold.

Jaskier shushes him calmly. “Oh, darling is something the matter? You do like being my lovely pup, don’t you?” He can see Eskel pause when he no doubt notices his sopping wet hole drooling all over the sheets. “Don’t you like your little boy parts touched, love? Doesn’t it feel good to be stuffed with my seed?”

Eskel’s sharp, golden eyes quickly lose their focus. Geralt whines and leans in for a kiss. Eskel opens his mouth somewhat reluctantly, still.

“That’s it, pup, just let yourself be cared for, isn’t that better? If you’re good I’ll have you warm my cock all night.”

Jaskier still has some tricks up his sleeve, so he snaps his fingers and has Eskel crashing through a sudden, dry orgasm, his lovely prick throbbing visibly.

“Maybe it’s for the better you don’t have real cocks. I can have your little boy pricks coming again and again, just as a woman would.”

Lambert gives a strangled groan around Jaskier’s cock, his release thick and heavy in the air without anyone even glancing at his dick. Amazing.

Jaskier urges his lovely pup up, gives him a chaste kiss before asking,

“How do you want it, darling?”

“Hard,” Lambert replies without hesitation, and settles on his hands and knees, his pink, sloppy hole perfectly on display.

Jaskier urges Eskel and Geralt to lay down, grind their oversensitive, aching pricks against each other. Their whimpers are a beautiful background for the slow, dizzying push of his cock into Lambert’s tight body.

“Oh, love, you’ve got such a nice, tight cunt, fuck–”

Lambert chokes on a breath, forces his hips back, overeager and hungry for every bit of cock he can get. Jaskier couldn’t deny him, wouldn’t want to anyway.

“That’s it, that’s right, I’ll fuck you until you can’t stand it anymore, darling, you’ll be feeling it for days.”

His hips hasten, until he’s snapping into Lambert with brutal force, jostling the whole bed, spurred on by the constant babble of more, harder, yes, yes.

“Will you finger your sore hole, thinking about my cock? Will you try to get Eskel’s tiny prick into you, to satisfy the ache?”

Lambert keens, and shakes his head vigorously.

“Just you, need your cock, need a real cock–”

The slap of Jaskier’s balls against Lambert’s is indecently satisfying. Jaskier brings his hand down with a crack on Lambert’s magnificent arse, and then a few more times, when Lambert hollers and the sharp scent of his intensifying arousal makes Jaskier half-rabid.

“Like that, darling? Want to be abused? Want me to bruise your little cunt until you sob with it?”

“Please, please, oh–”

Sobbing is not far off, it seems. Jaskier feels the tingle of power in every part of his body, in the air around them, everywhere, everywhere, raw carnal energy for him to devour.

Jaskier comes before Lambert does, but his pup isn’t far behind, milking the last of Jaskier’s release as he spills onto the sheets with a broken whimper.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Lambert whispers and tries to impale himself on Jaskier’s cock further.

“Greedy. Greedy, slutty pups, you’ve been neglected for so long, you can’t get enough, can you?”

He thrusts languidly, because if there’s one thing he doesn’t lack, it’s stamina.

They fuck for long minutes, Lambert steadily growing louder in his pleas and his moans, Jaskier sweaty and out of breath trying to keep his darling satisfied. Each thrust fucks his seed deeper into Lambert with a wet squelching sound that makes Jaskier dizzy in its obscenity. Which is perhaps why he pulls out of Lambert entirely and rolls his pup to lay belly-up before him.

“How would you like to come inside a nice, warm body, love?”

Lambert whines, his golden eyes blown entirely black.

“Geralt, my darling,” Jaskier calls softly, and Geralt looks up at him with red-rimmed, shining eyes. “You’ll be a good pup and ride Lambert, won’t you?”

“Want a real cock,” Geralt says faintly, voice cracking, but he’s already climbing to sit astride Lambert’s belly, facing Jaskier. “Want your cock.”

“You’ll get it, heart, you’ll get it as much as you want–if you’re a good boy for me.”

Jaskier doesn’t think Lambert’s cock is longer than his fingers, but it’s nice and thick and just big enough to fit inside Geralt without slipping out, at least until Geralt tries to fuck himself on it.

“Jaskier, Jaskier, please–” his pups call out to him, all three in a beautiful symphony.

He’s suddenly obsessed with the thought of Lambert coming inside Geralt, so when Jaskier gets in him his hole is nice and sloppy with spend.

Lambert’s cute little prick is not big enough for Geralt to bounce on it like he so clearly wants.

Easily remedied, that.

“Geralt. Geralt, my darling, the light of my life, my perfect little puppy–” he prattles on in a soft voice before he gives a measured slap to the very tip of Geralt’s cock.

The effect is immediate. Geralt sobs, just the tiniest bit, tightens around Lambert like the most amazing little boy, until Lambert writhes and comes with a scorching hot shout of someone getting to breed a warm hole for the first time in a long time.

Jaskier is dizzy with all this power, lust-drunk and floaty. He can barely contain it. He has to be careful, usually, when it gets this intense, but his perfect pups can take it, were made to take it, gods, gods–

A sharp burst of energy makes his witchers all shudder with release, squirming as it takes them by surprise, their little cocks come-soaked and oversensitive.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, and he slurs a bit in his haste. His composure is slipping. But his boys are so delicious, so eager and obedient and Geralt spreads his legs so very wide just to show Jaskier his loose, fucked-out hole, and what is he meant to do if not give in to the temptation laid out before him?

Geralt feels so intoxicatingly, unreasonably good, the spell nearly snaps. Jaskier has to keep himself firmly in check, even when everything around him becomes an impossible blur. He fucks Geralt on his back and his stomach, on all fours and against the wall. Vaguely, he registers the small tingle in his abdomen when his other pups come, too, again and again on each other’s fingers and tongues, wailing and screaming as Jaskier unconsciously wrings pleasure out of them long after it’d crossed the line of overstimulated pain.

“Geralt, my lovely, my darling little whore, fuck–you’re all so good, so, so good, ah–”

His pup’s tiny fucking prick twitches when Jaskier closes a palm around it, finds it deliciously soaked and so very sensitive. He licks the single tear that spills down Geralt’s cheek and rubs the heel of his palm over Geralt’s cockhead.

Jaskier blacks out when he finally breeds Geralt full of come.

***

He wakes up wrapped up in his beloved pups, keeping his hold tightly on their minds.

The room had grown cold, but he’s feverishly hot between three strong bodies. Curious, he touches a finger to the swollen head of Lambert’s soft prick, watches him twitch his hips away even asleep. Jaskier pillows his head on a burly chest and closes his eyes.

He’ll let them rest for the day, but by nightfall, Jaskier would very much like to be treated to an extravagant feast again.

[meshugana1]

"On Halloween night a where it's full of scares and fright, one soul wanders to find some 'treats' of his in the form of women he likes to bone. But as this holiday has taught us that girls can carry a lot of tricks especially one group which which usually are ideal for sorting out these kinds of pricks." To clarify, all the girls turn one man into an anthro Black cat with 6-breasts,green eyes,a slutty witch costume but just hat, toe/heel showing witch stockings and jack-o-lantern bell collar.

   William zipped his pants up and left the young princess to tidy herself up in the bushes. How he loved Halloween. Even the stuck up girls put out. Must be the full moon or that escapist feeling in the air this time of year. It was the perfect time for a guy like him. He didn’t even have to put much effort into his costume. Just a white t-shirt, a pack of cheap cigarettes rolled in the sleeve, his hair slicked back with pomade, and jeans with a pair of cheap boots. It was the total Brando package, and he didn’t even have to spend thirty bucks. It already paid for itself, that was the third bimbo so far that wrapped her lips around his seven inches and the sun hadn’t even set yet.

   As he rounded the corner, he already spotted his next conquest. The first thing he saw was tits, huge juicy ones. They were attached to a pretty face too, beautiful tan skin, really sexy eyes, and hair like a wildflower. Her costume didn’t hurt her figure either. Pink, nearly transparent silk, covered her fabulous tits and even her goofy airy silk pants couldn’t hide an ass that went on for days. God love the genie look. William sauntered over with his usual confidence, the bulge in his jeans was obvious and warned of exactly what he wanted. “Sup pretty lady? You seem like you need some company, my night is free if you like what you see,” William said. The woman looked William up and down. ‘What was it about this night that made it so easy?’ She thought. This would be the forty-third boy she came across trying to take advantage of her, it was too easy really.   “Well thank you, young Master, I am but a humble genie, and I would love to repay you. So, your wish is my command Master,” She said. She held her hands in front of her chest and popped her hips slowly to a rhythm William could not hear.   “Well then, I think first I’ll wish for you to give me a little pussy, then—”   “WISH GRANTED!” She said snapping her fingers. There was a flash and a surging of smoke from her feet. William coughed and waved the air clear, and spotted the crazy girl’s ass bouncing away.   “All you had to do was so no, crazy bitch,” William said. He did what he usually did when he was rebuffed, he reached he’d down to readjust his semi-turgid best friend. He patted his left leg, where it usually rested but felt only thigh. He checked the other but found nothing still. He gulped, jamming his hand into his jeans. He felt skin, on a night like tonight he would always forgo underwear, it just got in the way. But as he rubbed his crotch, he didn’t feel his shaft, nor his balls, nor his head. He just felt a little…tingly? He didn’t give up searching, but then, on a downstroke, his index finger slipped inside him. His knees shook, his finger was wet, and when his nail grazed a sensitive little bud of nerves, the mystery was solved. “MY COCK TURNED INTO A CUNT?!”

   William ran hard, pants dangling by an ankle and dripping pussy exposed to the nippy air. He gave no thought to his direction, his eyes stared ahead blankly. He rounded the corner and struck something soft, then two bodies crashed into the ground. His bare ass rubbed into the ground and the long grass tickled his pussy.   “What the hell dude? *Pbbbrrrbbtt* Watch where you’re going!” The woman said. William looked at the victim of his panicked dash. The first thing he saw was an enormous round belly attached to an incredibly sexy woman. Her breasts were glorious and her ass was the stuff of legends, if she could lay off the burritos, she would’ve been another fine woman he would love to let suck him off if his circumstances were different.   “Uh, sorry,” William said. He tried to raise himself off the ground, but the shock from his sudden transformation was setting in and they remained rooted to the earth.   “Oh! I’m so sorry, *fffwwweeeeeenn* I guess ‘dude’ is a bit offensive huh? My bad, *Splorttt*” she said. Why would she say that? He thought. Then he remembered his state of dress, and what he was unintentionally exposing to her.   “Wait, NO! I’m not trans, I was cursed or something, I don’t normally look like this I swear!”   “Cursed? *Brrrrrrrbbbb* Really? *Flablatch* No way! I can totally help! I’m Stacey and I’m a witch in training,*fffffffffffffffffffffffffffp*” she said. Fifteen minutes ago he would’ve thought she was some crazy pregnant chick, but now the scales had fallen from his eyes and he would grasp at any straw.   “Really!? Oh please help me, I’ll do anything!”   “No problem. *Rrrrrppppppttttt* I understand what you’re going through too, just brace yourself. *Ppppppppppppttttrrrr* I probably can’t fix all off this but I think I can put one thing back to normal at least,” Stacey said. William was a smidge confused. There was only one thing wrong with him so how could she miss? Stacey began speaking, and letting out a long, high pitched fart, in a language William had no hope of knowing. Her rate of strange words increased along with her gas. Then she just stopped, and William felt a twinge in his chest. He pulled up his shirt and saw his nipples had become puffy and erect, and his pecs started to look a little fatty. He then felt a tremendous sense of vertigo and the ground rapidly approached him. Then his chest trembled and surged forth with such force that it knocked him off balance. He had fleshy bags attached to his chest topped with large, puffy nipples. He couldn’t say the word, he wouldn’t say the word.   “Well, *Blort* that’s all I can really do without making it worse. You got a doozy of a spell on you. *Sprrrutut* I hope that get’s you back to normal a bit, bye! *Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*” Stacey said. She turned and waddled away, the sounds of gas still echoing into the night.

   William shambled against a fence. Twice, how could the same thing happen to a guy twice in less than an hour? It was like being struck by magical lightning, then getting hit by a magical meteor. He felt his…chest, dangle and bob with every step. He knew this fence, it was some recluse middle-aged ladies. He used to be tall enough to peer clear over the top, now thanks to that gassy bitch he was a foot too short. William didn’t even have the will to put his pants back on. What was the point? All people would see of his living nightmare was a costume of a gender-bent freak. He continued on his hopeless march when he rubbed himself against a soft pair of tits coming around the corner.   “WHAT?! How dare you touch me so casually!” William heard, he didn’t care. What else could happen to him. Going to jail would be an improvement at this rate. “Are you ignoring me you little bastard? You think you can fondle a goddess and get away with it? I know your type little man. You think you’re just a real tomcat, don’t you? I can tell you’ve already been given a few lessons, but they clearly aren’t enough for someone like you,” The woman said.   “What? Oh god no, no! Please don’t, it was an accident! Leave me alone!” William said. He didn’t wait for an answer and turned to run. His shorter legs pumped as hard as they could but nothing was moving around him. The woman held her hand out, suspending him in the air.   “You want to be a little Tomcat? Fine! One little change though, I’d hate to erase your progress!” She said. William flailed in the air. Three times, three fucking times! His clothing dissolved into nothingness, exposing his new breasts and pristine pussy completely. His short body began to contract even further, reducing him to just barely above four and a half feet. What remained of his masculine form began to melt away. His arms became supple and graceful, so did his legs. His waist contorted into a tiny shape, his legs became slender at the calf but tremendously thick in the thigh. His ass tingled, then it felt like it was falling out, becoming a tight, round fanny. All his muscles faded away, his facial features softened, going from the hard face of a rugged man to a supermodels visage. No trace of him was left. Then it got worse.

   The hairs on his arms having nearly gone were returning with force. Same with his legs. Before this evening, he was gifted with very light flaxen hair. But his hair growing in now was black as black. It was probably the same on his head, he could feel it coming down his neck and slipping past his shoulders. It was getting thicker and thicker, soon it coated his arms and legs so entirely that he could see no skin beneath any of it. His new fur shined glossy. There was a pinch atop his head as pointed ears, much better suited for his new shape. Another pinch came above his engorged bottom as his spine lengthened nearly four feet. Unceremoniously he dropped toward the ground. He twisted and distorted his body on the way down without effort. His arms and legs hit the earth first, catching him.    “There, now you look the part, Pussy. Maybe you’ll think better of trying to cop a feel on a goddess with your filthy paws,” she said. She turned aggressively on her heel, then left down the sidewalk leaving William to lick his magical wounds.

   He sat there a while, squatting, feeling his tail flick back and forth. “FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCK! Why?! Why me?! I didn’t do anything and now the universe has fucked me FOUR FUCKING TIMES! Now I’m a big tatted cat bitch?! Of fucking course! Why not? Who cares?! Is that all you got? Can’t get any worse so bring it the fuck on! What’s next? Antlers? A cock on my forehead? How about a whole buncha titties? Could always use more of those right?!”   “Well, now that you mention it that doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” came a small voice behind him. Every hair on Williams body stood on end. Every muscle tensed and he shot into the air nearly fifteen feet, landing in the recluses yard. The hair all over his body stood on end and his arms and legs remained stiff and outstretched.   “Holy Titania, sorry didn’t mean to scare you kitty,” the voice came again. William turned and saw something he both feared and begrudgingly expected. It was a tiny blonde woman, no more than six inches tall, floating there in a green dress. “Let me guess, you’re gonna change me too? Fucking great, FUCKING GREAT! Well, get on with it you little freak. Do your fucking worst!” William said.   “Hey! Don’t you yell at me you little bitch! I know you’re having a rough night, fella, and maybe if you were nicer, I would’ve helped you out. But now? Well, you reap what you sow!” She said. Yellow light shot from her hands and struck William below his breasts. He felt a cramp, followed by three others. Then his shoulders slumped as four new pairs of breasts, each one equal to his first set, weighted him down so much he was forced nearly to all fours. “There, enjoy what being an asshole gets you,” the fairy said. With that, she turned and left in a blinding display of speed.

   William plopped down on his round bottom and grabbed one of his middle tits. They felt so heavy. His chest began to heave, then the tops of his original pair of jugs began to moisten with his tears. It was so unfair. All he wanted to do was get his dick a little bit wet, that’s all. What was so wrong with that? Now he was a freak, a six titted cat freak. What was he going to do? Where could he go? His family wouldn’t recognize him now, none of his friends would care beyond wanting to fuck him. He was screwed. Stuck crying in the cold and the grass. “Perfect!” He decried.   “I’ll say,” a sultry voice said behind him. He wasn’t surprised this time. His new ears picked up the creaking of the porch ages ago. The woman was simply stunning, beautiful olive skin, a voluptuous figure and a sexy as hell witches costume. “You look like you’ve had a rough night,” she said.   “Oh yeah, sniff, how can you tell?” William said.   “Well, the tits give it away. Come on up here, no need for tears.”   “Like hell there isn’t,” William said as he sulked up the steps of her porch, “Look at me! I’m practically a monster.”   “Hardly, I’ve seen monsters before and you are quite far from that. I’d even say you look pretty cute.”   “Oh what, are you a witch too or something?”   “Yeah, isn’t the costume obvious?” She said with a smile.   “Oh.”   “Don’t worry little kitten; I’m not going to hurt you.”   “Might as well, everyone else with magical powers is.”   “Actually, I was going to ask if you might want a job.”   “A job?”   “Yup, interested?”   “What kind of job could I do like this?”   “Well, most witches have familiars, but I’ve never really gotten around to it. I’m not exactly proactive, but when such an opportunity lands in ones lap it is unwise not to take advantage.”   “What does a familiar do? I don’t have to do anything crazy or satanic do I?”   “Satanic, really? I just run a little store of oddities and antiques. I guess you’d run the counter sometimes, organize, anything else I need, maybe test out new magical items I acquire, that sort of thing. And of course, you’d be living here with me. What do you think?”   “You’d want a giant titted cat monster running the store while you’re at lunch?”   “I have a myriad of items at my shop kitty; they’re almost all of a magical nature. There are more than a few that would change the way you look to something a bit more socially acceptable. So, what do you think?” William didn’t need much time to think.   “What choice do I have?” William extended his hand to her, “I’m William.”   “Pleasure to meet you, I am Saveta, but you’ll call me Mistress when it’s just us from now on,” Saveta said as she clasped his outstretched hand. William felt a surge coming from her hand that left him weak in the knees.   “I don’t know about that Mistress, sounds a little too kinky. Wait what? I just called you Mistress instead of Mistress. Oh crap, is this magic again?”   “Yeah, sorry. It’s best you don’t think too hard about it until you’re used to it. But here, a little welcome home present,” Saveta said. She lifted her hands and seemed to produce a choker from nowhere. It looked expensive. It was jack-o-lantern shaped, of course. Saveta placed it around Williams’ neck, it fit perfectly. The moment she clasp was locked it disappeared, and William was bathed in a blue-hued light. A witch’s hat, nearly identical to his new Mistress’s appeared on his head. It even had holes specially placed for his ears.   “A hat?” William said.   “The bell has a pretty nice feature too,” Saveta said. She curled her finger and flicked the bell, sending the ring into Williams’ ears, then she did it again. The bell began to glow, then Williams world seemed to collapse in on itself. Where he was once sitting, he now was suspended in mid-air. As he fell to the chair, he contorted, catching himself on the seat cushion. He felt claws, whiskers, and warmth from the fur now covering his entire form. “Mrrow?”   “Useful right? Just for when company is over. And two more hits to change back,” she said striking the bell twice. William popped back into his human-ish form.   “That feels so weird!”   “You’ll get used to it; you can do it yourself too you know, should the need arise. Now come along inside, I’d like to take those tits for a test ride before anymore trick or treaters arrive,” Saveta said delivering a swift and sharp smack to Williams’ bottom, that answering more questions about what she meant than anything else.

The End. Hope Y’all like it!

[fantasyrat]

The Frigid Hunt

The night was cold and dreary. The air was wet with frost. Snow crunched under a pair of thick leather boots worn by a young huntsman. Jeremy Miller’s teeth chattered as hot wisps of breath sprang forth from his frost ridden lungs. His arms held tightly around him, desperately trying to cling to what little warmth remained within his shuddering body. He slowly rose his head to glance up at the full moon, his only light in the vast darkness of the forest. But the trees were closing in, their shadows would soon kill his only means of salvation.

The weight of the dead vixen in his bag, strapped over his shoulder, felt heavier and heavier with every step forward. He could damn his hounds that had run in a frenzy for another kill. He could damn his horse for throwing him, fleeing in terror from the beast the hounds had sought. Jeremy could even damn himself and his pride for sending him on such a hunt with little more than his pistol and a knife. But he could never damn the one who had sent him on this quest in the first place, for she was his heart’s desire.

Elizabeth Commons defied her namesake and was anything but common! The daughter of a wealthy landowner and a coveted beauty with many suitors having lined up at her door. The very thought of her thick, fire-red hair gave Jeremy a small sensation of warmth and some small semblance of comfort. It helped him take another step forward, and another when he thought of her lovely brown eyes, nearly the shade of a chunk of amber. How he loved to watch her in the spring when she’d run and play with her smaller siblings, her laughter like a siren’s call to his ears. But, oh, it was her smile that did him in. Elizabeth’s wry smile caused his heart to pound in his chest and send his blood racing at every attempt to woo the remarkable gem in his little hamlet. It drove him mad with desire. 

His mind briefly thought once more of the dead vixen in the burlap sack. Elizabeth doing much as he was certain the vixen had done in her life. She gave him chase, played hard to get, and that made the prize all the more alluring. Elizabeth was a vixen and he a dashing, roguish fox pursuing her as his mate for life. He’d chased her for three long years now, stubbornly refusing to relent where many others had. He’d been there to listen to her woes as she told him of Mister Carpenter, who had apparently given up and skipped town for greener pastures after months of walks together and gifts and poetry. “He was such a lovely companion,” She told Jeremy as she tossed breadcrumbs to the ducks at her father’s pond. “But I simply couldn’t see myself with him, no matter how charming he is. Still, I hope his anger will subside in time and he will write to me. Perhaps he will find a new love and we can become lifelong friends.”  “If it matters so much to you, my dear, I will gladly look for him and tell him of how you still care for him.” Jeremy had offered, knowing full well the girl would refuse. She wanted to give the would-be suitor time and space before they could reconcile in the future. If Carpenter never appeared in her life again that would suit him just fine. And then there was Mister Roberts, who had sadly taken his own life by hanging only a day after confessing his love for the young woman.  Elizabeth, no doubt appalled by such a shameless and desperate display thought Jeremy, had remained composed as she gently but firmly rejected his proposal. The poor girl was delicate, kind, and compassionate. It had brought her to tears to think she was responsible for Robert's death. For Jeremy himself, he had to hide his smile in her hair as he held her close, whispering soothing words in her ear. Those other suitors were weak, unsuitable to possess the glorious jewel that was Elizabeth Commons. But he, Jeremy Miller, was strong. An accomplished young huntsman with a keen eye that never failed to capture his quarry. He was never one to back down or let anything stand in the way of something he wanted. He would have her, wear down her pride, and take her as his bride and finally to their bed. Then, it happened; an advancement in his pursuit! He’d received a letter from Elizabeth to come to her family’s estate and meet her in the gardens. He made no hesitation, charging his steed at a near-full gallop as if the devil was at his heels, down the road to the estate. There, in the gardens, Elizabeth issued him a challenge to prove his worth to her. 

“In the woods, just beyond my father’s farm, lies the den of a vixen.” She’d told him. He’d almost not grasped what the young woman was saying as her voice distracted him so. “That vixen has stolen chickens from us before and has recently had a litter of cubs. No doubt she’ll soon be more desperate for an easy meal so that she may feed them. Bring me her hide and kill her cubs. Then, I will consider your proposal, Mister Miller.”

With a cocksure grin, Jeremy went down to one knee and took her hand in his, gently planting a lingering kiss on the back of it.

“My sweet lady Elizabeth,” He purred. “The vixen’s hide is as good as yours. I swear it on my life.”

He’d set off the very next morning and, by noon, his quarry was defeated and her litter dealt with as he was determined to stake his claim on the young maiden before nightfall. Jeremy had then begun to ride towards home on the back of his horse with joy and visions of the charming Elizabeth dancing in his head, making his chest swell with pride in himself. ’Jeremy, old boy, you’ve outdone yourself this time.’ He thought. ‘Now the prize is in sight. All you need now is only to reach out and take it!’ So caught up in his thoughts of the young woman and their future marriage bed that he’d not noticed his hounds stop to attention. Only when they howled, signaling to their master that another hunt was on, and ran out into the thick woods did Jeremy bring himself back into the moment. He ushered his horse to follow the pack, but they had gone through the thicket. The dense shrubs and thorny branches were not meant for a large beast such as a horse to traverse.

Suddenly, the ungodly sound of the hounds' cries of agony filled the air. Whatever they had sought, they’d been no match for. One by one, each of their whimpering voices died, sending shivers of pure fear and dread up Jeremy’s spine. Just as he was about to turn tail and have his steed take off down the path, a guttural, sickening snarl was echoed from seemingly all around them. Jeremy’s horse loosed a terrified squeal and reared up, throwing its rider off its back and running away at breakneck speed. Having been knocked unconscious from the fall, the cold was what woke Jeremy hours later. He’d opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness until the moon peered out from behind the clouds.

Now, here he was. Freezing to his core, trying to stay on the path despite the dark. The trees now having stolen away his only source of light. He’d been so sure of himself. Absolutely certain he’d return before dusk and have Elizabeth’s hand that very evening that he’d not bothered with anything to aid him through such a disaster. He’d no flint or steel. No dried goods to sustain his growling belly. All he could do was keep moving forward.

But the huntsman froze when before him a pair of yellow eyes peered out at him from the darkness. Slowly, stirring from where those eyes stood, came the same snarl that had spooked his horse. This was the beast that had killed his hounds! His frozen hands clumsily reached for his pistol, but it was futile. The beast charged at the huntsman and leapt onto him with ungodly speed and ferocity, its jaws sinking deeply into Jeremy’s neck before he could even scream.

Once she’d had her fill, the beast stood back up on two canid legs that slowly morphed into the petite snow-white limbs of a woman. Elizabeth smirked as she wiped away the blood on her lips with the back of her wrist.

“Thank you so much for your help, Mister Miller.” She cooed, reaching into the dead huntsman’s bag and pulled out the russet furred carcass of the vixen. “It simply wouldn’t do to have a bunch of foxes popping up in wolf county now, would it?”

Elizabeth then tossed the carcass aside for the lesser creatures. It was a meal not worth the effort, especially with a large family to feed. Carpenter’s remains were long gone and nothing was left of Roberts except for a pudding she and her mother had made with the lesser parts of the man. Still, she could hardly complain as food came with ease to her pack. So many suitors over the years, only needing a soft voice and a shy smile to lure them in. And the superstitious townsfolk were the easiest part. No one questioned her family on any of the disappearances. The small cluster of people knew Carpenter had moved to a different village. Had a few... ‘witnesses’ had said they’d seen the man packing up his belongings onto a horsedrawn cart late at night. Of course, Roberts had been a rather unexpected but not unwelcome surprise. And, with her father providing for the funeral service, the closed casket ceremony had been lovely, even without the body to view and mourn over. Off in the distance came a howl and Elizabeth perked up. Her father was calling her home. She sighed at her father’s impatience and reached down, heaving Jeremy’s remains over her shoulder with ease. She and her family would eat well in the weeks to come, knowing well how to ration their meats. Winter was a brutal mistress for all, but one only needed to be just as brutal to survive after all.

[fierypen37]

Held Captive XXX

Another chapter ready my friends!

“Gods,” Daenerys said, still shaking with reaction, “How was it possible for Crow Eye to get free from his chains?”

Rakharo skirted the sticky pool of blood still trickling from the ragged wound at Crow Eye’s throat—torn open by Ghost. Both eyes were empty and staring, his face frozen in a rictus of surprise. The direwolf in question fastidiously licked the blood from his lips. Rakharo knelt, lifting Crow Eye’s arm. The wrist was dislocated to free it from the shackle, stiff fingers still clutching the sock knife. The blade was tiny, maybe the length of Daenerys’ index finger, but true, dark steel. At such close range, caught unawares, Crow Eye could have easily killed her had Ghost not intervened.

The thought did not puncture the numb cold wrapped around her. Will it ever end? Daenerys heaved a sigh. It wearied her to very marrow at times. She longed for peace, not this endless bloodshed.    

“This flea was determined to kill you,” Rakharo said, spitting on Crow Eye’s face.

“Someone helped him. Ser Jorah would not leave a man to be questioned without searching him. Gather everyone who touched this man, Taereg who took him from his ship, the man who shackled him, the guard who led him here, the maid who gave him water. I want all of them questioned, blood of my blood,” she said, steel in her tone.

“Yes, khaleesi,” Rakharo said, murder stamped on his features. He clapped his chest in rough salute and loped from the room with a shadowcat’s grace.

“Storm-Son, have one of your Unsullied throw this one into the mining tunnels for the rats,” she said, nudging Crow Eye’s twisted body with one toe.

“As you say, so this one will do,” Storm-Son said. Daenerys marched from the storeroom, Storm-Son trailing behind. Ghost nudged her and Daenerys found a weary smile.

“I didn’t forget to thank you, my friend,” she said, scratching his ruff, “I owe you a side of venison. Perhaps a boar?”

Daenerys made her way down one hall, and then another, at last finding the stairway she wanted, lit by torches set in gold sconces.

“You may stay here, Storm-Son,” she said. A frown creased his hard features, his knuckles white on the haft of his spear.  

“Jelmāzmo, after the maggot tried to--” The effort of arguing one of her commands made him break out in a sweat. The warm brown skin of his face gleamed in the torchlight.

“I am safe with my children, and with Ghost. I need a moment alone. Please,” she said softly. Her soul felt as fragile as an eggshell—she needed time and solitude to reassemble her armor. The torches crackled as Storm-Son considered.

“I wait here,” Storm-Son said. Daenerys nodded.

“Ghost, stay,” Daenerys said, pressing the flat of her hand on the dense fur on Ghost’s chest. She descended a couple steps, and Ghost followed.

“No, Ghost. Stay,” she said more firmly, holding his garnet-red gaze. Turning, she made her way down the steps to the crags where her children slept. Ghost ambled after her. Daenerys shook her head.

“Suit yourself.”

Tyrion told her these were once sky cells similar to the ones in the Eyrie, open-faced with a slight slant toward the sheer drop into the Sunset Sea. Then Jamie had once made the mistake of jumping from a cell into the water as a child. It was hard for Daenerys to picture her father’s killer as a carefree child who jumped from such a height on a dare. Or how the venomous Cersei had wept with fear watching her twin fall.

On any other night, each of her children would enjoy their kills in separate crags. Tonight, they curled on broken marble tiles together, a mountain of scales and tangled wings. Scorched bones littered the floor. Drogon lifted his head, uttering a low clicking growl of greeting. Rhaegal opened one bronze-gold eye, a puff of hot smoky air enveloping her. Viserion stretched his long neck out toward her, butting her gently with his snout. Cream scales gleaming like ivory in the torchlight, Viserion eyed Ghost. Daenerys was struck by the image of dragon and direwolf regarding each other as equals. She waited, poised to command Viserion, but her dragon dismissed Ghost with a hot gust of air.  

“My darlings,” Daenerys breathed, at last letting the tension unwind.

Her knees gave out, the cold seeping through her trousers. Drogon and Rhaegal growled, trying to struggle closer to her, enveloping her in a tangle of hot scales, smoke and love. Daenerys pressed her forehead to Drogon’s neck, hands clutching Rhaegal’s wing. The tears that hovered close washed over her, until she was weeping in great, wracking sobs. Where they touched her children, her tears evaporated in a hiss of steam. Daenerys clutched Drogon until her arms quivered, dragging in deep breaths the sobbing ebbed. She drew a hiccupping breath, feeling wrung out like a dishrag. A gnawing hollowness persisted within, a Jon-shaped emptiness.

Gingerly, she reached for their bond—so terribly delicate still. Garbled images filtered through her mind’s eye, too fast for her to understand, or even discern which of her children gave them. The sea, her fall, pain, something close to a dragon’s fear, pain, pain, the horrible sound of the horn, the cold, cruel sea, blood, Jon’s face. Daenerys flinched, reminded once again of Jon’s absence. She pressed tranquility toward them, murmuring soothing words. Daenerys crooned and rocked and sang a half-forgotten song until the tide quieted into a tranquil loop of thought.  

Ghost wormed his way into their midst, offering his own furred warmth. Daenerys curled on the hard pallet of Rhaegal’s curled tail with Ghost at her back. Drogon settled at her head, drawing her beneath the warm, veined tent of his wing. Daenerys slipped off to sleep, surrounded by fire made flesh and a son of the true North, for the moment content.

It was no surprise she dreamt of Jon.

His shy smile, the roughness of his hands, the sweetness of his mouth. His smile was like spring and sunshine.

“What makes you smile so?” she asked him, nestled together in hammock, the wind sighing through the trees.

“You, my love. So beautiful,” he said, cupping the weight of her pregnant belly between them. Joy shivered through her, sharp and bright and glorious. Daenerys pressed her hand wonderingly to her belly, feeling the pulse of life within.

“Jon! Jon, look--”    

“Jelmāzmo. Wake up, my queen,” Storm-Son’s voice shattered the sweet dream into glittering shards. Daenerys nearly wept at the loss of it. She opened bleary eyes, finding her Unsullied captain staring down a snarling Viserion. The sky was the soft grey of predawn, the rasp of the sea a soothing melody. Daenerys staggered up, her back aching at the awkward position. Despite that, she felt rested and at peace.

“Lyks, Viserion,” she said, running a soothing hand along his neck and horns.

“What is it, Storm-Son?”

“Lord Tyrion sent word to find you. Raven scroll from King’s Landing,” he said.

Hope and joy and fear rushed through her in a cresting wave. Jon! Daenerys stamped feeling back into her numbed feet, murmuring love words to her children. Ghost was a warm bulwark at her shoulder. Daenerys tentatively reached for their bond, clinging to the connection as she followed Storm-Son up the flights of stairs to the lord’s rooms. It held, wavering at the edges. Her children’s thought felt muted, their emotions blunted. Satisfied, Daenerys released the link. Some progress had been made at least, and no nosebleeds to worry over.

Storm-Son opened the door and breathless, Daenerys entered the room to find her small council waiting.

“Your Grace, are you--” Ser Jorah began. Daenerys forestalled his words with an impatient gesture.

“I’m fine. What word?” she said, the words whipping out crisp and sharp. She bit back the impulse to snatch the raven scroll from Tyrion’s hand, yearning to touch something he had touched.

“Word from Robb Stark, my queen. He says his men are in position awaiting word from within the city. Duckfield’s intelligence was apparently false. Stark says he has seen no sign of the pretender or his men,” he said.

Daenerys nearly wilted with disappointment, made doubly so by the mention of the pretender. She would have liked to trounce him in battle. She covered it by pouring a measure of watered wine and sipping slowly. The crisp cold soothed her parched throat, sore from the previous days’ screams.

“A disappointment, though no great surprise. Any word from Asha?”

“Yes. She is in command of the garrison at Dragonstone,” Ser Barristan said.

“Tell her I had the pleasure of meeting her uncle. Send the details of the ships we obtained from Euron’s fleet. She will know best how to disseminate them. When we take King’s Landing, we will need precise coordination and timing.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tyrion said. Conversation ranged to questioning the ironborn captains, the attempted assassination by Euron Crow Eye, his cryptic words about Jon. Ghost, bored with the discussion, stretched out on the carpet and began grooming himself.

“His intent was to rattle you, Your Grace. Tempt you into facing him alone,” Tyrion said, swirling his wine in his cup. Daenerys bit back her irritation at such a pandering comment.

“I know that,” she snapped, “But Euron Greyjoy has been sailing the Sunset Sea for years. How would he know Jon was riding with us?” A contemplative silence answered her.

“Shade of the evening has been known to cause visions, Your Grace. A charlatan such as the Greyjoy could cobble together a tale to suit his purposes,” Lady Melisandre offered, her ruby pulsing at her throat. Daenerys nodded, dissatisfied with the answer.

“Well he’s dead, so we will never know. And Jon is in that foul city all but naked and I cannot--” she broke off, swallowing the terror with some effort. She read sympathy in their eyes and couldn’t muster the will to accept it with grace. She clenched her jaw hard enough to make her teeth hurt.  

“What is our status on the ironborn?” she asked in an appropriately steely tone. Her small council’s relief was palpable as they settled to the task at hand.        

“Those who were in contact with Greyjoy have been detained,” Ser Jorah said. Daenerys nodded.

“Ser Barristan, you and Lady Melisandre question the captains and possible saboteurs. I want answers on who would betray me.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Melisandre said with a graceful nod.

Discussion then ranged to the raids and drilling of the fighting men, supplies and livestock for the castle and men, the progress of the bunks and stables under construction in the tunnels beneath the Rock for when the true cold came. Silence fell as serving girls bustled in and out, laying out breakfast. The tub stood empty before the fire and Daenerys eyed it with longing.

“We will leave you to rest, Your Grace,” Tyrion said with a grin. Daenerys returned the gesture with genuine affection. Perhaps pampering would go a long way to restoring her peace of mind.

“Bring me any raven scrolls from King’s Landing at once. I spend the remainder of the day touring the castle. Then I intend to spend the evening with my sons otherwise.” Flying and time with her children would hopefully mend their bond.

“Of course,” Tyrion said.

Missandei and her serving ladies drew a bath. Daenerys spent a lovely half hour scrubbing all memory of the previous days from her skin, and another allowing the heat and steam to loosen the knots in her muscles. Clean and dry, clad in a fresh tunic and trousers, she leaned back into Missandei’s gentle, capable hands. Daenerys closed her eyes and watched amber patterns dance, relishing the soft scrape of the comb, the sleek caress of rose oil. Missandei began to sing, in a sweet voice clear as cut crystal.

“A lovely lass of silver hair/a dragon so noble and strong/came to reclaim the home she long thought gone.” Daenerys opened her eyes, seeking Missandei’s amber-brown ones. She wore an expression of embarrassed pleasure, rosy color staining her cheeks. Daenerys smiled, encouraging her to continue. It was quite the task to make a song lyrical in two languages, but as Missandei sang in Valyrian, the syllables flowed like a river of honey. From his place by the fire, Ghost’s tufted ears pricked at the music.

“For upon that cursed iron chair/was a mad lion who made all despair/But then the maiden fair/met the noble wolf there/a union of ice and fire/they say a love of burning dragon’s fire--” Pain pierced her joy at the thought of Jon, a soul-deep longing.

“That’s beautiful, Missandei. I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” Daenerys said.

“A little. Valyrian is a language made for poetry,” she said with a bashful smile.

“I love it. I would be honored to hear more when you wish.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

They chatted of insignificant things like silly girls as Missandei deftly braided and pinned her hair into an intricate pattern.

“Thank you, my friend,” Daenerys said, taking her hand.

“You should rest, Your Grace,” Missandei said, with a fervent squeeze of her captive hand.

“Perhaps later. There is work to be done,” Daenerys said, rising.

“Send a runner to have my silver tacked. I will tour the castle and ride with the next scouting party.”

Riding her silver was a pleasure of marching she missed. The warmth and strength of her mare beneath her, her long, liquid stride, the pleasant tension of long-unused muscles. Ghost enjoyed the run as well. With his size, he could keep pace with the horses with ease. His white coat was easily distinguished amongst the rattling yellowed grasses and brown-striped stone canyons of the West. Rakharo, Kovarro, and Aggo surrounded her, a mixed group of Dothraki and Westerosi ranging behind them. Grey Worm’s Unsullied had reported seeing fires in the hills to the southeast, just beyond Lannisport.

“You have earned another braid, khaleesi. That maggot raised a hand against you,” Kovarro said, nudging his bay even with her silver’s stirrup. Daenerys nodded toward Ghost.

“It was Ghost’s victory, Kovarro. He killed Crow Eye.”

“The wolf is bloodrider also, khaleesi. Bonded to Snow of the Wolf Tent as you are bonded with your dragons. The victory is yours,” Aggo said.

“I owe you gifts for your loyalty, Qoy Qoyi,” she said with a thin smile. Kovarro returned the smile with his own.

“With any luck, we’ll find some of the weaklings to slay.”

The patrol was a quiet one, to Kovarro’s dismay. Riding with her men, amid Rakharo’s jests with the brisk wind and her silver beneath her, the heaviness in her soul lifted. The sun began its trek into the sea in a fiery conflagration of colors as they rode into the Lion’s Mouth. She anticipated a hot supper and an evening spent with her children. Her silver’s unshod hooves clattered on the stone, followed by the Westerosi’s heavier, ringing clop. Daenerys slowed her horse’s prancing with a nudge of rein as Tyrion waddled up at swift clip. Daenerys smile faded.

“What is it, Lord Hand?” Her stomach churned.

“A raven from King’s Landing, Your Grace,” he said, his expression grave. Her silver sensed her unease, tossing her head. Daenerys snatched the parchment from his hand. Her heart leapt up to her throat as she recognized Jon’s square, heavy-handed script, scrawled with some haste.

‘Valar Morghulis. Kingswood, five leagues east of the kingsroad. Come quickly.’

  “I’ll be just outside the door,” Brienne said for the third time. The nerves in Jon’s belly were quelled by a near-manic surge of humor. He bit the inside of his lip to stifle a laugh.

“Give me until the count of one hundred. If I don’t call for you, come in,” Jon said, resting his hand on Longclaw’s pommel. He felt reassured by the weight against his hip. In the scrum of scouring The Red Door tavern for the t others, Pod had meanwhile fetched both Longclaw and Oathkeeper as well a heavy sack of silver. Of Darren, Elmar and Orwen, there was no sign.

Outside Flea Bottom, the city seethed. The Dragonpit now joined the Sept of Baelor in ashes. The wildfire cache in the tunnels beneath the city had detonated, killing an untold number. Fire and Blood. In that, at least, there was a bit of luck. If the Lannisters had questioned soldiers dying on the Street of Steel, they certainly did not have time to ponder it. Every tacksman and goldcloak would be at the Dragonpit dealing with the chaos. Though given the proximity of the Dragonpit to Flea Bottom, Jon supposed his luck was a mixed bag.

The Seven Stars was a nondescript tavern, and Pod led them to an even more nondescript side door with a breathless murmur. His task was to seek the other spies and see what the hell was going on in the city. The window to find Arya or Sansa was slamming closed, and Jon had snatch at the opportunity before it smashed his fingers. Brienne scanned the tavern, empty save for the bartender listlessly swilling grog by the fire.

A solid oak door carved with the signature seven stars opened to reveal a room with barrels of grog lining the walls, furnished with a rickety table. Seated at the table was a slender man maybe a few years older than Jon, with long brown hair hanging dirty and unkempt. He sipped grog from a horn cup. Jon’s eyes raked over him, searching for a hidden crossbow, sniffing for a hint of poison. All he found was a wooden cane leaning against the table. Jon steeled himself at the reminder of Bran.

“I mean you no harm,” the man said, spreading empty palms, “I wouldn’t drag my sorry carcass to this tavern everyday if I did.”

“How do I know you’re the man who sent the letter?” Jon said, rooted to the spot near the door. The man had once been handsome, but hunger had shrunken his flesh close to his bones. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut. Green eyes blazed cat-like from his skull.

“Suspicious. That means you’re as smart as you are pretty,” he said, pausing to sip his drink.

“I wrote to Robb Stark of a day by a northern lake. Young Sansa found polished rocks while the boys played in the water, along with little Arya.” Jon frowned at the man’s soft tone. Gods, he hated trusting a stranger. But if this skinny asp had even a hint of where Sansa or Arya were, Jon would throttle him until he was satisfied with his answers. Jon sank into the chair opposite him.

“Tell me everything. Who you are, what you know, and how you know it,” Jon said in an even, steely tone.

“I’ve suffered enough for good faith that I need reassurances before I answer.” Anger simmered in his belly, hot and steady. His fists clenched and unclenched on the table, the knobs of his knuckles whitening.

“What do you want?”

“You’ll take me with you when you leave this godsforsaken city, provide me safe passage north, and two hundred gold dragons for my trouble.”

“Two hundred dragons? Are you mad?”

“A king’s ransom, or a princess’s in this case,” he drawled, eyes steady on Jon’s over the rim of his cup.

“Robb will pay your ransom. Our route out of the city takes strength. We won’t be able to coddle you,” Jon hedged with a significant glance at the cane. The man chuckled, though the hard set of his face spoke of pain, not mirth.  

“I’ve suffered worse, boy.” Jon rankled at the address, but let it slide.

“A deal is struck, on one condition: I verify your information as true and rescue Sansa or Arya. If you speak truly, the agreement stands. If you prove false . . .” Jon let the sentence hang. If he proved false, Robb would cut his head off, if there was anything left of him once Jon was finished. The man’s composed expression didn’t alter. Who was this man? He spoke as a man with some education, accustomed to authority.

“I agree to your terms.”

“Now tell me what you know.” Silence stretched the air taut as the man considered Jon. The simmer in his belly was now a boil. Jon clenched his jaw.

“You love your sister. I had to know. Sansa deserves protection after all she’s suffered.”

“So you know where she is?”

“Yes. She’s in the Vale. The Eyrie specifically.”

“And Arya?”

The man frowned, shaking his head, and one stubborn ember of hope burning in his chest faded to ash.

“I am sorry, Snow. I don’t know where little Arya is. My contacts have been unable to locate her.”  Jon swallowed hard.

“But Sansa. You say she’s been in the Eyrie this whole time? Who--” Jon broke off, a realization dawning.

“Littlefinger. That rat kidnapped her from Joffery’s wedding in the confusion and sailed off to marry Lysa Arryn.”

“Got it in one.” the man toasted Jon with his cup. Jon shook his head, baffled and excited in equal measure. Finally, something to go off of.

“But Lysa is Lady Stark’s own sister. Why would she keep Sansa her prisoner?”

“Lysa’s touched in the head, a murderer, and mealy-mouthed cunt. She’d sell Catelyn Stark’s head if Littlefinger told her to.” Questions multiplied as he spoke with such venom, but Jon stuck to the salient points doggedly.

“How do you know this?”

“I have a friend who ferries letters between Sansa and I. We’ve traded letters since Joffery’s murder.” A crippled, learned man accustomed to power who shared correspondence with Ned Stark’s daughter . . .

“You’re Willas Tyrell,” Jon said, just as Brienne shouldered her way in. The man’s lips curved in a sharp smile, his gaze not breaking Jon’s. He glanced back to find Brienne shut the door behind her, suspicious and hopeful in equal measure.

“Well done, Jon Snow. Guilty as charged. You have your answers.”

Jon grunted in reluctant amusement. The revelation raised more questions than it answered.

“Why all the subterfuge? Your grandmother has declared for Daenerys. If she would risk treason and death for the sake of revenge, she would do that and more in order to free you.”

“My grandmother thought I perished in the sack of Highgarden. In all honesty, I thought I had too--” a crash from beyond the door. Jon and Brienne swiveled toward the door, Willas rising slower. Moments later, Podrick crashed in the room, streaming sweat and breathing like he’d ran a footrace.

“We have to go! We—the others, Elmar, Darren, Orwen, they--” he paused, gulping hungrily for air.

“—I found Darren. He said the goldcloaks were moving the wildfire—spreading it beneath the entire city. Cersei she—she—she’s gone mad! She—”

“Pod, slow down!” Brienne said. The squire took in a calming breath.

“Cersei plans to lure the queen’s forces in, then set the whole city on fire!” Those words delivered in a calm tone did not soften their impact. It struck Jon hard in the gut.

“But the wildfire burned. That means--” Jon said, the realization dawning in a pained flash of green-hued fire.

“They’re dead, Darren too. He died burned half to the seven hells in an alley. He said they set it off to save the city. Goldcloaks saw me, though. We have to move. Now!” Jon glanced at Willas with an arched brow.

“Let’s see how you move.”