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swaps55 · 4 years ago

Text

Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone.

From here.

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck. By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #ashley x kaidan #not quite willenko #but almost #my fic #me legendary countdown #i'm so used to writing in present tense #that reading my own stuff in past tense is WEIRD

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glimmerglanger · 4 years ago

Note

So I’ve been plagued by this since I read mirror AU. For your spice week, how would you feel about obikin sex with an audience? Can be purely for pleasure or a ritual thing or an accident, but like, thinking of Anakin staking a claim in front of Cody in agaptfaa may have awoken something in me? Ditto prime Anakin and mirror Anakin with either Obi-Wan. I know Obes would think it riduculous/primitive but maybe find it hot anyway?

Anonymous said:

hmm this isn’t particularly spicy on its own but it can be added to a spicy september fic? like ur prompts are the ice cream and this ask is the extra toppings haha. but like obi wan’s pale skin being marked up with finger shaped bruises and hickeys and his own flush? bonus points if he’s ‘pleasantly sore’ 🥺

Mmmmm, I like these ideas very, very much! I went with ritual sex with an audience because I’m legitimately so, so weak for that. Marking ended up fitting in very well with this particular plot bunny. Hey, if we’re staking a claim…. No reason for half measures. Established relationship set during the Clone Wars (close to the end, with Anakin’s mental state being frayed).

This is NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. No real warnings beyond that. We’ve wrapped up Spicy September Week with this fic! I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for all the wonderful prompts! I’ll be posting all the fics over on ao3 to make sure they don’t get lost etc. Hope everyone has a great rest of the week, time for me to get back to prepping for Whumptober!

~~~~~~~

They landed on Tuls on a clear, cool morning, with frost across the ground. Technically, Anakin wasn’t even supposed to be on the mission, but he’d been working with the 212th when Obi-Wan’s orders came through and…

Well. They’d had enough things go wrong for Jedi sent on solo missions from the Senate. He’d decided he ought to tag along, and Obi-Wan hadn’t protested. They’d even had some time to sleep, on the flight to Tuls. Anakin had hoped they might have time for a bit more than sleep, but Obi-Wan had still been recovering from...whatever the kriff had happened to him over Raydonia.

Anakin took one look at the fading bruises all down his ribs, and lost the urge to press the issue. It was more than enough to hold Obi-Wan close while they slept, to pour healing energy down into his skin, hoping to ease as much of the damage as he could.

By the time they arrived on Tuls, most of the marks had faded away. Obi-Wan had stretched that morning, when he woke, and looked down at his side with a surprise written all over his expression. “Feeling better?” Anakin had asked, dropping a kiss against his ribs, and Obi-Wan had smiled at him, looking soft and still mussed from sleep.

But that had been earlier, when it was just them. Obi-Wan looked nothing but professional as they set foot on Tuls soil, met by an entire delegation of tired, stooped humanoids, who looked at them and said, “Thank goodness you have finally arrived, Jedi. There is no longer much time.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, after the Tuls delegation had hurried them along, out of the cold and into a finally appointed meeting chamber. There was a fire crackling in a large hearth along one wall, which was a relief. There was a bitter chill in the air, which seemed odd. Anakin was almost sure Obi-Wan had said that it was supposed to be late spring on the planet. “I was not informed we were on a time-table, but you mentioned--”

“We are very late to bring the spring,” an older man said, rising heavily from a chair by the fire. He was solidly built - Anakin guessed he’d probably been all muscle, once. Time had added a healthy girth around his waist. He wore a crown of dark stone cut through with pale lines.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, and Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan looked back at the man and said, “And you… require our help, to bring the spring?”

The man nodded. He said, “Forgive my manners. I am King Urtus. And, yes. We need your help, specifically, Master Jedi.” Anakin could feel the relief radiating off of all of these people, even as their leader spoke.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, shifting around, loosening his shoulders in a little movement that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else would identify as the first step towards a fight. “May I ask why? I’ve not heard of such assistance being required before.”

Urtus grimaced, looked to the side, and spat into the fire. “We did not need outside assistance. Not before the Separatist attacked us. The Keeper of Seasons was killed in the attack. Her apprentice…” He gestured to a boy standing to one side; the kid looked to be in his early teens. “Is not yet of age to bring the spring.”

“I think…” Obi-Wan said, as a creeping feeling ran down Anakin’s back, “that you ought to tell us, exactly, how one brings the spring, here on Tuls.”

“Are you serious?” Anakin said, after Urtus finished explaining exactly what it was they wanted Obi-Wan to do. He felt a prickle across his shoulders as everyone in the room turned to look at him, including Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow for good measure.

“We are quite serious,” Urtus said, as though he had not just suggested that - that Obi-Wan come down to some - some kind of ritual chamber and take off all his clothes and--

“Getting kr -- engaging in intercourse doesn’t make the seasons change,” Anakin said, feeling his cheeks getting far too warm. He, abruptly, didn’t like the way any of the people in the room were looking at Obi-Wan.

Urtus shrugged. “It ever has on Tuls,” he said.

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, hoping for support on how mad the entire suggestion was. He got a shrug, instead, and a thoughtful look, as Obi-Wan said, “I can feel the Force flowing through the core of this world. It is possible the seasons have become tied to… rituals, of a sort. And carnal relations are often tied to the advent of spring.”

Sometimes Anakin wanted to shake him. Not everything had to be a science project.

Urtus cleared his throat, before Anakin could point out that now was not the time to get curious about the ecosystem of some new world. “Please,” Urtus said. “It should be nearly summer now. We beg for your assistance with this matter.”

“Why does this have to be Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, shifting to put himself between them and Obi-Wan, just in case they got grabby.

“We can feel his connection to the Force,” Urtus said, straightening and meeting Anakin’s gaze for the first time. “The planet responds to him, already.” Anakin figured he’d have to take Urtus’ word for that.

And Anakin knew damn well there was no way Obi-Wan was actually going to decline. He’d be full of concern about the fate of the planet and the safety of these people and if it meant him getting fucked on an altar to set things to rights, then so be it. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Obi-Wan said, “Of course, I will assist in any way I can.”

Urtus sagged with relief. Anakin felt the emotion vibrating through the rest of the crowd, and fine, he supposed they could make this work. He could help and they’d just get this over with, and-- Urtus said, “We will prepare you and arrange the melee immediately, then.”

The back of Anakin’s neck prickled, even as Obi-Wan asked, “Melee?”

Urtus nodded. “Indeed. To determine who shall have the right to assist you. So you may remove winter’s veil and bring the spring.”

Anakin tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s arm; he felt Obi-Wan’s emotions shift, some hint of worry entering his feelings for the first time. None of it came through in Obi-Wan’s tone when he said, “Surely, I select who has the...right?”

Urtus shook his heavy head, making a deep humming sound. “No. It must be whoever is touched most deeply by winter, as decided by the Force,” he said, “it has ever been thus.”

Anakin looked over the crowd in the room. He really disliked the way they were eying Obi-Wan, and wondered, if he picked Obi-Wan up and bolted, what his odds were of getting to the ship. Probably not high, if Obi-Wan decided to fight him. Which he almost certainly would.

Anakin blew out a breath, instead, and said, “Is anyone allowed to join this melee, then?” Because, kriff, if it was a fight they wanted… Well. He was more than happy to give it to them.

In the end, the Tuls were agreeable to the idea of Anakin joining the melee. He had no idea what they meant by ‘touched by winter’ and he didn’t really care. He was taken to a chamber to prepare with all the rest of the entrants, while Obi-Wan was spirited off elsewhere. They were only to use weapons with blunted edges, apparently, but that was fine. Anakin had long ago learned how to fight with whatever was to hand.

He cracked his neck side to side, selected a weapon that fitted his hand, and waited, ignoring the chatter around the rest of the room.

It seemed to take an age and a half before the doors were opened again and they were led out, across a frozen expanse of ground, and into a small entryway, directly into the earth. It was dark inside, and warmer. There were steps, leading down, and Anakin followed the figure in front of him, flexing his fingers in and out until they, finally, reached the bottom.

They were… in a large, open space, ringed with seats stretching upward, many of them filled. The walls glowed, faintly. Anakin barely noticed any of that, because, in the center of the… well, the arena, there was a familiar figure.

Someone had taken Obi-Wan’s tunics and left him wearing…pieces of white fabric, tied in bands around his body. His eyes and mouth were both wrapped. There were more bindings around his arms and hands. He was standing in front of a tall lump of stone. Anakin assumed, with a hot lurch of his gut, that this was the altar.

Which meant the Tuls fully expected someone to fuck Obi-Wan right there in the center of this arena and, well. There was no way Anakin was going to let anyone else touch him. He took a breath, adjusted his grip on his weapon, and waited while Urtus made some kind of speech that he didn’t care about.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting for the moment when the melee started, and then springing into action. The Tuls were determined, he had to give them that. And they seemed to have decided that they didn’t actually care who won the right, as long as it wasn’t him.

They swarmed him, and Anakin snarled. Even with numbers, they were not a match, and he knew it. They had not a fraction of the practice and experience he’d gained, and he knocked them aside, one after another.

One almost cracked him over the back of the head with a cudgel, only to slip on nothing a moment before the blow could land, falling into one of his fellows, instead, and Anakin half-laughed at the feeling of Obi-Wan’s presence against his skin.

The Tuls woman in front of him balked at his laughter, and Anakin took the opportunity to elbow her in the gut, listening to the sound she made as she folded up, flinging himself back into the fight. There was no real strategy to it, it was nothing but a brawl, fierce and vicious, devolving, finally, into a bare knuckled scrap between the last contenders.

Anakin had something of an advantage in that area, and grinned fiercely at the sound his fist made hitting the jaw of the last Tuls standing between him and Obi-Wan. The man had a half a head of height on Anakin, but went over backwards with a satisfying thump.

Anakin stood, for a moment, in the midst of the groaning fallen, breathing hard. His clothes were torn and bloody, he noted. He throbbed from a dozen different places, wounds aching. He tasted copper on his tongue and turned his head to the side, spitting, even as drums started around the room.

He distantly remembered being told about the drums, and grinned, because they meant he’d won.

He met Urtus’ eyes across the arena, nodded, and stalked towards the center of the space. Obi-Wan hadn’t moved, standing there still as a statue. There were, Anakin noticed, as he got closer, clothes wrapped around his knees and ankles, too. His feet were bare on the stone and there were strange tendrils of light winding away from him, out through the stone.

Anakin decided he didn’t care about the light, right at that moment. His blood burned in his veins, his gut full of fire from the battle. He was already hard, when he stopped in front of Obi-Wan and reached out, grabbing the wrap around his eyes and pulling it away.

Obi-Wan blinked open his eyes, so clear and blue, and did not look surprised to find Anakin before him. Anakin grabbed the wrap over his mouth, hoping he was doing an adequate job removing winter’s veil, and Obi-Wan said, quietly, something tense in his expression, just for a moment, “I knew it would be you.”

Anakin shivered and could not stop himself from sliding a hand back into Obi-Wan’s hair and leaning closer, kissing his mouth, aware he was leaving smears of blood behind and - and liking it, liking the way it marked Obi-Wan’s clean, perfect skin. “I think I had some help,” he murmured, against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and felt Obi-Wan smile.

“Maybe a little,” Obi-Wan agreed, and Anakin kissed him again, pleased to know it had been him Obi-Wan wanted with him, here in the middle of an arena, here at this crude altar.

It made his pulse beat faster, instructions for what he was supposed to do jumbling together in his head. The Tuls had been specific about some things, but it was hard to focus on what they’d wanted. He’d needed to - to take Obi-Wan out of these bindings, definitely.

Anakin could do that, He kept one hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, aware of all the eyes on them. He expected a prickle of anxiety across his nerves, he even anticipated, in a flash of worry, that he would not be able to maintain his current state of interest, not while knowing so many people were watching.

But these people had thought they could have Obi-Wan. Thought they could just use him for their ritual. And he, abruptly, quite liked the idea of showing them all just how wrong they were. He slid his mouth to Obi-Wan’s neck, nipping at the skin and then sucking, hearing Obi-Wan make a loud, surprised sound.

He slid his other hand down, tearing at the white wrappings, careless and rough. He just wanted them off.

“The altar,” Obi-Wan ground out, his hands freed to come up, to grip at Anakin, pulling him closer. “We need to--the stone is Force-reactive, we need to be on--”

Anakin got the idea. The altar was the size of a large table, rising directly out of the floor. It came up to his thighs, he noted, even as he pulled the last of the wrappings away, grabbed Obi-Wan’s thighs, and lifted him.

The stone lit up beneath Obi-Wan, when Anakin turned and put him down on the altar. Veins of color shot through it, so bright they were almost blinding. A murmur went up through the crowd, relief and joy, but Anakin barely noted it.

Obi-Wan lit up, as well, and that was far more interesting. Trails of light stretched under his skin, glowing. He looked like something out of a dream, something magical. But then, he always had. Anakin groaned and crawled onto the altar, falling forward to kiss him, hands all over his skin, warm and soft and perfect.

He left behind smears of blood, marks that showed where he’d touched, and groaned at the sight of it. Everyone on Tuls had wanted Obi-Wan, but he was the only one who got to have this, the only one who got to touch, and he wanted, suddenly and fiercely, for them all to know it.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan panted, tugging at the closures on Anakin’s tunics. They were hanging off of him already, and Anakin yanked the outer tunic off, tossing it aside. He cared little about the under tunic; it wasn’t in his way. He slid a hand down, curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock, and watched the light beneath him shift, spreading away from the altar, out across the arena.

Obi-Wan’s hands clenched at his belt. He made a sound, thick and pleasure-drunk, as Anakin stroked him, setting a fast, brutal pace. He had not patience within him, at the moment, he just wanted. Wanted to watch Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter, wanted everyone in the arena to see what he got to do.

He bent forward, kissing Obi-Wan deep and filthy, the drums pounding around them, almost drowning out the sound Obi-Wan made when he spilled all over Anakin’s fingers.

“Force,” Obi-Wan panted, and Anakin grinned, rubbing his fingers together and considering. They’d not given him anything to ease the way. He shrugged, decided to make do, and slid his fingers back, between Obi-Wan’s legs.

He found Obi-Wan slick already, slick enough to slide two fingers in at once, and the revelation punched a groan out of him. “I thought,” Obi-wan gasped, deliciously flushed and glowing, “I’d better, ah, be ready.”

Anakin nodded. He felt quite beyond words, aching with so much want it felt hard to think. He wanted, so badly, to stretch out over Obi-Wan like this, to touch his glowing skin and let all the Tuls see how good he could make Obi-Wan feel, show them his beauty, the light of him--

The Tuls had warned them both that they might be...affected by the ritual. Anakin was willing to blame the hot jump of his pulse on whatever the kriff the Force was currently doing, whatever was making Obi-Wan light up, the glow off of his skin chasing away all the shadows in Anakin’s head, leaving him… singularly focused.

The urge to make everyone see swallowed him. Anakin took another kiss, hard, and then rocked onto his heels, batting Obi-Wan’s hands away - he’d gotten Anakin’s slacks open, that was more than good enough - and gripped at Obi-Wan’s hip.

Obi-Wan made a thick sound, surprised, when Anakin dragged his fingers out. His gasped beautifully, his skin all aglow, brighter spots of light at his freckles. Anakin ran a hand over his chest, awed, and then settled his hands, pulling Obi-Wan’s hips just so, gripping tight.

He heard the sound Obi-Wan made over the drums when he pushed in. Around them, the light started picking up colors, purples and pinks and blues, greens, spreading around the room, spreading across Obi-Wan’s skin, like an aurora, a celestial event, right in front of him.

Anakin jolted at the feeling of being in him. It was always amazing; he could have happily fucked Obi-Wan for the rest of his life, but-- Sinking into him on the altar felt like something else, the sensation spreading out to each nerve, clearing his head, leaving nothing but want and need and desire behind.

Anakin needed to fuck him, needed to drive into him, needing to make him gasp and cry out. Anakin gripped him, hard, keeping a hold on him, knowing he was leaving marks behind and - and liking it. He wanted marks, his marks, all over Obi-Wan’s skin, wanted everyone on Tuls and all the other worlds in the galaxy to know that Obi-Wan was--

Obi-Wan’s trembled, light spreading out from him, through the stone, the colors getting brighter, sharper. And Anakin wanted everyone to see, deeply. Force, he loved the way Obi-Wan looked when he was getting fucked, loved the way Obi-Wan’s mouth got soft, the way he flushed all across his cheeks and down his throat.

Every inch of him was beautiful, and Anakin groaned, driving into him as the light curled and flowed around them. He wished he had another hand, to curl around Obi-Wan’s cock, and in that moment saw no reason not to utilize the Force.

Obi-Wan jerked, full-bodied, when Anakin curled tendrils of the Force against his skin, pressure and sensation. Anakin thought he heard his name - it was hard to tell, the drums had gotten louder and his blood was pounding in his ears - and he took it as encouragement.

It felt like encouragement, through Obi-Wan’s emotions, overspilling into Anakin’s head.

He touched and touched and groaned when he felt Obi-Wan quake, come spilling across their skin and the altar and--and something shifted in the air around them, in the presence of the Force through the room. Anakin felt like lightning grounded down through his spine, pleasure and primal want swimming up through him.

He lost himself, for a moment, aware of nothing but pleasure, but needing to fuck into Obi-Wan, desperately, but the sheer joy of spilling within him. Anakin groaned, cock pulsing, and slumped forward, over Obi-Wan’s glowing form.

He held Obi-Wan - almost limp - and buried his face against Obi-Wan’s throat. He sucked hungry kisses against the skin, wanting to leave more marks, wanting to stain the pale flesh, wanting to leave no room for doubt that Obi-Wan was--

Was breathing shakily, trembles moving through him.

Anakin swallowed, hard, wrestling back control of all his riotous wants. He was aware, distantly, of cheering and the brilliant lights filling the chamber. But that all felt far away as he stroked a hand comfortingly across Obi-Wan’s stomach, pressing softer kisses to his skin, and holding him, there on the altar.

He managed to ask, as he got his breath back, “You think that did it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, tilting his head further to the side in what Anakin took as an invitation, and said, “Darling, you may have overshot us right into summer.”

#obikin #glimmer replies #ask me anything #Spicy September Week #public ritual sex #marking #spicy #not safe for wizards #established relationship #seriously thank everyone for all the prompts and support through this week #i was very nervous about doing so many spicy fics #i still remember that comment i got about my writing being good even if the sex is bad #so #thank you all of you #see you next year for another spicy week?#or maybe we'll do one in the spring #WHO KNOWS

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the-odd-job · 4 years ago

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A primeverse drabble of Sideswipe confusing Jack with genders (I guess the kids haven’t yet learned Cybertronians have no concept of genders) and being kinda overpowered, on account of being a Shockwave made supersoldier and all that. Written while half dead and not proofread so I apologize for any and all weirdness and errors.

“I just landed on Earth. I would really appreciate it if you could tell me where the local Autobot base is, before the ‘Cons find me.”

There were some confusing signals here. On one hand the red Cybertronian down on one knee in front of them, smiling an easy, friendly smile, had a high, young, feminine voice, thin waist, and wide hips. But on the other, their facial features weren’t altogether fitting for a female, and their shoulders were broad. It was a confusing dichotomy, when so far all the mecha they’d met had fallen pretty easily in one of two camps: mech, or femme. Male or female, as it was. This one—Sideswipe, they’d introduced themselves—broke the norm set by everyone else, and Jack felt a lot like he shouldn’t even try to fit them to a specific box because really, gender was a complicated thing and not everything fit into neat boxes– “You don’t have the Autobot insignia,” Raf pointed out, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. Jack focused back on the rest of it at that and quickly scanned the red mech’s frame. And it was true, there was no insignia to be found anywhere on her (his?) frame, only an empty space at the center of her chest that looked like it should’ve held an insignia. That was… A little odd. The femme glanced away at that, shifting uneasily. “There were some… Circumstances that forced me to get rid of it. You know, to save my skin,” she shrugged. “What kind of circumstances?” Miko asked, taking a step closer. There was challenge in her voice, demanding answers, an explanation. “It’s war out there,” Sideswipe sighed in answer, looking weary despite her youthful voice. “And you’re not always in the position to fight. I had to pass off as a Neutral for a while, so… Bye bye markings of the faction I actually belong to.” Seemed… Reasonable enough, at least to Jack’s very lacking knowledge of what interstellar politics were like. Or was it intergalactic? He wasn’t quite sure how far their friends had actually come from. Miko frowned, but she didn’t have too much of an argument either. Other concerns existed, though. “How do we know you’re actually an Autobot?” Raf asked. To their surprise, Sideswipe outright laughed at that. It was a pretty pleasant sound. “What else would I be?” she asked, giving them a lopsided smile. And it was true, her bioights and optics were blue, like Autobots’ were, and like Decepticons’ really weren’t. Jack shared a glance with Raf and Miko. They’d still need to talk to their ‘Bots before they could just tell a stranger where the base was, but– A sudden roar of engines was followed by the sounds of three different transformation sequences. “Jack! Raf! Miko! Get away from him!” Bulkhead’s voice rang out behind them and they all turned to look to see their guardians running towards them. Urgent, almost… Fearful? Him? Sideswipe? A soft hiss of pistons had them glancing back at the red mech, who rose back to his pedes. And it was only now that they could really appreciate how tall he was. He towered over Arcee, even over Bumblebee. Only Bulkhead could match his height. All of this… Probably meant Sideswipe wasn’t an Autobot after all. That suspicion was confirmed when the color of his optics suddenly changed, bleeding from blue, to purple, to red. Starting from his helm the color bled along his biolights, blue slowly draining to give way to devilish red. This was bad. “Run. Run!” Jack yelled at his two human friends, urging them both into motion ahead of himself, and together they bolted towards their guardians. And then behind them, coming to a stop only when Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead were all securely between them and Sideswipe. But the red mech didn’t even try to pursue them, merely straightened himself… Lifted his chin. A smile was playing on his lips, and he looked utterly unconcerned with the fact he was outnumbered three to one. “Ha! Sideswipe doesn’t stand a chance! Better run, ‘Con!” Miko whooped. Jack wasn’t so sure, and from the look on his face, neither did Raf. “What are you doing here, Sideswipe?” Arcee asked, snarling. Sideswipe shrugged, closing his optics demurely. “I heard Megatron was here on Earth. Figured the action would be with him.” “Well, you’re not welcome here,” Bulkhead growled, and it was really, really getting to Jack how relaxed Sideswipe remained. He had no right to be in the face of three warriors as skilled as their guardians were. They kicked ‘Con aft on the regular! “That’s just rude,” Sideswipe sighed, deigning to look at the lot of them again. “I think Megatron would disagree.” Three engines revved before the Autobots on the scene attacked. Arms transformed into blasters; Bulkhead went to close the distance for some good old melee pummeling. Sideswipe’s smile never wavered. And yeah, Sideswipe was as tall as Bulkhead was, but he was considerably lighter built. He was no Breakdown. Despite that, the red mech moved to meet Bulkhead’s charge, and… Swords extended from his arms. And kept extending. And kept extending. And kept extending until they almost brushed the ground. It wasn’t the quick shink that the blades of ones like Optimus and Arcee came to play with. This was slow, methodical—for show, almost. Sideswipe deftly avoided the blaster fire aimed at him, reached Bulkhead, and then they clashed. Except, it wasn’t the epic smashdown it was supposed to be. It wasn’t two titans coming to blows. Bulkhead undoubtedly had brute strength on his side, but Sideswipe moved like quicksilver, always staying two steps ahead of Bulkhead’s attacks, always evading every crippling blow he should have taken. And those swords he had… Slag, you’d have thought their length would be a problem, make them unwieldy. But their slow introduction into the battle was nothing but show, he was sure of that much now. Sideswipe proved well enough that he could both extend and retract them in seconds by doing just that. Every time his swords should’ve gotten in the way, they suddenly disappeared, only to reappear a moment later. And more often than not, that ended with cuts on Bulkhead that the green mech couldn’t block because of the unpredictability and sheer speed Sideswipe employed. Arcee joined the fray, and that should have tipped the scales. Arcee was a fast fighter too, and together her and Bulkhead should have had well enough destructive prowess to bring down any common ‘Con. Except Sideswipe wasn’t common, was he? He was like a dancer when he moved between Arcee and Bulkhead, smooth in every motion—blocking, moving out of the way, attacking to a devastating effect. Bumblebee couldn’t get shots in without risking hitting his comrades, so he went melee also. Three on one. For real, in close quarters. And it never stopped looking like Sideswipe had the upper hand. How was he that fast anyway? It looked almost unnatural—until Jack noticed the bit of heated air that accompanied every particularly fast motion.

Could a mech have jets built into them to enhance their movement speed..? Sideswipe never once lost his smile, despite cutting bleeding gashes into their guardians with his blades that appeared and retracted at a punishing pace. Bumblebee’s leg was almost severed. Arcee got a deep cut across her abdomen. Bulkhead was littered with wounds even his armor couldn’t protect him from. Miko didn’t look so confident anymore. In fact, he was pretty sure horror was reflected on all their faces as they watched the slow obliteration of their friends. He wasn’t… Slag, he wasn’t even sure Sideswipe was all that serious. He made it all look so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying.

He was seriously getting worried they were about to watch their guardians get killed, or at the very least, severely incapacitated, but then, a space bridge opened behind them. They glanced over their shoulders to see Optimus walk through the spinning portal, and relief flushed his veins. There was no way even Sideswipe could stand up against Optimus Prime. Right? “Sideswipe,” Optimus rumbled with a clear note of displeasure. The fight broke off, their injured friends retreating a few steps away as the Prime approached. Sideswipe didn’t try to continue the fight and straightened back to his full height, carelessly flicking some energon off the end of his left hand sword. “Optimus. Long time no see,” he smiled, and could he not freaking stop smiling?

“Does Megatron know you’re here?” Optimus asked, coming to stand beside his comrades. The red mech just shrugged, glancing away and rocking on his heels—not answering. What did that mean? That the Decepticons didn’t know about him? Could that mean he could be captured without the ‘Cons being none the wiser to it? Or killed, even? “Sideswipe, I cannot let you harm my soldiers, or the humans,” Optimus said. “I believe you are a threat if left be.” Sideswipe made an amused sound. “Can’t really disagree with that,” he said with a wry grin, and now Jack could get a good look at his fangs. Definitely a Decepticon through and through. How had they gotten fooled even momentarily? “But,” the red mech continued, inspecting his swords, “I can’t just go quietly, can I?” A shiver ran up Jack’s spine at the words. Sideswipe lifted one of his arms, pointing his sword at Optimus. The threat was clear as day. Did that mean Sideswipe was powerful enough to challenge even Optimus? No, not just Optimus, but Optimus, Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee? That couldn’t be. There was no way that could be. And maybe it wasn’t, because a vortex opened up behind Sideswipe too, and– Through walked a mech with near identical frame design, only this one was colored in bright gold. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked, and if Sideswipe’s voice was high, the new mech’s was deep, rough, traveling to his core and all but shaking it. “There’s two of them?!” Miko whispered urgently, and Jack knew what they all were thinking. If this new arrival was as strong as Sideswipe was appearing... “Not late at all, Sunny,” Sideswipe smiled, glancing at his near-copy when he came next to him. “Not late at all.”

#transformers #maccadam #tfp #sideswipe #sunstreaker #optimus prime #bulkhead #arcee #bumblebee #jack #raf #miko #fic #2020 #primeverse #love/hate heartbreak

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harrylee94 · 3 years ago

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The Tournament - Chapter 12

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm… I'm a little scared, to be honest."

"Scared, sir? You? But… but you can't be scared! You're so brave and smart and strong!"

"I can be all of those things and still be scared. I don't think you can be brave without being at least a little scared though."

Notes: Here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for...

TW: some injuries that can be sustained during jousts and fighting with swords appears in this one.

Chapter 11

——————————————————————

"What are you risking, sir?" - Cobb

This was it. This was what it had all been for. All the fear and the aches and injuries he had endured had been leading up to this moment. He shifted in his saddle as he clenched and relaxed his right hands, shaking them out as the build up of nerves made them shake. He couldn’t risk that now; too much hung on this last bout, and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

When word had reached Cobb that Ser Jaonar had reached the final round, he wished he could say he’d been surprised, but he’d witnessed the way that knight had practiced, how doggedly he’d chased perfection when it came to his combat skills, and he’d known it couldn’t have turned out any other way.

But it did make knowing that this was the opponent he faced that much more nerve wracking.

The knight had been a thorn in his side for months, from almost the very moment he'd arrived at the castle all those months ago in some sort of ploy to bring his House and the Witch King’s closer together, and he'd had to endure his derision, his snobbery, and even the occasional physical attack. Now, he could finally retaliate.

If he lost this, however, it was likely that he would lose everything; so he wouldn't allow himself to lose.

He could hear Greef Karga making his announcements around the corner, but he could barely make out the words. The kids at his side were quiet, probably sensing his mood, and one of them was holding the back of his ankle as they looked up at him. It was grounding, and Cobb used it to bring himself down from being a nervous wreck.

"Are you alright, sir?" they asked as he took a deep breath.

"I'm… I'm a little scared, to be honest," he said, and he smiled down at the child's surprise.

"Scared, sir? You?" they said. "But… but you can't be scared! You're so brave and smart and strong!"

"I can be all of those things and still be scared," Cobb replied with a small smile. "I don't think you can be brave without being at least a little scared though."

"Why's that?"

"Because it means you know what you'll lose if you don't win, but you'll do it anyway because you know it's worth the risk."

The kid considered that for a few moments before looking back at him again. "What are you risking, sir?"

Cobb swallowed, unsure how to reply, but luckily he was interrupted by the call of his name.

"I'll tell you later," he said as he nudged Chenin forwards, the kid's hand slipping from his ankle. "If you haven't already figured it out by then."

With that he rode out onto the field.

The stands were fit to bursting. Everyone was there, from the highest Lord to the milkmaid that came to the castle doors every morning before dawn, and, for the most part, they were all cheering for him, waving makeshift flags and handkerchiefs, some even with small red krayt dragons painted on them. They shouted wishes of luck to him, advice, their joy at simply seeing him there, and it brought a tear to his eye.

He could see Jo and Peli there, too, stood next to the front and yelling just as loud as anyone else, if not louder in Peli’s case, and he chuckled at the sight.

When he finally came to a stop before the Prince and bowed to him in respect, he had to blink rapidly to keep himself from crying. Never before had he felt so supported, so loved.

But that wasn't what he was here for.

"Our second finalist has cut his way to the top," Greef called, and the crowd quieted to a steady murmur. "He has beaten each and every opponent with a ruthless efficiency we have rarely witnessed in this field, and shown his strength with vigour. I am of course talking of the knight from House Suum’anar, Ser Jaonar the Bold!"

The knight burst onto the field in a flash of black and gold, Parjai prancing around the list nimbly as he waved at the crowd, preening like a peacock presenting its tail feathers to potential mate. When he eventually came to a stop at Cobb's side, after showing off his riding skills a little, he turned Parjai on the spot before giving Din a quick and barely respectful bow that was more like a full body nod.

Cobb hadn't had the chance to see the knight during the Tournament, but Jo had told him enough to know not to be deceived by the flourishes. As Greef said, this man was brutal, and he hid it behind a gilded suit of armour and a fake smile. He would have to be careful and watch his every move.

As Din rose from his seat, the crowd hushed themselves into a tense silence.

"Ser Jaonar, Krayt Dragon," the Prince said, his voice carrying across the field. "You have both achieved what all others have not, and you are stood before us as finalists in the Trials for becoming the Protector. Though you have come far, you must not forget the rules, for they have not changed. You will aim only at your opponent’s shield. The joust will only continue until all lances are spent, one of you has been unseated, or one of you yields for any reason. Once the joust is complete, there will be a melee round if both of you are able. Blunted swords only. You will fight until your opponent yields or can no longer compete. Even now, in the final test, should you break these rules, you shall be disqualified."

"Understood, my Prince," Ser Jaonar said with a flourish that sent a few of the younger nobles into a swoon.

Cobb bowed low.

"Good," the Prince said. "To your positions."

Leading Chenin to the start line, Cobb could hear his heart in his ears. His palms were sweating beneath his gloves and he had to reposition the lance in his hand after he’d retrieved it, staring down the field at his opponent.

He had to do this. He signed up for the Tournament just for this moment, and now it was here he could not allow his fears to ruin it.

“Begin.”

Ser Jaonar wasted no time in kicking poor Parjai forwards, and Cobb was quick to the same. The distance between them became ever smaller and smaller, shrinking quickly until their lances lowered.

Cobb’s entire body quaked at the hit, the splinters of both lances flying everywhere as he clung to Chenin by his knees. He grunted at the pain that blossomed from the hit disturbing his already large bruises, but he moved to collect his next lance.

The second run was just heavy handed, and he gritted his teeth, patting Chenin in apology for squeezing him so hard. He threw his broken lance to the side and gathered his next, just as Ser Jaonar did the same. Parjai was stepping nervously from side to side, but the rider pulled at the reins too hard to force the gelding to be still.

The third run, and his shoulder ached fiercely, but another broken lance was added to the pile.

The fourth came, but this time his aim was off. The knight, however, caught him perfectly.

He was behind.

He disposed of his damaged lance for the last one, and he lined himself up.

He couldn’t lose. He had to do this. He had to keep him from winning.

They rode forwards, their horses steady beneath them and their grips on their lances firm. The lances lowered.

The crowd cheered.

For a moment Cobb wondered what had happened, but then he realised that, while his lance had been broken, he hadn’t felt an impact. Turning around, he saw Ser Jaonar throwing an unbroken lance to his squire in obvious annoyance, and he grinned. A tie. Their joust had been a tie.

“In a surprising turn of events, both competitors have four points each!” Greef declared. “Ser Jaonar, Krayt Dragon, are you fit to continue?”

“I’m fit!” the knight cried, and Cobb bowed, eying the way the knight angrily untangled himself from his stirrups and deposited himself on the ground, already heading towards him and drawing his sword. Cobb quickly dismounted himself, but didn’t draw his blade just yet.

“Then the melee shall begin once both contestants are armed!”

Cobb drew his sword just before he came into the knight’s reach, and a moment later he was holding back a barrage of swings. Again and again they came, the noble born lordling using his sword like he would a club, swinging it hard and heavy. Cobb just barely kept them at bay, but eventually managed to catch the knight’s wrist to hold their swords in a lock.

“Who are you?” the knight demanded before pulling away to circle him to swing back for another attack.

Cobb deflected each blow when he could, and dodged the ones he couldn’t, finding this man’s fighting style to be more aggressive than the ones he had faced before. Still he remained quiet, only a small handful of quiet grunts escaping when the knight continued his barrage, and even when he managed to retaliate, driving the man back further and further until Ser Jaonar turned the tables back on him again.

Every hit just made his body quake even more, the bruises he’d sustained from the joust and the strain in his legs and arms from riding making it difficult to hold any sort of stance for too long, but each and every strike only reminded him of what he was doing this for, of who he was protecting from this, and it bolstered his resolve.

He would not give up.

“ Who are you ?!” the lordling demanded again, coming in close to swing at Cobb’s legs. “You come here,” an upwards slash, “with your silence,” backhanded, “and your secrets,” forehanded, “but you’re scared… you’re nobody.” Jab, jab, overhand, backhand, jab. “ Nobody !”

Cobb caught the knight’s sword again. “Nobody, huh?”

Jaonar was visibly surprised by his words, flinching back, and Cobb used it to start driving him back again, directing them both closer to the royal stage.

“Why did you sign up for this, ser?” he asked, and the knight visibly flinched again. His attack had been strong, but this must have been because his defence was weak, and Cobb huffed. “Was it to make sure the people’s needs were met? The people of import of course.”

“How did…?” the knight began, but Cobb pressed his advantage and hit his sword hand, making the man cry out in pain and drop the weapon, his fingers likely now broken, before knocking the knight to the ground. As the knight lay there, he set his foot on his chest and leaned down, setting his sword against the spaces in the visor.

“Do you yield?”

The knight struggled for a few moments more, but then froze when Cobb slid the tip of his sword through the slits enough to touch his face.

“I yield!” he shouted, and Cobb grinned.

“Good,” he said, and as he leaned closer to his defeated foe, he removed his helm, the coif that kept his hair from getting caught in the joints slipping off with it, leaving his head completely bare. “Stepping on you is better than what you deserve.”

“Y-you!” the knight gasped.

“Me,” Cobb agreed, but then he removed the sword from the visor and stepped back, offering the knight his hand. As expected though, it was batted away and the knight rolled himself over so he could push himself up with his one good hand.

It was only then, as the knight was walking away, that he realised that the crowd was applauding, their shouts and whistles making him look up at them. And then he turned around to where Prince Din was standing, their eyes meeting, and it suddenly hit him:

He’d won.

——————————————————————

Colour meanings:

Black -- Justice

Gold -- Vengeance

Chapter 13

#writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #cobb vanth #din djarin #jousting #medieval au #dincobb

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sp00kworm · 4 years ago

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Beginnings, Middles and Ends (Shaxx x Gender Neutral Reader)

Archive Of Our Own Link

Pairing: Lord Shaxx/Shaxx x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Reader Death, Injury Description, Blood and Mild Gore.

----

Warlords were a force to be reckoned with. You watched from the walls of the keep as Fallen clawed at the walls, hissing in their strange language. It was a pathetic attempt at a siege. You peered up as the Warlord of the land you lived on stepped up onto the stone, white and orange armour shined. He stood, burning with the power of the light as the Fallen hissed below.

“Did you forge the weapon I asked for?” He asked with a turned head, horns shined and gleaming in the light.

“I made it but I don’t know how well the detonations will go off.” You offered as you loaded the magazine, “My father wasn’t best impressed I was taking bribes off the Warlord but here’s your weapon.” You grinned and snapped the gun into action, handing the shotgun to Shaxx with a snort, “Try not to break it, yeah?”

Shaxx shouldered the shotgun and tested the weight before huffing, “If I do break it, I know you will fix it, blacksmith.”

“Hey, that isn’t what I am! I don’t shoe horses, Shaxx, I’m a gunsmith. You wouldn’t have a weapon if it weren’t for me!” You joked as he planted his feet firmly on the wall, solar energy burning from his hands as he waved your concerns away.

“Be ready when I get back, little smith, I fear I will have some things for you to look at anyway.” He gave a little salute before you watched him jump from the wall, burning energy on his feet slamming into two Fallen, burning them into ash as he turned the new shotgun on the hoards.

Fire blazed up the wall as you watched from the top of the mountain. Shaxx moved through the hoard with fire blazing, the shotgun sending molten pieces of Fallen into the others, ending their lives in massive explosions of fire. The fight was short until the slamming of a great siege weapon from the Fallen. Shaxx’s horned helm turned towards the Southern wall as the canons of the Walker fired.

“GET THEM AWAY FROM THE WALLS!” He screamed from the bottom of the wall as he turned to sprint, fire burning from his shoulders as he crashed into a Captain and tore its head from its shoulders. He ripped another’s head free as you sprinted down from the wall.

“WALKER! GET BACK TO THE KEEP!” You roared as you scattered for the bell and let it toll loud. Children and women ran for the Keep as you helped load weapons. The remaining men and women loaded rifles and took positions firing down on the legs of the Walker as you looked for Shaxx in the melee. He was rushing towards the Walker, slamming flaming hammers at the enemies around the Walker.

“Bring it down!” You shouted as fire focused on the legs. The Walker stumbled under the barrage of armour piercing bullets and collapsed to the ground. You turned fire on the enemies as Shaxx tore into the metal, burning hammer slamming through the exposed wiring and head of the Walker. The Fallen around scattered as fire burned through the Walker and Shaxx jumped from the burning hull, hammer held in his hand as he turned on the hoard.

Looking away from the sights of your rifle, you breathed a sigh of relief as Shaxx walked from the battle ground, looking at the remains of Fallen which were burning away on the autumn leaves. It was fast approaching winter. He peered at the wall and sighed at the huge hole. It would take immense amounts of manpower and resources to fix the wall.

“Shaxx!” You waved from the wall, “We might have a big problem!”

Shaxx peered up and waved one hand at you before entering through the gates, his armour singed a little around the edges as he came back inside, “What is the problem, little blacksmith?” He teased before sighing as you pointed to the wall, “I have seen…”

“Shaxx…We don’t have the resources to fix this. Winter isn’t far off. People will freeze to death.” You lamented, looking up at the damage before eyeing the shotgun in his grasp, “Looks like you broke it anyway.”

“It is not my fault it couldn’t withstand four swords.” He offered you the gun back and peered at the walls. There was a lot of damage.

“We will get through this, blacksmith.” Shaxx promised with a squeeze to your shoulder, “I won’t leave these people to rot.” He promised as you took the shotgun with weary eyes, already assessing the damage as the Warlord hugged your shoulders tight.

Felwinter had managed to sway Shaxx.

“For an Exo who got his head torn off three times, he still is full of himself.” You snarked as you moved with the column. They were taking you all to safety, the Iron Lord army marching around you all in precise block formations.

Shaxx snorted from the side of the cart you were riding in, “Exominds are brash. He has a point though. I could not have defended my land and kept you all safe. This way is better.” He observed as you fixed the plates of the shotgun, handing it back for his inspection before you moved onto fixing some more of the rifles. Your hands shook with the cold, but you continued on anyway, happy for a distraction among the sadness of your people.

“Shaxx…” You asked quietly.

“Yes, little smith?” He replied, peering up at you from the side of the engines driving the sleigh.

With a smile you tugged on his horn, “Promise me you’ll keep safe out there?” You asked him as you loaded a magazine into a pulse rifle, “Even if you’re now an Iron Lord, you could still fall as easy as any of us.”

Shaxx contemplated the words of worry for a moment before nodding his head, “You have my word, smith. I’ll come back in one piece…” He peered at the start of the column where the Lords rode, “The same could not be said for Felwinter after our last duel!” He laughed and you joined in, remembering the moment Shaxx tore the Exo’s head off in a shower of sparks well.

The column rode slowly for a number of days before you all met trouble. Shaxx was called to the front and left you in the wagon to speak to Saladin. The mood was sombre and serious as he approached the group. They pointed to the maps as he approached and Shaxx gritted his teeth behind his helmet.

“We cannot split off from them. They will not make it!” He insisted as the Iron Lords drew their plans closed.

Saladin gave him a critical stare, “They will. It’s a days march, Shaxx. They will be in no danger.” He insisted as the others turned their looks on Shaxx, “You cannot be so attached and see them the whole way. We have jobs to do elsewhere.” Saladin insisted, “The last dregs of the Fallen are gathering. We should quash the rebellion before it sparks into anything.”

Shaxx turned from the table, “Then I will escort them. I will meet with you all in the pass.” The Titan insisted as the Lords crossed their arms.

“You will not be needed, Shaxx.” Saladin huffed as Shaxx turned away and headed back to the column of people.

“I have a duty to these people. I will see them safely to this haven.” Shaxx moved back towards the column, ignoring the looks of his new fellows.

The gunshot burned. You looked down at your gut and watched blood stain the heavy winter clothing, the furs matting under your hands. You reached for the rifle in time to blow the head off a Dreg and sat back as its body slumped off the cart, into the snow below. Pain seared in your gut as you felt hands clutch at your body.

“Blacksmith? Can you hear me?” Shaxx’s words were loud over the remaining gunfire, “I knew you would get yourself into trouble.” He lamented, gentle hands stroking your hair from your face, wiping drips of blood from your chin as you laughed wheezily.

“I didn’t expect it to be me.” You wheezed before reaching up to touch his helmet, streaking blood down the side of it as you bled into his lap, “Take care…of my guns, Titan.”

“I swear I will, little one.” Shaxx promised as your eyes turned glassy against his thighs.

You were buried under stone before the column left, your shotgun positioned over your small tomb with an orange ribbon tied around the butt.

Years later, longer than people could remember, a Ghost bobbed over the pile of stones, the purple shell shining in the late autumn gloom as it shivered, pulsing with light. A bright white light exploded from its shell as it span around the stones, bringing back to life the preserved body underneath. The cold had kept them well preserved enough.

“Come on, come on. Get on those…well you might have to dig your way out first.” The Ghost span and watched the rubble move before fingers sprouted from the rocks as the pile rumbled and stones fell away. Desperate noises echoed within as air poured into the cavern. Gasping sounded with tears before an arm broke free. The Ghost watched the stones fall away and a ragged corpse emerge, wrapped in old animal furs, skin pale yet the glow of life returning. Gravel exploded from their hair. The Ghost watched on worriedly.

Perhaps he was too late. If you had gone mad in your own death, he would be tied to you forever. The Ghost whirred on top of the stones and waited for judgement.

You shuddered on top of the stones as night set in around you both. Your new friend soothed you with light rays over your shoulder as the cold set into your bones, the old pieces of animal fur dropping from you in matted clumps and broken leather pieces. You had not spoken in hours, simply looking on at the sun as feeling returned to your long dead limbs.

“How long...” Your words were scratchy, dying on your lips half way.

Your Ghost bobbed softly, “I don’t know.” He whispered before rushing over to inspect the gun next to you, the orange ribbon faded.

“I…I don’t remember anything.” You looked at the stars, rubbing your fingers together behind the rotten cloak.

“You won’t. It’s a side effect. No one ever remembers. But I know where we can head to for some answers. A city. The Last City on Earth.” Your Ghost rotated before humming, “I met a great Titan there once. He told me to find my Guardian.” He confessed before looking at your clothes and shivering again. Light poured from him, blessing you with a mild protective armour, the life support system inside beeping as it kept you warm enough to survive getting to the city.

“How far is it?” You asked as you felt warm for the first time in hours, “Can we even make it before Winter?”

Your Ghost peered into your helmet as it burned with light, mending the shotgun to the best of his abilities, enough for it to be usable, “With that gun in working order we might just stand a chance.”

You took three, steady breaths and looked at the shotgun, shouldering the weight intended for a man much larger than yourself with some difficulty, “Then let’s find some parts.”

Gently, the Ghost bobbed, “Eyes up. Let’s go and find some answers.”

The snow burned cold through your boots as you fell, the weather taking your life once more. Your Ghost gave a dismayed noise, reviving you once more with a flash of light. The hunger returned as you gasped awake again, fingers burning with cold agony in the snow as you pushed yourself upwards. Starving. Cold. You held the shotgun as your guts screamed for food, and walked onwards through the blizzard with the gentle warmth of your Ghost’s light in your armour reminding you why you were still walking onwards.

“A risen has collapsed by the gates!” A commotion sounded below as people clamoured for a look, others retreating away back inside their homes as the shouting grew louder.

“Get them inside!” Shaxx roared from the walls, jumping from the guard tower as the people worked to open the gates, winching it open just enough to allow for him to reach his hand through and drag the body inside. Grey clothing covered them. The basic functions of life support were nestled inside the armour plating. He reached for their helmet and peeled it free.

“By the Traveller.” Shaxx’s fingers paused over the familiar face as the teams worked to close the gates again.

“Shaxx! Inside!” His communication link roared to life as Saladin asked for updates, thinking there had been an attack.

“Calm yourself, Saladin. It is a Risen, like us.” He confirmed as he glanced down and shouldered the weight easily. A Ghost whirred to life as he held your body in a tight cradle.

“I would kindly like for you to take my friend to a med bay. There’s a lot of bleeding I need help with stopping before I can do anything helpful.” He lamented with a soft whirr. Shaxx nodded and headed back towards the inner city.

“You are a fool. A stubborn, loud and proud, FOOL!” Saladin roared from the doorway of the medical ward, golden armour glinting as he swept into the room, “How do we know this is not a Warlord sent to our door to butcher us?!”

Shaxx held up the decrepit armour for Saladin to see, “In such garbs? Or perhaps the fact that I know them is more consoling?” He offered, “They…Those years ago when I joined with you. I knew them. They were a gunsmith of the people I protected. A fallen tore open their stomach. I let them die in my arms.”

“That changes nothing Shaxx. They could have been swayed by any faction.” Saladin strode to the bed, looking at the machines monitoring them in bed.

Shaxx stood from the chair by the bedside, “I will stay here then. If they are turned against us, I will quell it before it has begun.”

Saladin sighed, grumbled once more, but seemed to accept that as enough, and turned, cloak swirling behind him as he left, “If anything goes wrong, Shaxx, your head will be on the line.” He promised half-heartedly as he stepped into the corridor.

Air rushed into your lungs again as you felt the lingering effects of light leave your fingers.

“Oh, thank the Traveller!” Your Ghost cheered from your palm as you opened your eyes to the shoddy lights of the medical bay, “I was so worried!” He chirped as he pushed the bottom of his shell into your fingers.

Groggily you peered around the room, noticing the tatty curtains and faded white sheets, “Where are we? Did…” You swallowed and croaked, “Did we make it?”

“You made it.” A soothing voice spoke from your right side. An orange and white clad man was sat by your bedside, leaned back in the hospital chair as he observed you talk to your small Ghost, “You were in bad shape. You collapsed by the gates. It was lucky they spotted you, but your Ghost did the rest of the work.” He nodded to your Ghost and sat forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, “I’m here to keep an eye on you and make sure that you’re not going to cause us any problems.”

You peered at the great man and watched him turn his helmet away, “I came here for answers. My Ghost, he said that I could find some answers here about what to do…who I am.”

Shaxx clenched his fists, “How about I introduce myself?” He asked more of himself than you before nodding his head, “I am Shaxx. Lord Shaxx to some, but for now, to you, Shaxx is fine, little one.”

You nodded and wet your lips, speaking your own name before frowning, “Its all I can remember.” You whispered before looking at the man, “Ghost said you can never remember. I want to know who I am…”

“To know is to feel like another person, like a void.” He spoke solemnly as he watched you, reaching to pour you a cup of water. Gently he tipped your head forwards and placed the cup to your lips, watching as you took a long drink.

After swallowing the water, you coughed and reached to push yourself up on shaky arms, the strength slowly returning from your Ghost’s healing, “Are you saying you don’t have the answers?”

Shaxx felt his stomach tighten, “I’m saying you might not want to know the answers, little smith.”

You scowled at the nickname, “You know, don’t you?” You reached for his armour and tugged on the gauntlets, “Tell me.”

A deep exhale left the helmet as Shaxx looked down at you, “I knew you. You were a gunsmith working with the people I was protecting on my land. I was a Warlord, I had a mountain territory that many wanted. You helped me with guns and armour, anything you could get your hands on. We were attacked. The defences were broken so I took you all with the Iron Lords, up towards their haven. They’re a group of good people, looking to protect others. I…They turned march. I went with our people to make sure you all got to the place safely. You were shot. Fallen attacked us on the way.” His voice was thick and heavy with sadness, “I buried you with the shotgun you made me.”

It felt like a ton of bricks had hit you. Your body felt like it was cold, not responding as you looked back at the ceiling.

“I died in your arms, didn’t I?” You muttered. You didn’t dare look back at the man at your bedside.

Shaxx swallowed loudly, “You did. I buried you myself as the column moved on. Your father never spoke to me again.” He concluded the tale by standing up, “But you can never be that person again. Don’t sit and wonder how you could be yourself again. It’ll send you mad.” Shaxx walked to the door.

“Could…I will speak to the man in charge. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.” You watched your Ghost spin in your palm as Shaxx nodded and left, sliding the door closed behind him as he started up a communication link with Saladin.

Saladin’s grumbling voice sounded in his helmet, “You’re not dead, I see.”

Shaxx ignored the snide remark, “They wish to speak with you, to prove they are not here with any ill will.”

Saladin was quiet, “You told them didn’t you. You did the one thing you should not burden a Risen with.” He listened to Shaxx’s silence and growled, “You are a fool in a thousand ways, Shaxx.” He hissed before the communication link went dead.

He paid the price for telling you. With new dark armour and mastery over the element of Void, you left the City months later with no fanfare. Shaxx watched from the wall as you walked away into the unknown, supplies on your back and the orange ribbon fluttering over your shoulder, still tied to the butt of the gun. He never moved to stop you.

“Strength, little smith. Come home safely to us.” He whispered into the cold air as he watched you leave.

“Take the barrier down!” Shaxx roared as his team was cut off. The others soon joined him, focusing fire on the Cabal tearing towards them. The thick-skinned aliens fell underneath the hails of bullets as their Hero disabled the barrier, letting the force through.

“For the Last City!” Zavala roared as they charged, light burning bright. Shaxx watched for a moment before feeling the fire between his fingertips and howling as he swung forth a molten hammer of flames, burning everything in his path as he blazed forwards. He burned brighter when a Colossus stood in his path but struggled under the heavy-handed punch, his armour creaking as he blocked it and caved to his knees under the weight. The Titan roared back at the Cabal before the weight was gone. He felt the rush of extreme cold and watched void blasts tear the beast open, its armour crunching and curling inwards with the power of harnessed black holes.

“Thank you, Guardian...” He offered before peering up at the scaffolding and trailing off.

“Eyes up, Lord Shaxx! There’s more incoming!” A familiar purple Ghost chirped from the air in front of him before you jumped from the scaffolding.

“Look alive, sunshine!” You tossed him back his gun and nodded your head, “We’ve got too much talking to do for me to let you die in this little siege.” Shaxx watched as you floated upwards in a swift jump and leaped after you, grabbing your outstretched hand, letting you help him up.

“Yes. I believe we do have a lot to talk about, little smith.” He shouldered his gun and slapped you hard over the back, “Later. For now. We win back our last home.”

You walked through the tattered remains of the old keeps and watched the people cooking over fires, smiling with one another. It had been a long time since you’d seen humans smile so happily with one another. A group waved as you passed them by.

“Guardian! Would you care for a bowl of ramen?” An Exo asked, “Its fresh!”

You waved, smiling behind your helmet, “Maybe another time. I have plans.” The group cooed loudly as you waved their adoration off and made your way back into the beginnings of a new Tower. As you took the stairs, you looked at the new stone and sighed. You weren’t a Guardian. You’d left long before the idea of them was a reality. You were akin to a rogue, coming and going wherever you pleased.

At the top you took in a breath of air and peered at the broken Traveller, gazing at the pieces drifting in the sky as you leaned against the balcony and waited for the hulking Titan to make his appearance.

“Arcite, make sure to have these distributed before tomorrow. I would like sign-ups to start early in the morning.” Shaxx spoke from behind you before dismissing his assistant and heading towards you. His large hand wrapped around the barrier to your left as he muttered your name in greeting, “You wanted to talk?”

With a smile you turned to face him and reached to take him in a strong hug, arms wrapped tightly around his armoured frame. You were both silent as Shaxx wrapped his arms around you tightly. He pushed himself closer, his chest wheezing with a sob.

“You thought I’d never forgive you, but I never hated you to begin with, Shaxx. Even as…even as a mortal I never hated you.” You whispered as you took his hand, walking him away from public prying eyes.

As you both entered the small office below Shaxx let out a shaky sigh, “I told you it would break you. I…I blamed myself all these years for being an idiot.”

You pulled the shotgun from your back and pulled the tattered, faded orange ribbon from the butt, “I went to find out who I was, Shaxx. I was gone for years chasing the last of my tribe, my people. They remembered me and my family and told me stories, pulled open books I’d not seen since I was little. I found it, and now I’ve come home. Home to the one person I knew I should have stayed with to begin with.” You reached for his helmet and felt the Titan flinch.

“I…” He was lost for words, large hands clenching before he reached for his helmet and pulled the horned helm free, revealing a dark face marred with scars. Tanned skin and a slightly off-centre nose looked back at you for the first time in many years. His nose looked like it had been broken many times and never set properly. Dark brown eyes gazed at you as he tucked the helmet under his arm and took your hand again, “This time I’ll be the family you don’t have, little smith, I promise you. I won’t fail you again.”

You looked up at the tall Titan and gave him a smile, “And I’ll get back to fixing your armour. It looks like you’ve been doing it yourself for the past…well however many years!” You joked as you banged on the white and orange chest plate.

Shaxx grinned, “You are avoiding something, as am I.” He took a breath, “I…I loved you, back then. I may not have shown it but…”

“You were already three hundred by the time I knew you, you cradle snatcher.” You joked.

“That does not make this easier!” He grumbled, “I…”

You pressed a finger over his lips, “I love you too. It took me wandering endlessly to figure it out…But I love you, Shaxx. I have faint memories. They came as I looked at what I used to do, who I used to be. Everything slowly…It all made sense. I hope we can build something new, together, for ourselves.” You confessed.

“We start at the beginning then?” Shaxx asked, “In that case.” He bowed his back before getting to one knee, “My name is Lord Shaxx.” He kissed the back of your gauntlet.

With a smile you pulled him back to his feet and introduced yourself, kissing his cheek gently, “Now, let’s go and get some food, big guy.”

#shaxx x reader #lord shaxx x reader #shaxx x gender neutral reader #lord shaxx x gender neutral reader #lord shaxx #shaxx #destiny shaxx #shaxx destiny #destiny #destiny the game #destiny 2 #destiny game #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #my writing

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Yuletide Fic 5/5

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five Read them as I post here, or all at once in Ao3 under peterqpan

What hadn’t occurred to Billy while planning for Santa was how long he and Steve would have to lie silently, waiting for the whispers around them to subside. The kids kept eating the Santa cookies, and then getting up to get more, and Will had the giggles about something. He kept wriggling out of the sleeping bags to put on more Christmas carols.

El kept sitting up at the slightest noise, staring suspiciously out the window, and Max wasn’t helping, all “What was that? Did you hear something?”

Jonathan’s shoulders shook suspiciously over on the couch, but at least he was quiet.

Steve didn’t let Billy throw anything at Max and El, and when Billy started to suggest knocking Dustin and Will out with blunt force trauma instead, Steve cupped his face with both hands, smiling at him in the light of the tree. They were scooted down far enough in the zipped-together sleeping bags that the edge shielded them from sight, their knees touching, and Billy let his eyes close as he leaned into Steve’s warm hands.

“Love you,” Billy whispered, almost inaudibly. “See, it’s romantic now.”

“It’s always romantic,” Steve whispered back, which Billy should have expected, honestly, from the man he’d had to flee earlier because he was professing his love loudly in the grocery store over Billy’s choice in mustard.

“Loser,” Billy sighed, squirming closer, and biting back a laugh at the feeling of Steve kissing his forehead, and his ears, and across his cheeks to his eyelids, and down his nose. Billy reached out and grabbed his boyfriend by the back of the neck, pulling him into a real kiss, but soft, so the kids couldn’t hear. “Merry goddamn Christmas,” he whispered, under the annoying, tinny tones of Marie and Donnie Osmond, apparently taped from the TV special. Steve snorted a laugh against his lips, and Billy could feel him grinning.

“Thanks,” Steve whispered, and Billy stroked his thumb over the base of Steve’s skull, and the shell of his ear, feeling the muscles move as he smiled.

“All I did was get out of your way,” Billy whispered. “But I get you tomorrow night, Harrington.”

“No, you—you did all this,” Steve whispered back. “I wouldn’t’ve thought of inviting the Byers. Or the tree. You invited Dustin.”

“Dustin invited himself,” Billy pointed out, and Steve nodded, squirming closer.

“You said it was okay,” he whispered. “I’d be...this’d be every other Christmas,” he laughed, a little catch in his voice, and pressed in for another kiss, murmuring against Billy’s lips, “Except for you. Love you. Babe. Billy Hargrove.”

“...I haven’t even killed you a reindeer yet,” Billy told him, his face so hot he could feel the blood pounding in his ears. “Jesus.”

“I love you anyway,” Steve whispered, kissing his face again. “I’m generous that way. Y’know. Even to losers who can’t even bring me a reindeer.”

Thank god, Billy thought, turning his head to kiss deeper, tasting frosting, and feeling Steve tremble against him, panting for breath. Thank god he shut up about loving me. Thank god he loves a loser who doesn’t bring him reindeer. He slid his hand up inside Steve’s shirt, under his sweater, and felt his breath hitch. Steve slid a socked foot over, hooking Billy’s leg by the ankle to sandwich their knees together, so their bodies were close enough to feel warm.

“Let’s sing carols,” Dustin said loudly, and Steve scrambled away, sat up in the zipped-together sleeping bags, and beaned him with a pillow he yanked off the couch, which had the fortunate side effect of dumping Jonathan Byers' ass on the floor. He yelled.

Billy should have expected the thankfully brief pillow fight, in which Will got the giggles so bad he fell over, Dustin took a three-pointer in the face from Max, and Jonathan Byers threw pillows at Steve, missing every time.

El smacked everyone indiscriminately, and Steve tried to be some kind of stealth ninja slithering around on sleeping bags while Billy called out plays like a sports announcer, but after they all flopped horizontal again, panting, the kid’s giggles finally petered off, and then there was silence.

It was time.

“How come I didn’t get a home run,” Steve whispered as they retrieved El’s bike from where Hopper’d slid it under the table, as Jonathan tiptoed off for the stockings.

“Didn’t hit the ceiling beam,” Billy whispered back, making it up as he went along. “Gotta hit the ceiling beam before it drops on somebody.”

“I should have got a penalty shot when they all ganged up on me,” Steve huffed, sitting out Dustin’s Commodore 64 games, and Will’s new markers. There was a photography book for Jonathan, and Billy waited until Steve wandered off to stick the two albums he’d bought him kinda behind it— Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, and The Police: Synchronicity. Steve used one of his dad’s ski boots to make an ash print by the stove, before helping Jonathan prop stockings up not-too-near the fireplace, so the chocolate inside wouldn’t melt by morning.

Max had new walkie-talkies too, and Billy sat them out with mixed feelings, wondering who the second one would go to—her mom?! He hailed Steve over to have him write a note, too—Dear Max, it said, I have given your step-brother Billy a little Christmas spirit, so he’ll drive you to get a skateboard repair kit.

“Why am I writing it,” Steve hissed.

“She knows my handwriting, dingus,” said Billy, knowing she didn’t believe in Santa, but also buying in, a little, to the illusion.

Steve looked at him for a long second, and then yanked him in for a kiss.

They’d barely climbed back in their sleeping bags when Billy heard bells, and thought really, Hopper? Fuck you. Really?!

El sprang up, stumbling sleepily over Dustin and Will to the window, and from their grunts and muttered expletives, possibly doing internal damage. “Bells,” El mumbled, squinting outside just as they all jumped at the loud thud, and scraping noise, and El turned to stare at Max and yell “It’s his sleigh! It’s his sleigh!” before peeling off to run out the back door to stare up at the sky as Max fixed a sleepy, but extremely suspicious, glower on Billy.

“The fuck was that,” she hissed, and Steve said “Santa!”

“Go away, Santa, too early,” Dustin mumbled, and Billy’s liking for the kid grew three sizes that moment.

“It’s not even two in the morning,” Steve whispered, laughing, and pointing to the digital clock on the VCR, but Mrs. Henderson, Joyce, and Susan all stumbled downstairs, shivering and blinking sleepily, followed by Hopper.

He hummed as he put the kettle on, rubbing his hands together as his kid froze outside like The Little Match Girl, looking for Santa in her pajamas, and Billy finally went to the door with Dustin and yelled “El! Get in here, you’ll freeze!”

She yelled something back, but it got lost in the arctic wind, until she ran back, shivering, and held out a half-eaten carrot like she’d found the Holy Grail. “They dropped this!” she whispered, and Billy dropped a blanket on her head, and walked away to stand by the fire as Dustin pulled her inside, and Will saw his Santa-given markers and yelled.

Steve came up and threw his arms around Billy, either out of joy, or the realization he needed to stop his boyfriend from murdering the sheriff.

The kids all milled around the tree, Dustin’s fingers actually twitching towards the games, but they all noticed the time, and stared warily at their parents—except El, who was wrapped up in a blanket in the arms of the main offender, her snowflake-patterned socks sticking out as she yelled something muffled about Santa.

“Guess we’re opening presents now!” said Joyce Byers, grinning as she watched Jonathan catch sight of the photography book, and Will sitting, cross legged in front of his markers, his eyes wide and fixed on their target. El found her bike and yelled, snatching the note, and Max frowned at the handwriting over her shoulder, then fixed a startled frown on Billy, who shrugged. Max's eyes narrowed as El ran to show Hopper the note, and Billy looked away, watching Dustin rub his face briskly and trundle over to sit under the tree.

Dustin passed his mom a package, grinning up at her, and she crouched to hug his head.

“You’re all insane,” Billy whispered, warming to the idea of Christmas, a bit, as El passed him more hot chocolate, even though Jonathan immediately ruined everything by putting the Rudolph Christmas special on the VCR.

“Euuuugh,” Billy groaned, leaning his head against Steve’s.

In the ensuing melee, Billy ducked around flung Star Wars toys, Legos, what looked like a camping tent, a Ghostbusters baseball cap, and a rainbow of hats and scarves from Mrs. Henderson, who’d apparently made some for everyone there.

“How’d you have time,” Joyce breathed, running her fingers over a pattern in brown and green, and Claudia Henderson shrugged.

“Dustin’s cousins never send thank you cards anyway,” she said, grinning and handing packages to Billy, Steve, and Hopper.

Billy squeezed his, blinking at her, and she patted his shoulder. If Claudia Henderson could brave the wrapping-paper explosion, so could he, he figured, so he edged around to grab Steve’s stocking, and handed it over. “I’m giving this to you on one knee,” he whispered, and Steve blinked at him, then stared down at the stocking.

Instead of pulling out orange after orange, as Billy’d anticipated, Steve dumped it over his lap in a shower of fruit and walnuts, and burst out laughing at the ring-pop Billy’d stuck in the bottom. He yanked the wrapper open and put it on his finger, admiring the huge cherry candy gem, and leaned to whisper “I do.”

Billy flushed and scrambled away to find his actual presents for his boyfriend, rather than watch Steve stare into his eyes, swirling his tongue around his ring-pop, his mouth already red from the food coloring. Billy scrambled half under the tree and yanked out the first aid kit, and the cold-weather kit with handwarmers and foil blankets, and passed them up to Steve, who looked startled unwrapping them, then fond.

“I’ll be ready for anything,” he said, and Billy snorted.

“Can you be ready for anything in Hawkins?” Billy shot back, and Steve beamed at him.

Billy’s Santa presents for Steve, the albums, had been snatched up by Will and Jonathan, he realized after crawling around. They surrendered them after arranging some copies in trade, and Billy handed them over to their proper recipient while Steve stared at the pile of presents growing around him, and agreed to give one of his new walkie-talkies to Dustin.

Which made sense, Billy thought, it wasn't like Billy even knew how to use the damn thing. He didn't even know if he lived close enough to Steve for the damn thing to work, and it was probably more important to Steve that the kids could find him when they found monsters.

Steve was wearing one of his new mittens on the hand without the ring-pop, and the matching burgundy scarf, and Billy sat and watched him as he opened the note from Joyce, inviting him for New Years, and grinned at her.

Billy forgot he was in the middle of the whole Christmas mess until Max punched him in the shoulder, and shoved the note Steve had written in front of his face. “This true?” she asked, scowling. “You’re gonna take me to buy a skate kit.”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging, and she stared.

“Santa is real,” she muttered, crawling back over to where El was trying on her new bike helmet.

Steve pushed his haul aside, pausing to blink at a wrapped package from Susan, and waved Billy over as he slowly ripped it open. Two packaged Hot Wheels cars spilled out into his lap—a BMW and a Camaro, and Steve looked delighted. "They're our cars," he whispered, grinning at Billy, his eyes sparkling in the lights from the tree as he ripped the cardboard off the backs, and touched their front bumpers gently together.

Billy shoved them down, hissing, "Don't make our cars kiss."

"But they're in love," Steve whispered back, bumping them together again, and Billy leaned his face in his hand and groaned.

He glanced over at Susan, sitting next to Max and El as El told his stepmom about things you could put in bike wheels to make noise. He couldn't picture Susan Hargrove going through the toy aisle, finding their cars, and he wondered for a wild moment if Max had, but that was even harder to picture. Steve kissed the cars bumpers together again, making a smoochy noise, and Billy elbowed him. He couldn't figure out what the cars had even been for—she wouldn't have given them to him—so the remaining option was Susan had shopped for Steve, intending the whole time to give him little toy cars in a mismatched pair.

Steve put both cars in his hand, their undercarriages pressed together, and rolled their tires together with a sly grin, and Billy smacked his hand again, reddening. “Okay, so,” Steve said finally, “—I didn’t know you’d want to come.”

“It’s fine,” Billy laughed, but Steve shook him gently by the shoulders.

“No, it’s not, but I gotta find you something better than what Bradley's Big Buy had, okay. All I got you was this—” he pushed a squishy package into Billy’s hands, and Billy ripped it open to find a soft sweater, clingier than the horse blanket Steve had pulled over his head earlier. “It’s the color of your—no, it’s not,” Steve said, squinting into his face, and Billy started snickering as Steve grabbed him by both arms and pushed him closer to the tree, then pulled him back, then walked him through the all the sprawled kids and around the other side. “There,” Steve said proudly. “It’s the color of your eyes.”

“I can’t see them,” Billy reminded him, grinning, and Steve stared at his mouth, licking his own lips, then groaned quietly in the back of his throat and stalked back to the couch, sucking on the ring-pop.

“Billy,” said Susan, holding out two rectangular department-store boxes with fancy bows, and Billy bit his lips together and sat down right where he was, lifting the lid on the top one. It was a button-down like he liked, the same brand he was wearing, in a deep oceany blue, and he bit his lips together, frowning into the box.

“Neil was busy, so I told him he didn't need to...supervise the shopping,” she said. “It should be the right size.”

Billy nodded, putting the lid back on, and opened the other, bigger box to see a wool coat, thick but tailored. He narrowed his eyes and put it on, and Steve whistled like a goddamn train. Billy ignored him, tugging at it and zipping up the front, and for once, dressed for the outdoors, didn’t feel like he was wearing an entire mattress tied to his chest. “...thanks,” he said, feeling his face heat, and avoiding looking up at her face by testing the size of the pockets.

“Don’t freeze to death,” Susan told him, sighing, and handed him his stocking. He pulled out Mr. T’s Candy Cups, and Nerds, and some oranges, and Starburst, and then felt something thick. He thought this better not be a fucking bag of coal, after she said she didn’t even think it was funny.

It was a pair of socks, warm and soft, and he considered them for a second before placing them in his lap, and reaching in to find a cassette of David Bowie’s Let’s Dance. He was just pulling out some Twix bars when Max dropped next to him, and he pulled his candy back towards him, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I got my own candy, dipshit,” she said, rolling her eyes, and fiddling with her new, shiny walkie-talkies. "The hat's warm."

Billy grimaced. "We'll get you the board repair kit."

"...he told you not to buy it, didn't he," she said heavily, and Billy winced, opening his mouth.

“Everybody done?” Joyce yelled, and Max opened her mouth and closed it again, gripping the walkie-talkie, but Joyce walked by and patted her shoulder, calling out, “Everybody done with presents? Okay! Go the hell to bed.” Max scuttled away to her sleeping bag, and Joyce prodded Hopper in the side, which he ignored. She cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting up at him. “Bedtime!”

“It’s morning,” Dustin said, snickering, but he covered a yawn, and Will walked over to his side of their shared sleeping bags, his arms filled with loot, and collapsed in a smiling pile.

“Fine, fine,” Hopper said, clapping his hands. “Everybody back to bed! G’night!”

Max opened her mouth, frowning at him, then sighed, and lurched tiredly to her feet, stumbling away. Steve came over and sat in her spot, throwing his arm around Billy, and sucking his ring-pop, and they sat and stared at the tree as the kids crawled back into their sleeping bags, Rudolph’s dad was terrible on the TV, and the adults all shuffled back upstairs.

“Love you,” Steve whispered.

“I heard those were invented to stop kids sucking their thumbs,” Billy whispered back, flicking Steve's hand with the ring-pop.

“It’s definitely been handy when I wanted to suck on things,” Steve said agreeably, and Billy choked, coughing, as Steve slurped away at his cherry ring-pop, looking smug.

Billy woke the next day alone in the sleeping bag, and tender where he’d rolled on his belt, and where the seams of his jeans had sanded his legs. He groaned into the soft blue-green sweater he was using as a pillow, and smelled food .

Nancy’d shown up, he found out, when he sat up like a groundhog blinking at the sun. She was on the couch with Jonathan, flipping through a different photo book in black and white. They both blinked at Billy, and then waved silently, and he waved back, looking around for Steve, and hoping Steve’s ex and her new beau didn’t try to include Billy in their conversation.

Steve was running back and forth from the kitchen, carrying plates and wearing an intent grin, and Billy watched him for a few minutes before clambering out of the sleeping bag. The others were rolled up, he noticed, and tried to zip his apart. He caught the ties in the zipper, somehow, and was trying to figure out whether he could just roll them together when Will dropped to sit next to him, eager to leverage his sleeping-bag-taming knowledge for copies of all Billy’s music.

Billy considered, aware of Nancy and Jonathan trying not to watch him repeatedly lose his battle with a squishy inanimate object, and finally agreed. “You figure this shit out and I’ll copy you the new Def Leppard,” he whispered, and Will hugged him, which was just—weird, so he waited until it was over, and walked away, trying to fix his hair by feel.

Lucas and Max showed up that afternoon, Mike was there, Billy registered vaguely, giving all the appropriate compliments to El about her bike, and Billy dozed on Steve’s shoulder in a turkey coma and let the Christmas carols float over him.

Just after he thought they’d left again, the floor pounded as Max stalked up to him and slapped the new walkie-talkie in his hand. “Everybody else has one,” she said, glaring at it, turning on her heel, and stalking off. Billy stared after her, wondering whether she honestly couldn't find someone to give it to. He'd seen Lucas', and it was twice the size.

“Ooo, I have one!” Steve said excitedly. “We can talk when you can’t get to the phone!”

Billy glanced up at him, and back down, imagining being able to call Steve when his door was padlocked from the outside, and bit his lips together. He nodded, and cleared his throat. “I, uh, yeah. I’ll...get some batteries.”

“I’ve got some,” Steve said, squirming away, then dropping beside him again to hand over an eight-pack of Energizers. “Dustin gave me some for mine.”

“...might use this thing a lot,” Billy said warningly, flicking the buttons, and Steve laughed.

“Good, I don’t wanna feel needy.”

Before everyone left, Billy got hugs from Joyce and Mrs. Henderson—he couldn’t think of her as Claudia, not when she was wearing an apron and reminded him so much of Mrs. Claus—a companionable shoulder-squeeze from Hopper, and a tense smile from Susan. El asked whether they could come back next year, explaining how Santa got lost sometimes without woodstoves, and Steve nodded seriously, agreeing to everything she said.

Jonathan shook Billy's hand like an awkward nerd, while Will tried to convince them to hang out and listen to music together, until El started questioning them all about music, and Hopper drug her away. As Jonathan, Will, El, and Hopper stumbled off in a hand-holding chain like Billy's paper-doll garland, Billy felt a tap on the shoulder, and turned to see Joyce Byers again.

"Jonathan and Will showed me the car," she said. "It looks really nice."

"They vacuumed it," Steve said, laughing and waving his hands, and Billy rolled his eyes.

"Steve fixed it so your battery will charge right, and changed your oil," he reported, and Steve laughed, grinning, then went wide-eyed as Joyce hugged them both around the necks, yanking them down even though she stood on her tiptoes.

"Thanks so much, you two," she said, sounding a little choked. "You're such good kids. You're such good kids."

Steve made a weird noise in his throat, and Billy's eyes skipped the stinging and went straight to blurry with tears, so he pulled away, clearing his throat, and made a show of lighting a cigarette.

"A-anytime," Steve said, laughing a little unnaturally. He folded his arms, unfolded them, and bit his lips, and Joyce squeezed his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, and he nodded.

Billy threw an arm around him as Joyce walked away. Dustin glanced between Billy and Steve and saluted, laughing and shaking his head, and Nancy waved again from the car window. Steve waved back.

“We look like the parents in a Christmas special,” Billy said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, and waving at departing cars. "Like a sitcom." Steve snorted a laugh, wiping his eyes.

After they’d all gone, Billy leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the front room, watching Steve pick up a couple pieces of wrapping paper, and sigh. He sat under the tree, holding a piece of Mrs. Henderson’s ugliest wrapping paper, covered in brown and orange angels that looked like a hollow-eyed Strawberry Shortcake. Steve stretched it flat, and bit his lips together, before crumpling it, his shoulders a little bowed.

“...you don’t think Chriatmas is over, do you?” Billy asked, wandering closer.

“What?” Steve laughed, his eyes lowered. “I mean, it’s still the 25th. I guess. Christmas until midnight.”

“Yeah, that too,” Billy agreed, coming up behind him to reach around with both arms and take the sad crumpled Christmas paper away. He tossed it behind the tree, and Steve snorted a laugh, leaning back into his arms. “But we haven’t even gotten our best present yet,” he whispered, letting his breath tickle Steve’s ear, so he shivered. “This is the part I’ve been waiting for.” Steve opened his mouth, shrugging, and Billy yanked him around so they were nose to nose. “I got the biggest present under the tree,” Billy hissed, “—and I’ve been so patient, don’t you dare tell me Christmas is over now.”

Steve grinned at him, wide and delighted, and Billy squished his face with both hands, making his grin kissable.

Having had plenty of time to plan, Billy grabbed one of the sleeping bags, unrolled it, and tossed it under the tree, towards the fire. Steve pulled him over for a deeper kiss this time, soft and exploratory, as though he didn’t know every hitch of Billy’s breath, and the way he trembled when Steve bit gently at his lower lip, and let it pull through his teeth. “Jesus god of reindeer,” Billy whispered muzzily, and Steve burst out laughing.

“What,” he said. “What?”

“You,” Billy said hoarsely, and cleared his throat, trying to remember his script. “You wanna put on, like, your Christmas songs. Or—or movies. Or something.”

“...you wanna fuck me to Rudolph?” Steve asked, looking a little weirded out, and Billy gritted his teeth, and committed, for the sake of love.

“You want your Christmas shit playing when you get presents, right.”

“...jesus,” Steve whispered, head cocked like Billy was crazy, but beaming all the same. “Uh.” He flushed, biting his lips as he narrowed his eyes at the TV and VCR, and then the tape player. “Uh, just music, maybe.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about Rudolph,” Billy grimaced, imagining the little reindeer’s nasal tones, and the nitwit misfit song. “I mean, if you want to, but I’m gonna...good thing I already know how fucking weird you are—”

“I didn’t come up with—with this Rudolph sex orgy idea,” Steve hissed back, poking him in the chest.

Billy shrugged, rubbing it. “I really don’t know what’s weirder about that than listening to, like, The Carpenters, or John Denver and the Muppets,” he said, waiting while Steve blew the dust off the record player, and frowned between The Jackson 5 Christmas Album and A Partridge Family Christmas Card. “Or those,” Billy said, making a face at little Michael Jackson, and sitting on the sleeping bag, waiting while his dick strained against the inside of his jeans.

“Just don’t think too much about it,” Steve muttered, crouching down to put on A Partridge Family with pink cheeks, and Billy waited until the speakers crackled and Mr. Partridge started singing to grab Steve around the waist.

Billy pulled his boyfriend's butt half into his lap, where he could slide his hands up Steve’s sides, lifting his sweater and shirt, and kissing the skin between his shoulder blades. Steve laughed, and leaned his head back against Billy’s shoulder for a kiss. Billy gave him one—then two—then stared at Steve’s startled grin, and sighed, brushing their lips together as the magnetic pull hauled him back in, and Steve gave a muffled laugh and a contented noise deep in his throat, closing his eyes. He tasted sweet, like the cookies he’d been eating, even sweeter than usual, and Billy groaned and shoved Steve forward again in order to push his sweater and shirt up over his shoulders, white from winter, and scattered with birthmarks. Billy kissed a few of them.

“Better keep me warm,” Steve whispered, curling up in his arms, and Billy pulled him in as tight as he could, burying his probably goofy-looking grin in Steve’s hair.

“Oh, I’ll warm you up,” he whispered, and Steve snickered, relaxed against him as Billy slid his hands around Steve's waist, and down to undo his boyfriend’s jeans. Steve groaned, shivering as Billy pulled his cock out—it was already satisfyingly hard in his hand, and Billy rubbed the edge of his thumb across it, so Steve grunted and squirmed in his lap. “...guess the Partridge Family really does it for you,” Billy whispered.

“Shut your face,” Steve mumbled, panting. “You do it for me, we could be—we could be listening to like. Bird calls, I don’t give a fuck—”

“You saying Tweety Bird gets your motor running,” Billy whispered back, and Steve elbowed him, mostly hitting sweater.

“Fuck you,” he hissed, his hips jerking so his dick bumped against Billy’s thumb again, into his hand, and Billy squeezed it, the wetness letting his thumb slide easily over the tip. “Oh jesus,” Steve whispered. “God…”

“Lay down,” Billy said, biting his shoulder gently, and Steve arched against him, groaning. “Come on, your majesty, I’m not even done unwrapping you yet.”

“...nerd,” Steve snorted, panting, but he let himself be pressed back onto the sleeping bag, his cock sliding against Billy’s hand as Billy held him down, gently, by the lower belly, tugging his jeans off. Steve bent his legs up to let Billy yank the legs off without having to move, and Billy laughed as he tugged Steve’s socks off, and tossed them away. Steve grinned up at him, his face lit by the lights on the tree, making him look a little starry.

“There,” Billy said, rubbing his free hand up Steve’s thigh. He leaned in to kiss his boyfriend’s naked dick, and Steve yelped, moaning in the back of his throat.

“What—about you,” he grunted, his voice a little rough. “You gonna raw me in your jeans?”

He sounded hungry at the thought, and Billy filed that away for later. “Nah,” he whispered, swinging a leg over so he was sitting across his boyfriend’s thighs. “Thought I’d make you watch me, for a bit,” he said, sliding two fingers in his mouth, and sucking on them.

Steve muttered “Oh, shit,” and propped himself up on his elbows.

“Now you got me in this damn...Mr. Rogers sweater,” Billy said, keeping his voice low as he drug his fingers down it, Steve’s gaze fixed on them as his dick leaked.

“Don’t talk about Mr. Rogers, gross,” he whispered, and Billy grinned, swinging his hips a little from side to side so Steve's naked thighs could feel the warmth of his ass through jeans. “Jesus,” Steve muttered, clenching his fists as Billy slid both hands around his own waist just under the edge of the sweater, lifting them up underneath against his sides, and Steve laughed a little unevenly, his eyes widening.

Billy lifted the sweater a little more, running his fingers lightly over his abs, and then his pecs as they flexed with his arms up in the damn sweater, and Steve swallowed visibly. Billy pulled the sweater off his shoulders and head, shaking his hair back, and flexed his arms as he pulled the sweater sleeves off.

Steve threw his head back laughing. “Love you,” he said, always picking the weirdest times.

“We’re boning to the Partridge Family,” Billy hissed, instantly irritated. “If this fuckery isn’t love I don’t know what is.”

“I know,” Steve said, his smile soft even as his cock dripped on his belly. “Thanks for boning me to the Partridge Family.”

“Shut the hell up, I’m stripping,” Billy growled, and Steve started laughing again, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and Billy swore and leaned in to kiss him, flattening him to the ground, and wiping the wetness away from his boyfriend’s eyes with his knuckles. “The fuck is wrong with you,” he muttered, and Steve snickered, sniffling. “You want me to hurry up?”

“No,” Steve laughed, swallowing a suspicious gulping sound, and Billy frowned harder. “I just like this,” Steve whispered, laughing, his eyes welling up again. “I like this Christmas.”

“Are you gonna do this every year?” Billy asked in horror, imagining his boyfriend crying through sex while puppets wailed in the background, and Steve laughed harder, wiping his face.

“You saying you’re gonna bone me under the tree every year?” he asked, and Billy felt his face heat. Steve grinned, reaching up to tuck Billy’s curls out of his face, behind his ear. “In sickness and in health?”

“Why are you so weird,” Billy groaned, rocking his hips, so Steve grunted, closing his eyes. “Yes. Yeah. Next year we’ll fuck to Frosty, can I get back to stripping now?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, sniffling. “I love you. Yeah.”

“Christ,” Billy muttered, wiping his boyfriend’s eyes and cheeks again, his own eyes stinging a little—probably with embarrassment, he thought, fairly sure he was gonna get a half-chub every time he heard the Partridge Family playing, for the rest of his life.

Steve was still hard, at least—which was more disconcerting than anything—so Billy sighed, and rolled his hips again, as a reset. Every time he did, his fly brushed the bottom of Steve’s dick, and he groaned, rocking his head back against the sleeping bag. He was starting to sweat, and the light of the tree made him glisten.

“Look at me,” Billy told him, and Steve folded his arms behind his head to see. Billy ran his fingers up his new blue shirt—cupping his sides like his hands were Steve’s, and then running his hands up along the buttons to undo the first one.

“Never seen you with your shirt all the way on before,” Steve whispered, his eyes fond, and Billy snorted.

“Can’t let up on the advertising campaign,” he said. “Gotta show you the goods.”

“No, you don’t,” Steve reached down to squeeze Billy’s thigh through his jeans. Billy undid another button, parting the fabric over his collarbones, and running his hands down his neck, and Steve leaned his head on one shoulder, smiling up. “I’m not gonna...forget, jesus,” he whispered. “Never gonna forget what you look like, babe.”

Billy grabbed the sweater and leaned in to lift Steve’s head into a kiss, tucking the sweater behind it as a pillow.

“God,” Steve whispered against his mouth, running his hands over Billy’s half-unbuttoned shirt.

Billy sat back upright again, while Steve groaned and grabbed at his shirt as he pulled away. Billy undid another button, letting his nails scrape along his skin as he scooped his pendant into his mouth, swaying his hips. He slid his fingers down over the remaining buttons to brush over the edge of his belt, raising his eyebrows at Steve, who laughed, panting.

“Yeah, I’m watching, loverboy.” Steve leaned back on one elbow, smiling smugly, and Billy watched the low golden light on his boyfriend’s face and hair.

Billy ran his fingers over his fly, and down in his pants, tugging his shirt tails out one by one, and swayed his hips in a slow figure-eight as Steve bucked a little under him, grinning.

“Gonna be New Years by the time you’re done, jesus,” Steve said, his gaze riveted to Billy’s hands.

“Can’t keep it up, there, pretty boy?” Billy asked, arching his back as he undid the lowest button, and then parted his shirt like a curtain and undid the one above it to show his taut belly and the trail of hair leading into his jeans.

“Not the problem,” Steve said through gritted teeth, the fingers on his free hand digging into Billy’s thighs.

Billy stopped, looking down to unbutton his cuff and roll it up a couple of times, humming carelessly as Steve squirmed under him, smacking his leg.

“Hurry up, you bastard,” he demanded, and Billy smiled, unbuttoning the other cuff.

“You gonna ask nicely?” he asked, and Steve laughed, shifting under him with a grimace. “You’re leaking like a hose connection with a bad washer.”

“Shut up,” Steve hissed. “Like you aren’t making me.”

“Maybe I should stop,” Billy said, stretching so his shirt lifted.

“Please, please, you dickhead,” Steve broke. “My legs are fucking going to sleep, and my dick’s gonna explode—”

“Thought you loved me,” Billy said, licking his lips, and leaning in so his stomach brushed Steve’s dick. Steve yelped, groaning, and bucking up into the friction. “Isn’t that what you were saying earlier? King Steve, the chosen one?”

“Love you a lot more if you let me touch,” Steve growled, laughing. As Billy sat up, Steve reached out and yanked at his belt, and Billy laughed, smacking Steve’s hand away.

“Thought you didn’t want Christmas to be over,” Billy whispered, and Steve laughed harder, his cock dripping across his stomach.

“Yeah,” he admitted, leaning back with a shaky breath. “Yeah, I don’t. Never want this to be over.” His knuckles went white as his fingers tightened on Billy’s swaying thighs.

The Partridge Family switched to Winter Wonderland, and Billy’s side was warmed by the fire. He knew the light of it gilded his hair and skin as he flexed his bare forearms, sliding a finger under the leather strap of his belt as Steve groaned.

Billy flicked it out of the belt loops, tugging it off the tongue of the buckle and slowly drawing it loose over his fly. Steve twitched under him, swallowing back a noise as Billy’s jeans brushed his cock. “You want me to fuck you?” Billy asked, undoing the buttons of his jeans one-by-one so Steve could see he was going commando, and pressing his thumb and forefinger together in a tight circle over his own dick, so Steve’s bounced untouched on his stomach.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, looking him over, and Billy grinned.

“Want me to do all the work,” Billy whispered, swaying his hips with the music, “—so all you have to do is lie there?”

“Anything,” Steve said. “Love you, jesus.”

Billy’s hand stuttered, and he leaned forward again, bracing himself over Steve’s chest. “Tell me,” he said. “You want me to ride you? What?”

“I want everything,” Steve said, his eyes wide and soft, and then he grinned. “I mean, we got so many leftovers to get through. Whatever we don’t do now—”

“How can you be such a romantic and such a shithead,” Billy muttered, reaching down to squeeze his boyfriend’s hand.

“Fuck me just like that,” Steve said. “Your party jeans and that shirt. You look like—you’re a wet dream, jesus.” Billy grinned, cocking his head and licking his lips, and Steve laughed shakily. “Yeah, come on, asshole,” he whispered. “Billy.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, scrounging around in the back of the TV cabinet where he’d hidden the lube, and pulling the condom out of his back pocket. He squirted some lube in his hand, and pushed Steve’s legs up to slide his hand between them, watching him squirm against the cold.

“Warm it up, dickhead,” Steve muttered, grabbing his wrist, but as soon as Billy started sliding his fingers up and down, Steve relaxed, going boneless with one leg bent up, the other sprawled to the side. His eyes went half-lidded as he grinned up in the starry rainbow lights.

Billy watched him pant in the light of the Christmas tree, and smiled, holding Steve’s hips flat to the floor with one hand, and bending to slip his mouth over his boyfriend’s cock.

“Jesus christ,” Steve grunted, shifting under Billy’s hands, and Billy hummed along with the song, knowing he could probably shove on in, but taking it slow, swirling his tongue around Steve’s dick as his fingers worked. He rubbed over the edge of Steve’s hole, over and over, until he was squirming, red-cheeked, and biting his lips together, and he finally said “Jesus, fuck me, god—”

Billy lifted his mouth off Steve’s cock with a pop. “His majesty’s getting impatient,” he said, and Steve yelled “Yes, I fucking am.” Billy laughed, leaning his head against Steve’s knee, and then kissed it, before crawling up to kiss Steve’s mouth.

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered, panting, his skin gleaming with sweat in the light of the tree. “God…” he whispered against Billy’s mouth, whining softly, and Billy grabbed the sweater and shoved it under Steve’s back, pushing his legs up so Billy could push slowly in.

“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, and Steve started snickering, grunting as Billy’s weight pushed the air from his lungs, but pulling him in for a kiss, bent nearly double.

“God, you feel good,” Steve grunted, as Billy narrowed his eyes, checking his boyfriend’s sprawled limbs for tension before thrusting his hips. “God, yes,” Steve moaned, kissing hazily at anything of Billy's he could reach.

It wasn’t so bad, Billy decided, boning Steve Harrington under the Christmas tree, and watching the Christmas lights reflect off his eyes. Even the music wasn’t too awful—he mostly tuned it out—until Billy went too hard, rustling the nearest branch of the tree as Steve writhed beneath him, and a popcorn ball smacked right between his shoulders and bounced off Steve’s knee, and they both had to stop while they laughed themselves breathless.

“Let’s do this every year,” Steve whispered into his shoulder once they’d finished, sweaty and smiling, and Billy snorted a laugh, pulling him closer.

“...yeah, okay,” he whispered back, running his hand around his boyfriend’s ass where it was still a little sticky, and considering Round Two. “You’re worth it.”

“Good,” Steve laughed, squirming closer. “You’re worth it too. This. Anything.”

“...love you too,” Billy whispered, hugging him close.

#harringrove #Finally the pornz #Found family #Boyfriend cookies #platypan FINISHED FIC

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 4 years ago

Text

TLC

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x Naiya (female OC) x Masamune Date

Word count: 4,507

Warning: Pampering, Fluff and sprinkle of spice.

Written by: darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Tagging @umbralaperture for this commissioned piece.

Masterlist

---

TLC

This was getting beyond a joke. Every breath was agony, something clawing at her throat and pulling on her lungs like they were a set of bagpipes. Lack of oxygen meant every minor ache and pain suddenly sparked throughout her body a thousand times worse.

She tried to move only to be hit with a blinding pressure pain buried somewhere behind her eyes making her wonder who planted an axe there. Sleep was desired and never came. Endless exhaustion added to the melee of things that now just made up a list as long as she was tall for what was wrong.

Duvets, blankets and pillows clung around her like a nest. Somehow, she had managed to crawl into bed. Medication hadn’t worked the way it should, it hadn’t worked at all. She groaned against the faint light creeping into the bedroom from the curtains and became aware of something loud enough to shake the gates of Hell.

“Ugh… not now.” She grumbled and tried to bunch the pillows up around her ears but the hammering didn’t stop. “Fine, not like I can sleep anyway.”

She peeled back the layers of comfort and dragged her body as close to vertical as she could muster. Using the wall to steady herself, as well as any furniture along the way, she slowly made it to the front door. Her fingers fumbled against the lock. The bolt slid back and the door cracked open.

“This had better be good. I put off dying to be here.” Before she could even focus on who had come to call on her, the door was pushed wide. A set of strong arms wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug driving what little air she had in her body out along with her ability to stand under her own strength. “Oof!”

“Naiya! Thank god you answered I was this close to kicking in the door.” The familiar comforting voice of one of her usually level-headed boyfriends sounded muffled from her position against his broad chest.

“Yoshi mate, you might want to ease up on the whole bear hug before you really have a need to worry.” Masa reached out with one hand ruffling her hair as he reminded Hideyoshi of a human’s requirement to breathe. “Sorry Lass. I brought food.”

Masa held up two bags he had in his free hand giving them a light shake before brushing past her and Hideyoshi to get into the house.

“I can see that. I thought you guys had a key for here anyway?” She couldn’t really focus on what was happening but was really trying to follow along.

“We do but someone left it in the bowl back at ours.” Masa called out from the kitchen. She could hear the bags being emptied along with the thud and clink of produce being laid out on the counter.

“If you hadn't distracted me before we left, I wouldn’t have forgotten to grab it from the bowl in the first place.” Hideyoshi grumbled his arms releasing their tight hold as he chided Masa.

“How was I distracting you? I was trying to think of things to get from the store on the way over. It was your idea to get the key bowl anyway.” Masa appeared again a teasing grin on his face before changing his voice to give his best impersonation of Hideyoshi. “Can’t just have keys hanging around we need some order in the place.”

“You kept asking if I thought today was a cheat day or not. And I do not sound like that!” Hideyoshi sounded exasperated and a little embarrassed. He was normally the reliable one so forgetting something like the key to their girlfriend’s house proved he was worried.

“Well, it makes a difference to Kitten.” Masa chirped back.

“Hey guys as much as I enjoy the Saturday night live experience, I’m just gonna let you do your things and crawl back into my pit.” She tried to remove herself from the loud, all be it amusing, interaction. It was taking a lot more strength than first imagined to remain upright and she didn’t want to worry them anymore.

“Hold up.” Hideyoshi reached out and grabbed her as she swayed on her feet. Apparently urging herself to try to move forward had failed. His attention left Masa and was now completely focused on her. One of his large hands swept back her bangs as he inspected her. “I knew it, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. I am perfectly healthy for a bag of infested, cursed… you know what? I can’t even be bothered finishing that.” Hideyoshi’s hand felt cool against her face which was enough to tell her she was probably running a slight temperature. Great if there was one thing I don’t need right now; it’s my whole system shutting down with some weird bug.

Naiya silently hoped that whatever was happening was just a result of her failed meds. A nasty side effect from inhalers or something not clearing her airways.

“You really look pale, Lass.” Masa came to join them. His piercing blue eye peered out from under his hair and began to rove over every inch of exposed skin she had.

Hideyoshi’s inspection was one thing. It made you feel like you were being wrapped up as he softly moved over you. Masa’s inspection was just as caring but wilder in its execution. If one man was good at making her feel bound, the other was good at making her feel exposed. Between one kind of smothering and the other, it was impossible to hide anything from these two.

“You haven’t been looking after yourself, have you? I told you not to work too hard.” Hideyoshi huffed, the furrow of his brow becoming deeper as if he were the one suffering a splitting headache and not her.

Sensing the start of one of the dreaded lectures on observing better self-care Naiya wriggled in Hideyoshi’s grip freeing herself. She then attempted to sidestep Masa who had moved in a pincer movement to keep her in place without touching.

“It’s not a question of working too hard Yoshi. Its allergy season and my damn meds are useless. With everything going on I can’t go into work, I got told to rest.” In her flurry of explanations designed to defend herself, she could feel whatever little energy she had failing her with every word.

The room felt like it was spinning and she ended up finding herself steadied with a strong arm from Masa as he wrapped it around her waist.

“So naturally you didn’t.” Masamune was still smiling but she could tell by his tone even he was concerned. His gaze really was stripping away at her masks. As fast as she put one in place, he was there to remove it piece by piece.

“Hey what is this gang up on the sick person?” She batted at Masa’s chest that was ever so slightly visible under his black shirt. In a moment of clearer breathing, the smell of his own natural scent mixed with the spices and soap he used at work hit her stronger than they normally would.

“You just said you weren’t sick.” Hideyoshi pointed out the flaw in her exasperated argument.

“I’m changing my mind if it means I got two fussing mother types crowding me.” She didn’t so much manage to break free of Masa’s grip as he backed her up against the sofa and allowed gravity to work its magic. Her legs gave out with very little effort and she bounced on the cushioned seating feeling the lurch of her body reacting in a sickening wake up call.

“Right here’s how its gonna work Kitten.” Masa said as he crouched down at her side and held her hand. Making sure she was focused on what he was about to say before continuing. “I’m gonna go in the kitchen and cook dinner for three. You are gonna eat however much of it you can and I’ll turn the leftovers into meals you can eat over the next few days. I’ll even make a big pot of chicken soup for you.”

“With dumplings?” She knew she sounded like a child right now but dammit if someone else cooking meals for her and preparing them so she just had to reheat them later didn’t sound like a slice of Heaven.

“Sure, with dumplings if that’s what you want.” Masamune chuckled and began to ruffle up her hair. She hated to think how bad it looked but it felt nice to feel his touch.

“While that is happening. I’m going to run you a nice refreshing bath and you will soak in there while I tidy up a bit.” Hideyoshi said as he bent down to pick something up off the floor and she could already tell from the way he was looking around the room that he was silently appraising the lack of housekeeping.

“Hey just so you know I haven’t been home much and—”

“You said you weren’t going into work!” Hideyoshi pivoted on the spot, discarded magazines and papers in hand making him look like he had begun to sprout wings.

“Oops.” She became defensive and inadvertently put her foot right in it.

“Don’t ‘Oops’ me, Madam. I was right to be worried about you. When we hadn’t heard from you in the last couple of days I just knew --.”

“Hahaha, you tell her Bud.” Masa applauded with a slow clap as he laughed.

Masa had been practically vibrating attempting to hold back the laughter while watching Hideyoshi as he flapped around. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. The papers in his arms really did look like feathers when he moved.

“Masa you are not helpful.” Naiya was struggling to hold back a fit of giggles as well. His laughter was contagious and it didn’t help that Hideyoshi seemed to have transformed into the mother hen he was always teased of being.

“Little kittens that are as weak as you at the minute can’t complain. Now go along with Yoshi and his mothering while I go sort out food. I’ll even help with the housework while it's heating up.” Masa dragged her forward on the sofa so he could plant a loud kiss on her forehead before leaving the room again to vanish into the kitchen.

“Fine.”

It took the entire time the bath was running for Hideyoshi to finally calm down enough to take in what had been happening without butting in with ‘I told you so’ or ‘Why didn’t you call me?’. He checked the meds she had taken and called someone who sounded grumpy enough to be Ieyasu.

Steam, taking time out and sleep. That was what he ordered alongside the bath to get cleaned up and generally try to relax in. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard from others and sleep was harder to come by than they all made it sound. Logically she knew they were right, if she could sleep some of what she felt would clear but her lungs we against it.

The water was just the right temperature with clusters of candles lit around the bathroom and fragrant bubbles popping against her skin. Too bad her nose was so blocked in the humid atmosphere she couldn’t really enjoy the whole sensory experience.

Laying there submerged in the hot water she heard the two men moving around her home. She wasn’t worried they were both so good at domestic stuff it put her to shame more often than not. She was only feeling guilty that she had caused them to worry so much.

As she breathed in and out, she willed her lungs to stop that rasping rattle she had come to associate with trying to live. Asthma, allergies… what were you supposed to do if most of the environment you lived it was hell-bent on killing you?

After about 10 minutes soaking it felt like some humanity had started to return to her. She wasn’t magically fixed but the warmth of the water had managed to regulate her own internal thermostat and she was at least a normal temperature again.

She slipped down so her shoulders went under the waterline and tilted her head back to get her hair wet. While her head was under the water, her ears picked up a muffled noise and pulled herself up just in time to see a panicked Hideyoshi rushing to her side from the now open bathroom door.

“Naiya, are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t have left you for so long in the bath when you are not well.” His hands brushed back her wet hair from her face and she was thankful for the bubbles in the tub giving her a veil of decency.

“I’m fine. I was just getting my hair wet.”

As she scrambled to grab the bottle of shampoo it was plucked from her wet grip.

“I’ll wash it for you.” Hideyoshi didn’t sound as if he were treating this like a chore. Still, it felt a little strange to have this happening and she found herself naturally trying to decline the offer.

“You don’t have too I’m fine.”

“You just gave me a mini heart attack. Let me.”

The cap popping open felt like it was echoing in the room. She watched the viscous liquid pour from the bottle and coat his hands. His hands softly covered the crown of her head and she closed her eyes against the heavenly sensation of his fingers working in circles and patterns over her scalp. The sound of foam squelched near her ears sending a tingle up her spine.

Callused fingers, softened by the warm water, brushed softly over the shell of her ears. Following her hairline to her nape and then returning back up to the crown again. He lightly rinsed his hands in the water before easing her lower, carefully supporting her head on one arm as he rinsed her hair free of the soap with a small jug.

Naiya’s eyes opened to see her dreamy, blissed-out expression reflected in his soft caramel gaze.

“There now all better?” He asked while kneeling at the side of the bath. The last of the suds from her hair ran freely over his bare arms highlighting the lines of toned muscle.

“Y-yes.” She stuttered. She had been sure her temperature had returned to normal until her overactive imagination began to take over. Drawing lines and connections in a game of dot to dot with little encouragement that only served to fuel a fire in her cheeks.

“That’s my girl. I left your towels here but if you want, I can help you get out?” He got up and paused at the door waiting for her reply.

“No, I should be fine.” The bubbles in the bath were nearly depleted as they fought against the soap of the shampoo. She was becoming aware again of her own vulnerability.

“Ok. I’ll just be the other side of the door so don’t struggle if you can’t manage.” He was still worrying.

“I’m feeling a bit better I can…” She trailed off. Acting tough was not going to work when he had already seen her looking rough as hell. She forced herself to meet his eyes and nod. “Fine, I’ll call if I need you.”

“Good girl. Take your time.” Hideyoshi either didn’t notice the budding embarrassment or he was being too much of a gentleman to call her on it.

She was thankful to the bath for giving her skin an all-over flush, masking a lot of her give away blushing response to him. The door shut and she could hear Masamune shout up the stairs.

“Grubs up!”

She pushed herself a little too much to get dressed quickly so as not to keep them both waiting. When she returned downstairs. She was wheezing and trying to hide the fact she was once more in pain with her lungs rattling in her ears.

“Here Lass sit down before you fall down.” Masa joked but he was clearly trying to care for her without making it into a big thing.

Her back sunk into the sofa cushions as her eyes fell on the spread of food that was laid out on the coffee table. She hated her nose right now because if looks were anything to go by the food would have smelt divine.

“What is all this?”

“Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner… Supper.” Masa indicated all the different dishes like he was on a game show before giving a shrug as if to say it was all no big deal.

“If you were gonna cook all this why bother asking if today was a cheat day or not?” Hideyoshi came in carrying a big jug of water, slices of orange and lemon floating under a layer of ice. Placing it on a side table where some glasses were and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Hey, Cheat days are Cheat days only when you are healthy enough to be on a diet. When you are sick you should eat whatever you can and whatever you feel like so you can get strong again and continue to fight those pesky calorie demons.” Masa defended his cooking taking a seat on the other side of her.

“Haha, I like your logic there, Master Chef.” She giggled even more at Masa’s comments because of the huffy look that was now gracing Hideyoshi’s face. She shouldn’t take joy in him being put out but she didn’t have the energy to tell herself that.

“Why thank you.” Masa bumped shoulders with her grinning.

She once more found her mind wandering in a fog of fantasy as she registered the fact, she was the filling to this comforting boyfriend sandwich. As distractions from ill-health went it could have been a lot worse.

“However flawed it may be.” A tall tumbler of iced water appeared like a cold wedge between them as Hideyoshi passed out drinks.

“Yeah well, I’m sure the whole idea of wrapping Kitten up in bubble wrap thing is also a flawless plan.” Masa accepted the glass giving a teasing side-eye to the sandy-haired worrywart.

“Alright enough of that. Let’s eat before all this good stuff goes to waste eh?” Aware that something was about to kick off Naiya raised her voice to prevent Hideyoshi snapping back with what was no doubt going to be the start of something very witty that meant the friendly disagreement would continue till all the food was stone cold.

She regretted her words quickly as now both men had shut up and started a silent war. They pressed closer to her than necessary the feeling of being in a comfortable sandwich was becoming a distant memory. She wasn’t allowed to plate anything for herself and found her own dish filling up with bits of everything as the silent battle of caregiving continued.

Her body objected to the sudden influx of food and her stomach lurched. Eyes should not be allowed to pass judgement on what you put in your belly. As hungry as she had been it was also a while since she had eaten anything in this volume. She wanted to curse her upbringing for conditioning her to the fact that it was both rude to the cook and a waste of food to call it quits in the middle of a meal.

Sensing something was wrong with her both men stopped serving more of the dishes. Their intonations of ‘if you eat that you have to have this with it’ and ‘a balanced meal is important if you wish to get healthy’ died as they both exchanged glances over her.

“You alright Kitten?” Masa quietly asked his hand touching hers.

“Yeah.” Naiya nodded and regretted moving her head at all. She slipped her hand from Masa’s and without sparing the men a glance she left the room headed straight for the bathroom.

Naiya returned to the living room after freshening up. The harshness of the mint in the toothpaste felt a little sharp against her tongue but it was better than leaving things as they were.

The room had been completely cleared of any signs of the meal. Candles had been lit which meant the bright light from any lightbulbs was not going to cause her any issues. The DVD player had also been set up to play a movie.

All of the cushions had been dragged from the sofa to the floor making it look like a mattress had landed on the rug. The coffee table was missing but it did look like all her blankets and duvet had been artfully arranged so her previous nest now looked like a luxurious retreat.

“You’re back.” Hideyoshi came in carrying two cups with Masa trailing close at his heels with a third cup of steaming liquid and a plate of something sweet.

“Here Lass try sipping this it will help.” The warmth of ginger spread through her mouth rounded out by calming honey. “Sorry kinda went a little far before.”

He didn’t avoid her eyes but the sincerity in his voice warmed her more than the drink.

“It’s fine I should have said no but I just couldn’t when everything was so good.”

“Careful there Kitten, you’re gonna start giving a fella ideas talking all seductive like.” Masa’s voice was a low purr against her ear, his wild chestnut brown hair brushed against her cheek igniting her blush further.

He brought one of the sweet treats from the plate to her mouth the softness of the dough melted against her tongue replacing the mint and ginger with a buttery sugar spice.

“Churros?”

“Masa we agreed.” Hideyoshi reprimanded.

Masa pulled back with a playful smile as he licked his own lips. He had a way of looking like a hungry predator ready to pounce and nothing seemed to trigger that more than watching her enjoying his food.

“Yeah, Yeah. C’mere Kitten we got something special for you.” He took her by the hand leading her to the spread of cushions carefully taking her cup from her while she settled into position and then handed it back.

“You have a way of making things sound dirty even if they aren’t. I do wonder if you haven’t been hanging around a certain white-haired friend too long.” She smirked taking another sip of her drink.

Her spirited tease had a thrill that was short-lived. She could feel Hideyoshi move in behind her and sit on the frame of the cushionless sofa. Her shoulders became encased in the space between his legs as he planted a foot either side of her.

Before she could ask what he was doing, his hands wrapped over her shoulders his fingers moving in circles. The flexing pressure of his grip as the heel of his hand came into play smoothing out the knots, he found almost had her drop her cup.

“Oops! Careful there Kitten, you are already sick you don’t want to get burnt on top of all that.”

The cup was once more liberated from her failing grip while soft sighs and little moans crept out of her mouth. Masa positioned himself at her feet taking one in his hands and began copying Hideyoshi’s movements as he focused on massaging her feet.

Every now and then her leg was raised just enough to let Masa’s fingers travel past the point of her ankle and find the tension trapped in her legs. Every time she felt the release of the stressful tension, he brought his lips to the spot and trailed kisses along it.

She gasped each time he did this. His upturned blue eye was dilated to the point of stormy and his chuckle left vibrations against her skin. The pressure on her shoulders and neck tightened in her response. Hideyoshi was not to be outdone or ignored at times like this. His gentleness could be torture when used correctly and this man was a master at that.

Hideyoshi’s hands slipped to her arms before moving back to her neck and travelling down her spine until they found that sweet spot in her lower back. The one that caused her to arch against his palm as her body reacted instinctively to the pleasure of his touch.

Attacked from two sides at once the little moans became louder as she felt her body begin to hum with affection being lavished on her. Tension, aches, pains they all seemed to melt right out of her as her body temperature rose to a comfortable heat.

They only stopped when she looked as if she were on the verge of breathlessness. It felt like she had just been the victim of a huge tease but it was clear that this was the line neither men were going to cross until she was stronger.

Her body became the filling once more in a boyfriend sandwich. Masa’s arm draped around her shoulders his hand landing on Hideyoshi’s shoulder where it began to play with the gap between his shirt and bare flesh. Hideyoshi cast a glance his way but said nothing to put an end to it.

Dropping her head onto Hideyoshi’s chest Naiya could hear his heartbeat pattering out a private salsa in his body. She smiled knowing that the two guys had made up after their silly little spat.

“Ready for the movie now Princess?” Hideyoshi clicked play on the remote and the opening sequence for Nightmare Before Christmas started.

“Oh my—you got me another copy!?” Naiya snapped back up between the two men eyes sparkling as she watched the screen.

Whether she knew it or not she was moving her body ever so slightly in time with the music which only made her boyfriends chuckle behind her.

“Couldn’t have you without your beloved movie, now could we?” Masa smiled as his hand was removed from Hideyoshi’s neck.

“If we couldn’t do at least this much we aren’t really living up to the title of your men, now are we?” Hideyoshi laced his fingers with Masa's, planting a biting kiss to the back of his hand before releasing it.

The teasing going on behind her did little to break her concentration on the movie. Each man reached out with one hand to drag her back down into the space between them.

Hideyoshi’s long legs stretched out on the cushions, his feet wrapping with Masamune’s while her shorter legs balanced over the top of both of them.

It wasn’t a miraculous cure and she knew that all she had been feeling would at some point find her again. Right now though she was content. Wrapped up in the arms of two of her greatest loves, Naiya’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth from both men seeping into her with the music on the DVD acting as a lullaby. That was when the sleep she craved finally took her.

---

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lostinfantasies38 · 5 years ago

Text

Modern AU Prompt

I did not reblog this list, but I saw this prompt and had to write it! I’ve had this Modern AU in my head for a while and this gave me an opportunity to write something for it and lay the groundwork for later.

Tagging those I think might be interested in reading or the prompt list. @kittimau @ginnyq @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @fandomn00blr @somniaran @bigfan-fanfic @sharkapologists @theaiobhan

#70 from this prompt list from the TOFTS blog. “I am twelve kinds of confused right now. But fuck are you cute.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hazy atmosphere almost swallowed the riotous lights, a combination of vape smoke and fog effects, so dense it vibrated in time with the thunderous bass filling the crush on the dance floor of the club. Lost in the music, Alistair allowed himself to let loose, holding onto the slight woman in his grasp. Well, girl, actually. Too young, probably not even old enough to drink, but when she dragged him from his spot at the bar into the middle of the room, he hadn’t argued.

She was pretty, in a sorority girl kind of way. Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, introducing herself over the thump of the heavy bass. He nearly missed learning her name was Mari. He smiled, but did not give his name in return. If she was hoping for a fling, the poor dear would be disappointed. Alistair wasn’t one for casual trysts, for which the guys at the precinct all gave him grief over. Yet, he had no intentions of ever treating a woman the way his father treated his mother.

Keeping his hands in neutral territory, they never strayed from her dainty waist and once the song was over, he thanked her kindly and made his escape before he had to reject her. He was almost off the dance floor when he caught sight of a strange movement along the back wall near the DJ’s booth. Automatically, his large hands sought his pistol on his belt, but he cursed himself when he remembered he was undercover and not wearing his Glock.

Maker, damn it. Of all the blasted luck…

It was hard for him to blend into the crowd when he was at least five inches taller than everyone, but ducking and weaving as though tipsy through the masses, Alistair sidled close to the DJ. Tucking into the shadows he saw the faint outline of a door in the wall's paneling. Hidden in the darkness behind the blinding light display. Smart.

He’d be sure to pass the information along to the team and triple check with his informant to see if he had any new intel. This job was becoming tedious. They needed to catch a break on the damn thing or the Chief would probably tell them to shelve their operation. He hadn’t worked on this case against Kazmer Brosca’s lyrium smuggling for six months to see it go down the drain. Alistair would break the Carta’s stranglehold on Denerim. No more of that shit would kill innocents on his watch.

From his darkened corner he watched the door for signs of movement for a while, but no one entered or exited. With a weary sigh, the tall human turned on his heel. He’d been away from his perch at the bar too long, anyway. As he crossed the dance floor, someone crashed into his lower body and he spun in concern to make sure whoever bumped into him was all right.

A dwarven woman smirked at him from her splayed position on the ground. Delicate features framed by dark hair cascaded in waves down her back and paired beautifully with captivating dark eyes. Her ears and nose glittered with numerous piercings in the strobe lighting, and he struggled to breathe as he wordlessly grasped her petite hand to assist her in regaining her footing. The navy top she wore sat low on her shoulders, exposing her ethereal skin, and he could see more flashes of porcelain through her ripped designer jeans. Ankle boots gave her some height, bringing her mid-way up his chest, but he knew without them, she didn’t even hit five feet tall.

“Hello, handsome,” she murmured in a raspy voice. “Dance with me.”

Alistair laughed nervously. “Are you sure you aren’t concussed? Running into me is like hitting a brick wall. You should… sit down or something.”

Luscious full lips curled into a genuine smile and she snatched his hand, dragging him deeper into the melee on the floor. “I’m perfectly fine, gorgeous. If all walls wore your face, I’d run into them on purpose.”

Something about the way she said that set the gears in his brain whirring and her grin widened. With a smooth nod, she beckoned him to bend closer. “I see you are catching on. And they say Denerim’s finest aren’t very bright.”

“Who -”

“Listen, do you want Brosca or not?” Alistair shut his mouth and nodded tersely. “Good,” she purred.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tilted her face towards his in invitation and breathed against his cheek. “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened in shock and he opened his mouth to protest, but her eyes flashed warningly even though her smile held, and he realized there might be spies on the floor.

With a groan he couldn’t contain if he tried, Alistair’s hand cupped her neck and pressed his lips to hers. Soft, yet demanding, the dwarf took control, her lithe fingers slipping into his hair, and in seconds their fake kiss turned into a heady embrace. Alistair was sure she didn’t need to sell their stolen moment on the dance floor with this much enthusiasm, which caused his stomach to flutter with excitement. Maybe she wanted to kiss him as badly as he did her.

His other hand settled in the dip of her waist and he moaned into her mouth when he found delicious curves that overflowed his palm. One petite hand caressed the slightly tapered peak of his ear and he growled into the kiss, nipping her lip in response and soothing it with his tongue before she leaned back with a husky chuckle.

“Well, well, handsome. Tell me do all the uniforms in this town kiss like that or just you?”

Smiling smugly, he replied. “I wouldn’t know, since I don’t go around kissing any of them. But even if I did, I’m not the type to kiss and tell.”

Alistair was twelve kinds of confused right now, but fuck she was cute - gorgeous actually, and damned irresistible.

The small woman hummed appreciatively, and he swallowed thickly as her pupils dilated, blown wide with unquestionable desire. He’d never understood the meaning of the phrase “bedroom eyes” until this moment. But Maker, those espresso irises made him want to break every one of his rules and take her straight home.

“That was an even better answer than I was hoping for,” she stated.

Tangling her hands into his shirt, the dwarf closed the gap between them, murmuring against his lips in what looked like a lover’s embrace.

“Tomorrow. Zero hundred on the dot. Western quay. A shipment will be delivered inside shipping containers bearing the logo of a broken ‘S.’ Manifest will be under the name Beraht Zandt.”

Pressing her mouth to his cheek, she whispered. “And I’m sorry to tell you, your informant is dead. You won’t find him, either, so don’t go looking or you’ll attract unnecessary attention.”

Alistair’s hold on her tightened, and he attempted to lean back, pry more information out of the woman, but her grip was strong for such a tiny person.

Shaking him slightly, she hissed in his ear, “Promise me, handsome. You won’t go looking for trouble. Take what I gave you. Use what you find against Brosca, but don’t stir up the hornet's nest or you’ll put a target on your back so large you’ll never escape their reach. Promise me.”

Relaxing his grasp on her curvaceous form, he choked out a harsh whisper. “I promise.”

Unfurling her fingers from his cotton shirt, she stepped lightly out of his embrace, tossing him an inviting smile.

“Thanks for the dance, gorgeous. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Her stride was quick for such a short-legged woman and in seconds, she melted into the crowd, lost in a sea of humans. The perfect escape route.

What in the Void just happened?

Returning to his place at the bar, his phone vibrated in his jean pocket. With a heavy sigh, he checked the harsh glow of the screen, and waved the bartender over to pay his tab.

They parked the stakeout van in a side alley halfway up the block from the club. The rest of his squad were hunkered inside, monitoring the surveillance footage of the interior and exterior activity of the club. Checking the alley was clear, he rapped his knuckles on the door of the vehicle and clambered inside as soon as it opened.

Immediately his partner, Cullen, rounded on him with a vicious snarl. “What the actual fuck was that, Alistair? You could have blown the entire op with that stunt!”

Scowling, Alistair snatched a piece of paper and messily scrawled the dwarven girl’s intel across the blank page. Spinning the sheet towards his partner in silent irritation, he tried not to gloat as the blonde read the information with wide eyes.

“Shit… if that’s true…”

“Then we have our first lead in six months and Chief can’t shut us down for failure to deliver,” Alistair finished.

Running a hand wearily across his features, Cullen glanced at the other faces of their squad and shook his head.

“We can’t be sure of this information, though. But we don’t have time to vet it, either. Not if the deal really is going down tomorrow night.”

“I know. It’s all we’ve got. We can’t sit on it.”

“No, we can’t,” Cullen agreed. Blowing out a breath, the blonde nodded crisply, as though reaching an internal decision.

“Fine, we’ll make plans for the bust tomorrow. We must all agree not to inform the Chief who your source for the intel was until we make good on it.” Multiple heads in the van nodded grimly.

Alistair snorted softly, his chiseled features crinkled in confusion. “And why not? She’s only a girl. Probably ex-Carta.”

A sinking sensation washed over him at the shell-shocked expressions on his team members’ faces in the van. Cullen barked out a sharp laugh of incredulity.

“Maker’s breath, you really don’t know who she is, do you?”

Crossing his arms, the auburn-haired man narrowed his eyes and replied evenly.

“No, we didn’t exchange pleasantries. I never gave my name, and she never gave hers. Why? Who in the blasted Void is she?”

At Cullen’s chin jerk, Charter executed a complicated set of keystrokes on the computer. A long-range surveillance shot of the dwarven woman he’d lip locked filled the screen. Her heart-shaped mouth was quirked in the same teasing smirk from the club, and her dark eyes brimmed with cunning intelligence. She stared directly at the camera as though she knew it was there.

The name under the photo stopped his heart.

Sirra Brosca.

Kazmer’s only daughter and favorite child. Codename: “The Carta Darling of Denerim.”

“Andraste’s fucking sword.” Alistair groaned as he sank unsteadily into an empty chair.

“Yeah,” breathed Cullen.

#nacl prompts #modern au #sirrastair #Alistair x Sirra #carta darling #alistair theirin #sirra brosca

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autumnslance · 5 years ago

Note

Hey, I'm gonna need you to give us a short story with Thancred teaching Aeryn how to gunbreaker now, specifically through dueling and close melee range.

((You’re just trying to enable me and get some trope-ridden, indulgent fic posted, huh? Well joke’s on you buddy, I already have a tropey, indulgent draft, though it’s from Heavensward patch era, featuring grumpy Thancred, amused Midgardsormr, and definitely a sparring match. Now on Ao3. So is the follow up.))

——-

“You’re avoiding me,” Aeryn said before Thancred could walk away.

“No,” he answered. “I have been busy. As have you. All of us, preparing for Ser Aymeric’s grand tournament.”

“Then let’s prepare,” she said. “Spar with me.”

“Perhaps later–”

She crossed her arms and glared. “Why? You’re lounging, so please don’t tell me you’re currently busy. I also checked with Tataru.”

Thancred closed his mouth to bite back the ready reply. “Why do you need to spar anyway? We all know you are going to win. ‘Tis what you do.”

She caught the bitterness he tried to hide. “Not always,” she answered. They did not look at each other for a long moment. “Anyroad, I shouldn’t get complacent. And you’re the best sparring partner.”

“Am I?” he asked. There might have been a hint of acid in his tone.

“None better. Absolute taskmaster.”

He snorted and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. “Well fine, if you’re going to be flattering.”

They made their way through the gates and across the Steps of Faith, the wind whipping at their clothes and hair. Aeryn watched him.

“What?” He asked.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked. “After so many years in Thanalan, and you tend to wear lighter gear–”

“No,” Thancred said after a moment. “It is rather refreshing actually. And desert nights are chilly in their own way. Though I admit, I would not say no to an afternoon lounging in Vesper Bay’s square over crossing this bridge.”

“With overpriced orange juice from the Pissed Peiste?”

He did not reply, though for a moment it looked as if he might. He must have remembered he was angry, and wished to forgo banter. Aeryn suppressed a sigh.

“The tournament will be happening around here,” Thancred said as they reached the open plain beyond the Steps. The road stretched east and up toward Camp Dragonhead, clouds gathering over distant Xelphatol beyond the hills. Down to the west, she could barely make out the glint of Whitebrim’s towers.

“You will want to have a good idea of the ground,” he continued, crouching and peering across the open space. “Wouldn’t do to fall face first at some private’s feet because you tripped over a chinchilla’s burrow.”

“I think there’s a detail coming out to grade the area later today,” she said, drawing her rapier. “But that will just make it easier.”

“Hrmph.” He stood again, stretching as he did, then swinging his arms. “No doubt. Still; let us forgo magic for now. I want to see how you have worked on your swordsmanship these past few moons.”

“You’re sure you’re not cold?”

“I am limbering up,” he said, tone as cool as the air.

Aeryn shrugged. If he wanted to be that way. She was about to start her own stretches when Thancred suddenly dashed at her, blades drawn, making her bring her own up to meet them and immediately putting her on the defensive, forcing her back a few steps.

“Do your enemies announce when they’re ready?” He snarled, testing her defenses. He was mostly using his long Allagan blade, but she kept an eye on his smaller off-hand weapon; he had changed how he fought during his time in the wilderness.

Before, he had fought with a single sword, or matched short blades. His style had been flamboyant, even to the point of showing off, as a way to obfuscate his strikes and baffle his foes. As he pushed Aeryn across the clearing, she noted he still fought with flair and panache not found in most combatants–yet seemed more direct, less reliant on feints and misdirection than in the past. There was nothing wasteful in his movement, for all they flowed like a dance.

She could admit she was a bit envious.

And still on the back foot, godsdammit. She tried a parry Haurchefant had taught her, and gained back a few steps. A few quick strikes practiced with Lucia put Thancred on the defensive, and she caught him briefly grin.

“Mayhap your flirting across Coerthas has done you well after all,” he said, a sharp edge to the teasing.

“What?” Aeryn demanded. How dare he, he knew her better than—

The Echo’s warning came a moment too late as he spun away from her riposte, running his blade along the length of hers until with a flick of his wrist, her sword was caught, her arm twisted back as he stepped behind her, his offhand coming up to rest lightly against her throat.

“You’re easily distracted,” his voice rumbled low in her ear.

Aeryn turned her head to retort, but the words stuck when their eyes met and she was suddenly, intensely aware of being pressed against him, back to chest, their breathing heavy from the exercise and nearly in time with one another. They were close to the same height–he was only perhaps two ilms taller–so their faces were close, his brown eye strangely hooded and his lips were right there as he leaned in and gods why was she even thinking that…

They were close enough she could taste his breath, their lips barely brushing. Her eyes closed of their own accord, in anticipation of further pressure.

“…No,” he breathed, and she was suddenly spun, like when they used to dance to entertain the other Scions in that time Before Ul’dah.

Aeryn and Thancred stood in the snow, staring at one another. “That’s enough for today,” he said brusquely. “If you stay focused, you should do well enough against the Grand Companies.”

“Thancred…”

He turned away. “I apologize; that was an inappropriate distraction.”

She stared at his back for a long moment. Before he could turn his head to look, she cleared her throat. “Nothing to apologize for,” Aeryn said shortly. “All’s fair, as they say.”

“…Quite,” he replied, though sounded strange. “I believe I am rather cold after all, and will retire to the Forgotten Knight for some of Gibrillont’s mulled wine.”

She waited for him to add more, to invite her along, to offer to discuss whatever the seven hells that had been, but he walked on toward the gate. To be fair, though, she couldn’t quite manage to make those offers herself.

Aeryn watched him go, then continued to practice; not as effective as with a partner, but better than nothing, and she wouldn’t be returning to the city with him and the continued air of awkwardness.

“Thou art restless,” Midgardsormr’s voice rumbled from her left. Aeryn paused, looking over to see the small dragonet form of the ancient wyrm sitting upon a nearby stone.

“There is much to prepare for tomorrow,” she answered, returning to her drills.

“Yet there is spare time for courtship rituals?”

Aeryn fumbled mid-maneuver, nearly dropping her rapier. She blinked at him. “What? No! That was…we were sparring. Practicing, for tomorrow’s tournament.”

The dragonet tilted his head. “‘Tis not what it appeared, but mortals are strange.”

She only grunted a response and returned to her ready stance. Feint, riposte, zwerchhau…

“He is strong and skilled,” Midgardsormr continued, in a musing tone. “As I recall, such qualities are sought after, as mortals require physical mating to pass on–

“Midgardsormr,” Aeryn hissed–after stumbling again, her face on fire.

He flapped his tiny wings, and she swore he was grinning. “I was but making an observation, child, and musing on the differences between thy kin and mine own. Draconic mating is a melding of mind and spirit, rather than the flesh.”

“I am aware,” Aeryn said tightly, trying to not snap at the Father of Dragons. This was not helping take her mind off that almost-kiss. She was certain, too, the elder knew that.

There was a shift in the dragonet’s stance, and his deep black eyes now watched her closely, the hint of mirth faded. “Thou hath enjoyed the man’s companionship in the past.’Twould seem since his return, you have been at odds.”

Aeryn sheathed her blade; she was getting no further exercise in today. “…Yes,” she finally answered him. “‘Twould seem that way. I…failed to save the person he entrusted to my care, and then I failed to bring her back.”

Midgardsormr shook his head. “She but followed thy Mother’s call, and made her own choice. There was naught for thee to do upon the matter. Thou shouldst not blame thyself–Nor bear blame from others.” The last came with a slight warning growl.

“I…I don’t know if he does or not,” she admitted. “We’ve worked together, and he was honestly concerned when I was poisoned…And…” Her back pressed to his chest, his eye looking into hers, their lips not even an ilm apart. “…I’m likely imagining things, that’s all.”

That had to be it. A simple distraction, as he had said. She mustn’t read into it.

“Hrmph,” Midgardsormr rumbled. “How thy people have propagated when capable of such self-delusion is one of life’s great mysteries.”

She glowered at him. “Which of us is the expert at mortals, actually being one? You’re mistaken. Thancred is known for his flirtations and distractions; that is all it was. Naught more.”

The dragonet stretched, and made a motion almost akin to a shrug. “Thy protestations are noted,” he responded, before fading out in a puff of aether.

Aeryn rubbed her forehead. She could still sense his rumbling chuckle in the back of her mind. Once she was more or less composed–or at least no longer felt as if her face would set fire to the Gates of Judgment when she passed through them–she made her way back to the city.

—

What in the seven bloody hells had he been thinking?

Thancred ran a hand over his face as he nursed his mulled wine. The problem, of course, was that he had not been thinking. Caught in the rhythm of their sparring match, he had reacted on instinct, and she was right there and…

Inappropriate, he reminded himself. For so very many reasons. He knew at one point he had had a list, the first time he had bucked this ridiculous notion of an interest in the woman who had become their Warrior of Light.

There was one; the champion of the realm could certainly do better than a grizzled, magicless rogue.

There was another; since his misadventure in the Lifestream and being left in Dravania’s wilderness without magic, he now looked and felt closer to his actual age of thirty-two winters. Still young enough to do his job, but it seemed a decent gap against her twenty-six. She was even younger than–

That thought made him slug down a too-large gulp of too-hot wine. It helped focus the pain and gave an excuse for the tears threatening to appear as he coughed, waving away the bartender.

Aeryn had looked him in the eye and nodded when he had told her “whatever it takes” and yet…

That was not fair, and not part of the list, though he couldn’t help the anger, the grief, the shame at lying to F'lhaminn.

He retired to the small room in Cloud Nine that Tataru had rented for him. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, he found his mind wandering back to the sparring match. How Aeryn felt pressed against him, how she smelled, how her grey eyes had darkened and then closed as their lips nearly touched…Godsdammit.

He could always blame spending time alone in the wilderness for how easily distracted he was by a pretty woman, colleague or not.

That Aeryn had seemed willing did not help; it would have been easier if she had pushed him away, cursed at him, reminded him that she did not experience such base attractions. A voice whispered that did not negate a desire for intimacy, and there were those rumors of her and the knight. He told that voice to shut up as he rolled over. But his imagination continued, conjuring images of furthering that kiss, of pressing closer, his fingers tangling in her fine black hair, the taste of her…

The aftertaste of mulled wine on his own tongue remembered the bite he had smelled in the fallen cup at Falcon’s Nest, her lying on the floor as chaos reigned outside, and the feeling of his heart in his throat at the idea of Aeryn poisoned.

Perhaps that was why he was in such a strange mood, he decided. Fear for his friend’s life, even as he was still grieving Minfilia.

Satisfied, he turned his mind to a mummer’s breathing exercise, a trick to fall asleep quickly, forcing his mind to still so he could rest.

—-

((There’s a lemony solo-Thancred follow-up to this too.))

#Final Fantasy XIV #Heavensward #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Midgardsormr #Lyn Writing #Shippy Nonsense #Aeryn Striker #tension #mutual pining #Dragon Dad is the best #hope this satisfies #and hope the read more works #temperjoke

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iwouldratherprocrastinate · 5 years ago

Text

Troy x Reader/Borderlands 3 Rewrite Pt 2

After being told that we had to find the Atlas operative, we digistructed my favorite vehicle. It was my outrunner that was pastel with skags painted on it. It only seated two however so we all had to take multiple vehicles. Luckily, FL4K was in mine, he drove while I got in the gunner seat. Our skags got into the back compartment. Driving down the streets in Promethea was exhilarating, the wind blowing through my hair as we sped to the location. All was well until I heard familiar voices coming through our Echos.

"So what do you think of our new corporate sponsors? So far, selling out is awesome!" I groaned hearing Tyreen's voice followed by Troy's.

"We gave Maliwan an unlimited supply of screaming war-meat, a.k.a. our followers. And they gave us a bunch of crazy high-tech guns." I rolled my eyes, mumbling, "Maliwan is garbage anyway.. Waste of lives.." I heard a chuckle come from Troy as if they could hear me and Tyreen cheerfully kept going. "And once they take the planet, they get Atlas, and we get the Vault. So, you're left playing with... whatever you got down there! Just keep doin' you! Ha!"

I growled, 'They are awful..' Lorelai informed us that the operative is aiming at a weapons depot. I fist pumped at the thought of new weapons, Atlas and Jakobs are my absolute favorite. The squad all jumped out of the car when we hit a road block and starting strategizing on how we are gonna take out the enemies in our way. I climbed onto one of the platform stairs while Monty charged off after the Maliwan men. Looking down my sights, I tried my best to cover Amara and Moze mostly as they are our front line. I hummed one of Tina's old songs about bombs as we slowly advanced and made our way through.

Lorelai came through on the comms just as I finished the last guy in our space and we started moving forward, "That weapons depot's a juicy target, but they've got an inpenetrable security force-field surrounding it. If you somehow crack it open, you're gonna find some quality firepower in there." I charged forward to find a new spot to snipe having a rush of energy at the thought of new guns. "Let's go guys! Guns aren't gonna loot themselves!" They all chuckled at my antics and rushed forward to cover me.

After all the men were taken out, we all jogged to the end and my face broke into a grin when I saw who it was. "Zer0!" After he super badass took out those security bots, I ran and tackle hugged him. "I missed you!" He chuckled as much as a robot ninja can and turned to the others after releasing me. "Hello, Vault Hunters. / Let's ruin Maliwan's day. / Our mission begins." I tried to act cool on the outside, meanwhile I was geeking on the inside at the idea of getting to fight along side Zer0.

He led us to a plaza and the fight immediately began. Zer0 kept me close to him, he probably still saw me as the young girl who followed him and Roland around. Zer0 and Maya were my favorites of the new Vault Hunters, Maya usually could only see me in private due to her trying to help me with my powers so the one I was always seen following around Sanctuary was Zer0. I resorted to mostly using my melee as I hadn't thought to bring anything besides my sniper with me. I was too excited about having room for new weapons. Soon enough all the bots and unforseen human enemies had been defeated and we made our way into the depot. After searching through all the weapons, to my dissapointment there were no pistols, shotguns, or snipers better than what I already had at home. 'Bummer..' I did find the sword powerup that Zer0 needed.

I ran it over to him excitedly and he seemed pleased, however he shook his head. "Let me trade for it. / Woudln't be fair. / To just take it." He held out a sniper, it didn't look like it was made by Maliwan. When I exchanged the powerup for it and began examining it, it was made by Jakobs and it was wayyy better than my current one. I thought for a moment and realized there was no way he found it here, "Where did you get this from Zer0?" He simply did a smile emoji on his head and started attaching the powerup to his sword. "Look at this. / Monomolecular edge. / Translation? Cool sword." I giggled at his antics and moved to equip my new sniper and attach the other one to the back of my hips.

My good mood soon got spoiled however when a spoiled twat came up on a nearby screen. I groaned and shook my head, 'Of course, I can't go more than an hour without hearing from idiots..' His smug voice started talking, "Hey, it's Rhys' best friend Zer0, stealing my tech. What's wrong? Atlas not "cutting it" anymore? My offer still stands. It's not too late to come work for Maliwan." He turned his gaze towards the team, "And YOU must be the Vault Hunters Tyreen warned me about. You know what, I don't even have time for you. I'll let my superior forces do the talking." His gaze turned to me now, "You however, I was told nothing about. Don't get in my way unless you want the same fate as your friends." I glared as the screen went black, "Dick.." Zane started laughing, "I would love to see you drunk. Everything would piss you off."

Zer0 interupted "That's Katagawa. / Head of Maliwan Mergers. / And Acquisitions." He made a goofy emoji face, "That guy is a douche. / And he's way obsessed with Rhys. / It's kind of creepy." He walked over to the shield blocking us in and made a happy emoji face, "With this new upgrade. / I can cut Maliwan shields. / Stand back and watch this."

I stood back and watched in awe as the shield slowly got annhialated by the sword. Zer0 seemed excited by this as I prepped the Catch-A-Ride to get my vehicle ready. "Walls cannot hold us. / Now to take down Gigamind. / That is our mission." Amara got hyped and rushed up to Zer0, "Is this Gigamind something I can punch?" Zer0 nodded, "Maliwan AI. / All their secrets in one place. / A juicy target."

Amara seemed confused, "So we break Gigamind into tiny bits and then sift through them for info?" A gleeful emoji popped up, "Precisely the plan. / Meet at Halcyon Spaceport. / Now the hunt is on." He dissapeared in true Zer0 fashion as we all loaded up into our vehicles again, this time instead of being greeted by the lovely sound of Calypso twins, my Echo started broadcasting Katagawa. I facepalmed my head into the gun in front of me resulting in it firing and accidentally hitting a security bot.

"This takeover won't be hostile for long. Atlas and Maliwan, we're hashing things out the corporate way. Rhys doesn't get it yet, but when this is over we'll all be one titanic happy family. You're small stuff, Vault Hunter. Not worth my time. Mess with my Gigamind, though, and that'll change. You keep playing under the feet of giants, you're gonna get stepped on." I grumble to myself and take my annoyance out on some random bots, 'I'll be the one doing the stepping. Mess with my friends..' We arrived at the location Zer0 marked on our maps, when a tv nearby suddenly started playing stupid music. I went closer to inspect it and saw a really slapstick comedy thing of Lilith getting her powers taken. Being the easy to upset person that I am, I prepped my brass knuckles and punched the screen out of the tv.

As soon as it went out, I heard a familiar voice in ym Echo, but no one elses. "Now that wasn't very nice, my brother worked hard on that clip." A feminine laugh came through, I growled in response, "How did you get my personal Echo code??" She laughed again, "You really think we don't know all of your codes? We always know where you are Super Fan." My only response was shocked silence. "Hey? Super Fan? Did you die of shock? That would save me some trouble, would upset Troy though." I raised a brow, "Why? He seemed to enjoy kicking the shit out of my mom." Everyone was getting supisicious of who I was talking to, "Listen Super Fan, I'm gonna need you to stop getting into the fights. Seriously. If you die, it would mean annoying issues for me." I scoffed and growled out, "I will stop fighting when you get the shit kicked out of you like Lilith had." After that I try to ignore her and act like I don't hear an annoying Calypso in my ear. Soon enough, we get near Gigamind and I hear the other one, 'Fucking great.'

Trying to tune them out, I hum and focus on sniping the men dropping in to defend it. Nailing one in the head, I pump my fist, "Fuck yeah. Best gun ever." I hear two chuckles in my ear and groan, "Why are you still in my Echo? Leave. I am ignoring you." Tyreen laughs loud, "Good job ignoring us, now you gotta start over." I hear Troy chuckle, they are basically children. "Why are you even fighting? They seem like they can handle this. You are just a girl." My blue eyes roll, "Even if I was just a girl, I would still fight. They are family now. You always fight for family." Tyreen groans at that, "Of course you are one of those types. Family is most important." She whined the last part.

I kept sniping and ignoring them, I assume Tyreen got bored and left the call as when we finished the fight I only heard one voice. It was humming and working on something metal if I am hearing properly. Maybe his arm, we all made it back to Sanctuary and I went into my room without talking to anyone while he still hummed and sang to himself. I hated myself, but I was mesmirized by it. I took my sweater off once I had my door locked. My yellow Siren tattoos glowed in the dim light, they extended across both my arms and slightly on my back and chest. I relaxed on my bed reading a book about Sirens that Maya had given me a while back. Pulling my stuffed bunny closer, I hummed along to the song that Troy was singing without thinking.

I read my book until I realized the singing had stopped, "How's it going angel? You like my singing?" I blushed and shook my head, "Nope. Not at all. I just know that song.." He smirked and laughed, it almost didn't sound smug or fake like usual. I kinda liked it, "I feel like you did like it, I heard you humming earlier, it was cute." I blushed harder and my tattoos glowed even brighter as I closed my book and glared at nothing in particular, "You have no right to call me cute. You kicked the shit out of my adopted mother." Hearing that made his go silent and still, after a few moments of silence he spoke up. "I'm sorry for that. Ty just gets carried away and we have an image to uphold to reahc our goals. I will leave you alone now though. Goodnight angel." I froze in shock, 'Did Troy Calypso just apologize to me??'

#troy calypso #troyboi #troy calypso x reader #borderlands troy #borderlands 3 #rewrite #i dunno how to tag

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years ago

Text

I Want To Fly Away

I’ve been working on this for the last few days, after a phrase came into my head as I thought about this scene and all the glorious art that’s been created depicting it.

I Want To Fly Away

Simon

I push myself up, the sand sinking under my hands. My head spins as I try to sit so I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Alright then.

I’m on my knees. There are vampires everywhere.

But there’s only one voice I recognize.

“Simon!”

It’s Baz.

Our eyes meet. He’s covered in blood. Drenched in it. He reaches his hand out in my direction, as if he could touch me across the span of sand that divides us. “Stay down,” he bellows.

I don’t. He’s fighting twenty-six vampires and I’m not about to let him do it on his own.

I’m probably going to get shot again.

I get to my feet and try to spread my wings but the left one won’t straighten out and it hurts like hell when I try. It’s still bleeding.

They’re part of me. I mean, I know that, but this might be the first time it really feels like that. Like they’re really mine. That the blood pouring out of them is mine. That the pain is because they’re as much me as my arm or leg.

I’m off balance. I try to bring my wings in tight, to keep from stumbling, but that hurts even more. I do it anyway.

I stumble across the sand in Baz’s direction.

He’s as brilliant at fighting as he is at anything. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless.

Then one of the Land Rovers catches fire and all I can think about is the fact that Penny and Agatha were in that car.

I don’t think about my wings anymore.

All I think about is how many vampires I can take down before they start shooting me again.

Baz

Penelope Bunce has once again managed the impossible. She’s walking away from the blazing inferno of the Land Rover, hand in hand with Agatha.

It’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen.

“Baz!” She’s shouting at me. “There’s magic!”

I whip my head in the direction she’s pointing and squint.

There are people. People in the midst of this god-forsaken desert. Normals.

Normals mean magic.

I can feel a lick of heat as I flick my wrist. Light a match. I can hear my mother’s voice. All you need is a spark.

I’ve got more than a spark.

The vampires are a roiling mass, a tumult of shouting and bodies and blood.

One of the khaki clad NowNext acolytes is headed my way.

I hit him with an “off with his head” and I can’t help but laugh as the magic courses through me again.

Bunce shouts out a spell and the guns transform into . . . well I’m not quite sure what they transform into. Farm implements?

I can see Simon, looking like the angel of death, dripping blood, a great bloody scythe in his hands and vampires circling him warily.

His wing’s still bent.

Penelope and Agatha apparently have mass vampire destruction well in hand. Good to know.

I turn away from them, looking for my next victim. There’s smoke and flames and far fewer vampires than there were a few moments ago.

Good.

Then Lamb materializes right in front of me, his hair a mess, suit torn and stained. I take satisfaction in the fact that his imperturbable façade has cracked; his expression is furious and his eyes are wild.

He looks grim and worn and I’m glad that I’ve had some part in that.

He grabs my arm and I shake him off. He grabs again, tries one more time to charm me with his voice, with the mirage of a life lived in the open—without subterfuge and shame.

With the confident assertion that I am just like him.

“I’m not like you. I’ll never be like you.” The words come spitting out of my mouth.

“You’re a vampire, Baz.”

“I’m what I was born to be, Lamb. I am a Mage.”

“You’re a foolish child.”

I shake him off again and he runs this time. Runs over the dune and into the desert, back to his illusions of vampiric normalcy, to the depraved and debauched kingdom he’s created.

It’s almost over. There are a few of the NowNext vampires still circling around, caught between Simon’s bloodstained scythe and the flames that surround Agatha and Penny.

There’s one headed my way, already alight.

I flick my wrist and cast. “Fuck off and die.”

He keeps coming.

I hold my wand out, straight and steady, and I cast again but I don’t feel the warmth rush through my hand.

This is how it ends then. Here, halfway across the world in an American desert. I always thought it would end in flames.

I’m going to end in flames. Surrounded by the ashy remains of a dozen other vampires. I never expected that.

Just like my mother, I suppose. It makes a macabre kind of sense, a coming full circle.

The vampire is almost on me. There’s no time to run. There’s no time to cast. There’s no magic coursing through me.

I can see the flames lick up his arms, spread to his legs. He might burst into ash before he gets to me but I don’t think I’ll be that lucky.

I’d have liked to have one more moment with Simon.

Simon

It’s more a melee than any kind of organized battle. The vampires are keeping their distance from me, too caught up in the fact that Agatha and Penny keep shooting fireballs from their hands and turning them into smoking piles of ash.

I know fire kills vampires but I wish they’d try something else. Something, well, something less fiery.

Baz is flammable.

Baz used to say it would all end in flames.

It would take just one spark. One spark.

One spark for me to lose him forever.

I’d be on him. I’d be slapping the fire out with my bare hands. I can take the heat. I can manage a burn.

Baz used to say it would all end in flames.

Would I be quick enough, could I put it out fast enough to keep him from going up like a Roman candle? I don’t ever want to find out.

Baz used to say it would all end in flames.

It’s why I’m moving right now, stumbling across the space between me and Baz. It’s not that far. But I don’t think I’m going to be fast enough, my progress hampered by the fact that my feet keep sinking into the sand, that my bent wing keeps throwing me off balance, and I can’t go fast enough.

The vampire is going to get to Baz before I can.

Baz used to say it would all end in flames.

I think the fuck not, you vampire arsehole. Not my boyfriend.

Fuck America. Really. Fuck it all, there may be grand vistas and wide skies, open roadways.

But fuck if America doesn’t want to kill Baz.

This country has chewed Baz up and spit him out.

Except for Las Vegas. He could have been a prince in Las Vegas, seated at Lamb’s side, heir to the vampire throne.

I know he’s bulletproof. I know what that means. I don’t want to think about it, not now. Maybe not ever.

It’s one more way that Baz and I don’t match. Can’t match.

Baz used to say it would all end in flames.

He’s bulletproof, but he’s not fireproof and I’ll be good god damned if I let this end in flames.

I extend my wings. There’s a snap and jolt of searing pain as the left one spreads. It catches but I push on through the sting of it, and then I’m up, airborne.

Not today, you fucking parasite.

Not today.

Baz

And then Simon Snow sweeps me out of the way and into the air.

I hold on.

I hold on to dear life.

I hold on to Simon.

Simon

I’m high above it all now. I’d keep going, far away from here, away from all of it, if I even knew where to go.

If I thought my wings could take us there.

Baz is trembling in my arms, and at first, I think it’s because of the blood staining my skin, my shirt, trickling from my wings. But he’s got his face buried in my neck, buried just above that smear of blood on my collarbone, so it can’t be that.

I wonder if it’s because I’m flying, that the reason he’s clinging to me so tightly is that I’ve got him up too high. But Baz cast “float like a butterfly” and stepped off the highest ramparts at Watford, into thin air. So, it can’t be that either.

I hear him murmuring “Simon” over and over again into my neck.

I think about how I need to keep him safe. How I need to know that no one is hurting him. That no one can keep hurting him.

I want him in my arms.

I don’t think I can keep flying. I’m trying to keep my wings going but the left one stutters and we drift down too low. Too close to the flames.

I push through the pain and bring us up again. And my wing catches and I feel us sinking. I’m not ready to go back down there. It’s not safe for Baz. I need to keep Baz safe. I need to keep him away from all of that.

The flames.

The vampires.

Lamb.

So I keep my wings going, keep them beating in the air to keep us afloat.

I wish we could stay up here, where it’s quiet, where it’s just the two of us with no one else around. Where I know he’s safe.

No static in my head. My arms around Baz, holding him close to me. Where I always want him to be.

I can’t do much, but I can keep Baz safe. I can do that. I just need to keep my wings beating, I need to keep us high enough that no one can touch him.

His face is still buried in my neck, his arms gripping me tightly, his legs bumping against mine. I can smell the blood and smoke on him.

I bury my face in his hair.

I can catch the faintest hint of cedar and bergamot as I do and the longing for him makes my heart ache.

I want him still.

I love him so much.

I would stay up here forever if I could.

I could almost believe we match, up here.

#carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #wayward son #flying

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canid-slashclaw · 5 years ago

Text

The Outliers - A Guild Wars Love Story

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapters 10 and 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16 , Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19

Chapter 20

One month had passed and Kaleb and Amalthia's passionate relationship continued unabated. Whenever either had the chance to steal away for a moment to see the other, they would do so. But on this night, the continuity in both of their lives would drastically change forever.

Under a moonlit pasture just outside of Claypool, Amalthia straddled atop her lover as the two began to work their bodies up to the moment of orgasmic ecstasy. Kaleb, meanwhile, held his essence for as long as he could until the moment was right.

"I can never get over just how not painful this is whenever we join as one," Amalthia said as she began riding him hard.

Kaleb breathed heavily while his member throbbed deeply inside his feline lover. "I just can't get over how warm and tight you are. In spite of our differences, our bodies match up so well. Proportionally, we are pretty close to being the same."

"True. I think this sort of thing would be a bit awkward if I were larger like most females of my kind. But even if we weren't, I would still be yours, Kaleb. You are my mate and my love," she said between intense yowls of ecstasy.

"The way you end your sentences in soft purring sounds just turns me on even more. I love you so much, Amalthia Steelblade!"

"And I love you too, Kaleb Grimwald. Ohh myyy..." Her body convulsed in sheer pleasure.

"Oh gods!!" Kaleb unloaded into her as the two of them groaned in orgasmic harmony.

After their intense lovemaking session was over, both got dressed then headed out to the waypoint that connected to Kessex Hills. Once there, Kaleb escorted Amalthia back to her loft above her father's butcher shop.

"When can I see you again?" Kaleb queried as he gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Amalthia flicked her ears and replied; "tomorrow is going to be busy for me as my father wants me to cut up a large order for a business client. Perhaps the following day would be better since I'll pretty much have the whole day free."

"I would like that very much."

Once they arrived, she noticed that the downstairs lights were on. But she dismissed it as nothing unusual as her father would typically forget to turn them off.

As Amalthia walked up the staircase leading to her upstairs loft, Kaleb raised his hand to say goodbye. "See you in a couple of days and," saying in a much softer voice, "I love you!" before he began to turn around and depart.

She gave him a parting kiss in the wind before attempting to unlock the door. To her surprise, she found that the door would not open.

"Something's wrong with the damn lock. I can't get it to open," she growled as she shoved the key back into her coat pocket.

"Any possibility that your father's still up?" Kaleb asked just as he was about to leave.

"Doubtful. I've never seen him up this late at night. Anyway, this is starting to piss me off."

"Mind if I come in? I mean, none of the... you know... just figured I'd like to spend a little while longer with you, that is, if you don't mind."

"I would normally never say no, but we are going into the main house where my father resides. Remember, love, I haven't cleaned up yet and there is always a risk of our scents being picked up by him."

"But you said he's rarely up this late," Kaleb reminded her.

Amalthia relented. "Well, I suppose it will be okay. We just have to dash up to my room. No dilly dallying."

Kaleb nodded as she unlocked the main door to the butcher shop. Once they entered, she locked the door behind them as they started to head towards the spiral staircase. But as they did so, Amalthia caught wind of something that suddenly sent a chill to her very core.

"My. Oh my. What has my little cub and this mouse been doing together out so late?"

The lights from the butcher counter area flicked on revealing the form of Siri Blastfuse. Her snout immediately began to sniff the air as her face drew to a deep scowl.

"Mother?" Amalthia said in a shaky voice as their gazes met.

"What is that foul stench coming off you? It's also coming off of him as well. Nooo... this can't be?!"

Before she could react, her mother bounded towards her like a hungry cat about to pounce its prey. She briefly sniffed Kaleb's groin area as her murderous green eyes met his. Next, she shoved her snout into her daughter's crotch then withdrew and let out a horrific shriek.

"YOU FILTHY LITTLE SKRITT-FUCKING WHORE!!"

Siri brought her clawed right hand with full force against the left side of her daughter's upper neck causing four deep lacerations. She then turned her rage towards Kaleb who was too much in shock to react.

"You disgusting little squealer! I will rend parts off your body you don't even know you HAD!!" She lunged at him at full momentum, but was stopped short by Amalthia's quick reaction.

"Mother!! Don't you dare hurt him! I swear I'll kill you right here and now!" She bellowed as she reached for her sword.

Although much older and slower, Siri was still quick enough to blunt her daughter's attack. "Not if I kill you first, cub!"

Within moments, mother and daughter were in a deathwatch with claws and teeth flashing. Kaleb could only watch in horror as he saw the two charr tearing into each other like savage beasts.

Suddenly, and from out of nowhere, came a thunderous bellow that emanated from the hallway. When he heard it Kaleb snapped out of his state of shock.

"ENOUGH! NOT IN MY HOUSE!! Both of you - stand DOWN!" Ludrick roared as he lunged in on the melee using his good left foot.

Kaleb reached in to try and pull Amalthia off of her mother. But as he did, a massive clawed furred hand grabbed him by the throat then slammed him against the wall.

"You..."

For the first time in his life, Kaleb was terrified to his core as he looked to see the murderous eyes of none other than Ludrick himself. Gone, was the softhearted charr that he came to know and respect. What stood before him was the embodiment of hate itself.

"...aren't going ANYWHERE!"

Ludrick grasped hold of Siri's large cranial horn with his other paw then forced her onto the floor. "And you... I... am... not... through... with you... either, bitch!"

"SIRE! Please... don't hurt him!" Amalthia screamed as she tried to intervene.

Her father bellowed in rage. "Back off, cub! He has crossed the line. Both of you have."

"Ohh. They've done more than crossed it... they've..." Siri's words were cut short by a sharp twist of Lucrick's powerful arm.

"If I hear so much as a fart out of you, I'm going to snap your neck. You hear me?!"

For the first time in her life, Amalthia had never seen her father this angry. It was also the first time in her life that she was afraid - afraid of him.

"Please, sire. Father. I am the one who is to blame. Please, don't hurt Kaleb. He saved my life and... he is, your friend," she said as tears began streaming from her eyes.

Ludrick closed his eyes and bowed his head then eased his grip upon the young man. "Go to your room, Amalthia. Trust me for what I have to do."

Kaleb mustered enough nerve to speak. "I... it's okay, Ama. No matter what happens to me, just remember that nothing will ever change my feelings for you."

"Father. Promise me you won't kill him. If you do then you will lose a daughter as well. And I mean it too!" Amalthia snarled.

"Amalthia. Please trust me. Now go to your room. I will deal with this boy in the best way I see fit." He nodded to her with a much softer expression on his face.

"I love you, Kal. No matter what happens, you are my mate in body and heart," she said as she ran up the stairs crying.

Siri could no longer contain herself. "I might take you up on that offer of wanting to snap my neck in two, centurion. Otherwise I might just die from drowning in my own vomit."

Amalthia stepped down the stairs for a moment and commented; "make her wish come true, sire. You'll get no complaints from me."

"To your room and not another word, cub!" Her father bellowed as he turned toward Kaleb with a hateful glare.

"I trusted you. She trusted you. We both trusted you and this is how you repay us??? Did you think she was some exotic plaything that you could just manipulate for the purpose of satisfying your own lustful fantasies?"

Kaleb steeled his resolve then looked Ludrick in the eyes. "I would never have taken those arrows for a mere plaything, sir! I love your daughter more than life itself. A fact, I might add, that I've already demonstrated. So go ahead and kill me if you wish. But know this... Amalthia will never forgive you for being such a coward to face an obvious truth. And that truth is that love observes no boundaries regardless of kind."

Ludrick grimaced as he forced Kaleb towards the door while keeping him in a chokehold. "Do you delude yourself into believing that love alone will offer the happiness that either of you believes the other deserves? Listen to me, cub - no matter how much the two of you may love each other; the rest of the world will hate both of you because of that love. The oceans of blood spilt between our peoples for so many centuries can not so easily be forgotten."

"You fear change. Both you and Siri fear change. I honestly cannot believe that a relationship such as ours can be so unique. Surely, there has been a human and charr who have loved each other in such a manner, sometime in the past. Am I right?" Kaleb said as he suddenly felt noticeable quivering in Ludrick's hand.

The old charr flipped Siri on her backside by rapidly pulling her horn until she nearly fainted from the excruciating pain. He then pushed Kaleb out the door as he held him tightly by the throat.

"Such a thing cannot happen in our lifetime. Not without consequences. You have broken my trust by going back on your word. You crossed the line!"

"With all due respect, sir. You only imagine me agreeing to your terms. There was at no point that I ever agreed to 'not crossing the line' as you so aptly put it... sir."

In a fit of rage, Ludrick flung Kaleb hard against the ground nearly knocking the wind out of him. As the old charr stood over him, he stooped down and pointed his massive clawed finger just inches from his face and said in a gruff voice; "you are to never come near these premises again. If I so much as catch wind of your scent, I will tear your heart out myself. Now be gone and never return!"

Reeling from the shock, Kaleb staggered away from the shop, both his body and heart in tatters. From the distance, he could hear a long mournful yowl coming from Amalthia's loft.

Ludrick turned back towards the door all the while suppressing the immense pain that was bearing down on his already bleeding right foot. He saw Siri's lanky silhouette emerge from the shadows then bounded towards her, preventing her from leaving.

"This, this is complete madness. My own cub... doing that? And you... why didn't you just shred that disgusting piece of meat when you had the chance? But if you won't do it then perhaps the task must fall to me since you no longer seem to have the stomach for such things." Siri raged as she attempted to leave the shop.

"No! You stay! You stay until I'm finished telling you something, something I should have told you a long time ago," Ludrick said as he bowed his head.

"I'm in no mood to hear anymore of your rehashed war stories, you impotent old bag of piss. If I could get away with it, I would kill all of you if nothing more than to remove the blight that has already tarnished my reputation," Siri said in disgust.

"No one but those present even knows of this. So there's no need to worry about your precious reputation being defiled. But that human was right about one thing..."

"Oh. Do tell."

"It has happened before - intimate relationships between human and charr. And it's closer than you can imagine."

"I can imagine quite a bit. Try me!"

"I know the power that falling in love can have on someone... even if they are different species."

"You know nothing!" Siri spat.

"I do know because it once happened a long time ago... to me." Ludrick closed his eyes and remembered the face of a human woman he had loved so long ago. He clasped hold of a chain necklace that he had worn for many years and pulled out what appeared to be a pendant that was broken in half.

"Her name was Karla and she saved my life."

(All chapters have been posted to AO3. Chapter 20 is posted here.)

#gw2 fanfic #tyriaslibrary #the outliers #kaleb and amalthia #cw adult situations #guild wars 2 romance

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