#this took longer than necessary...I was lazy oops

[moonlights-inkwell]

“Be Good to Me.” I Whisper. (And you say, “What?” and I say, “Nothing Dear.”)

Summary: Jaskier’s different in Oxenfurt. It’s not a bad thing at all.

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,406

A/N: This fic was going to be a super short and indulgent smut fic, but then it took on a life of it’s own and got to be like 5000 words before I even got to the porn, so now it’s gonna be a two parter. Oops. Also, Jaskier’s looking kinda rugged in this fic, mostly cause I was basing his appearence on how Joey looked during the Love Run era and I’m... weak. And yes I gave him glasses. Why? Who knows.

Title taken from That Unwanted Animal

Warnings (for Parts 1 and 2): Smut. cock warming. Oral (female and male receiving). Body worship. Female pronouns used/afab genitals described for the Reader. Light Praise Kink. Dom Jaskier. Professor/Lecturer Jaskier.  

You wake, slowly and without much intent, to the sound of singing.  

It’s not uncommon, these days at least, to be woken by music and laughter. It’s a welcome change of pace from your normal life of travel, fighting and pain, all the laughter and music. Oxenfurt is always so lively and full of music and laughter, even now in the coldest and darkest months of the year. You almost resent that it isn’t a permanent fixture of your life. You've never thought yourself a deeply domestic person, but now in Oxenfurt, you feel... content in a way you've never felt before. 

Not knowing, or caring about, the time, you decide it much too early to even consider opening your eyes, and remain beneath the sheets entangled about you. Fingers curling into the soft, treated furs that cover the mattress, you tug the duvet closer to you, and feel the blankets on top of them shift, weighted and soothing all the while. A lazy grin spreads across your face; it’s so warm, a luxury you know all too well you cannot afford to take for granted. Cracking open an eye ever so slightly, you catch sight of a fire, crackling and popping deep within the arch of the fireplace. Bless Oxenfurt, you think tiredly and close your eye once more. A fireplace in the bedchambers, and the living area. You could get used to luxuries like this.

You never considered that you’d ever spend any period of time in Oxenfurt, never mind be wintering there, and while it’s wonderful you cannot help but feel out of place. You’ve never been the sort of person to be wealthy or talented enough for a University of such high esteem; daughter of a seamstress, former barmaid, barely able to hold a tune or paintbrush. But along came Jaskier, wonderful, beautiful Jaskier. With Geralt returning to Kaer Morhen for the winter, your bard had asked you, soft and sweet, to join him at his old place of education. He only needed to ask you once.  

The campus is beautiful, warm and comfortable and full of lively, excited youths, so bewitched by their art and school. You understand it, it’s difficult not to be taken in by the beauty of it all, but one thing keeps you weary; the fact that it’s a place of such overwhelming privilege, the likes of which you’ve had next to no interaction with. You’ve always known Jaskier is a man of luxury: his accent, embroidered doublets and silk chemises advertise it in a way that is out of place on the road traveling with Geralt but are common as muck on campus. Everyone here is like him, rich but seemingly playing at slumming as students, as if they too will be traveling bohemian bards rather than what will undoubtedly actually happen, being taken in by whatever court will have them. He’s different in Oxenfurt, too. Not a bad sort of different, but... unusual. Jaskier, your bard, lover and traveling partner, is wonderful, a giddy and excitable fool, who spends much of your time together teasing and goading, is strangely absent. In his place is... someone else. A professor and an adult. It’s hard to believe your bard, a man who sings often of masturbation and hand-jobs with a smug grin, is a professor. A teacher. He’s smart, you’ve always known that, but it’s easy to forget how bloody intelligent he is.

He plays the fool all too well, well enough that it’s what you think of when you consider him. It’s strange to see him acting so maturely, planning lectures and grading compositions, walking about and advising students, talking about writing and singing techniques. They adore him, it’s written across their faces when you see them together, and the adoration and admiration of him is transferred onto you too. They gape and gawk at you, talking quietly and singing lines from songs that Jaskier had written about you. When you walk together around the halls and cobblestone roads, they rush to you both, mouths full of questions about travel and monsters as well as whatever the hell a cleft or bridge are. It’s so strange. You don’t know how you’re to feel about being watched by these aristocratic students, caught somewhere between hero worship and sideshow attraction. Even in tiny taverns and villages, people look at you as just a girl, aided usually by Geralt’s intimidating frame outshining the various knives you have adorning your figure. The only person who normally stares at you is Jaskier, always in this shocked sort of adoration, as if he can never quite believe that you are real and beside him. It’s sweet and never invasive, always looking but never prying.

You purr softly at the thought of Jaskier, in this delicate daze of being half-asleep, this is perfection, a comfortable, engulfing warmth and softness, resting on top of soft fur with the love of your life in bed beside you. But something isn’t quite right. Jaskier always touches you, something you silently think must come from a lack of human contact as a child, he always has a hand on your bare skin especially while in bed, on your hip, curled about you like you could be snatched away, forehead pressed into your back, or fingers threaded through your hair. But right now? There’s not any such contact, and it makes you roll over in bed, eyes suddenly wide with realisation. Empty.  

It’s expected, but disappointing none the less. During the week he has lectures in the morning, and leaves you to rest as long as you wish before doing whatever you want until his classes end, usually resulting in your traveling about the campus town, meandering by the market and bakery often. It feels childish, but you hate it, you’re too used to waking in his arms and turning about to kiss him awake. It’s horrible to wake without the comforting weight of his arms around you and the combination of warmth and tickling hair from his chest hair against your back.  

“What in the fuck... is that a scale? In the middle of... what is that?” An oh so familiar voice says loudly, which makes you grin. He’s here, even if not in bed with you, there’s no need to wait about for him to return. He sounds scandalised, you can see him in your head, hunched over a pile of papers, brows furrowed into a look of confusion and annoyance. Adorable. You shift up and attempt to get to your feet, faltering slightly at the comfortable warmth of your sex and the dried fluid on your thighs; eyes slide down to take in your naked form. Bed clothes have never been a necessity with someone as insatiable as Jaskier, hell, even normal clothes are barely necessary.  

“What the fuck?” He mutters, the sound of his voice draws you towards the door, but you stop as quickly as you start. There seems something overly presumptuous about walking to him nude, even if you have been in a relationship for years and have seen each other naked more times than you can remember. Stepping forward once more, your eyes slide across the sight of one of Jaskier’s shirts balled up on the floor where it had been tossed to last night. It’s scooped up without much of a second thought and tugged on before turning to look at a mirror; it’s beautiful, silk and embroidered with bluebells, with a high collar, and is left open to expose the inner curves of your breast, the expanse of your stomach and almost all of your legs. It, combined with the slight swell of your lips from relentless kissing last night and sleep tousled hair, makes you feel strangely beautiful. You don’t often feel beautiful, especially having just woken up, so when you rub your face gently with the fabric and breath in the smell of your lover, you feel your nipples stiffen slightly. Lavender and musk and something so entirely Jaskier fill your senses, and you walk out of the bed chambers, smiling softly as the material grazes your thighs as you do so.

Gods above, he’s beautiful. Always is, always has been, but still no matter how long you’ve known him he manages to take your breath away. He’s always had such a boyish face, handsome but soft, fitting easily with the childishness he exudes, but winter has seen that change. With him not performing for the season, and needing to look older than his students, his need to shave and keep up appearances has dissipated somewhat. He’s sitting there in an armchair in front of a desk, all curtains drawn and leaving him illuminated by the fire roaring across from him and the candles littered about the table in front of him, shirtless and resting his now stubbled chin on his hand while his hair, longer than you’ve ever known it, frames his face. You like it longer, and he seems too as well, letting you twist and braid it during the evenings while he strums at his lute in front of the fire and tells stories you don’t believe to be entirely true. He doesn’t look older, but instead more mature, like he had responsibilities that aren’t trying to earn as many coins as possible between stolen kisses and avoiding being swatted at by Geralt. His skin is almost glowing in the candlelight and reflects from the delicate spectacles that rest on the bridge of his nose. It’s alien and familiar all at once, and you smile to yourself at it. He had told you he was full of surprises the first night he kissed you, but this was a surprise you doubt even he could have ever anticipated. You’ve taken to referring to this more grown-up Jaskier as Julian in your mind, just to try and separate the two for your own peace of mind, but it doesn’t seem right now. It’s like looking at another side of a coin or hearing a song and finally paying attention to what the lyrics mean; it’s the same but not, and you worry that maybe you’ve spent your entire relationship with the man before you underestimating him. Reducing him down to beautiful fool and verbose romantic, when he’s always been mature, but felt no need to show it. You know from first-hand experience that being serious in the presence of Geralt always makes the air cold and uncomfortable, but now, away from the Witcher and his overwhelming stoicism, Jaskier can be as serious as he wants without souring anything. It’s refreshing. You never thought you could love him more than you already do; but right now? Bathed in golden light, relaxed and without pretention or any semblance of performance? You could marry him on the spot. You’re hardly a creative like he is, but you could write epics about him; verses about his eyes, sonnets about his cupid's bow, songs about the colour of his hair. He curses in what you assume is elder before pushing his hair away from his eyes, and you have to fight back the urge to run to him and tug it back with a ribbon to keep it from annoying him, and so you stay.

Leaning back against the door, you take him in as best you can and try to dedicate this image of him to memory. Him, soft and comfortable, looking like a real professor, surrounded by the warm brown of the furniture and the golden glow of fire that crackles and pops under the quiet music of him humming whatever is written on the pages, that’s the sort of Jaskier you want to remember. Content. It's a habit you have gotten into since you began courting, trying to keep the most delicate and domestic memories for nights when the traveling gets the most of you, and you wish you could just go home. It’s normally simple things, like when he sleeps in after you, hair haloing around him, long lashes fanning out on his cheeks, or the day when he took you to a field of wild flowers to unwind, and had laughed so loudly the skin about his eyes and bridge of his nose had crinkled like silk moved too quickly, a crown of dandelions and bluebells about his head. He’s so beautiful, and when you’re both old and grey you want to be able to remember just how gorgeous he is. He never truly believes it when you tell him it, as you never believe him when he says how much he believes you to be beautiful. Perhaps it’s why the two of you fit together so well. Insecure fools, finding security in the other’s arms. It takes him a moment or two to glance up from the papers, but as soon as he does, he gapes at you, lips parted and eyes raking across your frame and back up to your face once more. It’s quiet, but you clearly hear the soft gasp that comes from him, which makes you smile sweetly to him and tilt your head to the side.  

“Good Morning, Dandelion.” Your voice is low and scratchy with sleep, pet name rolling easily from your tongue. It feels like a foolish thing to say, but every other thing that had come to mind was hardly better. “What are you doing?” The bard says nothing but grins and pushes himself back into the seat, opening his arms wide gesturing you onto his lap. It’s all the encouragement you need to walk over and clamber onto his lap, his arms wrap about you and tugs you closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Afternoon, Dear Heart. It’s mid-afternoon.” He murmurs into your skin. “You looked so peaceful; I couldn’t be responsible for waking you when you were so blissful. Besides, I had compositions to overlook.” Squirming, you try to turn to look at the sheet music, but Jaskier holds you tighter still, face burrowing even further into the curve where your throat meets shoulder, his words make his lips brush against the sensitive skin, like kisses aborted before truly meeting their destination. “This chemise looks awfully familiar-”

“It looks better on me, Dandelion. Don’t you think?”  

“Everything looks amazing on you, Darling Dear.” He says softly and presses a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then one to the tip of your nose. “I’m quite sure you could wear rags and still be the most beautiful woman to have ever walked the earth.”  

“Flatterer.” You grin and rest your hands on the thick, downy fluff that covers his chest.

“I thought it sounded nicer than saying everything looks beautiful on you, but...”  

“But what?” You ask when his sentence dawdles to a stop without ending.  

“But I prefer you in nothing at all.” He grins, and despite all the ways his appearance has changed since the two of you arrive, you see your playful, boyish bard once more, all too proud of himself for having found a complimentary way of saying he wants you nude once more. It’s flattering, always will be flattering, that Jaskier loves your body in ways that you never have but you slap his arm playfully, more for your own sake than his; so you can pretend that you didn’t just consider stripping the shirt off to make his grin turn to the same flustered smile it always turns to when you exert any modicum of control over your bedroom activities. For all his experience, and your lack thereof, all it takes is you acting like you know what it is you’re doing to turn your Dandelion into a blushing, nervous mess of a man. The thought of his pink cheeks makes your own flush, and you try to distract yourself.

“What’s the time?”  

“Doesn’t matter in the slightest, Dear Heart. It’s a weekend, and you were so peaceful. I assumed after last night you would need all the rest you could possibly get.” The smug little grin that breaks across his face makes you blush harder. It had been a long night, and the thought of it sends a rush of heat to your sex.  

“O-oh.” You laugh weakly. Jaskier cups your cheek and pulls you into a soft, chaste kiss, the kind that makes your heart stop entirely for a second or two. His lips are softer here, not chapped and chafed by wind and travel, just plush and inviting. Just as you start to melt against him, and a hand travels up to grip his shoulder, he pulls back to glance back at the paper once more, “...Sorry. I must be distracting you-”  

“My favourite kind of distraction, My Love.” He squeezes your hips softly and tilts his head, “And I will never be too busy for you,” He pulls you closer still, chest pressed to chest, to rest his chin on your shoulder, looking to the papers once more. You’re sure it’s accidental, but he drags your bare cunt along his thigh, and you bite back a moan. “Especially seeing as you’re so bloody warm, like a little bed-warmer.”  

“A bed-warmer that you’re ignoring for music?” You tease, and one of his hands slips under the shirt to rest on the warm flesh of your waist as he shakes his head, sending chestnut hair brushing against your cheek, your own hand threading through the hair of his chest.  

“I’m not ignoring you. Gods, no one could ignore you if they tried. I just... I simply have to look over these compositions.” His voice is distant and distracted, he’s a thousand miles away, and you decide to try to be a good little bed-warmer, as he so eloquently put it, trying to stay still and keep him warm. You aren’t sure how long passes before you begin to shift, could be a second or an hour, but Jaskier’s thighs are not the most comfortable resting place you can imagine, so you shift up onto your knees for a second, using the added leverage of height to shift closer towards him, accidentally brushing your hips against his in your search for comfort, but instead only feel a familiar stiffness against your sex. The shock draws a soft gasp from you, and that makes Jaskier chuckle lowly.  

“Oh. I... You. You’re hard.” The words come out breathy and virginal, as if the idea of the man you’re sat atop of being attracted to you is some sort of strange impossibility rather than being obvious. He spends his nights with either his tongue or his cock buried inside you, but were someone to have heard that weak little statement, they would have assumed that You had never been so much as touched before in your life. Jaskier appreciates the absurdity if the chuckle he breathes out is anything to go by at all, you feel him turn his head and then the heat of open-mouthed kisses being pressed to the crook of your neck. Kisses there have always made you feel vulnerable, made worse by seeing what beasts could do if they got their teeth that close to your jugular, but Jaskier isn’t a beast. He’s barely like a man, more like a dream you’ve created for yourself, and he always kisses you there. He must like the vulnerability it makes you feel for the frequency he kisses it.  

“Have been since I saw you in my shirt.” He murmurs, quiet as though it’s a confession of sorts, head shifting slightly to brush his nose across the column of your throat. “It’s quite difficult to not be hard when you look so... Debauched.”  

“Debauched?”  

“As sin, My Love. Fucking... hair wild, neck bruised, tits barely covered... And in my clothes? Melitele, I cannot imagine anything more debauched.”  

“Your cum is dried on my thighs too.” You all but sing out. The reminder is all the encouragement he needs to reach down and trace lute-calloused fingers across the crust of spunk at the top of your legs. They don’t remain there for long, however, travelling up to trace across your slit.  

“And your soaked cunt too.” He says lightly, digits trailing across the seam and gathering as much of the wetness as he can, stopping just above the place where you need him most to bring up the fingers and slot them into his mouth, sucking on them with a purpose. The whine that escapes your mouth isn’t dignified in the slightest, but neither was the way he was dangling exactly what you want in front of you without letting you indulge.

“Don’t tease, Jask-”  

“I’d hardly call this teasing, especially compared to your coming out here in nothing but my shirt-”

“Julian~” You whine weakly. Using his birth name is so uncommon to you that you almost trip over the word, but it achieves some sort of reaction from him. He pulls back and stares at you, a hunger in his eyes as his pupils grow wider and trail down your body, lingering on your cunt for a second longer than the rest of you, then looking up to meet your gaze again. You know his usual lust filled gaze, light and flirtatious and appreciative but this is... hungry. Ravenous, as if he’s been denied you rather than staring at his own handiwork, littered across your body and encouraging his staring.

“No, Dear Heart. I have such a lot of music to review and grade. My students will be disappointed if I don’t do it quickly. So disappointed.” His voice is pointed but you know from the look on his face that he’s playing, with you and himself. A game to see who cracks first, one you have no interest in playing. You have absolutely no interest in making him beg for you, or begging for him, you just want to feel the blissful drag of his cock in and out of you. “Don’t be selfish. You get to have me all year, and these poor things only have my genius to consult for the winter.” Genius. You aren’t entirely sure about that, but watching him speak, all you can think of is him putting his clever mouth to work on you.  

He moves quickly, hands removing themselves from your skin to pick up the papers while his chin returns to your shoulder once more. It's infuriating, so you tug at his chest hair like a petulant child.  

“But you’re hard!” You whine out in utter indignation.  

“I know, Dear Heart. Your cunt is against my cock, of course I’m hard.” Jaskier says slowly, as if talking to a small child. “But, I’m also a professor who needs to overlook my student’s work.” He’s right, you know that he’s right, and it’s hardly as if Jaskier is some brute who leaves your needs ignored but, Gods, you’ve been wet since you saw him, and the thick ridge of his cock against you is hardly helping your situation. “You can feel how much I want to fuck you, Darling. Gods above and below, the things I want to do...” He sounds defeated, and you turn your head to gently peck his cheek. “But, truly, I do need to look at these.” You nod quickly and gnaw at your lip; you aren’t being fair, and you know it.

“Then look at them, Buttercup. I’ll just... keep you warm.” You smile sweetly and he nods then pecks your cheek.  

He’s busy. You know he’s busy, but he's still hard and it isn’t helping your situation. Memories of last night, specifically of how it had felt to sink down on him while his mouth worked about your nipple, comes to mind too which causes your hips to rut against his subconsciously, drawing a growl from the bard. It’s not a noise you know well, coming out when he feels slighted or is especially engrossed in a song, but it sends a rush of heat to your cunt once more and you desperately grind your hips into his again. This is not keeping him warm, your mind chides you, but the feeling of the lacing pressed upward by his tenting trousers rubbing against your clit is enough for you not to care about how you had promised to keep him warm. The only thing you care about right now is chasing the feeling of overwhelming pleasure.

“You... are toying with things beyond your control, Dear Heart.” He murmurs darkly, pulling back to stare at you once more and only serves to intensify the blush that is spread across your cheeks. Beyond your control? Jaskier? The thought makes you giggle.

“I am... I’m just trying to... warm you up.” The words come out stilted and gasped between each circling movement of your hips against his. “You. You said you... were cold. I’m trying to be a good... bed warmer.”  

A good bed warmer? Not at all. You want to be a good partner, a good woman-desperate to feel your lover's cock buried to the hilt inside of you; the blissful stretch that it causes, his hands guiding you gently in your ministrations. Even without his prick being free, you move against him as if it is, hips gyrating and tits bouncing with each movement, you try and pretend that the feeling of coarse lacing against your clitoris is all you need. In all honesty, it almost is, especially when Jaskier gives up all pretence of working and allows his hips to buck up and grips your hips tightly enough to bruise, guiding each circling motion that your hips make. You can almost feel the ridge of his cockhead through his undergarments, and sink down on it enough that the fabric covered tip almost sinks inside of you before you pull back and return to rubbing your sensitive nub against the fabric. All too soon, you feel yourself lifted onto the table and whine, trying to grab at him but stop when you see Jaskier scrabbling with the ties of his under clothes, finally pulling them loose and shoving them to just beneath the delicate curve of his bottom. It’s seldom you get to see him so desperate he can barely undress himself, but you don’t allow yourself to admire that for as long as you should like to, because of what catches your eye. His cock stands freely, the base framed by dark curls that creep up onto his stomach and into the thicket of hair across his chest, which makes your mouth water in a way you don’t understand and never want to. You just know that the thickness and slight curve of his member makes you want to sink to your knees to wrap your lips about the leaking, pink head and listen to the breathless moans that doing so always draws from him, prettier than any song that you’ve ever heard him sing. Without second thought, you try to push yourself off of the table to settle on the floor and take him in your mouth but are tugged unceremoniously back onto Jaskier's lap.  

“But-" You start, only to have Jaskier cut you off before you can voice your complaint.

“Hush.” The firmness of his voice silences you immediately, his hands guide you up to his member before one slides down to the puffy lips of your sex, spreading them before tugging you down onto him. The manoeuvre is hardly ceremonious, but it’s worth it to finally have that which it feels like you’ve been wanting for hours. The sensation of him splitting you open makes you moan loudly, hips returning to their frenzied bucking to try and reach climax, but your enjoyment is short lives seeing as your desperate canting is stopped by the tight grip on your thighs holding you in place.

“Jaskier?”  

“I thought you wanted to be a good bed warmer, Dear Heart.” His voice trills and you still. The way he says good is enough to make your breath hitch and heart falter.  

“I do-" You’d go to the end of the world for the slightest praise from the Bard, and the way you admit to it makes him grin, and cup your cheeks in both hands, trusting you enough not to move simply because you want to be good for him.

“Then be a good little darling and stay still for me, if you would.” All previous dark hunger that had edged his voice is gone, replaced with his usual childishness once more. You almost wouldn’t realise he was doing anything sexual at all were it not for him having just speared you onto himself. The strangeness of the situation makes you clench around him, drawing a moaned out curse from his lips.  

“But you're inside of me-"  

“You just said you wanted to keep me warm, Pet.” He says slowly, as if speaking to an untrained dog, and the newfound pet name is hardly doing much to dissuade that thought from your mind. “But we aren't in bed, and seeing as you made this mess, I suppose being a cock warmer rather than a bed warmer will have to do.” The candidacy with which he says the term makes you blink. Sometimes, you think, Jaskier forgets that he’s the only man you've ever been intimate with, so terms like... cock warmer, that he throws about like they’re nothing brings a nervousness about you. You don’t know what that even means, but it distracts you from the fact he had just implied that him being aroused by you is a ‘mess’.  

“A... cock... warmer.” You say, leaving a good few seconds gap between each word. The uncertainty in your voice is obvious, and the man inside you chuckles slightly and mumbles something to himself that you can’t quite make out, but sounds like ‘corrupting her’.  

“Sorry Darling. Look at me, throwing about terms you don’t know and acting as if you should.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, but there’s a level of something patronising to his words that you’re not sure he even knows is there, yet intrinsically sets off a need to argue within yourself that you’re barely capable of choking back. “I want you to sit here, looking as radiant as you always do... Debauched and in my clothes, my cum dried on you, with my cock inside of you. But. You cannot move.” He says it simply, as if it's a term people should already be acquainted with; factual, like he’s trying to teach you something new, and your core tightens around him. You wonder, dazed, if that is the tone of voice he uses when teaching his pupils about music.  

If so, you might have to sit in on a lecture. Or have him teach you about music in the privacy of your shared chambers, where you can shove a finger or two inside of yourself to alleviate the want that is developing between your thighs.  

“I can't move? But why?” You wanted it to sound inquisitive, but instead your voice comes out as a whine, and Jaskier grins at that.  

“Think of it as a game, Darling. To show who has more resilience to the other. Who will... fall victim to the carnality of being so close, but still not... fully intimate.” He's so confident that it is almost infuriating, made more angering still by the way he gently brushes his lips along yours as he speaks, refusing to fill the gaps and just kiss you. It’s already almost more than you can bare, hand slipping down to rub at the swollen bud not two inches from where his dick is resting inside of you, but feel it pinned to your thigh before you can so much as brush a finger across it.  

“No, no, no, Dear Heart. If this is a game, then that is cheating, no?” You want to slap the smug smile off of his face, or force your tongue into his mouth, either would please you. “You cum from me, or not at all.” And with that, his earlier predatory smile is back in full force, making you shiver. “If you can stay still for me while I mark these compositions then I'll fuck you the way you want me to. That seems a fair deal to me, don’t you think?” He grins, toothy and wide, and you nod wordlessly.  

“Good girl.”  

[buttered-ghost-toast]

ASTAROTH

Lazy background is lazyyyyyyyyyy.

But hey, I'm done with it! That was a fun time. THIS ISN’T EVEN HIS FINAL FORMMMMMM!~~!!~!~

Anyhow, i’ve been playing with this guy for a while now and maybe it’s time I gave you more information on this gem of a demon? 

it’s a long read, but FOLLOW ME TO THE TALE~~

HISTORY--Pre and Post  Celestial War

When the heavens were united, Astaroth was one of the Seraphim, the highest rank of angels, caretakers of the holy throne of God. Day and night, they sang praise to their creator. Arguably the most devout of these angels, Astaroth was chosen by God to hold visions of eternity- all past, present, and future. 

  When Lucifer began to formulate his rebellion against the Father, Astaroth was the messenger chosen to deliver God’s decree that any angel found guilty of treason would be banished from the Celestial Realm. As he met with the Archangel, Astaroth’s heart was touched by the love he saw in his brother for their sister, Lilith. He carried out his orders, delivering the word of God, and returned to his post uneasy. 

  As the battle began, Astaroth divined the future, and unable to bear the pain he felt at knowing what was to pass, resolved to speak to God on behalf of his brothers and sister. Unfortunately, before he could say a word, the Order of Thrones descended on him. The order burned a celestial sigil on his face which rendered him blind and took his visions of time,  then cast him out of heaven branded a traitor to the Almighty, but whether because he did not shed blood, or because God had favored him for so long, he was cast into the wilderness rather than condemned to hell, fated to wander lost and broken for all eternity. 

  Dozens of thousands of years passed, and civilizations rose and fell, hundreds of billions of his prayers went unreceived, and at last Astaroth was found by someone he knew. Asmodeus happened upon him in the mountains, as he tells it, he was drawn by the song he heard there- the song of praise Astaroth had continued to sing to God in hopes of mercy and a chance at redemption. Asmodeus at first mocked him for this pathetic effort, but before long took pity on his fallen brother and told him about the wonders of life after the fall. He took Astaroth by the hand and the two traveled through the circles of hell, arriving finally at the palace of the Demon King who restored Astaroth’s vision in exchange for his service and a vow that he would never again sing to the glory of God. 

  ASTAROTH- Grand Duke of Hell

As a demon, Astaroth was titled a Grand Duke of hell and its treasurer. He commands 40 Legions of Demons and is heralded one of the “Supreme Evils”. He appears to those who summon him either as a beautiful angelic being that brings a sweet perfume, or a hideous and hateful beast who’s breath can melt skin from bone depending on their alignments and what it is they seek him for. He sits upon an infernal dragon and carries a vicious viper in his right hand (neither pictured above). Where once he had six gleaming wings, he now has six curved horns that glimmer as if tipped in molten silver, and atop his head is a golden crown that is recounted as appearing to be made of polished gold, or other times burning like living hellfire. It’s not certain whether he is a male of female because of his beautiful face and flowing hair.

Though he is regarded as a wicked being, Astaroth is a gentle entity to those who are truthful and willing to learn and has vowed to never do harm to anything existing.  He brings to man a knowledge of science and mathematics, helping further new regimes who seek his counsel and even teaching some mortals how to command the snakes he governs on the mortal plane. While he no longer has knowledge of all time, he remembers quite a lot of what has and is to pass, and will give this information to those who ask, be it in their favor or not. He sets knowledge and truth above all else and takes any opportunity to speak about creation and set the story straight when asked about the Celestial War and the fall of the angels, and though he vowed to the King of Demons to never sing God’s praises again, he still holds hope in his heart that someday, the truth of what occurred will reach God’s ear and he will be allowed back into heaven.

Mistakenly, Astaroth is often associated with demonic possession. Though several of his legions are demons that have possessed humans and animals, it has never been under any order from Astaroth himself (all matters of possession are handled by a lower class of demon or the ruler of hell himself if it really warrants their attention).

  ASTAROTH AND KING SOLOMON…and Asmodeus, too!

Though fairly opposed to the idea, Astaroth has made a few necessary pacts over his long life, most notably with Solomon, King of Israel, and only as a means to convince Solomon to rectify his ways after he defected from his beliefs and sought out witchcraft and foreign deities. Solomon, at the recommendation of Asmodeus, summoned Astaroth in his throne room and requested knowledge and power beyond his understanding in exchange for a life of servitude. Astaroth agreed and became the 29th of Solomon’s 72 Spirits. Some years later, knowing of a betrayal in Solomon’s future at the hand of a demon who’s face he cannot recall, Astaroth advises Solomon to plead with the angels for a ring that would allow him to control the devils at his feet, this is how Solomon begins to return to God and obtains the seal ring that grants him power over demons and djinn.

As it turns out, the demon who betrayed Solomon was meant to be Asmodeus. After he cast Solomon into the desert, Asmodeus throws the ring into the ocean where Astaroth commands an eel to swallow the ring for safe keeping until he can find Solomon and help him to overthrow Asmodeus despite the love he feels for his fallen brother.

As he awaits the moment where Solomon will find the ring within the fish that ate the eel, Astaroth, haunted by the betrayal he spearheaded, confesses to Asmodeus and the two battle one another, nearly demolishing the temple Solomon built. (If you have ever noticed, Astaroth has a chunk missing out of his left ear. This is a wound that never really healed properly from this fight with Asmo.) The only thing that stops the fight is Diavolo himself dragging Astaroth back to hell as the Demon King had fallen into his sleep, his final command being that Astaroth be the one to perform the ceremony of crowning Diavolo interim ruler and future-king.

Solomon did return, after some time, with the ring. He was able to overthrow Asmodeus and set the remainder of his life right, regaining the favor of God. Astaroth was the first one there to welcome Asmodeus back to hell after his second fall. The two resolved then to never again battle one another.

That night at the ceremony praising Asmodeus’s near triumph, Astaroth stood alone in the gardens of the Demon Lord’s palace, praying silently as he had done every night since being welcomed into hell. He looked up just as a glowing white feather floated down on a sudden breeze. He is still not sure if God finally heard him, or if there was something more happening that night, but it steeled his resolve to do good and return home.

  TODAY

Astaroth remains much the same as ever, only his sense of humor and style having truly evolved. Where once he was a bit strict and humorless, he now has a very lively personality having learned much more about the world and humanity (as well as a few billion of their silly jokes and pranks) and he is now usually found causing a bit of a ruckus just for a laugh. He and Asmo are thicker than thieves and can often be found gossiping and having all kinds of fun when they’re not bickering or having their bi-weekly squabble that somehow seems to always divide the devildom (TEAM ASMO! TEAM ASTA!). Btw, his hair is short on one side because Asmo got so mad over a comment Asta made regarding his hairstyle in the 1980’s, that he waited until Astaroth fell asleep to chop off half of his hair. Joke’s on Asmo though, because Asta found a neat way to style it and loved the look so much he started cutting it that way regularly. Asmo was BIG BIG mad.

Astaroth was one of the few command class demons who wholeheartedly backed the exchange program, not only because he wanted to see an Angel again, but because he’s grown rather fond of humans having seen how they applied the knowledge he imparted over the ages, though he’s still a little wary of them for a lot of the bad things they do so willingly (as well as a little residual guilt from the few humans who died violently due to his old pet viper who didn’t really like when humans lied to his master���oops).

Once MC arrives in the Devildom, Astaroth has a vision in his sleep, the first glimpse he has had of the future since he was cast out. He doesn’t remember much when he wakes, but he knows he has to protect this human at all costs. 

[realtacuardach]

Breath of Life (Obiyuki Kissathon)

This is my first entry for the Obiyuki Kissathon, hosted by snowwhite-andtheknight! The prompt was a “from death” kiss. Thanks to the Obiyuki discord, especially jhalya and sabraeal for their help! Enjoy!

***

"Incredible," Zen marvelled, his breath clouding in front of him as he leaned back in the stirrups and gave Shirayuki an admiring look. "To fuse seed and stone until the plant is no longer poisonous, but a beacon!"

Shirayuki shook her hair out of her eyes, feeling the brush of her ornament's tassels against her flushed cheeks. "Well, I can be stubborn as stone myself, I wasn't about to give up and let everyone down. And I had lots of help - Suzu and Yuzuri and Ryuu and Obi…"

Her voice trailed off a little in thought, and Zen smirked before nudging his horse's flank against hers. "I'm losing you, Shirayuki."

She straightened up, her flush bright enough to stand out against the redness brought by the harsh winds. "I'm here, I'm here!" She shot him a playful glare. "And I'm hardly yours to lose anymore. How is Kihal?"

Zen flushed in a gratifying way. "Kihal's fine - although she was sad to miss the chance to visit you. But she couldn't leave the messenger bird trainings."

"I thought that was you, your highness," Kiki wryly commented from atop her steed, "you certainly have spent a lot of time looking out at the training sessions." Her eyebrows raised and the corner of her lips lifted as Mitsuhide appeared to oscillate between amusement and scandal.

Scandal was appearing to win out, and Mitsuhide was opening his mouth to interject when a snowball hurtled out of the trees and struck him squarely in the shoulder. Only his experience in horsemanship kept him upright, and he leveled a righteous glare into the surrounding forest. "Obi!"

The only response was another snowball, this one hitting him in the center of his forehead. As Mitsuhide sputtered and started scrubbing out the snow embedded in his hair, Kiki reached for her sword, placing her scabbard in front of her face protectively as her eyes skimmed the woods. Obi apparently valued his life more than the chance to surprise attack her, as his next snowball whizzed nearly past Zen's ear, painting the tree trunk near him in a splatter of white.

"Obi!" Zen called, his attempt at sounding stern undermined by the undercurrent of laughter in his voice. "Get down here!"

Obi smoothly descended from the trees, landing in a crouched bow in front of them, and looked up at his master with a toothy grin stretching from ear to ear.

Zen shook his head wryly, grinning back at the sight of his immediate knight and friend. "Is that the best way to greet your fellow knights?"

If anything, Obi's grin broadened. "Keeps me in practice, Master. And keeps Mitsuhide on his toes!"

Zen laughed, the sudden tension draining from his shoulders as he relaxed into the saddle; beside him, Shirayuki let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was a blessedly nostalgic feeling to see Obi teasing his master - it was an occurrence that hadn't been seen for the past few months. Obi had taken the dissolution of the romance between second prince and herbalist even harder than the two themselves, for some reason that he had never told her. Although he had treated Shirayuki much the same as ever, albeit with a delicacy for the first few weeks that was better suited to handling fragile seedlings, Zen had experienced what it was like to deal with an Obi who was all business. He had done his job and done it well when his services had been required, but that was the only time he would interact with Zen. Gone was the teasing and quips; the immediate knight's words were short, clipped, and to the point, and then he would vanish with a brisk nod until summoned again.

Zen had tried to be understanding, but his dismay and uneasiness about the situation could easily be read between the lines of any correspondence between him and Shirayuki. In a way, she knew that Obi was just being protective and she appreciated the steadfastness of her friend; however, she wished he could understand that she herself felt that it was for the best. Zen would always be her first love, but the two had grown, both together and apart, to find that their friendship felt more right than pursuing a romance which had cooled and dissolved with the passage of time.

At last, she could see her friends all interact without a blade of sorrow stabbing her in the stomach. And, with Zen, Mitsuhide, and Kiki so far away most of the year, their times together were rarer and even more precious to her than before. She would stomach the sorrow if it meant seeing it, but it was a relief to have it gone.

Obi fell into step beside their horses in his usual controlled lope, the leather of his uniform creaking in time with the horses' hoofbeats in a way that was familiar and comforting.

"Where's your horse, Obi?" Mitsuhide asked.

"Back in the stables."

Zen's attendant clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You really should have it with you on patrol," he said, "it helps when you need to get quickly about the perimeter."

Midori, a new guard just out of Obi's training sessions that had been riding a few lengths behind the others, almost fell off his horse in his eagerness to come forward. "Sir Obi, you can use mi-"

Obi held up a hand and shook his head with a smile. "Not necessary, Midori." He looked up at Mitsuhide. "And when you know how to ride a horse on fortress walls, I'm all ears. Otherwise, it's quicker for me to - "

His words cut off suddenly, and his head suddenly moved to the side with the sharpness of a hawk scouting out its prey. His muscles grew languid as he looked around, before coiling like a panther about to pounce.

Zen frowned, looking around himself. "Obi, what is - "

The next few seconds were a blur. Without preamble, Obi leapt into the air, a flash of black leather and tanned skin as he passed before his master and mistress and towards the trees. The telltale twang of an arrow being loosed plucked the air and Obi's hand closed in a fist as he landed in the snow. "Archer!" He growled as he took off towards the trees, feet barely touching the ground as Mitsuhide and Kiki swiftly dismounted and followed afterwards, with the new guard enthusiastically if belatedly trailing behind them.

Zen, never one to sit back and let others fight his battles for him, swung down and hooked his horse's reins on a nearby tree branch. "Stay here," he cautioned the herbalist before disappearing into the woods.

And Shirayuki, never one for following orders when she felt she could be more of use disregarding them, slid off her mount and checked to make sure her ever present satchel was secured to her waist. She gave the horse a reassuring pat on the nose before making her own way towards the others.

She found them at a tall tree, Zen and his attendants surrounding the trunk and glaring up like hunting dogs who had treed their quarry. The quarry in question was a young man who already looked somewhat worse for wear, his clothing disheveled, a swelling already forming at the corner of his jaw, and his quiver dangling from his shoulder by a torn leather strap. He looked like he was about to faint; the only thing keeping him upright was Obi's tight grip on his shoulder as the knight leaned against the trunk, his other hand clamped on his own upper arm.

Obi crooked his head in question to his comrades down below, who responded with a decisive nod. He coughed before saying with a levity that didn't match the steel in his eyes, "Looks like there's only room up here for one of us. And you're not supposed to be here, anyway, so…out you get."

And then he let the archer go.

It was only a few feet to fall, and the snow was lightly packed so it was cushion enough, but the archer still had the breath knocked out of him as he attempted to stand before Mitsuhide's imposing stance encouraged him to stay still.

"Who are you?" Zen asked the man who had begun to manage a defiant grimace.

"Just a simple archer," he spat, "what is the meaning of this?"

"Why were you shooting at us?" Zen persisted.

The man shrugged. "I guess my hand slipped. I certainly wasn't trying to shoot anyone here, your highness."

Mitsuhide stepped forward. "You don't seem to have anything to keep your catch in, no bag or cords."

A tinge of nervousness appeared in the archer's eyes before he blinked it away. "I'm something of a novice, this is the first time I've gone out hunting."

A tongue clicked up in the tree branches, and they looked up to see Obi shaking his head mockingly down at the archer. "Don't sell yourself short," he interjected, holding the arrows and quiver in one hand while he examined them closely, "this quiver's got some good wear on it, and these arrows certainly look like they were made by someone with experience…" He took the hand from his upper arm, and the dark smears of blood on his palm made Shirayuki's heart stutter. Smoothly, he took the arrows in both hands before snapping them in half. "Oops."

The archer groaned as Obi dropped the quiver and splintered arrows in the snow.

"Couldn't have done that riding a horse," he mused casually, which was met with a snort from Mitsuhide.

Obi then swung himself down onto the ground, his boots landing right in front of the group, sending snow into the stranger's face. The archer flinched back while Shirayuki flinched forward at the sight on the dark stain growing on his armor, spreading from where the arrow had pierced him.

"Obi!" she gasped, stepping forward as her hands reached for her satchel.

He wrenched the arrow out and looked at it with distaste. "I'm fine, Miss," he assured her, "just losing my touch. I used to be able to catch those." He held up his hand so the others could see the line scored through the palm of his glove from the arrow's flight, a red line already beginning to well up. "It barely hit me, but still. I'm getting fat and lazy, how am I going to get the guards to listen to me now?"

Given that the one guard present looked about ready to faint in awe, Shirayuki didn't feel he had much to worry about in that regard.

"We should go," Kiki said, "he may not have been working alone, and we have more resources to persuade him up at the fortress." Her face gave nothing away, and the archer's face paled. Mitsuhide wrenched him to his feet and secured his wrists behind him. Obi gently shook off Shirayuki's attempts to examine or dress the wounds.

"They'll keep until we get inside," he grinned good-naturedly, "and then you can unleash little Ryuu and all the other herbalists on me."

Shirayuki gave in reluctantly, if only to speed up the process so they could return to the pharmacy for proper assessment and treatment. Obi walked behind the rest, keeping watch for any other movements that would give the presence of potential accomplices away. She turned back a few times to check on him, but only got a cheeky wave and grin in response. So she swallowed the persistent feeling that something was wrong and focused on the return trip, letting the familiar cadence of his footsteps calm her frazzled nerves.

Her mind froze for a moment before thoughts began to hurtle past at dizzying speed. She shouldn't be able to hear them here.

In the fortress, in town, in the castle back at Wilant,  the steady clip of his boots striking the floor was a familiar sound that at times provided her with a great deal of comfort. But she wasn't used to hearing it outside, where he could perch on stone walls, jump from branch to branch, or track through grass or leaves or snow with the silence of a shadow.  She shouldn't have been able to hear him.

She felt a bolt of unease, which only intensified as the brisk, efficient pace began to sound much slower and heavier. She couldn’t keep herself from turning as his steps began to loudly crunch behind her, and the bolt became a stabbing fear.

The increasingly loud and belligerent complaints of the archer had drowned out the sounds of Obi’s breathing, but with her eyes focusing on him with clinical scrutiny, she tuned out all other sounds. Shirayuki winced at the pinched look his eyes had taken as his mouth gaped almost laughingly wide, the air whistling in and out of his mouth in shuddering gasps. She gripped her reins hard and pulled her steed into a stop, just like he’d taught her. “Obi?”

Obi raised up a hand to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Miss, I’m - “

And then he dropped into the snow, his limbs splayed out like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Obi!” She screamed, and the others turned in shock as she nearly fell off the horse trying to get down.

“Sir!” Midori cried equally loudly, rushing over to Shirayuki’s side just in time to help her turn Obi over, to expose his mouth and nose to the air.

“We need help,” Shirayuki said, pulling her satchel in front of her, “Midori, go to the pharmacy and bring back a stretcher.”

She was never more grateful for their respective trainings, in hers for her ability to give clear directions despite emotional duress, and in his for his ability to swiftly follow them.

Snow kicked up from the horse’s hooves as Midori rushed the remainder of the way to the university. The others rushed over, paying no heed to the whining of their prisoner as he was dragged along.

Zen took in the figure of his fallen friend, a gleam of fear in his eyes before it reforged into steel. He glared daggers at the man now being forced to the ground at his feet. “What was on the arrow?”

The archer narrowed his eyes in response. “I don’t know what you - “

Zen’s sword sang as he pulled it from his scabbard, and the grips of his retainers on the enemy’s shoulders tightened until their knuckles were white. “Spare us your lies - what have you done to my knight?”

The archer looked around, and was met with fire in Mitsuhide’s eyes and stone in Kiki’s. He swallowed and slumped. “You might as well say your goodbyes.”

“What?”

“The arrows were poisoned at the tip, and I wasn’t given any antidote.” He looked up at Zen with malice. “We weren’t planning on taking prisoners.”

Zen lunged forward with a growl and Mitsuhide blocked him, giving his liege a look and shaking his head. The prince relaxed, somewhat unwillingly, and took a deep breath.

“Luckily for you,” the archer felt the sting of steel against his throat and looked up at Kiki`s unyielding stance and blade, “we do. Although how lucky you are remains to be seen.” Mitsuhide joined her and placed his blade at the other side of the man’s neck.

Zen stood in front and glared down. “What. Poison. Did you use?”

Shirayuki had been listening to all that was going on behind her, as she checked on Obi’s state. Her fingers felt for his pulse (slowing considerably and distressingly thready) and hovered over his mouth to feel the breeze of his breaths. She didn’t let her hand tremble as she pulled the leather away from the arrow wound in his arm and the score on his palm. No infection that she could see…

“Poison,” she whispered as she scrambled around for a moment, trying to find the quiver where Obi had dropped it when he fell. She pulled out a broken arrow, the blasted arrowhead blessedly intact, and examined it carefully. The poison came off on her gloves and she sniffed tentatively. “No smell…”

“I don’t know,” the archer spat, “something to do with frogs.”

“Frogs,” Shirayuki repeated to herself, and shut her eyes and tried to remember if she had seen anything like that in her books. Her heart froze as her mind focused on a page that she remembered Yuzuri showing her. “Curare.”

She could hear the rush of people from the university as Obi sagged into the snow completely.

…

The rush back to the clinic and the pharmacy was a blur for Shirayuki. Between the other herbalists and the onslaught of guards, Obi was quickly swept onto a stretcher and borne to the warmth of the clinic.

Yuzuri ran out to meet them and began jogging besides Shirayuki. “What happened?”

Shirayuki panted beside her. “He’s been shot. With curare. I need the catspaw you brought back from your last trip.” She came to the split in the halls where she had to go one way for the greenhouses and other for the clinic, and dithered a moment. She didn’t want to leave him, but -

Yuzuri shoved her towards the clinic. “Go,” she barked, fear making her voice brisk, “I’ll get the catspaw. You get to your man.”

Despite the urgency of the situation, Shirayuki stumbled, her cheeks burning hot. He's not my -

But Yuzuri was already gone, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the stretcher making its way towards the clinic. She broke into a run and nearly crashed into the clinic doorway. Ryuu looked up where he was setting up bowls and pestles on the nearest table, a cluster of trainees hovering nearby.

“I heard what he was poisoned with,” he said plainly, “and I thought I had better be ready. You can observe,” he continued flatly as he looked towards the trainees, “when we’re finished. This will be a delicate procedure.”

The trainees filed out quickly, and Shirayuki looked at the master herbalist and felt her heart sink at the stress building up between his eyes. She walked over and squeezed his arm. “We can do this. Obi is strong, and we know how to help him.” Ryuu let the corner of his mouth tilt upwards before it sank back into a pensive frown. Somehow the comfort didn’t feel complete without Obi following it with an arm slung around their shoulders.

“Here’s Sir Obi!” Midori yelled as he ran into the room ahead of the other guards carrying the stretcher.

“And I have the catspaw!” Yuzuri shouted as she ran after them, her fist lifted in triumph.

Shirayuki clapped her hands together once. “Let’s get to it.”

As the pounding of pestles started behind her, she took it upon herself to peel away his glove and torn sleeve for easier access to the wounds. A sick feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach as her hands ran over the muscles of his arm that were now relaxed to the point of near stillness. He shouldn’t look like this.

She swallowed hard and began cleaning the skin around the wounds, keeping an ear on the progress of the catspaw poultices. The sleeve kept rolling back over the arm wound and, in a fit of frustration, she ripped the cloth back to the point where pieces came off in her hand.

Oh, she admonished herself weakly, he really likes this shirt.

If you wanted my clothes off so badly, Miss, she could almost hear him saying, all you had to do was ask.

Shirayuki continued to clean the skin, willing herself not to be undone by how badly she wanted him to be awake and saying that to her. A mortar was stuck in front of her and she blinked up at Ryuu.

“We ground the catspaw,” he said, “does it look ready?”

He would know as well as she that it was, but she appreciated what he was doing. She nodded and smeared a liberal does on a bandage before plastering it on his arm, Ryuu moving in sync to wrap the arrow score for safe measure.

“And now we wait?” Shirayuki asked, one hand gripping Obi’s wrist to check his pulse while the other brushed the hair dripping with snowmelt out of his face.

Ryuu pulled up a chair and stared intently at their wounded knight. “Yeah.”

Time passed painfully slowly, although it should really have been just a few moments, as the two kept vigil. Shirayuki kept the twin heartbeats of hers and Obi’s pulsing at the back of her mind, as she wondered what the others had gotten out of the archer. Were they safe? Did they need to grind more catspaw in case of another attack? Where were they? Why wasn’t Obi waking up?

His pulse pushed more and more slowly against her thumb, and she counted under her breath the moments between them. It kept her mind steady and focused when all she could do was monitor the situation and wait. She turned to ask Ryuu to check outside the window to see if anything else had happened when she froze. She wasn’t feeling anything.

“Obi?” She held her hand above his mouth. Nothing. She drew her hairpin from behind her ear and held it over his face, watching the tassels for movement. Nothing. Her heart stopped.

His heart wasn't beating.

"Ryuu!" She barked, and the younger herbalist jolted in his chair. "He's not breathing, and I can't find a pulse." She rolled up her sleeves and climbed up on the bed beside him. "I'm going to start compressions, go get help!"

Ryuu ran out of the room so quickly that his chair overturned. Shirayuki could hear his steps and shouts fading away, but turned them out as she fell into the rhythm of compressions.

Sweat dripped down past her ears as she felt the impact of his muscles and sternum reverberating in her shoulders. He was supple and strong, and she hoped she wouldn't crack his bones. If he had to be bedridden because of this, she would never hear the end of it.

Oh, I'm easy to get into bed, Miss.

She leaned down. One breath, two breaths.

This wasn't right. Obi wasn't supposed to be like this. She had felt the muscles of his chest against her several times over the years they'd spent together, whether it was when he caught her if she stumbled, or when she'd leaned against him to avoid the bustle of a hectic, crowded town square. He was warm and strong and always ready to spring into action. Now he was limp and cold and -

She leaned down. One breath, two breaths.

She missed his warmth. The warmth of his corded muscles that made her feel so safe. The warmth of his ready smirks and smiles when she needed to see them most. The warmth in his eyes when he regarded her, especially when he didn't realize she was looking. The warmth that she had only recently realized filled her heart to overflowing when she saw him -

She leaned down, blinking back tears. One breath, two breaths.

"Please," she whispered as she resumed compressions, the tips of her fingers growing icy as the fear stabbed her heart. "Please, Obi…"

He didn't answer. He had never ignored her before, even when he'd felt brave enough and secure enough in their relationship to have disagreements.

She leaned down, her lips trembling against his. One breath, two breaths.

"Please!"

She resumed compressions, although she could barely see now. The trained professional in her knew that she was fatiguing rapidly and was emotionally compromised, and that for Obi's sake, she needed for someone to relieve her soon. But...she could not bear to let go of him.

She stopped a moment to catch her breath. Her arms were quivering and her compressions were becoming irregular, which was not in Obi's best interest. Her hand felt for his pulse, and found nothing.

"Obi," she whispered, longing to curl up into him and to wake up from this nightmare, "please don't leave me."

She shook the tears from her eyes and steeled her shoulders again to resume pounding his chest when she felt something stirring beneath her palms. She leaned back in surprise and looked at his face, his eyes still closed. She grabbed his wrist, paused for a torturous moment - and then nearly fainted with relief at the weak but steady rhythm beneath her fingers.

Shirayuki slumped forward, resting her head on his chest to hear that blessed beat for herself. His chest rose and fell for a few seconds before he began to cough, causing her to bolt upright. “Obi! You’re awake!”

Obi’s eyes opened just enough for her to see the glint of gold, and he smiled weakly. “‘Course. I couldn’t leave you, Miss.”

Relief and joy coursed through her in a rejuvenating rush, leaving her feeling almost as intoxicated as Roka fruit liquor. The relief was so great, that she leaned forward and, against all medical and rational knowledge regarding a patient recovering from respiratory and cardiac arrest -

Kissed him.

Obi let out an involuntary gasp as Shirayuki nearly fell on top of him, but his heart beat strong - if not a little fast - against her palm as she leaned down. The medical veneer having been discarded now that he was safe, she let her senses flood her as she brought her lips down to meet his. His mouth, windburned and slightly chapped at the top by the harsh Lyrias winters, felt warm and right and perfect against hers. He grunted a little as her nose crashed into his but she didn’t care, her heart jumping as her top lip slid between his. She retracted back apologetically. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, brushing her hand across his face.

Then her sense came back and she yanked herself away, color flaming in her cheeks. “Oh, Obi, I’m so sorry!”

Obi grinned up at her as he gasped for air. “You take...my breath away, Miss.”

Really, if he hadn’t been recovering she would have smacked him. She pulled herself back further, hiding her face in her hands.

“Hey,” his voice gentled as he pushed himself up on one elbow. She was so spellbound by the look in his eyes that she didn’t notice his hand winding its way through the tendrils of her hair at the back of her neck. “It’s okay. Besides,” he grinned cheekily as he brought her head closer, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Shirayuki’s eyes widened. Then she blushed as she let herself sink down as he pulled her slowly back towards him. Tears sprang to her eyes as the look of naked adoration in his gaze as he craned up to meet her, sealing their lips together. Although she and Zen had kissed many times over their relationship, this was beyond any sensation Shirayuki had ever known. Their hearts beat in unison, and everything was heat and fire and a feeling like coming home.

They separated for air, and she traced her fingers across his cheek, his jaw, the scar over his eye, revelling in the feeling of warmth and life. For his part, he appeared to have run out of energy to do more than lay back and purr under her ministrations like a contented housecat.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered.

“Never,” he promised, “I’m yours as long as you want me.”

She was about to show that statement the kind of appreciation it deserved, in lieu of the words her heart was too full to speak yet, when the door creaked behind them.

“Is that really,” Suzu asked from the doorway, “the best way to treat respiratory - ugh!”

“Stop ruining the moment!” Yuzuri scolded, removing her elbow from his side. “We waited too long for this! Speaking of which,” she held out her hand, “pay up.”

The next few moments were filled with the sounds of grumbling and gold changing hands. However, the two on the cot were too occupied to care.

***

I hope you enjoyed!

[maxolotl67]

children of dust and ashes

Triple H x Reader (gender-nonspecific)

Summary: Set in a Mad Max-esque future, a scrapper enters the court and good graces of a mysterious king.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: The following is VERY not safe for work. There is swearing and sex. Please read responsibly.

Notes: So, uh. This ended up being way too long. And porny. Oops. This is directly inspired by Triple H’s WM35 entrance, which I loved far more than is probably healthy. Title comes from a song in Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812, a highly underrated musical.

Coughing weakly as a breeze kicked up a dust cloud, you shielded a hand over your eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing for miles save desert and rock.

No one knew you were gone yet, but it wasn’t likely to stay that way for long. With any luck, maybe they would forget about you and drive off in the other direction. But that would still leave you stranded.

Shade. Water. Options. Three very important things that you currently lacked. Still, it was better than staying and risking death. Or worse. You resolved to keep walking, quickly and quietly and as far away as possible.

Minutes stretched out into hours. Maybe even days. Your feet hurt, there was dirt in your eyes, and you’d long since lost track of which tire tracks were the ones to avoid following. Had the sun moved at all? You couldn’t remember. The horizon stayed the same no matter which way you turned your head. Was this hell? Had you died in that ramshackle camp and this was your punishment? That distant growl was probably the devil’s hound out for your blood.

Wait. Growl?

Far off to the south, the horizon had suddenly changed. You were no longer alone. Over the crest of a dune came a single solitary wagon, its engine baying like an angry predator. It seemed to be heading north - that was, until it made a sudden turn straight for you.

You wanted to flee, but every part of your body screamed in protest at the idea. It seemed unlikely that you could even get away or think to hide. You fell to your knees, exhausted. Hopefully this one would at least think to kill you quickly.

The car was clearly built for speed, exchanging size and practical armor for mobility and acceleration, yet the iron chains and barbed wire wrapped erratically around its sturdy frame suggested its builder was familiar with combat. There was only one rider. They wore a mask and hood, obscuring their face. You closed your eyes, resigned to your fate.

The engine fell silent. Two heavy boots hit the ground.

“Your reverence is appreciated,” a deep voice said, with more than a hint of amusement. “Though in your case, it isn’t necessary.”

Looking up and blinking against the light, you saw the rider had removed his hood and mask. He was a tall man, bald and muscular, with loose-fitting leather clothing, rust-colored eyes, and a commanding bearing. Your immediate reaction was one of awe - he was at once the most intimidating and the most intriguing person you’d ever seen. Perhaps this wouldn’t end in your death after all.

You shakily rose to your feet, politely refusing his outstretched hand when he offered it. “Why’s that? Are you a king?”

He smiled mysteriously. “The king of kings, baby.”

You groaned inwardly. Men. “If that’s the case, why are you out here alone? Don’t kings usually travel with an entourage?”

“Heard scattered reports of raiders traveling through our lands. Wanted to check for myself.” He squinted back in the direction you’d come from. “Small time, by the looks of it. Not worth bothering with just yet. You see them?”

“Came from their camp, actually. Bastards stole my wagon.”

He looked you over, raising an eyebrow. “Must not be a smart bunch, letting you out of sight. Why don’t you come with me and we can discuss it?”

Discuss? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Could this kingly stranger be trusted? Was this another cage waiting to happen? You sighed. Even if this man was a tyrant, riding with him back to wherever he came from sounded better than dying of thirst out here. “Fine,” you said after a moment. “Though I doubt I could tell you anything you don’t already know, your highness.”

That earned you a laugh. “Please, call me Hunter.” He gestured for you to take the gunner post. You did so with a satisfied smile.

Hunter threw the wagon in gear, and it set off back south with a mighty roar. Yours had barely held together even at the best of times, so it was a refreshing change of pace to ride on a rig built for speed. If you played your cards right, maybe you could score yourself a setup like this.

Over a number of dunes and through a maze of stones the wagon flew, until you came to the edge of a dried lake bed. Or was it a crater? At the center lay a massive fortress adorned with flags. You didn’t recognize the emblem from any of the groups you’d come across in the wasteland - black fabric with a big yellow X.

So, an insular society ruled by a reasonable king, with fast rigs, a presumably large force, and a willingness to talk with strangers? This would be interesting.

The garage was cool and dark, an instant relief from the hellscape you’d left behind. Again Hunter offered you his hand, but you climbed off the wagon yourself without a word. King’s guest or not, you wouldn’t be patronized to today. 

“What’s the word, boss?” A voice called from a high catwalk. You couldn’t see their face clearly, though you did see an impossibly long braid dangling over the edge of the railing.

“Trouble brewing in the southwest,” Hunter called back. “Get Lorcan and Burch out there. I need numbers, I need defenses. No engagement, got it? Purely an assessment.”

The person with the braid gave him a lazy salute and skipped off. Hunter gave you a smile that left a fluttering feeling in your stomach. “One of my kids. Not literally, of course. You’ll get to know them.”

Of course. A large group like this would need a familial bond to stay strong. As you followed Hunter through a series of hallways, you took note of the dormitory-like rooms, a few small armories, even a communal kitchen. Maybe an extended stay here wouldn’t be completely awful.

The two of you came to a large space, clearly meant for group gatherings. The high ceilings and second floor walkway around the room you understood, but what you found most notable and most perplexing about the room was the raised square platform in the center, surrounded by ropes attached to posts. A combat arena? A space for the king to address his subjects? Both?

On this platform, two men were exchanging blows. Not hard-hitting ones, though. It looked like they were training, though to what end you couldn’t guess. Hand-to-hand fighting wasn’t common in the wastes, or at least that was the case with the raiding groups you’d met.

“We have a guest,” Hunter boomed, stopping them in their tracks. “Johnny, stay here. Tommaso, I need Dream and Shayna in here now. See if Hanson and Rowe are back, we’ll need them too.” His tone was a lot different with his followers than it was with you. His authority definitely wasn’t to be challenged here.

The man with the grizzled beard nodded and ran from the room. The other jumped down from the ring with a smile. You saw then that his belt buckle was exceptionally large and made of what looked to be gold. It was marked with the same emblem you’d seen on the flags outside. “Johnny Wrestling,” he said, extending his hand to you. “Good to have you on board.”

“Don’t get excited,” Hunter corrected as he ascended the stairs on one corner of the ring. “They’re not signed just yet. Let’s hear their story before we decide anything.” You appreciated Johnny’s welcoming nature nonetheless, so you shook his hand politely.

A tough-looking woman entered the room, followed by a man draped in black linens. Both of them had belt buckles similar to Johnny’s, but otherwise their contrasting styles and demeanors almost made you laugh. If the people here were all this diverse, you’d fit right in.

“The Era’s been looking for you again, your highness,” the man drawled. “Always on and on about their rematches. Frankly, the Dream is tired of it.”

Hunter groaned, a long-suffering kind of sound. “Thank you, I’ll deal with them later. Everyone in the ring, now.” The three with the belts climbed between the ropes, until all the eyes in the room were on you and you realized that he had meant you too. Oh right, this was supposed to be about you. You scrambled in and stood awkwardly next to Hunter, who cleared his throat.

“As you know, since we’ve decreased the number of border teams there’s been a bigger need to keep an eye on movement outside our territory. Now, the last thing I want is to weaken our force by sending those teams back out there. What we need is to look into the possibility of more long-range recognizance. Outposts, checkpoints, whatever’s necessary to keep outsiders out of our territory. I want each of you to talk to your friends, have them talk to their friends, and start drafting plans. No idea is too small or too dumb. Have it on my desk as soon as you’re able.”

You were so caught up by Hunter’s expert calculations and contagious confidence that it took a moment to realize he’d turned to smile at you. “In the meantime, I’ve brought in someone you might call an expert. Our new friend here can give us a better idea about what goes on in just one enemy camp. Care to start from the beginning?”

Clearing your throat, you told them everything that you remembered about the raiders and their camp, from the details of your capture, guesses at their defenses and social structure, identifying markers and symbols, to numbers and potential weak points and how you’d escaped. You weren’t exactly a tactician, and it was hard to tell from their faces if they were impressed, but hopefully your information would be helpful to them in some way.

“And, uh. That was where your king found me,” you finished with a sideways glance to Hunter. “I’m glad he did. Without my wagon, my chances out there weren’t great.”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth formed part of that mysterious smile you were starting to like. “Well, you did well to make it as far as you did. Flying solo takes guts.” He turned to the others. “Let that be a lesson to everyone. You were once independents just like our friend here. You’re here now because you’re strong. Clever. Resourceful. The best at what you do. We will endure because of you. What’s our name?”

“N-X-T!” they shouted back, chests puffed and faces flush with pride.

“I can’t hear you,” he roared at them, beaming.

“N-X-T!”

“WHAT’S OUR NAME?”

“N-X-T!”

“Dismissed.”

Their determination was utterly infectious. As they filed out of the room, leaving you and Hunter alone, you were grinning. “Interesting bunch. Are all your kids like this?”

“Most of them. If they aren’t yet, they’ll get there with time.” Hunter stood opposite you in the ring and gestured to the walls around you. “That’s why I built this place. To shape the future. You know as well as I do that the wasteland doesn’t make warriors. It breaks them. Only by standing together do we have a chance to change the world.”

You hummed in careful consideration. “That’s quite a goal. You think you’re the one to make that possible?”

He smiled again. Damn that smile. How could a simple smile transform a face so completely? “I know that I am. And I know that everyone in this place believes it too. And I want you to help me make it happen.”

You blinked slowly. “Beg your pardon?”

As if impassioned by the mere utterance of his mission, Hunter stepped forward and took both your hands. “Stay,” he implored. “Train with us. I see in your eyes the same spark that laid the cornerstones of this place. The same spark that will ignite the flames of the future. You could be safe here. Food, water, a family to watch your back and help you grow into a champion. You could stand by my side as we build a better tomorrow.”

This was too good to be true. There was no way it could really be that simple. You were just a scrappy-looking scavenger, not a champion, and certainly not someone who could change the future. What was Hunter seeing in you that you somehow missed?

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t know. I...I don’t think I’m good enough for this place.”

The look in Hunter’s eyes was warm and reassuring. No one had ever looked at you like that before. “That’s alright. Give it a few days. If it’s not the right fit, you’ll know. For now, get down to the mess and get some dinner in you. Find Shawn. He’s my second-in-command, he’ll get you set up with your own bunk and a schedule.”

You’d only just arrived here, and already you were allowed to go places on your own? What a strange family. Hunter sent you off, saying something about royal duties awaiting him in his office, and you were eventually able to find your way through the narrow hallways to the expansive kitchen.

Shawn proved to be easy to locate. His laughter was uproarious and jovial, and the small crowd of young drivers behind him spoke to his respectability and experience. He knew you were Hunter’s guest before you said a thing - he waved it off as fast-traveling gossip - and after sitting down with you and a hearty bowl of stew, he peered over a pair of dusty glasses at a long list of names.

“Let’s put you in with Kushida for right now,” he said, scribbling a note. “He’s a newer face. Confident, experienced in the ring, and he needs a driver. You two can learn from each other.” Looking up, he flashed you a wry smile. “Boss must like you. He normally doesn’t bring in new blood unless he knows what they can do in the ring. You get a name yet?”

You frowned in confusion. “Name?”

“Yeah, your ring name! Or your family name, if you like. People who come here, or who are running away from what’s out there, they get a chance to start over.” Shawn gave you a roguish grin. “You think the king lets just anyone call him Hunter? That’s just for people he likes. His ring name is Triple H. Last poor sucker that called him Hunter without permission got two months kitchen duty. A name for you just means you’re part of the team now.”

Huh. You’d never considered the possibility of using any other name but your own before. But then, you’d never been a part of anything quite this meaningful before. Maybe this would be a good place to start over. To have a family.

You must have looked lost in thought, because Shawn then nudged you with an elbow. “Don’t stress about it too much. If you’ve got ideas, he’ll hear you out. He’s our king, sure, but he’s not a complete asshole, y’know?”

You nodded. That made sense. Just as you were about to ask more about Hunter, the doors to the kitchen swung open with a loud bang. Four men entered, looking very angry, and marched toward the front table where the gargantuan stew pot rested. One of them stopped and glared at you, his eyes a startling blue. You wondered what you’d done to earn his ire.

“You the new stray?” he asked. “His majesty wanted to see you after dinner.”

“Watch it, Cole,” Shawn warned. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

Cole, or whatever his name was, scoffed and sauntered away. You kept your head down, staring at the dregs of your dinner. Men like him didn’t scare you. There were more important things to think about. Like what your new name could be.

-

You stood outside the massive wooden door longer than was probably necessary. Every time you thought about raising your hand to knock, your stomach did a couple backflips. There would be no going back from this. Hunter was accepting you into his fold, more or less agreeing to care for you and train you to be a fighter. Someone who could stand with him without fear and face the future. Nothing you’d ever done before carried this much finality. Once you accepted your new name, this place would become your home, and Hunter would be your king.

A fleeting worry crossed your mind - what if he was disappointed in you, what if you failed to please him, what if he never spoke to you again after today - but you did your best to push it away. Unable to bear the waiting anymore, you knocked three times.

“Enter.”

You did, and the luxury that you beheld was instantly overwhelming. There was a cushy rug under your feet, the walls were lined with carefully crafted portraits and well-worn golden buckles, and the heady scent of incense hung in the air. So not only was this Hunter’s office, this had to be his personal room. Only a king would go out of his way to make his space as befitting of his station as possible.

Hunter sat in a massive chair behind a polish metal desk, bent over a stack of papers. He looked up when the door shut behind you and smiled. That was enough to get your heart pounding. “Settling in alright?”

“I’ll find my feet soon enough,” you replied with a huffed laugh. “What are you working on?”

He raised an eyebrow, and right away you felt sheepish, realizing he probably wasn’t used to being questioned so openly. It must not have bothered him too much, though, since he didn’t react beyond that. “Keeping records. Every driver, every match, every result needs to be kept for posterity. We don’t have much from the old world, so it’s important that we leave what we can for future kings.” He made another few scribbles before he set down his charcoal and smoothed his fingers over the immaculate surface of his desk. “That includes what you bring to us. Did Shawn explain our naming tradition to you?”

You nodded and swallowed. “I, uh. I did have a few ideas. But I’ll trust whatever judgement you make.”

Hunter rose to his feet, circling around the desk to stand in front of you. He was close enough to smell the incense on his skin. You tried not to think about it. “I always have time for new ideas. Let’s hear it.”

“Sparks.” Even now, it sounded like the most natural sound in the world. “Ty Sparks. If I am to spark the fires of the future, my name should inspire that.”

Hunter seemed to consider this for a moment, then smiled. “We sort of already have a Ty, but you’re on the right track. Sparks. I like that. What about Cadence Sparks?”

“Cadence. Cadence.” You rolled the sound around a few times in your mouth. It had a heroic feel to it. You beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“Then kneel.” You did so hurriedly, as Hunter placed a warm, heavy hand on the crown of your head. “Cadence Sparks, there are many warriors in this world, but none like you. Do you wish to stand with us and prove your worth?”

“I do.” Your heart hammered with excitement somewhere in your throat.

“And will you protect this family with your life just as we will protect you with ours?”

“I will.”

“And should you stand out among our ranks and become a champion, do you swear to defend your title with dignity and honor, setting the best example you can for the champions of tomorrow?”

“I swear.”

Hunter’s hand moved down, his fingertips skimming oh so gently over your cheek to cup your chin and tilt it up. It was like looking at him for the first time, the handsome king that came out of the horizon to save your life and change your world forever. “Rise, Cadence Sparks. And welcome to NXT.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, you leapt to your feet and threw your arms around his neck. You panicked for a split second - this was most certainly not how you showed a king his due respect - but to your surprise, he embraced you back and chuckled into your hair. You felt your face flush a deep red. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It’s alright,” Hunter murmured, as if he could hear your thoughts. “This is a big moment. It’s okay if you need to cry.”

You laughed. You knew you should probably have let go by now, but every second you held on, it got harder and harder to consider pulling away. Something about Hunter’s arms around you felt so safe, so warm, so much like home. “I just...I’ve never had a family before. Not like this.”

“Mmm. That’s what I love most about this place. The bonds that are forged here last forever.” You inhaled sharply, realizing that he had begun stroking the small of your back. “Some go deeper than others. Some may only exist in passing. But all are equally unbreakable.”

You swallowed, daring to hide your face in his neck. “Like...like this one?”

“Indeed.” Hunter pulled back a little, though he was still smiling, still holding you close. “Though, uh...I should warn you, there is an informal tradition for my personal recruits. Once they’re named and sworn in, I make the effort to personally make them feel welcome.”

Something about his words, combined with the gentleness and intention in his touch, set a deep heat stirring in your belly. Feeling emboldened, you moved even closer, your lips barely an inch apart. “I’m feeling pretty welcome already.”

“Then allow me to seal the deal.” Before you could blink, Hunter closed the distance between you, kissing you with a fierceness you’d never experienced before. His hands dropped to your hips, holding you in place. Not that you would even dream of pulling away now.

Pressing impossibly closer with a soft moan, you allowed your hands to wander, learning the defined slope of his shoulders, the smoothness of his chest, the hard strength of his biceps. Maybe this had been what you were looking for all along - not just a family, but even just one person you could place your whole trust into. Whatever Hunter asked for now, you knew you would do anything to make it happen.

Hunter’s mouth moved to claim other parts of your face and neck, all pretense of gentleness gone, his hands busy with removing both your clothes. It proved difficult to blindly shift over toward his bed with both of you unwilling to separate for longer than necessary, but he more than made up for it with his confident and knowing touch. Every inch of your skin that he covered felt electrified.

His fingers found the spot between your legs that made you cry out just as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. But he didn’t let you fall back just yet. He pressed on that spot over and over, rough and desperate and everything you wanted. “You like that, baby?” he whispered hotly, briefly sucking the shell of your ear between his teeth. “Gonna let me do whatever I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” you keened, too flushed with desire to think of how wanton you must have sounded. “Please, God, don’t stop!”

He released you when out of desperation you started to buck at his hand, standing over you for far too long, just looking, just taking the sight of you in. “God, look at you,” he said, lost in thought, a hand reaching down to palm his cock. “My perfect prize, all spread out for me. Gonna give it to you so good, baby.”

You whimpered, straining with the effort to keep your legs spread, shamelessly putting yourself on display. “Please,” you begged again. “I’m all yours. Whenever you want me. However you want me. Please, Hunter, touch me.”

“Careful. ‘M gonna want to keep you in my bed forever with talk like that.” At this point, you were very willing to consider that. He spat in his palm, and it was only a little disgusting, but he did at last put a hand on your hip. When at last he finally pushed in, all the breath seemed to leave your body at once. You had to close your eyes then, as the sight of Hunter inside of you, all around you, on top of you, was overwhelming.

He appeared to steady himself as well, just for a moment, before he began to thrust. Both his hands were on your hips now, holding you in place on the edge of the bed. You almost wanted to tell him to grip harder, to leave bruises, but at that point forming words was impossible.

You felt his mouth on your chest then, learning with his tongue what his fingers had mapped out only moments ago. You gasped when he hit a nipple, opening your eyes just in time to see his grin. “So fucking hot,” he murmured, thrusting hard enough to make you groan. “Say my name again.”

“Hunter,” you gasped. You reached down with one hand, unable to help yourself. “God, Hunter, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, touch yourself.” His thrusts were brutal now, almost boneshaking. You wouldn’t even have to ask for bruises this time. “Who’s your king, Cadence?”

“Fuck — you! It’s you, Hunter, you’re my king.” God, your name sounded so good in his voice. With your free hand you gripped the sheets, desperate to ground yourself, desperate to finish with him.

“You need to come, don’t you? Gonna come on your king’s cock? Show me, baby, show me how good you take it.” His breathing came sharply, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you. You’d never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

“Oh God, Hunter, I — “ But you couldn’t even finish your warning. You came with the force of an oncoming storm, hard and fast and forever stuffed into a few seconds. And just as the world seemed to right itself again, Hunter came inside of you with a guttural moan.

You both laid there for a while, just breathing, just memorizing each other’s warmth, the feel of each other’s skin. He arranged both of you under his blankets, which was a good thing, as you were still too boneless to be of much help. Thankfully he didn’t seem to mind. There were a few more words, a few more lingering and lazy kisses, but you fell asleep in his arms soon after, confident and assured that you were exactly where you belonged. 

[dimigex]

May Drabbles - Day 10

Words: 1430 (Oops, it ran away with me) Pairing:  Kakashi/Tenzo Prompt:  “What about a compromise. I’ll kill them first and if it turns out they were friendly, I’ll apologize.” (Allergies) Note:  Yeah, it’s not May anymore, but what do you do. I’m still chugging along trying to write these. 

“Have you been to the doctor,” Tenzo questioned as another sneeze rattled the office. Kakashi glared, the effect ruined somewhat by his watery, puffy eyes, and ignored the question. Tenzo scoffed. “Of course you haven’t.”

“I’ve been busy,” Kakashi complained, pretending to work on one of the reports that littered his desk.

Tenzo body flickered from his position by the door. Kakashi didn’t flinch, a testament either to his trust in Tenzo or an indication that his reflexes were slowed by sickness. Half smiling, Tenzo rested his gloved fingertips on Kakashi’s shoulder. “I know what you’ve been busy with,” he corrected, pitching his voice lower, “and, it isn’t work.”

The words drew a chuckle from Kakashi’s throat, and a familiar, lazy smirk appeared beneath the mask. Tenzo had seen that expression often enough to know. “Oh?”

Tenzo inclined his head, wondering how much Kakashi could read through the Anbu mask that covered his face. Probably more than he’d like given their past. The man’s smile grew as he tipped his chair back to gaze at Tenzo in a way that made his cheeks flush. “What exactly have I been busy with?”

“Extracurricular activities,” Tenzo deadpanned, fighting to keep himself from falling for Kakashi’s smoldering look. Attempting to regain control of the situation, he shifted into a more formal guard stance, shoulders back and hands clasped in front of him.

Kakashi’s lips moved an uneven outline as he caught the lower one between his teeth. “Sometimes, I forget how good that uniform looks on you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Tenzo chuckled, ignoring the soft feeling of pleasure that the words brought. “You see me wear it every day. And then, you spend most nights taking it off.”

“Most nights,” Kakashi agreed. His eyes continued their perusal of Tenzo’s body before snapping up to his face. “But not last night.”

Despite the petulant tone of Kakashi’s voice, Tenzo ached with the same desire. He’d missed their time together. Glancing at the door, Tenzo rested his hands on the arms of Kakashi’s chair. “I’m here now.”

Kakashi hooked a hand behind Tenzo’s neck and dragged him through the scant space between them. But, before their bodies could meet, the man shoved him back. Confusion flared though Tenzo. Then, Kakashi sneezed again, hard enough that his feet came off the ground. He growled in annoyance. “I’m going to figure out who gave me this cold, and then I’m going to kill them. Slowly,” Kakashi added for good measure.

“You can’t just go around killing people anymore,” Tenzo chided, straightening his armor needlessly. “You’re Hokage now.”  

“How about a compromise?” Kakashi rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand then swiped at his nose. “I’ll kill them first, and if it turns out that they were friendly, I’ll apologize. That’s diplomatic, right?”

Chuckling under his breath, Tenzo studied Kakashi more seriously. His eyes were swollen and watery, more so than they had been an hour ago. He scratched at a place on the side of his neck, leaving red welts behind. “How about a different compromise” Tenzo suggested. “Since you won’t go to hospital, why don’t you play hooky for the rest of the day? Come back to my place?”

“But, I have work to do.” Kakashi waved a hand toward the desk which had been covered in papers for as long as he’d worn the robes. “You’re always complaining that I need to get more work done.”

“I complain about that when you’re getting handsy, not when you’re sick.” Tenzo corrected, removing his Anbu mask and hooking it on his belt. “There’s something at my apartment that I wanted to show you anyway.”  

Kakashi perked up. “What is it?”

It didn’t surprise Tenzo that he won the man over to his side. Kakashi would use almost any excuse to get out of work. How he’d ever been named Hokage--Kakashi’s petulant voice interrupted Tenzo’s thoughts. “I’m dying here, and you’re tormenting me for the fun of it.”

“You’re hardly dying,” Tenzo countered, ignoring the puppy dog eyes that Kakashi leveled at him. “At worst, you have a cold.”

Kakashi sniffed dramatically “If I die, I hope you feel bad.”

“I’ll make the prettiest flowers for your funeral,” Tenzo said, rolling his eyes. “Now, are you coming or not?”

After a show of grumbling and complaining, Kakashi allowed Tenzo to make the necessary arrangements. He informed Kakashi’s security detail and advisors that the Hokage would be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon, then dragged the disgruntled man away. They’d barely made it to the street when Kakashi took another sneezing fit. Tenzo considered leading him to the hospital instead. “You seem to be getting worse.”

“I told you I was dying,” Kakashi groaned, swiping at his eyes. “Can’t we shunshin there?”

Gripping Kakashi’s arm, Tenzo body flickered to his apartment. The world spun, momentarily disorienting the men, but the sensation passed quickly. Familiar with the space, Kakashi threw himself on the couch with a huff as another sneeze shook his body. Tenzo frowned. “Are you sure it’s just a cold? You sound worse than you did an hour ago, a lot worse.”

“Thanks,” Kakashi grouched, rubbing at his face again. “Didn’t you have a surprise for me?”

“Oh, right. It’s around here somewhere. Hold on.” Tenzo scanned the floor of his apartment, then walked toward the bedroom. When he pushed open the door, a tiny ball of black fluff raised its head and flicked an ear in his direction. Tenzo smiled as the creature uncurled itself from his pillow and padded toward him. “Settling in, are you?”

The cat leaped off the bed to twine himself around Tenzo’s leg, half climbing up his pants before he could snag it. “None of that,” he warned, as he scooped the creature up. It snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Come on, there’s someone here to meet you.”

Kakashi squinted at the pair through swollen eyes, then scrambled to his feet. “What is that?”

Tenzo frowned. “A cat. What does it look like? This is why I didn’t come over last night. I found this poor little thing all alone, soaked and shivering. I brought him back here to dry him off and he just kind of stuck around.”

“You,” Kakashi spluttered, backing away as if Tenzo held a lit paper bomb. “You’re the reason I’m dying.” At Tenzo’s incredulous expression, he continued. “I’m allergic to cats. I know we’ve had this conversation before.”

“But I’ve seen you with ninja cats before,” Tenzo argued, placing the kitten on the floor on the off chance that Kakashi was telling the truth. The cat sniffed the air in Kakashi’s direction and hissed, arching his back.  

Kakashi put on a longsuffering expression. “Ninja cats are different, something about their fur. Don’t ask me to explain it because I don’t understand, nor do I want to.” He sighed. “I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this, but it all fits. I started feeling bad this morning when you came to work, and it got worse the closer we were.”

A flash of guilt surged through Tenzo. It wasn’t like him to forget something like this. “Are you really allergic?”

“Do I look like I’m making it up?” Kakashi grouched, scratching his neck again. “You’re going to have to get rid of the cat.”

“Or you,” Tenzo quipped, grinning. Deciding that he’d teased the other man enough, he continued. “Would getting some of the fur off help? I could take a shower.”

Kakashi glared from across the room, not answering. Knowing exactly how to handle the man, Tenzo unclipped his chest plate and tossed it on the couch. Kakashi’s eyes followed the movement as he removed his head protector and shook out the hair he’d allowed to grow longer after the war. Without glancing at Kakashi, Tenzo unrolled each of the long, black gloves that sheathed his arms and added them to the growing pile of clothing.

Tenzo hooked his fingers in the clinging black fabric of his shirt and raised it marginally, well aware that Kakashi had long since forgotten to be annoyed. He both loved and hated that the heat in Kakashi’s gaze made it hard to breathe. Dragging his shirt over his head, Tenzo reached for the button on his pants then paused. “You should probably join me,” he husked. “You know, to get the allergens off.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kakashi agreed, half dragging Tenzo to the bathroom. “You aren’t forgiven yet, but this is a damn good place to start.”

[nardaviel]

Part 3 / ?, wherein they go camping, much to Kinshirou’s dismay.

This is a long, image-heavy post. I’ve had it ready since like December but I never bothered to post it until now because I stopped playing the game for a while and I’m lazy. If you’re reading this on my blog and it’s done the obnoxious thing where it doesn’t show readmores, just click the date <3

You probably don’t remember where we left off because it’s been ages since the last post. I didn’t remember either. En had just gotten his second promotion in a few days; the game continued to insist on sending him home from work in an awkward outfit on promotion days. Kinshirou had just published his etiquette manual, and I had finally learned how to keep Atsushi from being miserable when he got home from work. However, En and Atsushi’s work schedules still kept them from spending much time together as a group.

En’s latest work of art is a beautiful, subtle masterpiece. I know that because I, an ignorant philistine, see the art of a 6-year-old, but an art gallery was interested enough to pay $50 more than he usually gets for large paintings.

This is kind of sweet, but he and En aren’t even engaged yet. Calm down, Kinshirou. It’s amazing how well the game knows them asd;lfk

Atsushi has been promoted to caterer!! A $10/hour raise so that his hourly wage is no longer a pittance, a $368 bonus, and a coffeepot. His work hours start an hour earlier and end two hours earlier, which still isn’t very good :\ but look, he’s so proud of himself.

To get to the next level of his career, he has to start learning to mix drinks. I’ve dreaded this moment because the last time I bought someone a bar to level mixology, they never wanted to do anything else again except mix drinks. I took it away in the end.

Kinshirou wakes up, sees that En’s gone, and goes to find him in the bathroom just so that he can kiss his cheek.

Since he’s awake now anyway, En paints an Enatsu painting and then a Kinatsuen painting, one after another. I can’t bring myself to sell either of them. The Kinatsuen one is going to stay where it is, but I’m putting the Enatsu one in Atsushi’s room, because it’s kind of bare at the moment.

En’s suave kiss is different than Kinshirou’s was. I assume it’s because he and Atsushi aren’t boyfriends yet? But Atsushi still seems charmed.

And now that they’ve drawn my attention to that oversight, Atsushi asks En to be his boyfriend.

You can imagine your own dialogue here. You’re all so dirty-minded.

En is into it, though.

He immediately kisses Atsushi on the cheek. I’m glad all the Sims think that’s as cute as I do.

Now they can all go on a much-deserved(???) vacation :D En and Atsushi have to take some vacation days to do it, but they want to spend some time together as a triad.

They’re going camping! For four days. It’s cheap, and they’re still a little broke. En and Atsushi are nervous, but willing to give it a try. Kinshirou...

..yeah.

Their home away from home. There are cabins and houses you can rent, but... like I said. They’re broke.

Kinshirou decides to start his vacation by practicing horseshoes. If this is all they have for entertainment, he’s going to master it.

But En doesn’t like that attitude.

En: Come on, cheer up, it’ll be fun. Kinshirou: Hmm... Maybe so, then.

Kinshirou: ...but I’ll still win at this game. Move.

As you can see behind them, Atsushi has been setting up their tents.

He’s also the only one to introduce himself to the park ranger. In other words, he continues to be the only useful Sim.

En is a miracle worker wtf

Once Atsushi’s done the boring stuff, he can join his boyfriends and spend his time being cute and flirty, as was the point of this vacation.

Kinshirou lights the fire for no reason. You’d think after part two, he’d have seen enough fire.

En... get up. What if Atsushi drops that horseshoe?

He does get up, finally. He has important painting to do.

Yes, I did add the easel to the lot before I brought them here. This vacation is costing $3 more per night than it otherwise would have.

So much excitement for a mediocre toss. And Atsushi can’t pretend to be impressed because he’s besieged by bugs.

Maybe En is trying to develop a style reminiscent of a young child’s?

Meanwhile, Kinshirou is still struggling with horseshoes.

So it’s easy, but you’re still bad at it? Got it.

Atsushi reassures him until he’s not embarrassed anymore...

...so now snobbish boredom is his dominant emotion. Look at that face. Why does anyone tolerate him?

If you’re wondering where En went, he’s taking a shower in here.

Atsushi’s first attempt at grilling!

En is drawn back by the promise of Atsushi’s excellent-quality(!!) baked potatoes. They’re sparkling! Atsushi’s so happy :D

Happy boyfriends, although Atsushi is again plagued by bugs.

Help him

Kinshirou wanders off in the middle of a conversation and goes to sleep. En is glad to have an excuse to do to the same.

Atsushi goes to the bathroom, but doesn’t return. When I check on him, I find him like this:

He’s stargazing. <3 But that’s not the spot I would have chosen, myself.

The next morning, Atsushi happily makes breakfast. He seems to be moving past any fire-related trauma from his near-death experience in part two.

Kinshirou also goes to the bathroom and doesn’t return. When I find him, not only is he making unnecessary food, he’s making exactly the same thing as Atsushi, except

wth a lot less skill behind it.

He burns himself. :c Just go eat breakfast with the others, Kinshirou.

Kinshirou: En, isn’t Atchan wonderful? He makes the best food, and he’s always so kind...

En: Yeah, you’re right. Atsushi’s great.

Atsushi looks so embarrassed... Change the subject, guys.

They’ve ventured out to the national park! They’re learning how to fish in case Atsushi ever wants to use fish in a meal.

They keep gaining friendship with each other and with this girl, even though none of them have said a word. Maybe words aren’t necessary when you’re fishing buddies.

Kinshirou catches two fish before either of the others catch anything. So when Atsushi catches one...

...he’s super excited.

Finally, to En’s incredulous annoyance, it becomes clear that he won’t catch anything in that spot.

Poor En-chan.

...poor En-chan.

There, back to normal.

Before they give up altogether on En learning to fish, they’ll try this one other spot. I just really want En to learn how to fish a;lskjf ...but the fish are too crafty for him here, too.

This is the face of a man who no longer cares.

Catching the fish made Atsushi confident, so he decides that En will be real impressed if he shows off his muscles. ...It’s sweet of En to humor him.

I see you back there, bear man. Fuck off.

I said fuck off.

If the last screenshot had you wondering, Kinshirou is telling an unbelievable story.

God damn it they’re all tense now

Kinshirou mocks the bear costume because I’m annoyed he’s annoyed about the situation. Then the three of them leave, so that they aren’t tense anymore.

Atsushi cooks his fish while En entertains them all with an adventure story :D

He follows up with a ghost story. Atsushi hangs on his every word.

Kinshirou chooses to find it amusing.

................ I forgot that ghost stories summon ghosts.

Oops.

He doesn’t stay long, though. The ghost that haunts the picnic table...

What has En done?!

En: Holy shit, my bad. Kinshirou: Well done, En. Good job.

Atsushi, in the background, is preoccupied. He’s exposing himself to the source of his fears in order to lessen the fear. No ghosts will get in the way of his exposure therapy.

They go back to their campsite, where the ghost is not. Kinshirou hopes that if he goes to sleep, he’ll be less freaked out about the ghost in the morning. En has other ideas for how to dispel his tension. Atsushi never even noticed the ghost to begin with, but he’s happy to go along with En.

...at which point I remember that this is the first Enatsu WooHoo! Congrats, guys. They get a happy moodlet from good WooHoo, as well, like En and Kinshirou did that once (except theirs was from “spectacular” WooHoo but ok whatever).

Kinshirou and Atsushi have never had a WooHoo so good they got a happy moodlet. I guess En is just really good at WooHoo.

Morning activities c:

Atsushi made this meal twice and it was poor quality both times. Fish tacos 2.0. At least he’s not so heartbroken about it this time.

This screenshot has no narrative value. I just thought it was cute.

The food was so bad it made them all feel sick... Oh, well. Atsushi is still learning.

En... I know you’re a slob, but there are limits...

“From the moist depths of the trash, En has recovered: 1 baconite.” Congratulations, En. Was it worth it.

It wouldn’t be a Kinatsuen Sims post without a screenshot of Atsushi looking distressed. This is why I put you in your tent to relax, Atsushi!! Just rest for a little while, you’ll feel better soon.

He takes it out on the bugs instead. I guess that works too.

This is the moodlet Kinshirou got after he and Atsushi WooHooed:

But this is Atsushi’s:

Kinshirou, you worry too much. Atsushi liked it, see? It looks like I spoke too soon about no happy moodlets from Kinatsu WooHoo, although it’d have been nice if they’d both gotten it.

But Kinshirou must not be too mortified, because he accepts Atsushi’s offer to be BFFs.

...and only afterwards did I realize that you can’t have multiple BFFs, and there’s no mod to make it possible. I guess it doesn’t matter too much, but poor En.

This is the only couple that hasn’t WooHooed in a tent yet. They should have a turn.

...but really that’s only an excuse to get them doing something else so that Atsushi can wander off and harvest wild things guilt-free. I want him to learn herbalism.

He identifies things by eating them, which makes me nervous. But the WooHoo back there seems to be going well.

lol.

Kinshirou now has two concurrent WooHoo moodlets. I’m proud of him.

Desperate for culture and civilization, he decides to view this big statue. But the bugs have other plans.

Dont look so resigned, En. Maybe it’ll go better this time.

(It did go better! He caught a fish. But I was following Kinshirou around in his herbalism journey and missed it.)

This again... If they can’t learn that every time you poke a fire with a stick, the stick catches fire, maybe they should just stay away from fire.

Because En is a lazy Sim, he doesn't jog when he has to go long distances like the other two do. As a result, it takes him a million years to go places. They all started to head back to the campsite at the same time, but Atsushi has already cooked and eaten dinner, and Kinshirou has burned a stick as well, by the time En deigns to show up.

After dinner, Atsushi asks Kinshirou to go stargazing. <3

There aren’t many screenshots for the next day because they don’t do much of anything interesting. That’s largely because they sleep very late.

Kinshirou, pls

This is not the time to hit on Atsushi. Atsushi is fighting the eternal battle against the bugs.

Or so I would have said, but whatever En does here, he manages to get Atsushi’s attention.

...then he turns and starts talking to Kinshirou asldjkf

Atsushi: Hey... En-chan... I’m still up for... you know... you didn’t forget already, did you?

They all keep rolling whims to get married to each other but hey don’t have enough money or friends for a nice wedding yet asdl;jfk and they would be sad in the end if they had the quick, boring type of Sim wedding. They’ll have to daydream quietly about it for a little while longer.

En ends the trip with another story. Not a ghost story this time, though. He learned his lesson. This is a fairytale. Soon afterwards, when he and Kinshirou are stargazing, Kinshirou gets homesick :C Poor baby, he’s not meant for camping.

The next day, without fanfare or screenshots, they head home. I think their vacation was good for them, but Atsushi has no vacation days left, so lets hope he doesn't set himself on fire again before he earns another one.

Will they ever get to see the community lots built and chosen especially for them? Will they get a cat? Will I, in fact, pick up The Sims again at all? When in the world will En and Atsushi have compatible work schedules so that they don’t have to run away into the wilderness to be together? Only time will tell.

Epilogue:

The lion is En’s idea of a painting that inspires confidence.

[thesassybooskter]

BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE by Vi Keeland: Excerpt Reveal

AVAILABLE JULY 17TH 2017

The first time I met Caine West was in a bar. He noticed me looking his way and mistakenly read my scowling as checking him out. When he attempted to talk to me, I set him straight—telling him what I thought of his lying, cheating, egomaniacal ass. You see, the gorgeous jerk had wined and dined my best friend–smooth talking her into his bed, all along failing to mention that he was married. 

He deserved every bit of my tongue-lashing and more for what he’d done. Especially when that lazy smile graced his perfect face in response to my rant. Only it turned out, the man I’d just told off wasn’t the right guy. 

Oops.  My mistake. 

Embarrassed, I slunk out without an apology. I was never going to see the handsome stranger again anyway, right? That’s what I thought…until I walked into class the next morning. Well, hello Professor West, I’m your new teaching assistant.  I’ll be working under you…figuratively speaking. Although the literal interpretation might not be such a bad thing—working under Professor West.

This was going to be interesting…

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    Excerpt

The class was completely empty. I wasn’t even sure he knew I was still in my seat. If he did, he was good at ignoring me as he packed up his laptop.

“Contrary to the rumors you’ve probably heard, I don’t bite.”

I jumped when he spoke. Now that the lecture hall was no longer filled with students, the acoustics of the large space bounced his deep voice all over the walls.

I stood and began my walk of shame down to the front of the classroom. There was no doubt I owed the man an apology, even if he wasn’t a professor—a professor who would be my new boss for at least the next fifteen weeks. I wanted to kick myself in the ass for not apologizing last night before I left the bar. Now it would seem like I was only doing it because of the situation I was in.

Which was true, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t want it to seem that way.

I took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry about last night.”

His face was unreadable. “I figured you might be, right about now.”

“I obviously thought you were someone else.”

“So I assumed. You thought I was the asshole. The one with the big dick, was it?”

I shut my eyes. For the last ninety minutes, I’d replayed the entire exchange from last night over and over in my head. I thought I’d remembered everything I said, but apparently I hadn’t. When I reopened my eyes, Professor West was still watching me. His stare was pretty damn intense.

I started to babble. “My friend Ava went out with this guy Owen for a month or so. He was full of shit from day one, but she didn’t see it. Actually walked up to her when she was leaving work one night and said, ‘Do you mind if I walk you home? My mother always told me to follow my dreams.’ She fell for it, the entire act, from the first day. Then one Saturday, he was supposedly out of town on business, and she was across town running errands for her mother. She took a shortcut through Madison Square Park on her way back from the grocery store and ran into him. He was with his wife and kids.”

“And you thought I was him, apparently?”

I nodded. “She came in during my shift and started drinking Long Island iced teas. When Owen walked in, she pointed to where he was standing and said he was the one in the blue shirt.”

“And we were both wearing blue shirts, I take it?”

I couldn’t help but smile, thinking of Ava last night. “Actually, no. Ava’s not much of a drinker. Turned out she was more sloshed than I thought. Owen’s shirt was brown—not even black that could be mistaken as navy or something.”

I saw Professor West’s lip twitch.

“Anyway, I’m really sorry. I barely gave you a chance to speak, and then when I realized what had happened, I was so mortified I didn’t even stop to apologize.”

“I accept your apology for last night. Even though you shouldn’t be approaching a man in the hallway to tell him off alone, your intentions were admirable.”

I should have shut up and been grateful he’d accepted my apology. Should have. “Why can’t I approach a man in the hallway?”

He leveled me with a stare. “Because you’re five foot nothing in a loud bar, and no one would have heard you if I’d dragged you into the men’s room and locked the door.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said you shouldn’t put yourself in those situations.”

“But you insinuated that I couldn’t by making that statement.”

He zipped his leather bag closed. “Ms. Martin, I just accepted your apology for calling me an asshole last night. Would you like me to retract that acceptance?”

God, I really was an idiot. Being around this man seemed to turn me into a psychopath. “No. I’m sorry. I acted like a jerk, and I’d like to start over, if that’s possible.”

He nodded. “Everything prior to this morning is forgotten.”

“Thank you.”

“But this morning is not. I won’t accept lateness. Don’t let it happen again.”

I swallowed. “It won’t.”

He lifted his worn, brown leather laptop bag over one shoulder. “Meet me here at five tomorrow. We’ll go over the syllabus and the classes you’ll teach, as well as my grading rubric.”

That was smack in the middle of my shift, but I’d figure something out. “Okay.”

“Are you done for the day?”

“I am. I actually have to get to work. I’m covering Ava’s shift because she isn’t feeling too well after last night. We both work at O’Leary’s.”

“You waitress there?”

“Waitress, bartend, occasionally tell off patrons.”

That earned me a full smile from Professor West. God, he should do that more often. No, forget that. He definitely shouldn’t.

“I’ll walk out with you.”

We walked through the halls together and out to the parking lot. When we arrived at my car, I stopped. “This is me. So…five o’clock tomorrow?”

Professor West looked at my beat-up old Subaru. “You’re parked in a spot reserved for the Provost. You got a parking ticket.” He squinted. “Actually, it looks like you have two parking tickets. Was your inspection expired or something?”

Crap. “Umm…no. I keep an extra ticket in the glove compartment and stick it on my windshield when I’m forced to park illegally.”

His brows shot up. “Inventive.”

“Obviously it doesn’t always work.”

“Obviously.”

“They need more parking. When you’re late, it’s impossible to find a spot.”

He studied me. “Lateness is a frequent occurrence for you, I take it?”

“Unfortunately, it is.”

“Then I should clarify something I said earlier.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I won’t be late for your class.”

 He took a step closer and leaned in. “I’m glad to hear that, Ms. Martin. But that’s not what needs clarification.”

I swallowed. God, he smells good.

“Earlier I told you I didn’t bite students.” He smiled, and I felt the wickedness from it shoot down to some interesting places. “I don’t. But I make no promises about not biting feisty TAs.”

  About Vi Keeland

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times Bestselling author. With more than 1.5 million books sold, her titles have appeared in over eighty Bestseller lists and are currently translated in sixteen languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

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BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE by Vi Keeland: Excerpt Reveal was originally published on The Sassy Bookster