#visage (falling backwards faster)

[slytherinroyalty16]

IWLYLM

Chapter 3

Warnings: SPOILERS!!!! This is the finale of the IWLYLM series until S2 of goosebumps gets released. Y/n once again getting traumatized; near death of a major character; let me know if I missed something

word count: 1278

The duo went after Lucas first. He seemed to be the weakest, emotionally, so getting him was a piece of cake. Kanduu had taken his mother first and disguised a nameless puppet to play his deceased father. They had come up with the idea of witness protection to make the push even harder so Lucas can fall face first into their trap. The others on the other hand, were a little bit harder to persuade. Isaiah, being the intuitive kid he is, realized something was wrong when his cast suddenly disappeared from his arm. The illusion fell apart and he saw his parents in all of their puppet-like glory.

Dead eyes and exaggerated cheekbones greeted him when he lifted his head from its lowered state. Fear overtook his form as he ran out of his house to try and find his friends, the hope to find them before it was too late was prevalent on his mind as he pushed his legs to run faster.

Y/n and Kanduu stand in the school football field watching as their great pyre is built, their sacrifices mindlessly climbing to the top. Kanduu looks at his grandson with pride in his eyes. “Do you know why I do this, why we do this?” he asks the boy. Y/n shakes his head in retaliation and looks to his ancestor for answers. “We do this to fix humanity. I was behind the front lines in the second world war, your grandmother was pregnant with your father and all I could think about was making it home to my son. Sadly enough, I was fatally shot. In what I thought was my last breath, I thought about the horrors of the world created by humans themselves.” he starts. “All the death, fighting, and greed over material things like land and treating human beings like worthless cattle. I wanted a way to end it all but I knew I couldn't. Before my very eyes, a cavern opened up that looked older than any civilization ive ever seen. Nobody seemed to notice me as I walked in but I paid no mind to it. In front of me was the very image you see before you, a pyre filled with sacrifices to open up a portal of horrors. Why would the humans fight themselves when they're too busy fighting my monsters?” Kanduu finished.

Y/n looked at his ancestor with admiration. He was dead because of these people’s twisted sense of justice. He and Harold could've lived their lives happily and together if they hadn’t messed with their happiness. Faintly, he began to hear rushed footsteps behind them. Y/n and Kanduu turn around to see the teens, not dollified like they're supposed to. Kanduu looked at Margot’s hand and saw his spellbook that he thought he had hidden.

“Where did you get that!?” he screamed. They didn’t answer as they started reading spells from the book. Y/n looked at his grandfather and saw his eyes glaze over. His features slowly take the visage of a puppet. Y/n tried to move towards him but found himself stuck, frozen in the very spot he stood. A look of fear crossed his face as he looked at the teens. “What are you doing?! What have you done to him?” he screamed as he struggled to move. Isabella, James, and Isaiah have a small celebration, but Margot had a look of fear as Kanduu slowly got out of the effects of the spell. Y/n’s face had a smirk slowly cross his face as he looked at the teens. “You're all in trouble now.” he said teasingly. 

Kanduu looked at them and smirked, “Those spells won’t work on me, I practically created them.” The kids frantically search through the book for something to help when they find the one spell he didn’t create; the spell that made him immortal. Isabella had the bright idea of reading the sell backwards so she recited “Karrano Molonu Loma Odonna Marri Karru”

The earth shook, Kanduu looked down and saw the hands of ancient spirits reaching for him. He felt the magic leave his body and now stood in his olg army uniform, bullet wound included. Y/n’s cries could be heard as his heart breaks once more, his last ally and family member being ripped away from his grasp. He rushes to Kanduu before he is once again fused to the ground, this time by the spirits holding him there. Kanduu pulls out his revolver and starts shooting at the spirits in a fruitless attempt at freedom. A stray bullet hits Isaiah and he lets out a quiet grunt of pain.

Y/n and the teens watch as Kanduu screams in pain as the spirits drag him down to their realm. Y/n begs the beings to let him go but bear no result. Those on the pyre are released from their mind control and rush of the tower. Isaiah falls to the ground in pain as his friends and parents surround him in concern. Y/n turns to look at the group and makes eye contact with Isaiah. A malicious glare crosses his face as he disappears and Isaiah passes out from the pain.

Isaiah gasps and shoots up. He looks around and sees darkness. “HELLO!?” he screams only to get silence as a response. He turns around once more to see Y/n standing before him. He gets startled and takes a step back from the dead boy. “You all ruined everything.” Y/n muttered but Isaiah heard clearly. As he looked at the ghost, he noticed tears streaming down his face as he took stuttered breaths. With a mean glare in his eyes, he looks down at Isaiah, and speaks.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. At least, not yet anyways.” Y/n says. 

“What do you plan on doing with me?” Isaiah asks

“I know all about you kid.” Y/n ignores the question and speaks. “I know how you act, how you speak, how you treat specific people, I know everything going on in that little head of yours down to a science. Me and Harold made a mistake with Nathan but I won’t fail with you.” Y/n continues. The ghost walks up to Isaiah and puts a hand on his cheek, the boy leaning into his hand for reasons unknown.

“You're gonna wake up soon, I made sure of it. When you do, your game of checkers will become my game of chess with me making a checkmate on all your friends and family.” Y/n smiles evilly and leans down to kiss the boy, connecting them in a way that would be nearly impossible to break.

The teens and their parents are seen in the hospital as they get the bad news that Isaiah is in a coma and may not wake up. Margot can’t believe it, her childhood best friend and lifelong crush may die on a hospital bed at just seventeen years old. She still had Kanduu’s spell book and had an epiphany. She entered Isaiah’s room and looked at his unmoving body with tears filling her eyes. She goes to hold his hand when suddenly the book opens by itself and flips to a specific page. She reads the contents and recites the spell upon the boy. She waits and waits until suddenly, Isaiah opens his eyes. Margot begins to cry as she hugs the boy. Isaiah reciprocates the affection as he whispers reassurances to the girl.

Unbeknownst to the crying girl, Isaiah’s eyes flash purple as he smirks before going back to comforting the girl.

WOOOOOO!!! Finally finished. I had this in the drafts for a while but it was unfinished and I didn't have any energy to finish or edit until recently. I'm sorry for those who waited for so long for a part three but I hope this was worth it. Let me know if you want a prequel series to this one that takes place during the actual show and not just the ending. Thanks for reading :)

dividers by @cafekitsune

[yumejo]

gangster ryouga? gangster ryouga

this got away from me AHAHA

——imagine the two of you as childhood friends; but ryouga, as a small kid, had always been a crybaby (whether it was more of a ploy for your attention, or not).

Skipping across the asphalt, that youthful animation patently adding another heap of buoyancy in your steps, you squeezed your hand around Ryouga's.

However, your linked hands suddenly disconnected as Ryouga tumbled to the ground. His knee excoriated and his hands stung, bringing an abundance of hot tears to his eyes. Despite being younger than him, you sprung backwards to his aid immediately.

"Ryou, I'm sorry…! Here, let me lick your knees!" you wailed, crouching down to his height. You forcibly caused him to show his knees to you, nearly cringing when you discerned the torn skin and blood dribbling down from the wound, and bent down further, lapping at the scrape, "It'll heal faster this way!"

"[N-Name]… that hurts," Ryouga complained, the seam of his throat choked with sobs.

"You're such a crybaby!"

——and yet, in spite of how close you two were, you drifted apart as you grew older. all that remained with you were the vestiges of his warmth that dissipated more and more with each passing day... and the maelstrom of regret that unremittingly gyrated inside you;

regret and guilt from believing you left behind that stupid, petulant crybaby.

"Hey, what's a cute girl like you doin' round these parts?" "Why don't you hang out with us for a bit?"

Promptly surrounded by repugnant men, you tautly gripped your hands into your chest as they hassled you with egregious, disgusting comments.

"See, you're already tremblin' in excitement, aren'tcha?"

Helplessly, you squeezed your eyes shut as one of them lunged their hand forward to seize you up; yet befor the action connected, someone interjected and tightly gripped the male's arm. "Don't touch her, you bastard—!!" they vociferated vexatiously, the strident sound of their voice ringing in your ears.

Before your eyes, the three undesired men hastily attacked the one who had rescued you with a swift spate of punches. Your savior shuffled adeptly to the side, before a rigid thrust retaining all of his potency slammed dead-centre into the countenance of the ringleader.

Witnessing their comrade colliding against the ground as blood seeped from his nostrils, the other two quivered yet continued their punches.

"Take this!!" "Don't get so full of yourself!"

Scrutinizing how his multi-colored hair fluttered in the breeze of his hasty movements, you felt your pulse quicken rapidly. Not because of the execrable situation you found yourself ensnared in, but because you were aware of the outcome—and who exactly your valorous savior was.

Effortlessly, Ryouga fought back against the onslaught until the three were tendered absolutely powerless, until the three of them came to the staggering conclusion that they weren't a match for the Kamishiro Ryouga.

As they mumbled profanities under their breaths, they all clambered back onto their feet before sprinting away from the two of you.

Once your safety was confirmed, you tugged onto Ryouga's sleeve. "Thank you for helping me," you bellowed, delicate fingers tightly clinging onto the fabric of his school-uniform, "Ryou, I didn't think I'd ever meet you again."

"You shouldn't cling onto me so much... You've heard the rumors, haven't you?" Ryouga staidly replied, his eyes rather vacuous as he clicked his tongue, "Don't come here again. It's not safe for you."

"——hh."

"See? You're already falling apart. Go back," Ryouga instructed curtly, the grating growl possessed in his tone perturbing.

Releasing his sleeve, you weakly nodded and pivoted on your heel... incapable of eradicating the sight of Ryouga's crying visage from when you were kids.

[uagabond-a]

((ic tags))

[ticklefits]

AO3 LINK! | tickletober 2021 day 1: CHASE.

voltron: legendary defender | klance | words : 2572

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Keep singing.” With a tone much too amused and muscular figure leaned against the door frame, Keith’s eyes have locked on his boyfriend who’s settled at the countertop, chopping up onions for their lunch. His ears were previously graced with the melodic & upbeat notes of Lance’s singing before he halted as soon as he noticed Keith’s presence, cheeks dusting over in a soft shade of cherry at having been caught. 

"You snuck up on me! Y'know, all that Blade of Marmora training has made you seriously light on your feet, you're too quiet when you walk up on people--" Lance complains, obviously trying to shift the attention off of his virtuoso vocals, but Keith isn't falling for the trick. He merely grants the other a shrug, stepping further into the kitchen to peer down at the meal he was preparing before the interruption. It was a newer dish, something that Lance had talked about trying to cook before and though Keith rarely indulged in foreign grounds when it came to what he ate, Lance was a decent cook and he's willing to try anything for him. After a once-over of the food, he twists to match his gaze with Lance with Lance again, a small smirk now presented half-cocked upon his lips. 

"Being quiet has its advantages," is his rebuttal, arms crossing along the width of his chest as he gently knocks a shoulder against his love's. "You can keep complaining about it if you do it in song."

A silent curse leaks out with the sensation of heat that strengthens on the surface of Lance's cheeks, half-tempted to run into the next room and half-tempted to actually take Keith up on his offer. Complaining while singing truthfully sounds sort of hilarious and maybe Lance might've considered it had he not been ambushed by the other, but the abashment that's welled up in the center of his stomach has stolen the reigns from his usual confidence and is keeping his vocal chords locked and twisted. At this point, he's temporarily canceled prepping lunch and his new focus lies on a getaway. Sapphire sight slowly inches from where Keith stands to the archway that connects into the living room, calculating the distance to it from his own feet and weighing the risks. Keith, however, is a warrior, and a highly trained one at that, so as soon as he notices Lance's fixed stare towards the living room, his smirk widens and his own stance alters.

"C'mon loverboy, don't make me chase you down. You know I'm faster than you." There it is. A challenge. A challenge to his Leo boyfriend, who's neatly sculpted eyebrows perk and furrow and his lips twitch at the corners. 

"You're funny, Keith. The only one way you'd be faster than me, is if you tap into that cat-like Galran side of you and get on all fours. Stronger than me? Sure, maybe -- but not faster." Lance knows he just spit some fighting words, and judging by the slightly surprised, oh no he did not just say what I think he said look, Keith was about to square up. It was silent for a moment that dragged on like an hour, until Keith cements a stare at Lance and for a split second, Lance could swear he saw his pupils slit just like a feline. 

"You get five seconds."

"Wha--"

"Run."

Lance did not need to be told twice. As soon as he heard that single word practically growled from his boyfriend, he sprang into a nearly full sprint into the living room. Keith kept his words and after 5 seconds, rocketed off after Lance. By the time he had an open view of the room, Lance was nowhere to be seen. He paused, rummaging through his thoughts to figure out where Lance might have escaped to next. He figures their bedroom would be a good place to start, plenty of the places to try and hide in there; try, being the operative word there. He enters the shared sleeping space and, just to tease Lance thoroughly in case he was hiding in there, starts to tap his nails on the walls and other hard surfaces, knowing damn well the clicks and clacks will echo.

"Oh, Laaance.." the swordsman practically coos, feigning an innocent tonality all the while checking under the bed and in their closet for his prey. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. I wouldn't ever hurt you. But you do need to be punished for what you said."

Lance can hear him. He can hear him and Keith knows that he can. Their apartment isn't very generous with running room and hiding spaces, so he's taken refuge in their master bathroom. He nearly scoffs at Keith's statements; he knows Keith wouldn't hurt him, not intentionally, but that's not what he's worried about. He knows what those clickity clacks mean. The surface of his skin is already tingling and he's biting back a grin, hands smoothing over the goosebumps popping up along his arms. He could speak lies and say he hates when Keith does this, but they both know the truth: Lance thrives on it. Every tap of his nails drives Lance insane and he can feel his body trying to gravitate towards the sound, but he refuses to give in and admit defeat. Keith challenged him, so it's on. 

He's dragging his nails now, goddammit, and he's getting closer. Those silent steps aren't so silent anymore and Keith's doing that on purpose. He wants Lance to hear him coming; it's all part of the chase. Thankfully though, their bathroom contains a door that opens up to the hallway, so if he times it right, he can get past without him hopefully noticing. Slowly, nearly holding his breath, Lance scoots to the second door and ever so gently turns the handle to minimize any sound and opens the door. A quick peek tells him that it's safe, but as soon as he fully exits the bathroom and begins his quiet tread through the hall, Keith appears behind him from their bathroom, running towards him. Lance yelps and his reaction is immediate, making a break for the living room once again. He jumps onto the couch and grabs a pillow, deciding to fend off his hunter with a weapon instead of continuing to run.

"En guard!" Comes his battle cry as Keith reaches him and narrowly misses the swing of a cushion at his head.

"That's a dirty play, McClain!" He manages to say before he gets uppercut with a cushion and it's as if the world goes into absolute silence. Lance hadn't really meant to smack him like that, but the damage has already transpired, so all he can do is gently place the couch cushions back to their proper home, all the while observing with fright behind his eyes as Keith's visage lowers back down to look at him. He says nothing, amethyst sight blank, but he does start to move towards Lance, which has the taller scooting backwards on the couch, palm outstretched as if that were to quell Keith's wrath any. 

"Keith -- Keith, babe, baby, look at me -- you know I didn't mean to do that, I swear--!" But Keith still doesn't utter a single syllable, even as he climbs atop and straddles Lance's hips. He then moves to grab some of the mini pillow cushions nearest Lance's head, one in each hand, and Lance's eyes widen, remembering a time when Pidge pulled this on him herself, except she used vinyl, elbow - length gloves. Keith's method is unorthodox, but Lance is sure it's gonna tire him out all the same. 

"Keith! No! No, no, no, no--!" But his pleas are no use. Raising the small pillows into the air, it isn't a second later that Keith starts to rapidly smack Lance's upper body with them. It's a furious barrage, one arm raining down a strike right after it's counterpart. If this was an action movie, and pillows were bullets shot out of a gun, this would be absolutely brutal. Fortunately for Lance, these soft, fluffy pillows don't hurt anywhere near a bullet wound. In fact, he's grinning all the while, limbs held askew above his head as a shield. 

"Now this is a dirty play, Kogane! Fight me like a real man!" And Lance is about to regret those words, because as soon as Keith hears him, he halts his assault and tosses the pillows to the side, eyes glinting dangerously. 

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Now unoccupied hands shift to settle on Lance's sides and instantaneously, Lance knew he was fucked. 

"Woahwoahwoah, no! No, now this is really foul--!"

"Sucks to suck."

"FIRST of all, I'm the one who taught you that saAAhahah--!" Keith's heard enough prattling out of Lance, it's time to hear some of that sweet, hilarious laughter now. Fingers scribble over the clothed flesh of his sides and waist and that already gets him into giggling hysterics. Keith will always be pleasantly surprised at just how ticklish Lance is. Nearly every inch of him is sensitive to something and it never fails to gift him with serotonin when he's got Lance beneath him, rosy cheeked, squirming around, and laughing his heart out - much like he is now. 

"Nohohohoho! Keh--Keheheheith! Stahahahahap!" His pleas are broken apart by giggles that are only raising in volume the more his sides are attacked and he's only growing further sensitive by the second. Lance knows his religiously vigorous skin care routine is partly to blame for how ticklish he is, but can you blame him for wanting soft, youthful skin? And it isn't like Keith's complaining about it either. 

"Nah, I don't think I can. My fingers are under some sort of spell." Such a blatant lie from the older pilot and the grin he dons is unmistakably teasing. 

"Yo--you're suhuhuch a lihahahahahar!" 

"What? I'm offended. I'm not lying at all. In fact, I'll tell you an easy way to break the spell and get me to the stop." 

"Gohohohohohod! Fiiiiihihihine, OKAY, okahahahy!" Lance is really beginning to struggle, squeals forcing themselves free as Keith migrates from waist, to stomach, and then to his ribs, poking & scritching between each one in an agonizing manner. "Aaahahahahaha! Tell---tell mehehehehe alreadyyyy!"

"You really wanna know?"

Lance's strength is sapping quicker than he'd like it to, but he still possesses enough of it to gently smack at Keith's arm, his giggles evolving into full blown laughter once those dastardly fingers begin reaching towards his armpits in retaliation. 

"All you gotta do is sing. Like, that one red-headed princess, to break a spell that was on her, or whatever." The fact that Keith really provided a Disney comparison to Lance's current predicament is hilarious all on its own, but Lance wasn't about to give into this torture, and deliver what Keith desired so easily. 

"Hohohohow is -- i-is ticklihihihing me suhuhpposed to make me wahahahant to SING?? B-Besides, a kihihihihiss broke Ahahariel's spell, not -- not singihihihihihing!" Poor Lance, with his cracking voice and breathy, hollow words that could scarcely be understood through all of his laughter. Keith understood the gist of it though and contemplated his conditions. He still wanted Lance to sing to him, but a kiss sounded pretty nice too. However, he isn’t quite finished with his boyfriend’s torture; there’s still one last area he very much wants to explore before he allows Lance free. Spidering digits cease their actions, smoothing up and then down the expanse of Lance’s toned torso, granting him a desperately needed, albeit quick rest. Lance doesn’t speak, merely taking this opportunity in stride to gulp down as much air as he can, because a minute part of him knows Keith isn’t done and that something wicked this way comes.

Something wicked indeed. After some very short-lived moments of repose, without skipping a beat, Keith breaks into full force tickling all over the surface of Lance’s soft thighs. The first and last thing to run through Lance’s mind is a sharp curse to himself for deciding that today was a good day to wear shorts. Keith has an all access pass to one of his death spots and he is allowing no mercy. They’re certainly going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors ( not that Keith cares ), because the inhumane screech that burst from the tunnel of Lance’s throat could probably be heard blocks away. 

“K---KEEEHEHEHEHEHITH!! NO! NOHOHO, NOT RIGHT THEHEHEHEHRE! PLEHEHEHEASE, AHAAAHAHAHAHNYTHING BUT THERRRRE--!” the couch has been shaved of all of its cushions by flailing, lengthy limbs and even Keith is having trouble keeping atop of Lance, what with all of his wriggling and buckling. 

“Geez, Lance, you almost sound like I’m killin’ you.” Keith’s grin is now from ear to ear, more than enjoying himself, the view, and his love’s ridiculously adorable laughter. 

“YOU AHAHAHAHARRRRE!! PLEEEEHEHEHEHASE!” But it’s only when Lance deflates into silent laughter, arms going limp against the couch underneath him, that Keith finally concludes his torture. Calloused hands remove themselves from the slender frame and he completely slides off of Lance, disappearing into the kitchen. Unbothered by Keith’s abrupt departure, Lance soaks up every single second of relaxation he can, until he glances up once he hears footsteps, and sees the water bottle Keith’s offering. Smiling a little weakly, Lance sits up, releasing a few lingering giggles as the movement of his still hyper - sensitive upper body brings forth some ghost touches. 

“Alright, time to break your spell.” Keith’s statement is oh so cheeky and as he leans forward, waiting for Lance to close the distance, he half expects Lance to do anything but kiss him. A pleasant surprise is given to him when he feels those familiar, supple lips intertwining with his own, and he smiles into it. The kiss lasts for a couple of seconds before Lance pulls away and eyes Keith, brow rising along his temple. 

“Guess whose job it is to prepare lunch now?”

A roll of lavender eyes, but he holds out his hand nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah. I tired you out, so I guess it’s mine. I don’t know how to make what you were making though.”

Lance takes the hand that’s offered and ascends from the couch, bending to start picking up the collapsed couch cushions. “Go on into the kitchen, I’ll be right behind you to boss you around.” Keith snorts a quickle chuckle, but does as instructed, making his way back into the kitchen. He nearly stops as something catches his ears, a heavy warmth blooming in his chest. Lance sings more than loud enough for Keith to hear him, even as he’s waiting in the kitchen. He continues singing, once all of the cushions are placed back in their proper place, and as he finally enters the kitchen. He saunters up to Keith, sight locked with sight, a hand on his chest, happiness brimming in the way he sings. 

“♪ Maybe this love is mad, you're filling every thought I have. Now I've stayed too long, and there's no turning back. Might as well dance.~ ♪” As if on cue, Keith takes his hand and spins him, earning an even more brilliant smile from Lance, and he lands softly against Keith, arms coiling around his neck to bring him back in for another kiss. Suddenly, lunch doesn’t matter so much anymore.

[beauregardlionett]

hands and tears and bedsheet fears

AO3 Link

Yasha wasn’t sure why she was leading the way to Beau’s room, but it felt right. Beau was so clearly eager to keep going, to lie in bed with Yasha and find infinity. But there also remained a quiet hesitance to everything Beau said and did around her.

Especially tonight.

Yasha knew Beau didn’t want to push her too far too fast—which was sweet—but Yasha was in the mood to be a little dangerous. She was in the mood to press Beau into the mattress with her body weight alone, to taste the salt on Beau’s skin, to chase the pleasure of her tongue. Call her reckless, but Yasha sometimes did better that way.

Besides, they had the whole tower to themselves. Yasha figured they could afford to be a little stupid for one night.

She turned to glance over her shoulder at Beau, a giddy grin tugging the corners of her lips upward. Beau looked somehow soft and wild all at once, her visage sending a shock of thrill through Yasha’s veins. There was a flush high on Beau’s cheekbones, her bright blue eyes glinting with unshielded desire. But Beau was also drowning in Yasha’s tunic, her bare legs only visible from just above her kneecaps down. Her hair fell loose and damp, leaving dark patches of water against Yasha’s shirt.

Yasha squeezed Beau’s hand where their fingers wove together, chest full of indescribable emotion.

They pushed open the door to Beau’s room at long last, Yasha tossing aside the bundle of their mismatched clothing. Beau barely stepped through the door before Yasha had her pushed up against it.

Without hesitation, Yasha’s lips pressed against Beau’s, kissing her with the same fervor as before. Months of repressed feelings and desires that she had attempted to funnel through stunted conversation and longing glances poured out of Yasha. Her lips were the floodgates and Beau’s the receiving river.

Yasha eventually came up for air, forehead pressed to Beau’s as they gasped in each other’s space.

“Bed?” Yasha asked, breathless.

“Bed. Definitely,” Beau agreed, giddy and hoarse.

Yasha laughed, soft and clear, as she ducked in to seal her lips against Beau’s neck. A low noise of pleasure slipped past Beau’s lips as her fingers sunk into Yasha’s messy, damp hair. Fingernails scraped lightly at Yasha’s scalp and she doubled her efforts, hands moving to hold the underside of Beau’s thighs. She straightened up, bringing Beau with her. Beau yelped at the sudden shift before hooking her ankles together around Yasha’s waist and leaning her weight into Yasha’s mouth so she didn’t fall backward.

Yasha turned and carried Beau further into the room, humming her approval against Beau’s carotid she had captured between her teeth.

Her bare feet against the cool stone of the bedroom floor echoed dimly against Beau’s quiet sounds of approval. The fabric of Yasha’s tunic clung almost uncomfortably between their damp and sweaty chests, the only barrier to them being skin to skin. But Yasha found she didn’t mind so much since Beau was wearing her shirt.

Yasha’s knees eventually knocked against the edge of Beau’s bed. She took a moment to firm up her grip on Beau’s thighs before tipping them both onto the mattress. Beau’s breath huffed from her upon impact, dissolving into a moan when the jarring motion caused Yasha to bite at the spot on Beau’s neck she had been attending to. Her fingers tugged at Yasha’s hair with unsteady desire—an encouragement.

Yasha kept at her task of pressing the most obvious hickey into Beau’s neck for another handful of moments before pulling away. She deemed her work satisfactory and grinned down at Beau’s flushed countenance, inordinately pleased with herself. The color in Beau’s cheeks and the dazed but excited light in her eyes gave Yasha all the reassurance she needed. Teasing her fingers against the hem of the tunic, she pushed the garment up and off Beau’s chest.

Beau’s hands moved faster, circling Yasha’s wrists with gentle pressure, but enough to halt the movement.

“Wait,” Beau’s hoarse voice stopped Yasha.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Yasha’s instinct was to fret, to worry that she had made a mistake. The hesitation that had so quickly overcome Beau’s expression left a terrifying chill that settled like a rock in Yasha’s gut.

“Yeah, I just…” Beau rolled her head to the side as she looked away. Her hair—loose and damp—splayed out on the pillow like a halo, her skin still glowing with a light shine from the hot tub. For all that Yasha bore the blood of angelic ancestry, Beau was a celestial vision. (Perhaps her bias was glaringly obvious, but what did that matter when your lives were at risk in a frozen wasteland?)

Yasha slid careful fingers against the sharp line of Beau’s jaw and cupped her cheek, drawing Beau’s attention back to her. All the confidence and bravado that Beau usually wore was absent; left in its place sat everything tender and vulnerable that she kept secret and safe behind the innumerable walls of her daily facade. Yasha knew it was an honor to be privy to Beau’s honesty, one she refused to take for granted.

“What is it, Beau?” Yasha murmured. “Talk to me.”

“This date has been…incredible,” Beau whispered after a moment, tone awed as much as it was hesitant. “And I know this is what others might think is the natural conclusion to a date they have a good time on. But I don’t…want you to think this is an expectation. I meant what I said earlier about no expectations, no matter what we confessed earlier.”

Yasha blinked down at Beau, stunned. They truly must be the biggest fools in all of Exandria. She could see it all now, in hindsight. The glances, the lingering touches, the blatant concern for each other piled and slid between healing hands and violent acts of protection. They had been pining after one another for months. The tension reached a breaking point ages ago, but they somehow stalled the shattering until now. And here Beau was, keeping their fragile composure held together with her bare hands. The jagged edges digging into her palms from the desire to transform into something new, but held back just in case.

All for Yasha’s sake.

Beau seemed to take Yasha’s stunned silence as some kind of confirmation because she started babbling reassurances.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to do this if you want to, but I don’t want you doing it because you think I expect it. And if you don’t want to, we can stop here. We can go to sleep. We also don’t even have to sleep in the same bed—or even the same room. Hell, we can sleep on different sides of the tower if that would make you feel more secure. I mean—”

Yasha scooped her hands beneath Beau’s back and lifted her up, holding her close as she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. Beau’s legs straddled Yasha’s, her knees either side of Yasha’s hips. The movement silenced Beau, her lips clamped shut, eyes upset and guarded all at once as her fingers clung to the damp skin of Yasha’s shoulders. She looked down at Yasha before her gaze flicked to the side, looking almost ashamed.

“Beau,” Yasha murmured, her hands settled on Beau’s hips. “I want this. To be specific, I want this with you. There is no more hesitation on my end—I am all in. But if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I meant it too when I said no expectations.”

Beau seemed to deflate under Yasha’s hands, breath gusting out of her chest with a mighty exhale.

“I know that, and I want this, but—” Beau looked a little reluctant here, but she pushed on, gesturing to the bed over Yasha’s shoulder. “I’ve done this part before—quite often—and I know you’re aware that. There is the logical part of me that knows that you understand you aren’t just another one-night stand to feel something. But the other part of me is terrified of the morning.”

The pieces fell into place for Yasha. She firmed up her hold on Beau’s hips in response. Yasha leaned in, pressed her forehead to Beau’s jaw, and left a chaste kiss against her neck.

“It’s okay, Beau,” Yasha murmured with her lips against Beau’s neck. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

She thought she said the wrong thing when Beau choked on a sob above her. But before Yasha could pull back or say anything else, Beau wrapped her arms around Yasha’s shoulders and hugged her fiercely.

Yasha wound her arms around Beau’s waist and held her, let her cry into Yasha’s hair for as long as she needed. At some point, Yasha started rubbing a hand up and down Beau’s back over the tunic in soothing, even strokes. She kept up a steady litany of reassuring murmurs, hoping Beau would understand.

Yasha would not so easily leave again, not if she could help it.

Eventually, Beau’s tears subsided and Yasha got her to pull away so that she could thumb away the tears from Beau’s cheeks. Beau sniffled softly and murmured an apology that Yasha immediately dismissed.

“You do not have to apologize, Beau,” Yasha said as she brushed away another stray tear. “I want every part of you that you are willing to share with me. And that includes this.”

Beau looked like she might cry again, but there was also something lighter to the sheen in her eyes Yasha hadn’t seen before.

“I would like to kiss you again,” Yasha confessed as she continued to hold Beau’s face between her palms. “But only if that is okay with you.”

For all that she looked a mess and her voice croaked from crying, Beau’s answer was eager and immediate.

“Please. Please kiss me.”

They met in the middle, Yasha tipping her head to one side and Beau the other. It was easy and gentle, unassuming. They were content to linger on the other’s lips for as long as they both needed.

Yasha provided the inertia, however, when she moved her hands. Her fingers had gone a little numb where they rested against Beau’s hips. She slid her hands up Beau’s back, just to get her limbs moving, and her hands caught under the hem of the now dry tunic. The pads of her calloused fingers were a warm contrast against the small of Beau’s back, a comfortable heat.

Beau gasped into Yasha’s mouth at the touch, back arching slightly and fingers tightening on Yasha’s shoulders.

Yasha grinned up at Beau’s flushed face, amused and endeared. Perhaps a little reckless again as she put more pressure through her hands to Beau’s back.

Beau would never admit to pouting in that moment, but her lower lip stuck out as Yasha teased her gently.

The tunic didn’t stay on much longer.

[moodstabilizer-fic]

mistakes were made

Summary: It was a stupid decision. But you needed the money. What were you thinking, breaking into the home of a vampire? A count, certainly, but more than that -- a monster. A home of jewels and riches guarded to the teeth meets a foolish peasant. Maybe you could have gotten away, if his son hadn’t found you.

Reader/OC.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, murmured so close to your ear you can feel his lips move against your skin. You instinctively pull away, flinching as a cold hand grips your upper arm and holds you where you stand. The grip is too tight and too strong to break easily, your fingers struggling for purchase against his as you try anyway.

“And yet you are. Pity,” he says, his voice high posh compared to yours.

“Let me go,” you say, desperately and angrily. You turn and stare up at him and are caught in his strange, golden gaze, those eyes trapping you more than his hand as, just for a moment, you forget why you’ve come here. Then it comes crashing back down on you like a wave, a strange heat flooding from the tip of your head to the end of your spine.

You have to get out of here.

   “I don’t think so,” he says, the words slow and considered. “No, I very much don’t. My father would be… terribly angry, to find you here. Murderously so. A little curr, crawling inside our walls like a rat.” His eyes rove over your face, that sharp gold so counter to his deep, inky black hair, cut just short enough that it hangs over his forehead where it isn’t slicked back. His features are just as sharp as his eyes, wild and fey. Unhuman.

   He’s caught you in some sort of parlor room, with doors on either side. One of them leads back towards the kitchens and the cellar you snuck in from. The other -- to where? Safety? You doubt it. To your left is a window that overlooks the cliffside. Not much to hope from there, either.

   “I didn’t do nothing,” you bite out in hushed tones, as if his father can hear you there, cowering in the parlor. Maybe he can. You’ve no idea where he is. Maybe whatever noise his son heard is bringing him here too, only he’s taking his time about it. You struggle harder against the man’s grip.

   “I’m sure you did ‘nothing’ at all. Certainly didn’t slip any of our silverware into your greedy little pockets, did you, you little beast?” He pokes a finger at the bag wrapped around your waste, feeling at what lay inside it. “Certainly you wouldn't have dared?”

   You blush, furiously, and he hungrily watches the blood rise to your cheeks. His land lifts to cup your face almost tenderly, and you scratch and claw at his wrist, trying to tear it away. He just smiles at you. When he speaks, you can see his fangs.

   “Little thing, you have no idea what you’re playing at,” he whispers, inclining his head closer until your lips nearly touch. “I could kill you in a moment, myself, do you know that? I could sunder your pretty little head from your shoulders and it wouldn’t cost me more than a bath afterwards. I think you ought to be begging me.”

   You stare up at him, horrified and incredulous.

   He stares unblinking back. “‘Please, sir’,” He says, sotto voce. “‘Don’t kill me.’ It’s very easy to say, isn’t it?”

   “P-please, sir,” you repeat, gritting your teeth. “D-don’t kill me.”

   “That’s very good. See? How very good you can be, when you aren’t stealing from your betters. Drop the bag.”

   You do before you even realize you’re doing it, your hand uncinching the small knot that kept it on your waistline in an instant. Your collection falls to the ground with a series of clattering clangs, the sounds echoing strangely across the cobbled stone walls. Your eyes never leave his, and you know that he’s trapped you in some new, dangerous way. Some way far more terrifying.

   “Good dog,” he says. “Good little beast. Take a few steps backwards, for me.”

   Your feet walk backwards without your instruction, your muscles quaking as you try to fight the compulsion, your legs straining. As you stop, he looks you up and down, taking in every inch of your no doubt ragged appearance. Your patchwork clothing, the hungry muscle beneath it. The weary weight of your gaze. Whatever he sees there, he does not react to it, his face never changing from it’s calculating visage.

   “Alright,” he drawls, finally. “I will help you, little curr. Isn’t that sweet of me? How kind, to save you from my father’s wrath.”

   “W-why?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

   His eyes turn cold, disappointed you’ve dared to speak. “Because I have manners, of course. But it will cost you.”

   You reach up and clap a hand around your neck, fearfully eyeing his teeth. He smiles, amused.

   “Oh, you poor, wretched thing,” he says, and then he has you in his grasp again, his strength too much as he wrestles your hand away and to your side before reaching down and grazing his teeth across the flesh of your neck without any pressure. “If I want it, I will have it,” he murmurs against your throat. He plants a small kiss there, at your clavicle. Despite his cool touch, you feel warm. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears.

   He guides you towards a large chaise lounge and takes a seat on it himself, leaving you standing between his knees. “Now, stand still for me,” he orders, before pressing his hand into the space between your legs, his thumb running over your breeches.

   Indignantly, you begin to jerk yourself away only for your eyes to catch him again. Your body goes still. He hums a little, as he presses against you. “Now what, do you think, is proper punishment for what you’ve done today? A slap on the wrist, maybe? Or a taking of the whole hand?”

   When you don’t respond, he presses harder, and your breath hitches. “What do you say, curr?”

   “I don’t know,” you tell him, desperately. “I don’t know. Please.”

   “Please what?” He asks, carefully undoing your front laces. His fingers begin sliding beneath the fabric there. “I will not ask again.”

   “Please -- stop,” you beg.

   “Stop? Oh, sweetling, no. No, I’m afraid that you don’t get to ask.”

   His fingers slip between the fabric and your skin, sliding down and dipping until they touch your lips, feeling at you down there. His eyes hold yours as he far too gently caresses parts of you that aren't his to feel. Slowly he rolls his fingers around your clit.

"Do you know, I think I've a mind for what you can offer up in penance," he murmurs, fingers moving against you until you begin to feel the uneasy beginnings of something in your gut. When he begins to push one finger inside you he does it slow, teasing through the slightest wetness there, so that you feel every centimeter until he's knuckle deep. Your legs shake just a little when he draws it out and pushes back in again faster.

"Don't --"

"Do not finish that sentence."

He fingers you carefully, intently, eyes roaming over your face and swallowing up every reaction you give. He seems to feed on the way your breath hitches, the way you wince against the slightest pressure on each upward thrust. When he starts to add a second finger, you shiver, your hand landing in his shoulder, your nails digging into his coat. He doesn't stop. With two fingers deep inside you, he starts to rub your clit with his thumb, slowly and softly in a way that speaks to years of experience.

You give a small, short whine. You feel so vulnerable here, captured by this cruel man, unknowing of where one far crueler may be lurking. But you try to quiet yourself. You won't give him more satisfaction.

He tsks, and pulls his hand free. "Kneel," he orders. When you hesitate, he repeats, "Kneel," and you fall to your knees between his legs. One of your hands comes to rest against his thigh, the other on the floor in front of you, holding you steady. He begins undoing the laces on his own breeches and your eyes widen as you realize what it's come to.

"Do not even think to bite," he tells you. "Or I promise you, I will bite harder."

He pulls himself free casually, giving a single stroke of his already hard cock before letting it hang towards you. It's as pale to look at as he is, but far thicker than you might have expected for someone so lean. It's long, too, though you've seen longer, and for that at least you're thankful. He reaches a hand out to caress your face before his fingers slip into your hair and he tugs you down towards him.

There is nothing else to do.

You open your mouth.

The head of his cock slides in as slowly as his fingers had worked, settling against your tongue and tasting of salt and skin. You whimper a little as he begins to press you in closer, as you feel that head begin to inch towards the back of your throat, and you panic as you realize he isn't stopping to let you adjust. He pushes until you gag, a horrible wretching sound echoing between you, sounding awful to your own ears but he groans like he likes it and presses all the deeper. His cock slides down your throat and you have no choice but to swallow to keep from choking around it. Your throat works against him as saliva begins to pool. Gently he pulls himself back out and lets you breathe.

You already have tears in your eyes, and it's barely begun. You cough, and hope it somehow buys you time, but all it does is make his fingers twitch in your hair until you're open for him again. He takes his time fucking your face, working you open for him until your jaw aches and you feel a mess. Spit drips down your lips but at least it means he feels wet inside you, taking some of the pain away. He makes you gag again, and again, until you're almost afraid he's going to push too far, but he never does, always pulling back to let you suck in air and swallow back the fear of bile.

"Put a little bit of effort into the saving of your life, will you?" He asks, releasing your head. You stare up at him, fear making your brain foggy, until you realize what he's asking for. Burning indignancy meets and melts into the fear, and for a moment you consider denying him, until his eyes turn cold and his lips begin to move again.

You take him back inside your mouth before he can force you to, sick with yourself. It's harder to bob of your own volition, harder to make the decision to press in deep the way you think he likes it. You run your tongue over the length of him, mouthing against his cock like you love it just to save your throat from more discomfort, and if he knows what you're doing he lets you get away with it.

Eventually he grabs your head again and presses deep one last time before slowly pulling you off of him.

"Get up," he says.

You stand, legs wobbling and knees aching from the pressure of having sat on them too long. He tugs your breeches down to the floor and you shiver in the cool air, hands crossed around yourself like that will somehow shield you.

"Lay down."

You do, laying back against the chaise lounge with your head pressed against the head of it, and close your eyes.

"No. Look at me," he orders.

You whimper again and open them as he kneels over you, spreading your legs wide. His golden eyes roam over your face again, taking in the fear. He smiles.

"This will be good for you, little curr. Learning a lesson and taking my cock, all at once. Why, it's a gift I'm giving you. Say thank you."

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, until you taste iron.

His eyes do not leave yours. He does not repeat himself, this time.

"T-thank you," you whisper.

"Good," he whispers back, "Just like that."

He doesn't remove his pants, just leaves them unlaced as he slowly slides the head of his cock against your cunt. You're sickened by how slick he finds you, desperately wishing you could look away from that smile on his face. He rubs the length of himself against your wetness, letting it warm and wet his cock, all the while teasing at your clit. You shiver when he pulls back and begins, finally, to press in.

He is far less gentle than he was with his hands. His cock sinks into you more smoothly than you'd like, but you still feel the pull of it, the slight burn that says you weren't ready enough yet, and as he finds the last few inches inside you, you begin to whine, thinking it can't all fit. But it does. He buries himself within you, and he fits.

"Warm little thing," he breathes, before humming. "Tight."

You blush again, one arm swinging up so that you can bite at your wrist as he begins to fuck you in earnest. He pulls it from your mouth and pins both your hands to the top of the lounge, keeping you open for him. Each thrust shakes your body, pressing your head firmly against the fabric over, and over again. And your body betrays you, slowly growing accustomed to his cock inside you until you can feel your clit twitching, your insides clenching.

"So wet for me," he says. "Does that surprise you? That you could be so soaked for a monster?"

He smiles and adjusts your legs until your thighs are pressed against each other, legs lifted over his shoulders. You leave your arms above your head, half afraid of what he'll do if you don't. When he presses his cock back inside you, he hits a sweet spot that has you gasping.

"It doesn't surprise me, truly. You looked the sort from the moment I stepped into the parlor. Desperate little thing."

He fucks you hard in that position, not giving you any space to think at all, before letting your legs fall away again. He gets closer, leaning over you until you can feel his breathe against your ear.

"Do you know what I think?" He breathes. "I think... You'll enjoy this."

You stare up at the ceiling as his teeth graze your neck again until he finds the right spot. Then he opens wide, and bites down. His teeth sink into your flesh like a knife, and you gasp, the pain lancing through you and burning far more than you could have prepared yourself for. But as he begins to drink that part of it fades, even as the pulsing of your blood in your ears seems to grow stronger.

There is a head rush to it, the draining. The world turns a little brighter, the moonlight streaming in through the window looking beautiful in your eyes as your body tries to adjust.

And then, pleasure. It starts deep in your gut, and you clench around his cock again, feeling like you're pulling him in deeper somehow, before spreading through every limb in a radial shower. You gasp, and then moan, your hands grasping at his coat, twitching and flinching. As he pulls away he licks the blood from your throat slowly, like he can't let it go to waste. The warm, rhythmic motion of his tongue against your skin has you writhing. The wounds ache, but you feel... satisfied, somehow. Full.

He presses his forehead to yours and laughs, the sound somehow exquisite in your newfound bliss. "As I thought."

He thumbs your clit again as he fucks you thoroughly, sinking all the way in on every thrust until you feel like you can't stop shaking. The pleasure hits an edge you can barely percieve and you dangle over it, twitching around him. And then he leans down and softly bites the skin of your throat again, and you topple over the edge.

You can't stifle the moans as he continues to pound into you, his cock twitching inside you now, and his thrusts begin to grow more ragged, less controlled, until finally he flips you over and pushes into you from behind. He lasts only a few strokes before pressing himself deep and coming. You feel the heat of it sink inside you, far warmer than the rest of him, and only then does your head begin to return to you.

Fuck. Fuck.

He chuckles as he pulls out and begins to lace himself back up. "I almost enjoyed that," he says, his voice throaty still. "I must say, you taste better than I might have expected. Perhaps I should try rat more often."

You push yourself up slowly, the blood loss making your head spin. You reach up and feel the wounds, noting that they still bleed sluggishly. When you pull your hand away, it's painted red.

"Go, then," he said with a simple wave of his hand.

"You said -- you said you'd help me," you whisper, a fury rising from deep inside you.

He blinks. "And so I shall. By not telling my father where you are, or that you ever entered at all. I would leave in a hurry, if I were you. He should be back from his ride soon."

You bolt upright and begin moving, only for him to call back after you.

"Your clothing?"

You flush, and work yourself back into your breeches, before turning tail and running back the way you came, his laughter echoing behind you.

Out through the kitchens. Out through the cellar. Into the cool, winter air. You stare up at the full moon, and you are afraid. There are still a few miles to cross before you will be safely home.

You run.

[justablobfish]

Holding out in a snowstorm together/Getting snowed in together

Day 15 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

______

What a prick, Lambert thinks as he urges his horse to go faster. 

He has to hurry if he still wants to make it to Kaer Morhen before the mountain pass snows over. 

Who the fuck takes on a contract this close to the beginning of winter? You're supposed to find a safe place to hibernate, just like the monsters do. What point is there in tracking into the mountains and slaying a beast, that won't do anything but sleep for the next three months anyway? It'll still be there in spring, so why bother with it now? 

"It's good coin, Lambert," he can hear Aiden's voice echo in his head. 

What a moron. It's not his problem if Aiden wants to be stranded for the winter. Just because they did a few jobs together in the past couple of months Lambert doesn't owe him anything. 

Soon enough he's going to enjoy the hot springs and the crazy Cat can lie dead in a ditch for all he cares. 

It's not like Aiden had asked him to stay. Instead he'd given Lambert a choice; stay to help with the contract or head to Kaer Morhen. And Lambert had chosen the sensible option, thank you very much. 

Aiden had only shrugged and let him get on his way. 

That's the worst part of it. 

Why had he just accepted it? Why hadn't he asked Lambert to stay?

What an asshole. Lambert doesn't need him. 

Only when his horse whinnies in protest, does he realise that he's spurred her on to a gallop. He sighs and allows her to slow down and pick the pace herself. No point in taking his sour mood out on her, when Aiden is the target of his ire. 

He looks up to the sky to determine how much time he still has to make it to the place he can't quite call his home. And freezes. He’d been too busy being stuck in his own head and hadn’t noticed the weather changing. The wind has picked up and so has the soft snowfall, to the point that Lambert can’t actually see the sky anymore. If this keeps up, he’ll have a full blown blizzard on his hands soon.

There’s still enough time for Lambert to make it to the next town and find shelter. Aiden on the other hand is trailing the monster on the far side of the mountain range and won't even notice the storm until it's immediately upon him. 

But that's not his problem. Aiden hadn’t cared when Lambert left. Why should he care about Aiden's fate, then? 

"Fucking bastard," Lambert mumbles under his breath and turns his horse around. 

He still remembers what the Alderman said about the creature. It's not like he had paid attention or anything, but he was in the same room when Aiden had taken the contract. From the description it sounds a lot like a Yeti. Which means it must have a lair somewhere up in the mountains, a natural cave or cavern probably. 

The track up is risky and treacherous, Lambert remembers as much from when he hunted here in the height of summer. With the snow, it's going to be even worse, so he decides to leave his horse at the local inn's stables. It'll only hinder him in his search for the crazy Cat. 

Then he heads up the steep mountain path. 

The bad news is, the storm hits before he can find Aiden. 

The good news don't exist. Just like with every other goddamn thing in his life. 

Everything around him is white. He can barely see his own hand when he holds it in front of his face. The wind pulls on his clothes and pushes against him. More than once does he stumble over a loose rock and nearly falls down the steep cliff going down right next to the narrow path. 

There's no fucking way he'll be able to find anyone in these conditions. He might very well walk right past Aiden without seeing him. 

The smart thing to do would be to turn around and save his own hide. Aiden's a lost cause and it's his own fucking fault, anyway. 

Lambert presses on. 

The cold seems to seep into his bones and every step forward becomes a conscious effort. 

"Aiden!" he screams, but the wind tears the words from his lips and drowns them in the howling of the storm. 

Just one step in front of the other. Just a little further. Just a little bit more before he'll give up and turn back around. Just one more step. 

He barely notices when the path becomes wider. Nothing changes, except that he isn't in constant danger of falling over the edge anymore, even though the wind has become stronger still, and he barely manages to walk in a straight line. 

He almost doesn’t notice the flash of light somewhere diagonally in front of him, like a flash of fire that flares up and immediately extinguishes again. He thinks it's just a trick of his mind, at first. 

Then a large, looming shadow appears, seemingly out of nowhere, nothing but a dark outline against the contrast of the white snow swirling around him. 

Before Lambert's frozen brain can process that information, let alone attack, the shadow raises a giant paw and swipes down on something right in front of it. Lambert draws his sword and charges. 

Hidden by the storm he almost doesn't see the creature's other paw coming down on him. He throws himself into the snow at the last moment, rolls over the icy ground and comes back up standing in front of the creature's broad chest. 

Slowly, he looks up at the face hovering above him. This close he can make out more details than just a vague outline. Small beady eyes glare down at him. 

The creature draws the blackened flesh of its lip back into a snarl, revealing a giant maw full of razor sharp teeth. Foul, rotten breath washes over Lambert despite the storm's best efforts. 

One of the horns protruding from the thing's ugly visage is broken off at the base, but the other still looks sturdy and, judging by the discoloration of dried blood at the top half it, pointy enough to gore right through a person. 

He takes a swipe at the creature's chest but his sword barely scrapes through the thick fur that covers its body. 

Black goo flows out of the shallow wound and closes it up immediately. 

Several more clumps of black ichor are matted into the thing's yellowed fur here and there and as the creature raises its thick paw once again, Lambert can see a severely cinched area on its elbow. 

Aiden has gotten a few hits in, then. It must've been him, who else would have created the Igni sign Lambert saw flaring up earlier? 

So where is the bastard? 

Lambert purposefully doesn't think too much about the bright red color that’s covering the dagger-like claws of the monster and dyeing its fur a crimson hue. 

He dodges again and hacks at the burnt elbow, but other than making the creature angry, it doesn't seem to have much of an effect. 

He'll have to find a weak spot on that damn thing, and fast. He can already feel his limbs growing heavy with the cold.

"Hey, ugly!" he taunts, but the wind tears his words away once again. He can only hear the raging of the storm around him. Or maybe that's just the sound of his pounding heartbeat. 

He'll have to attack somewhere that isn't covered in fur, which means he'll have to get up close and personal with the bastard. 

Lambert draws a sigil into the snow with the tip of his sword. This time when the creature paws at him, he doesn't roll out the way, simply jumps backwards a bit. The claws get caught in his Yrden sign and the creature furiously tries to pull free. 

Lambert can feel his magic weaken already from the sheer force of the monster, but it should hold long enough for his purposes. He jumps on top of the creature's wrist and runs up the arm as fast as he can while dodging below a swipe from the other claw. 

As he reaches the shoulder, the monster swats at him like he's a bothersome mosquito. Lambert jumps before he can be flattened under the giant limb. 

He grabs onto the first thing that comes into reach and a moment later he's dangling from the intact horn. 

Not quite according to plan. And he lost his sword in an effort not to fall to his death. But he can work with this. He's been in worse situations. 

The creature opens its maw in an angry roar and throws its head to the side to shake Lambert off. 

Perfect. As he loses his grip on the horn, Lambert forms both his hands into the sign for Igni and aims at the exposed inside of the creature's throat. 

There's no time to check if he hit his mark. His next sign, Quen, flickers to life a split-second before he hits the ground hard. 

His groan as he scrambles to his feet is swallowed by the raging storm. As are his calls for Aiden. Where is the fucking Cat? The only thing he can see is the giant heap of monster fur a few feet away. It's not moving. At least that. 

Lambert stumbles to what he thinks is the spot where he saw the monster attacking Aiden earlier. He drops to his knees and frantically rifles through the snow. 

Finally, his hand brushes against something solid. He pushes more snow aside until Aiden's face comes into view. Thick snowflakes hang on his lashes and his lips have taken on a blue tint, but his chest still rises in irregular intervals. 

Aiden doesn't react when Lambert shakes him. The snow underneath him is soaked red, but with the snow constantly blowing into his face Lambert can't make out where Aiden is wounded. They'll have to find shelter. 

He drapes Aiden's arm over his shoulder and grabs him around the waist. Aiden hangs by his side like a sack of potatoes, still not stirring in the slightest. 

Lambert looks around and realizes that he has no idea anymore which way he came from. Everywhere around him is the same unforgiving white. 

He picks a direction at random and drags Aiden along with him. With his luck he'll most likely just fall over the edge of the mountain path and kill them both, but staying put isn't an option either. 

Just one step after the other. Just keep pushing forward. 

His grip on Aiden becomes slippery after a while. He rearranges the weight and tries not to think about how much blood he must have already lost. 

One more step. And another. He can do this. Just one more step. No matter how much his knees want to buckle underneath him. No matter how much he wants to give up and just become part of the ever-present snow. Just one more step. 

The storm cuts off abruptly and Lambert's ears ring from the sudden lack of deafening noise. It takes an insane effort to look up. Around him is grey stone, the inside of a cave. The color of the rock seems to be the most vibrant thing he's ever seen compared to all the snow outside. 

Tufts of white-ish fur stick to the walls here and there and there's a small pile of bones stacked in the far corner. He must have stumbled upon the monster's lair by accident. 

He drags Aiden's lifeless body a little further inside before he drops him carelessly to the ground and falls to his knees next to him. 

It's still bitterly cold in the cave but at least they're mostly protected from the biting winds here. 

He leans down next to Aiden and finally manages to make out the wound. The monster's claws have cut deeply into his shoulder and scratched over his chest. Blood oozes out of it sluggishly. The cold has probably kept him from dying of blood loss so far, but that won't help him survive if he freezes to death instead. 

Lambert drops his bag to the floor and takes out his medical equipment, then goes about stitching the wound up and wrapping it in bandages. 

A red spot immediately forms on the wound dressings around the deepest part of the gash. He's not certain that Aiden will heal fast enough, even with his enhanced Witcher abilities. Despite Lambert's best efforts, Aiden might not make it through the night. 

"If you die on me, after all this trouble I went through," he threatens, "I will drag you out of hell and kick your ass right back to oblivion." 

The only response Lambert gets is that his own teeth start to chatter. 

He'll have to do something against the cold. Good thing he still has some Summer's Kiss potions with him. That'll warm them until the stupid storm is over and they can head back to the village. 

He rifles through his bag once more and pulls out one of the flasks with the bright orange liquid inside. 

Then he goes searching for the other. His fist closes around the neck of the bottle and his hand shoots upwards. 

Something's wrong. The potion is too light. 

He examines what he produced from his bag. Below his fist the bottle neck ends in sharp edges. 

Broken. The second bottle broke and leaked the potion into his bag. 

It must have happened when he dodged the monster's attacks and rolled over the frozen ground to regain his balance. 

Lambert stares at the sad piece in his hand for a full minute, as if the concoction would magically reappear if he only waited long enough. 

Finally, he curses and throws the shard away before carefully turning his bag inside out. A few more bottles are broken and he's left with two Cats and some Black Blood. Nothing that will even remotely help him in this situation. Then again, he already knew that he only had two Summer's Kiss left. 

He grabs the intact potion and turns back to Aiden. His face is sickly pale and his lips are more purple than blue now. He's close to freezing to death. 

Lambert kneels down and pulls Aiden's head into his lap. Then he feeds him the potion, bit by bit. 

That's all he can do for now, though. There's no fire wood or anything else to maintain a flame and going back out into the storm is definitely out of the question. It's a miracle he found the cave in the first place, he'll never make it back in the blizzard. 

So he sits down with crossed legs and watches the slow rise and fall of Aiden's chest. 

Lambert usually struggles with meditation, but today, for some reason, his mind drifts away momentarily. It's just so much easier not to move anymore. To just let his aching limbs rest… 

"… bert…" 

"...leave me…"

"Lambert, wake up!" 

"Woah!" 

Lambert tears his eyes open, breaking the thin layer of frost that has formed on them. The first thing he sees once his eyes adjust to the dim light is Aiden staring back at him. 

He's still lying on the ground where Lambert left him, arm reached out in his direction, and his face is still far too pale for Lambert's liking, but he's awake. That's more than Lambert could have hoped for. 

"N-n-n-no need to yell at me," he snaps back, his chattering teeth taking away the edge of his annoyance. "W-w-what do you want? Go back to s-sleep". 

The storm is still raging outside but now there's even less sunlight coming through. It must be getting close to dusk. How long was he out for? 

He should definitely check on Aiden's bandages, see if he needs to redo them. But the idea of moving seems like such an enormous effort. He'll just rest for another five minutes. Yeah, that's a good plan. His eyes slowly drop closed again. 

"Lambert! Stay with me you idiot!" Aiden snarls. 

"What?" Lambert shouts back. "L-leave me alone!" 

He opens his eyes once more and watches a number of different emotions pass over Aiden's face, too quick to follow. He'd almost say there's concern in the mix, but that would be silly. He's not the one who almost bled out today. 

"Lambert," Aiden repeats, now in a whiny tone. He still manages to sound teasing, though. 

"What d-do you want, Cat?" Lambert grunts, annoyed. 

"I'm cold," he replies with a pout. 

"You have got to be k-kidding me," Lambert deadpans. "I gave you a p-potion!" 

"Must be some weak ass shit you brewed together if I'm already freezing again," Aiden grins. 

"W-weak?" he huffs in indignation and jumps to his feet. "Ungrateful piece of shit! And what do you want m-me to do about it?" 

"Come cuddle with me!" Aiden demands and bats his eyelashes. 

"H-hell no!" Lambert returns and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't cuddle." 

"But I'm oh so c-c-cold," Aiden taunts, his smirk growing wider. "Don't you want to keep me from freezing?" 

"Urgh," Lambert groans as he drops down next to Aiden, who wraps his uninjured arm around his waist and pulls him closer. 

"How can you be cold?" Lambert complains. "You're like a furnace! My potion is working fine!" 

"Stop wiggling!" Aiden orders. "You're such a baby!" 

"My legs are tingling," he snaps back. "You try to hold still after your legs fall asleep!" 

"Thank the gods," Aiden mumbles under his breath. 

"What?" Lambert huffs. 

"Nothing," Aiden sighs. "Just stay close, alright?" 

"This never happened," Lambert bites back. "He's cold, he says. Needy bastard." 

Soon enough, sleep overcomes him. There's little to do but wait, after all, and the warm weight at his back is far more comforting than he'd ever admit. 

When he wakes up next there's bright, unfiltered light shining in from the entrance of the cave. The storm has passed over night. 

The weight of an arm draped over his waist is gone, though. Alarmed, Lambert sits up. 

Aiden is kneeling in the far corner of the room, re-bandaging his wound. 

"Morning, sunshine," he greets with his ever-present smirk. "Missing my sweet embrace already?" 

"Fuck off," Lambert growls and gets up to stretch his aching limbs. 

"What happened to the monster, by the way?" Aiden prompts conversationally. "The Alderman wants proof of death or he won't pay." 

"Are you insane?" Lambert yells, his patience finally gone for good. "Why are you so obsessed with this? You nearly died and for what? You could've just waited till spring! Nobody takes a contract that late in the year!" 

"Nobody survives the winter with an empty purse," Aiden returns, suddenly serious and without looking up from where he's packing Lambert's medical kit back together. "There's no place to stay for a Cat. Not like you have." 

Lambert just gapes at him, open mouth and all. 

"You risked your life because you're broke?" he manages finally. "Why didn't you say something?" 

Aiden is still not looking at him. He's done packing the little medical bag, but he's fidgeting with the buttons. 

"Careful now, Wolf," Aiden teases. "One could almost get the idea that you care about me." 

"Certainly not," Lambert huffs. "Anyway, next year you're coming with me to Kaer Morhen. I'm not running after your sorry ass again!"

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au - 5.5

And now we travel Back in time to the Banquet because i definitely didn’t completely forget abut the banquet shh. Uuuuh tw for consensual use of Axii? Links to all the other parts/AO3.

He’d never felt more alive.

The joy and wonder and life that was flowing through his veins every moment since Pavetta and Dunny were wed. Or. Maybe a bit before that.  What a night! What a story it would make! The ballads he would write!

When he opened the door to their room to find it empty of Geralt or his belongings he wasn’t surprised.

He should have realized Geralt would ride out of town at first light. Sure. But he was caught in the revelry of the night! Playing and dancing and drinking until the sun had returned.

It didn’t matter. He gathered his things and went after him.

Geralt hadn’t exactly been in the best of moods when he left the party. If not for Roach he’d be sure Geralt had fled in the night. He wouldn’t make her ride in the dark. Probably.

Either way he wouldn’t catch up on foot. Geralt would be riding hard.

That didn’t matter. He slipped into a back alley and shifted.

There weren’t many winged forms that could carry his things, as few as they were. He had to stretch the great sea bird’s wings larger than was natural to get the power needed. It was always tiring, he’d only manage to hold it until the city edge. But it’d be faster than any of his other options.

He soared past the city limits without a problem.

He didn’t know which direction Geralt had gone so he just followed his instincts. Riding the breeze on and on and on.

The weight didn’t seem nearly as bad as he remembered.

The road stretched below him. He wasn’t tired. He wondered how large he could make this form. He stretched his wings wider and wider.

He felt huge. Like he could be huge. Like he could be a mountain. Except mountains didn’t move and he needed to move.

What - what was the biggest thing he could be? A bear? A bison?

There were stories of dragons. Ancient dragons who slumbered so long they turned to mountains. That they would one day wake and their wings would cover the sky.

He felt like one of those dragons.

But dragons weren’t real. Just like so many of the creatures in his songs. A shame. He’d have loved to be a dragon like the ones in his fairytale stories.

He banked. He’d missed. Missed Geralt.

This time he spotted her. Roach snacking on the side of the road.

He dipped low to the ground and shifted into a run as his clothed feet hit the ground. Managed to stop without tripping.

He bowed to Roach’s unimpressed visage. “Thank you thank you. You may hold your applause.”

He caught sight of Geralt. Back firm against a tree. Knees bent in front of him. Clenched knuckles pressed against his head.

He wanted to run and sing and fly and dance until the stars themselves joined him in his revelry.

But that wasn’t what Geralt needed right now.

He sat down next to Geralt letting his fingers twist over every note and chord. Over every scale and tried very hard not to bounce with energy.

“Well that went a bit mad at the end there didn’t it?”

Geralt curled ever so slightly inward.

“Oh no I suppose you missed that part didn’t you? One of Eist’s companions did some remarkably skilled animal impressions. I won’t tell you what he was saying of course- the vulgarity alone makes the songs I play at brothels sound like nursery rhymes. Oh but you must hear-“ He began repeating the noises the man had made, less and less accurately and more intently. Shifting his vocal chords as required.

He didn’t usually do that. Altering parts of his form intentionally. It felt odd normally. Like he was trying to fight the shape of himself.

It felt as easy as breathing.

Geralt exhaled sharply, in what he choose to believe was the start of a laugh, and turned his face slightly towards him. “What the fuck was that?”

“A very drunk Skellige attempting to imitate a siren in the throes of rapture I can only presume.”

“More like death.”

“He might have been close to it given the amount of drink he’d imbibed. There was a solid attempt at to empty the cities store of alcohol.”

“And you didn’t partake?” Geralt asked in tired disbelief from where he huddled.

“What? No what would make you think that? I drained half the castle myself once they were too drunk to ask for more songs.”

“You don’t smell drunk. And you’re not acting hungover.”

He paused his fiddling with the lute before the need to wiggle forced him to restart. “Well that’s cause I’m not.” Which didn’t seem right to be fair. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed it. “Suppose I got back to the room to find my very best friend was gone and sobered right on up. Lovely flight over here by the way. Thank you for asking.”

He continued his jabbering about the night – if Geralt wanted him to be quiet he’d ask – until he was certain Geralt was no longer listening to the actual words.

Affection and comfort were difficult for Geralt to receive while he was in human form. Maybe it was that he could understand Jaskier in that shape and feared he might say something that would draw attention to the vulnerability Geralt loathed to show. Maybe it was that humans had showed him so much hatred that he struggled to believe any humans could show him kindness without seeking reward.

He’d done what he could to ease that tension whenever he could but now was not the time for human comforts.

Now was the time for something far easier for Geralt.

He shifted into his orange fur and nudged his way between Geralt’s arms. Head-butting his jaw and kneading his chest. His chest rumbled so easily. He just felt so alive right now. So joyful and content. It shook his chest with the force of it.

“- Bigger than last time.” He caught most of what Geralt said over his own noise.

He supposed Geralt was right. He was bigger than last time. He nearly covered Geralt’s entire chest and he wasn’t stretched out.

Geralt had noticed.

He trilled his pride, the purr kicking up in volume. He liked it when Geralt noticed.

Slowly Geralt unwound enough to scratch at his cheeks, head and neck. Covering his fingers in his smell.

“I’m not going back.” Geralt said not to him. “No child deserves this life. I won’t do it.”

He wouldn’t have a choice. He heard destiny singing at that banquet. Or not destiny but. Something.

He pushed his head into Geralt’s hand insistently.

“No one deserves this life.” Those beautiful golden eyes squeezed closed. He rubbed his head and neck against Geralt’s face, covering his nose in hair.

Geralt meant the life of a Witcher. And no one deserved the cruelty the world showed Geralt. No one deserved to be made to feel lesser, made to feel a monster, for protecting people.

But a life next to Geralt? A life with Geralt as your Father? It would be a life where your Father loved you beyond measure. A life where you could fall asleep in your father’s arms knowing there were no nightmares, no monsters or beasts he could not protect you from. A life where you never got too big for piggyback rides or hugs that lifted you off the ground.

A life in gentle loving hands.

Geralt wasn’t going to be a great father. But he was damn sure he’d be a good one. One day. One day that kitten was going to be the luckiest fluff ever to be scruffed.

He did his best to remind Geralt of that.

They stayed there in the shade of the tree as Roach munched her lunch for what might have been hours.

The sun didn’t say it had been hours but his jittering limbs assured him it had been.

“We need to keep going.” Geralt said eventually extracting himself from under him. Which appeared to be something of a struggle given his size and generously flexible form.

Another day he might have tried to convince him to stay for a nap but he leapt from Geralt thrilled by the promise of movement. Of a run. His form shifted into the husky. White fur and brilliant blue eyes.

White fur. All the better to mess with Geralt’s preferred clothing choice.

Geralt smiled slightly as he raced up and down the path while Geralt readied Roach.

He shifted back as they reached a town they could settle in for the evening and he played until the last table had been cleaned.

Geralt was sound asleep by the time he snuck into the room. Laying there content under the covers. Not even waking for his arrival.

He set his things down, locking the door, and shifted. The bed was too small for them normally and he didn’t want to disturb. Geralt needed the sleep.

He settled on the pillow, tucked his head under his wing and.

He wasn’t tired. He wanted to sing and dance and fly more.

He preened his feathers soothingly to settle himself.

He walked circles around the bed kneading the course blankets.

He gave up, curling on the floor ink in hand and began to work. No candlelight needed. He twisted his eyes and could see just fine.

“We’re not stopping for a nap just because you got stuck composing all night Jaskier.” Geralt growled at him.

He blinked up at him, daylight pouring in through the window.

“That’s fine. Not tired anyway.” He assured before venturing down for breakfast.

They pulled into camp and his muscles skill buzzed with life. Geralt assembled the fire, distractedly throwing one of the branches for him to race after.

His fingers curled into Igni and the fire blazed into a bonfire as every stick and twig caught light at once.

They both jumped back, fur and hair singed.

He fell backwards onto his now human rear crying out his shock. “Geralt that’s more than a little overkill for a camp fire!”

“Hm.” Geralt agrees, looking just as shocked as him. “Gonna need more wood.”

“Fine.” He grumbles out of habit more than actual annoyance. He’s eager for the excuse to move. “I’m on it.”

They lay down in Geralt’s bedroll and he closes his eyes.

He has shifted and run and played so much in the last two days and still his skin buzzes with life.

It is no longer pleasant.

Geralt mellows into slumber and he shifts out of the sleeping bag.

He’s not tired.

He shifts circles around the campsite. Bear. Fox. Wolf. Lark. Cat. Humming bird. Moose. Mouse. Human.

“You’re up early.” Geralt groans from the bedroll. Stretching the sleep from his muscular limbs.

He blinks. If he packs their things, readies breakfast, tacks Roach they can leave all the sooner. Move from the circle of crushed grass he’s made in the night.

“Eager to be on our way!” With the cheeriness of morning Geralt more often inflicts on him than the other way round.

The next night is the same.

And the next.

Pages of his notebook slowly filled. Circles paced into the boundaries of campsites and inn’s. They break for Roach’s sake alone and he doesn’t rest on her haunches as they plod down the road. He drunk his share of alcohol and by the time they reached the room he was as sober as the day he was born.

The life buzzing under his skin stays. It’s annoying.

He wasn’t tired.

That didn’t mean he didn’t miss sleeping.

“Five cintrian ale on the wall five cintrian ale – take one down pass it around – four cintrian ale on the wall!”

“Will you stop that!” Geralt barked at him.

“I would love to!” He yelled back.

“What is fucking wrong with you! You’ve been fifty times more annoying than usual!”

“I don’t know!” The birds startled from the trees around them. “I don’t fucking know okay!”

He combs his fingers through his hair pacing up and down the campsite. All of his forms at the edge of his fingertips and none of them are satisfying. If he starts shifting he’ll just end up repeating last night where he cycled through ever single form over and over again until Geralt finally fucking woke.

He feels Geralt’s eyes tracking him. Back and forth. Back and forth. He attempted to recite the name of every noble family in alphabetical order. Fingers drumming against his side.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

Duke Adamczyk had four children. “I didn’t.” Baz, Dobry, Kasia and Lidia.

“You didn’t sleep last night?”

“I haven’t slept since the banquet.” Viscount Antol married Lady Bara.

“The banquet?” Geralt stood and crossed the camp to him. “That was last week.”

“I am well aware!” Geralt grabbed his arm halting him; sniffing and examining him like he could spot the cause with his eyes or nose.

“Who’d you sleep with.”

“No one!”

Geralt glared at him.

“By the time I was done playing everyone was either drunk out of their minds or had heard the lovely little rumor you started about me!” He used his free hand to smack Geralt’s chest.

“Describe the symptoms.”

“Symptoms – gods Geralt I don’t feel ill – I feel like I’m living on the constant high for a great performance and I never tire so it never ends and then everyone else goes the fuck to sleep and I’m stuck wide awake, full of energy, all by myself with just my own head for company until you decide to wake up in the morning and let me tell you – you think I’m annoying? I can’t tune myself out Geralt! I’m stuck in here every hour of every fucking day and now I don’t even get to shut up and sleep for a few hours a night!” He beat his head against Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s hand haltingly making its way into his hair. Petting him unsurely.

“When did it start?” Geralt said when he refilled his lungs.

“While I was playing? Or.” He tried to sort the night out. “I felt like it after Pavetta’s whole storm – adrenaline I’d assume – but.”

Geralt hm’d him on, his body slowly relaxing into his. One hand still covering his while the other ran through his hair slowly, tucking him into his shoulder.

“But it didn’t go away. I still feel like I’m in that storm.”

There was a chorus singing of her power, how they were all to stay away.

There had been no issues following that request. But from the moment her force had tossed him he’d felt more alive than he’d ever felt before.

Alive and wildly out of control. A giant trapped in a mouse. A storm in a bottle. A song bursting from his chest, his fingers, his tongue.

Geralt sighed. “We can start looking for a mage tomorrow.” Every muscle pulled taunt. Mages were dangerous. He didn’t want to meet any – much less search one out.

No need to risk a mage for a little case of insomnia! He turned his face to Geralt to make that very clear.

The concern on Geralt’s face shifted the words to dust in his throat.

His feet were tapping the ground. Fingers drumming on Geralt’s chest even now.

“I just want to sleep.” He sobbed into Geralt’s shoulder.

He didn’t want to risk catching a mages attention. Being caged or experiment on or- or –or

Geralt shushed him the same way he shushed Roach. “I know. I could-“ He stopped and squeezed the back of his neck, a gesture that normally calmed him.

Geralt’s fingers flexed against him.

“Could what Geralt? Cause if your suggestion is more immediate or,“ Didn’t include mages “something then I am all ears.”

Geralt extracted himself from Jaskier and sat them down. He bounced his legs.

“You remember Axii right?”

“The sign,” He twisted his fingers in an approximation of it, “You use on Roach when she panics?”

“That was Yrden. But yes.”

“Do it!” He immediately agreed.

“Jaskier.” Geralt cautioned, like he was going to slip into a lecture about informed consent.

“Don’t start!” He chopped the air between them. “I know how the sign works-“

“You did the wrong one. How do you even know what Yrden looks like?”

He continued ignoring Geralt. “And I trust you to just put me to sleep because you’re a normal decent human being who wouldn’t do anything to betray that trust Geralt. So knock me out!”

Geralt glared at him.

He glanced over to the campfire that Geralt had yet again igni’d into a bonfire. The face he’d made after did not imply intent.

“Actually maybe cast it on Roach first to make sure you won’t boil my brain.”

Geralt frowned but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he axii’d her to the other side of the camp and released her. She seemed fine. Munching her grass.

“Do you need me to ask her if she’s fine again and risk getting roasted for an hour like last time or can we get on with it?”

Geralt looks tempted by the offer so he growls and sharply motions his displeasure.

Geralt sighs and flicks his wrist and –

The tempest that dances and sings under his skin continues to rage but now there’s a tiny calm of quiet. An eye in a storm. A quiet room to stop and rest in.

It’s tiny, barely a corner to duck into but he curls into it. Into the tiny nest of soothing quiet Geralt has built into his soul. A tiny barrier made of the threads of Geralt that should not hold against the maelstrom outside of it but do.

“Lay down.”

It’s easy. Laying down. He curls himself into Geralt’s lap. He’s not sure if he’s shifted into something that could reasonably do that and it doesn’t matter because there is that tiny alcove of serenity in his chest that feels just like Geralt’s gentle hands.

Distantly he hears Geralt make a surprised noise and he can hear the storm rage on outside of the space Geralt has created for him. Quiet and protected. He relaxes further into the soft touch of Geralt’s hand against his hair or fur or feathers and it doesn’t matter because he’s safe here. No matter his form he’s safe in the quiet pulsing of Geralt chaos. Safe in the slow melody of his heart against his ear.

He thinks distantly that the storm is growing more distant. Or maybe it’s just that the bubble of peace expands and then Geralt says,

“Sleep.”

And he thinks nothing at all.

 The blanket is pulled from his eyes with a rough “Get up.”

He rolled over blocking out the offending shine with a plead for “five more minutes.”

“I already broke camp. You’ve had plenty of five more minutes.” He groaned as Geralt’s toe prodded him, trying to chase the tail of sleep back under. Back to a place where his back didn’t ache slightly from the ground or whatever position he fell asleep in last night. “Are. You alright?”

The genuine apprehension and concern in his stilted question forcing him to uncover his eyes enough for Geralt to catch them rolling.

“I feel like I just slept in the dirt in an absolutely unforgiving position for hours.”

“I’d say that’s fairly accurate.” The amused gleam returning to Geralt’s stoic face even if the frown remained. “Better or worse than yesterday?”

“Worse. Better?” He sat up stretching the crick from his back and neck. “I feel like a person again.”

Geralt took the blanket from him and folded it into the saddlebag with a grunt.

He slowly stood, fishing out a makeshift breakfast from their stores. “A normal hungry sleepy person. Damn that’s nice.” Geralt hm’d. “Don’t think we need that mage anymore. You’re magic hands were all the cure I needed!”

Roach snorted and Geralt pat her in fond annoyed agreement at his coy tone.

“You’re sure?” Geralt glanced back at him as they began their trudge.

He nods, a yawn splitting his face halfway through.

Geralt frowned. “We need to keep moving-“ He started to lecture.

“Yes yes I know.”

“But.” Geralt growled at him. “You can nap. If you want.”

He waved back to the saddlebag.

He suspected if he glanced inside he’d find a nest much like the one Geralt had fashioned for him while injured.

“Later perhaps. Right now I must engage in the inspiration I’ve been blessed with by your magic hands!”

Geralt twisted back to him and almost signed yrden threateningly. “I will leave you behind.”

“And you wonder why I know what that sign looks like.”

Geralt smirked and they began their trek.

A song about gentle calloused hands protecting you. He’d write a song like that next.

[yandere-daydreams]

bro. bRO okay so like??? So this villain, has kidnapped the prince/princess/ love interest and has the hero tied up or whatever, y'know classic fairytale shit right? So the hero is like " Oh L/I will never love you!" And predictably the villain just laughs but not so predictably they say "Well, I never wanted them to" and it turns out, that the villain was using the love interest as bait, to get the hero to come to them??? 1/2

I love a good royalty AU, so you already know I had to give this wonderful prompt a lil Piss Goblin twist. Anon is just so excited, how could I resist!! 

TW: Imprisonment

-

The only thing on your mind was the prince.

You’d spent your whole life saving him, after all. Run-ins with rogue groups of thieves, kidnappings, the various assassins that somehow made their way into the castle, and just about anything else imaginable, you had rescued him from. You’d been in your current situation before, too. Being kidnapped was just part of the job, something you’d grown more acquainted with as time passed, and every time it happened you were able to swiftly free yourself and your prince from your captor. You knew how to pick nearly every lock in the kingdom and how to untie even the most complex of knots, but this time, it was different.

It had never felt this utterly hopeless. 

Magic wasn’t something you knew much about, but after your first encounter with a particularly powerful assassin, you knew you’d have to learn. Now that you faced them once again, it seemed that you hadn’t quite studied enough.

You jerked violently in your chains, the look in your eyes almost feral as you desperately writhed around in an effort to free yourself, the skin on your arms now rubbed raw by your incessant struggling. You just didn’t have it in you to give up, even when you knew better than anyone else that the magic your captor had used to bind you was far stronger than anything you’d ever overcome during your past missions. The ache in your back was beginning to become unbearable, but no matter how you shifted against the thick column you’d been fastened to, you couldn’t get comfortable. You grit your teeth, your frustration tangible, and slumped against your restraints in temporary resignation.

You hardly spared a glance upwards towards your captor when they moved to stand in front of where you sat in the middle of the small cottage’s floor, but you could feel the smug smirk that donned their visage. “Giving up already, are we?” They cooed, crouching down to your eye level and reaching forward to hold your chin between their thumb and forefinger, painfully forcing your head up to meet their eyes. “What a shame. I was starting to think I would have to reinforce these chains soon, too.”

You thrashed out of their grip and spat at their feet, anger and adrenaline flooding through your veins. “Where is he?” You growled, your patience having run dry hours ago. An obnoxious laugh followed your outburst as the villain stood once again, dusting themself off carefully. “You’re still worried about the little royal? Even with your life on the line?” They snorted. “How valiant of you!”

With them finally distracted, you took your shot, kicking your leg out with as much strength as you could muster and hitting them squarely in the knee. They let out a short yelp of pain and stumbled backwards, their hold on their binding magic temporarily weakening and giving you the opening you needed to make your escape. You all but sprung up from the floor, moving faster than you thought possible to scramble out of the chains now hanging loosely by your sides and out of the house. In the corner of your eye you saw your captor lunge in your direction, heard the rattling of the chains as they wrapped themselves back around the column you once sat tethered to at the villain's command, very clearly heard their desperate cries for you to stop and don’t leave, but you didn’t look back.

You didn’t have to. They caught you at the door.

A hand clawed desperately at your throat, squeezing so tightly you were almost certain something would break, and its counterpart snaked its way around your waist, pulling you back with more force than necessary directly into the person’s chest. You heaved in their arms, desperately trying to catch your breath and fight or scratch or move, but you couldn’t. Something, some invisible force kept you planted on the ground, absolutely immobile in their arms as they snaked the hand that was previously preoccupied around your neck into your hair, stroking it shakily.

“Don’t you understand?” They purred into your cheek, voice wobbling only slightly, so softly it would have been imperceptible if not for how they pressed themself so close to you. “You’re mine now. You’ll never have to deal with that brat again, at least not where I’ve… relocated him.”

You opened your mouth in a silent scream, a soundless cry for help, for someone, anyone, to come be your hero for once. But of course, no one would hear, and no one would come. 

There would be no hero for the hero. 

Tears welled in your eyes and suddenly you were weeping, silent defeated sobs wracking your body as you realized that maybe you wouldn’t be getting your happy ending this time. Suddenly your captors hands were moving again, stroking your hair, sliding down your waist, rubbing circles into your back, all while they kissed up your neck and shushed you softly, like you were the only two people in the world and the situation was anything but what was really playing out.

“And once you fall truly in love with me…” You could feel their smile pressing into your throat. “Maybe I’ll let you see him again.”

[pressedinthepages]

Succumb

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Word Count: 2303

Rating: E

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003486

Masterlist

a/n: No request here, but this was inspired by @queenxxxsupreme​ ‘s post that painted a very vivid image that has refused to leave my head...

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox​ ​ @havenoffandoms​  ( Add yourself to my taglist here! )

Warnings: Filthy smut, but also fluff, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talking, begging, come marking

Eskel returns from a hunt and finally lets go of his inhibitions about rougher sex.

    The fire at your feet warms the air, smoke spiraling into the dark sky. Eskel is out hunting, having left you safe at the camp you had set up. You’ve been tracking a colony of endregas for several days, finally settling on a place close enough to where their nest must be, but far enough to keep you out of harm’s way.

Currently, you are stretched out along one of the bedrolls. You bask in the luxurious heat from the fire, letting your mind wander from beneath the canopy of trees. Eskel had told you that he planned on returning to the camp before the moon hit its peak in the sky, so you decided to plan accordingly.

You have left yourself bare, only a soft fur draped precariously over your body preserving any modesty you have remaining. You’ve been pent up all day, not for any particular reason other than Eskel going about his daily business. You bring out the best in each other, but gods does he bring out the most needy, wanting parts of you too.

You’ve not been, ahem, “providing each other comfort” for long, and Eskel has been nothing but sweet and attentive every time that you’ve been intimate. Sometimes, though, you find yourself yearning, aching for him to pin you down and use you for his own pleasure, but you haven’t been able to bring yourself to voice that quite yet.

You know that he’s scared, scared of the feelings that you both have for each other, scared of getting hurt, but mostly scared of hurting you. While you are no delicate flower petal pressed between pages, you are still human, and Eskel is terrified of one day losing control and pushing you past your limits. You trust him though, and you know that he trusts you, but he’s having trouble getting past the worry in his head. 

A sound pulls you from your thoughts, a low growl surrounding the air around you. You jolt upright, grabbing the dagger that you kept nearby. You relax though, when you see Eskel step through the trees into the light around your camp. You set the dagger back down and hold the soft fur in place along your chest, taking him in.

Eskel looks...relatively unharmed, especially considering the nest that he’d been tasked with taking down. He’s loosened his leather armor, letting it hang open over his chest. There is a scratch along one of his arms, but you can see that it has already stopped bleeding and has healed over. It’ll leave a scar, but what’s one more? Eskel’s dark hair is disheveled, even more so than usual. It sticks every which way, as if one of the endregas had decided to burrow itself in his hair. 

Oh, and his eyes. No longer are they the brilliant golden pools that burn with their intensity. Instead, they are completely black, dark voids bleeding into the veins of his skin. You know that Eskel hates you seeing him like this, but you can’t help the fresh wave of arousal that travels to your core. 

Eskel growls your name, removing his swords and armor before stopping again just at the edge of your camp. “I should...I should go somewhere for the night, I can’t be here like this…”

“Please, Eskel...stay…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear as you slip a hand under the blanket and bring it to your core. You moan as you run your fingers along yourself, Eskel’s jaw clenching as he visibly holds himself back. 

Finally, he takes a step towards you, but he stops once more before stripping his clothes off and throwing them to the side. Your fingers speed up as you watch him, the firelight flickering along the dark hair that dusts along his toned stomach and the swell of his arms, and oh gods, his thighs. You truly wish to plant yourself between them and allow him to smother you in their heft. When his cock is finally freed, you slide a finger inside of your cunt, gasping his name as you do. It is already hard, flushed and rising against his hip with arousal. 

Eskel grates out your name as gestures to you, wordlessly bringing you to your feet and crossing over to him. You let the blanket fall, leaving you bare and just out of reach of the Witcher. He inhales deeply through his nose and you see his cock throb, a bead of precome forming at the tip. 

“Fuck, you smell...amazing…” his voice is low and husky, and you see his features darken as he let go of whatever bit of resolve he had left. He lunges forward, grabbing your hips roughly and placing his mouth on yours, both of you moaning into each other in relief. His fingers dig into your skin, hard enough to bruise, and just the thought of it has you grinding your hips forward, glancing against his hardened length. 

Eskel catches your lip between his teeth and tugs, walking you backward until your back hits a tree. He breaks the kiss before spinning you, pressing your front against the rough bark as he spreads your legs. His mouth latches onto your neck, sucking and biting a mark into the soft skin. One of his hands threads between your legs and finds your cunt, dripping wet and flushed as he plunges two of his fingers inside. 

You throw your head back and cry out, hips canting against him as he relentlessly stretches you. Even like this, finally letting go and allowing himself to be rough with you, Eskel is still your sweet, considerate lover. He hums against your neck as you beg for more, faster, please…

He removes his hand and you feel him pull your hips back. He pushes your shoulders down so that you are bent over the tree, legs open as the warmth of the fire licks along your skin. You whine in impatience, but soon enough you feel the tip of his length at your entrance. He moves quickly, sheathing himself completely in one movement that was quicker than a heartbeat. Eskel holds the both of you still for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch of him. You pant against the tree, holding desperately as you feel the burn subside into pleasance. 

You glance over your shoulder, letting yourself look at him in a way that he never lets you see. Eskel looks animalistic, muscles tensed and teeth bared, his chest heaving as he tries to keep control. His eyes bore into you, the blackness striking in its depth. His visage speaks of tales of old, when passion was something that truly burned and caught all those around it in its fiery grasp.

You clench around him and he groans, head falling against his chest as he starts to lose composure.

“Please,” you moan, “Eskel, let go....take me…”

All at once, you see the last thread of control snap as he thrusts forward, hips snapping against yours at a breakneck pace. You cry out and let your head relax, lolling as you feel him everywhere inside of you. His cock brushes up against the bundle of nerves deep in your core and you thrust further back against him. 

You feel his hand come down on your rear, the sting burning through your senses. “Gods, you’re so impatient,” he grates out as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles where he had just hit. 

Eskel’s pace never falters, hitting deep in your cunt over and over again as you beg and plead and pray for more, to bring you to the brink and cast you over. 

You feel his cock throb within you and you know he’s close, so you clench around him again. Eskel wraps a hand around your throat and pulls you upwards so your back lays against him. 

“You want me to finish in you? Mark you, make you mine, my little whore? Is that what you want?” he murmurs in your ear, fucking up into you and placing his free hand on the apex of your core, making quick circles around your clit.

“Oh, gods, please, yes, Eskel!” you cry out, and you feel him start to spill within you. His teeth find purchase in the tender skin of your neck as he continues thrusting, his hot spend still pouring from his cock. He gives and gives, his spend dripping from the tight seal of his cock and down your legs. You feel him finally still as he moans into your neck, and that is enough to finally send you plummeting into bliss. 

Your fling your arms back, one threading into his hair and one holding onto his arm, grasping for something to hold onto as your hips cant sloppily through your climax. Your chest heaves as you ride out your pleasure, knees buckling beneath you as Eskel reaches back to your hips to hold you up. 

As you come back down, you feel Eskel’s length still inside of you, still hard and throbbing in your spasming walls. You gently shift forward, slowly removing him from inside of you. Eskel groans but lets you release him, his grip softening but not letting go. 

You turn in his arms, facing him and setting your hands on his shoulders. His gaze is still inky black, and when he speaks, his voice is lined with something primal, hungry.

“Oh, I am most certainly not finished with you.”

You feel your cheeks flush, and your cunt weep beneath you. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders as you push him to turn with you so that his back is to the hard bark of the tree. 

You trail your fingers down his body as you sink to your knees, the grass soft beneath you. You run your hands along his thighs, silently praising whichever god designed them. You lift yourself to his length and take it in your hand. 

This is something else that Eskel hasn’t really asked of you. You had asked him if he’d like it one evening, but he had told you that while he had enjoyed it from others, he wouldn’t want you to feel like you would have to with him.

However, you really, really wanted to taste him. You lean in, placing your tongue at the base of his cock and licking all the way up, circling the tip and bringing it into your mouth. Eskel moans above you, his hands tangling in your hair and tugging, but not holding so hard that you wouldn’t be able to move if you wanted to. 

You move slowly, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can fit, and circling your hand around the bit that remains. You taste your arousal on him, as well as the salty musk of his own arousal dripping onto your tongue. When you begin to move, Eskel whimpers, a frankly ridiculous noise coming from the man at the feeling of your mouth. You bob your head, sucking along his length and twisting your hand around the base as you work him to his peak. 

Eskel’s nails scratch along your scalp as he throws his head back against the tree. His cock is simply leaking precome down your throat and you pull off of him, taking a moment to catch your breath and swallow the musky spend in your mouth. His hips buck into your hand and his member throbs.

“Oh, gods, please, can I, I need to…” he gasps as you move your hand rapidly up and down his cock. 

“Mmm, you want to take your pleasure all over me? Paint me with your spend, make me smell of you for days, so everyone knows just who I belong to?” you purr before opening your mouth at the tip of his cock, letting it brush against your tongue as he cums. 

Eskel roars as he spends into your mouth, hunching over with the effort of staying upright. His climaxes are always long, but this one feels never-ending. He bats your hand away and takes himself, moving so that he gets everywhere, spend dripping along your cheeks, down the valley of your breasts, even some landing right at the apex of your cunt between your legs. 

You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you swallow, moaning at the taste of him. Eskel sags to the ground, finally growing soft as he pulls you close. He kisses you sweetly, and when you open your eyes again, you see that his eyes have turned back to their normal gold.

“Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He looks into your eyes, vulnerable and worried. 

You reach around, finally finding some cloth on the ground. It’s Eskel’s undershirt, and after flicking your eyes to him for permission, you clean off your face and run the soft fabric down your body. You think for a moment, feeling the bruises blooming on your hips and the mark of his teeth at your neck, and you smile broadly at him. 

“Oh love, I’ve quite truly never been better. I’ll probably feel a bit sore with every move for a couple of days, but my gods it’ll be worth it…” You reach to take his face in your hands, resting your foreheads together as you kiss him once more. 

You both move to the bedroll and drape the forgotten blanket over you, holding each other close. 

“So, what did you think?” you ask, turning to look at Eskel.

He blinks, his eyes softening under your gaze. “It was...much more enjoyable than I had thought...maybe, we can try it more?” He smiles, the action lighting his face in a glory not unlike the songs sung for the gods themselves.

You smile and place a kiss to the tip of his nose, “Anything you want, my love.”

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 44: Gangsta’s Paradise - Part 2

Time becomes strange. Things seem to move painfully slow, but also faster than Shizuka can react. All she can do is watch the curious, organic glow of the chandelier’s pulse.

She had jumped to kick the preacher man in the face, and was satisfied to feel her shin connect with his jaw. But in the next instant, she faltered, sensing none of the familiar feedback. The old man didn’t reel back or yelp in pain. Instead, Dust keeps smiling, though the predatory look remains in his eyes. The wrinkles on the left side of his face become clear; the skin around his jowl is now smooth, a little strip of his beard now colored dark a light shade of grey instead of white, incongruent with the rest of his aged appearance.

The organic chandelier that is his Stand pulsates, as if a ghostly heart beats within it.

Brother Dust reaches out a lazy hand, and as she descends to the ground, the old man gently strokes her calf with the back of his hand. Sick chills run up Shizuka’s spine, and a CRACK fills the air. She thinks first to look for broken glass. Then the pain crawls up from her leg and fills her brain.

Shizuka hits the ground, and GANGSTA'S PARADISE flashes at its brightest. She hears a scream that may be her own, but she has no time to consider it as an explosion of colored light ripples out from the unearthly chandelier. Shizuka turns her face away as the ripples extend outward, shutting her eyes.

When she opens them, she yelps and raises her fist at the face that appears right in front of her. But instead she finds her own visage staring back at her, reflected in something that appears to be glass, but definitely isn’t.

She leaps away and howls when her broken leg bends beneath her weight. Her back strikes the opposing wall and the wind is knocked out of her. She fights to catch it and her bearings. Once she readjusts herself, Shizuka is stunned at where she finds herself.

It is a room of mirrors. Not only the four walls, but also the ceiling and floor are perfect, clear mirrors. Shizuka pulls herself up to stand on her good foot, keeping one hand pressed against the wall. When she looks at the wall, her twin in the mirror presses her palm against hers. She looks down and the reflection looks up. They watch each other become dizzy, as their only footing is the sole of the other’s foot. At the center of it all lingers the glowing chandelier.

WELCOME TO MY WORLD.

The voice is a dreadful whisper which batters her eardrums and makes her scream in shock and pain. She falls to the floor again, and the voice, Brother Dust’s voice, speaks again, seeming to come from inside her own head.

This is the world created by GANGSTA’S PARADISE. In this space, EVERYTHING is turned on its head. Time. Space. Matter. Even reality itself. No-one has ever seen this place and lived to tell about it. But you can, Shizuka Joestar… You still have a chance. But if you reject it.... you will die here. Alone. And afraid.

Shizuka staggers to her knees and stares all around. She cannot see Dust. He is a disembodied voice, untouchable. She looks down at her leg. A shard of bone pokes out from the flesh, and blue fluid drips from the end of it. With a shivering hand, she dabs at the dark blue that runs down to her ankle.

“Is that… my blood?... but, I... why is it...?”

She is now very afraid. She does not understand what’s happening. She shivers and her breath is wild and unsteady. A familiar impulse calls out to her, one she has known since before she can remember. The urge to turn invisible. Almost beyond her control, she feels the ability take effect, ACHTUNG BABY manipulates the light around her to make her disappear.

And then a cloak of darkness covers her sight and she goes blind.

“Aaah…!!” she shrieks. “What’s happening now…?!” She grasps the air in front of her, trying to find purchase. Her fingers brush against something like a curtain, then she recoils. Still, she can’t see, but the movement of the cloth reveals to her what is standing in front of her. Brother Dust has emerged from whatever realm he disappeared into and stands before her in physical form.

Unbeknownst to Shizuka, rather than turning invisible, her body shines from within, becoming a human beacon. He stands over her and looks at his reflection in the mirror wall, touching the newly youthful portion of his face while muttering to himself.

“Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him… I must say, though, very nice,” he says, looking down at Shizuka. “It's been quite a while since I've had skin this smooth. Hey, do you think you could get the other side of my face? Just to even things out…”

“What did you do to me?!!” she yells. She keeps her fists up, but makes no attempt to lash out at her unseen enemy.

“Oh? I thought that I said so already. This is my power: GANGSTA'S PARADISE. An extraordinarily weak Stand, with no destructive power at all. All it does is put things in reverse. But don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean ‘reversing’ in the way one might rewind a video tape! GANGSTA'S PARADISE does not affect the actions themselves, but rather, the intent that drives them!”

When Shizuka doesn’t respond, he continues, “I can see you’re still confused. Allow me to instead demonstrate: I’m going to shatter that leg of yours even worse,” he declares, a dark menace entering his tone.

She senses him raising his foot, but reacts too slowly. Her mind is shuddering, the shock making her limbs slow. She feels the rush of air as Dust brings his foot and screams before he makes contact with her leg, stomping right on her exposed bone. “AAAAGHH!!”

But the strike doesn’t hurt. She feels a burning sensation in her leg, but not the white-out agony she expected. “What…?” she whispers as Dust steps away from her. When she reaches down and touches her leg, she feels the bone retracting back in place. Even the dark blue blood has returned to her veins, as she feels her leg is dry and whole.

“When you strike at someone, your intent is to cause harm,” Dust says, crouching over her, “whether with fists, blades or bullets, in your heart, you desire to cause harm to your neighbor. GANGSTA’S PARADISE turns that desire on its head: transmuting the intent to harm into an action that heals.”

“Th-that doesn’t explain the mirror world…! Or my eyes…!!!” Shizuka spits, shrinking away from the preacher.

“Places have intent as well,” Dust answers, explaining slowly as if talking to a small child. “GANGSTA’S PARADISE acts upon the space around it, resulting in this dizzying place. An impossible world, where I hold sway… As for your eyes, you mustn’t blame that on me. It’s simply your own power working against you. How pitiful…!”

“What do you mean…?”

“You need to think about it! I heard you were clever…! Did you know that you’re glowing right now?”

“Eh…?” she says, confused.

“Ah, nevermind! You’re under some stress right now. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, eventually. Let’s come back to harm and healing,” Dust stands and straightens the front of his long coat, sounding vexed. “You may ask, who in this world can attack another without harmful intent behind their actions? And what can a person do when their intentions are constantly turned on their heads? The answers are: nobody, and nothing. There is nothing you can do. Nothing except surrender, or die.”

“Wanna bet…?!” she blusters, standing up and testing the strength of her newly healed leg, but still shining and blind. “You bastard… I told you I’d kick your ass… now I’ll do it twice as hard!!!”

“My parents were happily married, thank you!” Dust laughs. “It seems you’re still too stressed to understand. You’re only alive because I allow it to be so. And I allow it because I’m trying to give you another chance.”

Dust moves away from Shizuka, pulling a little black book out of his tunic. She pants in pain, and hears the shifting of paper as he opens it up.

“How well do you know the Good Book?” Shizuka doesn’t answer, her blind eyes shut in spite of him. “Ha…! No matter. You’ll know all you’ll need to before too long.”

The old priest walks towards the mirrored wall, then stops just before his reflection and turns to face Shizuka again “One hour. That is the time you get to make a decision. You can either join my cause, or die here. I hate to waste a talent like yours, but the decision is up to you.”

As he steps backwards into the mirror, he performs the sign of the cross and recites a Latin chant. “In nomine Patris, et Fili…”

Spiritus Sancti.

Shizuka is alone again, with nothing but her frantic breath and fear. She grips her leg, healed by a punch, and squeezes it hard. She cannot see. Yet in the darkness, she sees Dust’s smirking face. She grits her teeth, feeling a black pit hollow out her insides.

And then the voice returns. It whispers right next to her, but when she throws her hand out to strike, there is nothing but air. She puts her hands to her ears, but doing so only penetrates her ears even worse, the sound seems to broadcast directly from her palms.

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

She sees him. Her eyes are blind, but she can see his face, leering at her from the infinite mirrors. The same sneer, repeated over countless lenses. Like the infinite staircases of MC Escher, imagery that boggles the mind and confuses the senses. Shizuka was trapped in this world distorted by Brother Dust, where he is lord and master.

[carrera-ffxiv]

Morning Shadows Pt. 4

Click click... clack clack... click click... clack clack… the tapping of his boots were chased by their own echo along the barren walls of the warehouse. A familiar figure knelt in the center of the room, surrounded by recently snuffed candles still faintly smoking in the dark. Wreathed in a cloak of leather and raven feathers as black as a starless sky, she waited until he was deep inside the building before acknowledging his presence; it was like she knew he was coming- like she was waiting in this dreadful place for all this time.

Crimson hair covered the Raen's left eye as she looked up to her former teacher. “Hadriel.” a sweet voice, yet laced with venom. “Such a pleasure to see you once again. Perhaps if I asked kindly, would you step aside?”

The clacking came to an end across from her. “Perhaps. Perhaps once before when I held faith in you. But faith is a gift from the Kami. And their blessing is fickle and their boon has run dry. Rina, perhaps if I asked kindly, you would stand down?” he mirrored her statement.

Rina rose to her feet and let her raven cloak slip from her shoulders to gather behind her feet. She drew a pair of kodachi from behind her hips, yet her corset and leggings were adorned in blades as well. “I will miss you.”

“I understand.” Hadriel responded flatly as his feet shifted a shoulder-width apart. His knees bent slightly and his right hand rested against the hilt of his katana.

Aetheric energies gathered forcefully to the ball of his feet. Between two heartbeats, faster than a blink, the flash of wind assaulted everything nearby once he drew from his sheath. Hadriel dashed forward like a bolt of lightning and aimed to lop Rina’s head off. He was startlingly fast, but she was faster- showering light and sparks across their faces when she parried his lethal strike. “I am no longer your student! You would do well to remember that!" Her graceful footwork let her spin and twirl, sending forth an unrelenting flurry of slashes and stabs. In here, the darkness was not Hadriel’s ally, for he was hard-pressed in parrying the blow from two weapons at the same time. Half-blinded by the constant flashing of light from their blades, he was forced on the defensive as she moved aggressively, pushing him back yalm by yalm.

She had been using the technique Hadriel started with- quick-stepping with aetherial energies to match his movement. Her left eye glowed a dazzling blue hue as she read Hadriel’s aether. Every time his flow adjusted she in turn adjusted her movement to stay one step ahead. Clash after clash, each strike met with parry as Rina stepped circles around him; it was an elegant dance of ringing blades and flashing steel.

S’era watched the tense but beautiful exchange from afar, her teal and blue eyes shimmering in the pitch black. It seemed almost as if Hadriel and Rina were performing more of a waltz than a duel, yet the tone soured and changed once Hadriel was pushed back. She held the superior eye when it came to reading aether and it bled through in their traded blows. He took the first chance he had to go on the offensive, but his katana struck nothing but dust and shadow; she had vanished into the dark, but he knew she wasn’t far. In that instant Hadriel posed a question between ragged breaths: “You’ve forced my hand Rina… why are you doing this?” he demanded, slipping his katana back into its sheath- yet his hand still remained on the hilt, ready to draw and strike with an iai technique.

She answered with only laughter bouncing off the walls and shapeless shadows. It was impossible to find her with the naked eye, but scanning his surroundings for her aether proved fruitless as well. Hadriel closed his eye and focused, following the echoes of her voice, awaiting her ambush. Then he saw her silhouette- standing along the rafter high above him. She didn’t yield an ilm while he spoke; her hands and fingers slammed together in silence, but watching her aether let him recognize the imminent danger in time- she was performing a series of mudra! “Katon!” The darkness fled before the blinding glare of surging flame! Rina would ignite the air in this warehouse to blanket the area in fire, affording him no escape!

Yet with his hands now free, Hadriel performed a mudra of his own. “Suiton.” When he touched his hilt again, his sheath dripped with seething fog and creeping frost. Rina could see the aether flow inside his body gather around his dominant arm, but it was too late to stop him. “Tenka Goken.” Out from his swinging blade came blades of ice and water, with expert twirls of his wrists Hadriel spun and flourished his katana around his body; blades of water sliced through the air and sharp metal sang the hum of subtle vibrations. The immediate fusion of a torrent of water against an overwhelming flame caused a steam explosion, catching her off guard, ripping her from the shattered rafters, and sending her to the ground- hard. 

“They’re reading each other’s aether- that’s how they’re able to guard and parry so fast… look at her left eye… she couldn’t dodge that last one because that explosion wasn’t magic- the catalyst was, but the explosion was rooted in a thermal reaction based on elements in nature. Basically he just attacked her with thermochemistry…” K’vyna whispered to S’era while they remained on the sidelines- which she was thankful for seeing as she had burned through all her mana and stamina beside. S’era pretended to listen to her, but she was still awestruck at her mentor’s skill.

Seeing her sprawled across the ground in a steaming puddle of water and dying embers gave him enough pause to stop himself from finishing her off. “Feel like talking now...?” Hadriel asked, resheathing his sword; though it wasn’t an act of confidence or certainty of outcome, rather it was the opposite- he showed his opponent the respect they deserved by going all-out, and he was preparing to strike from the sheath again. The flames pushed aside from his watery counterattack still splashed along the ground and walls, bathing her broken form in a soft orange light. Yet this building was old, and remarkably flammable; it wouldn’t be long before the gluttonous embers devoured the warehouse and stripped it down to its stone foundation.

Rina picked herself up off the ground, burns riddled her arms and the left one hung limp. Blood trickled down slowly from her forehead, running between her unblinking stare to get caught by her tongue sliding across her upper lip. For someone so injured, she seemed unusually unfazed- her hand tempered with calm and her mind reanalyzing the situation. He hadn’t underestimated her, she had underestimated him. She placed the handle of the kodachi in between her red stained teeth, grabbing the second one with her good arm. Hadriel had hoped to have knocked some of the spirit out of her, but her gaze remained resolute. Her visage spoke of a determination to see this fight to the bitter end. A warrior’s soul; she would not back down.

His voice grew soft, almost pleading, “Rina… please.”

Her assault resumed unabated. Their steel once again collided and clashed, creating flashes of light from their exchanges. With her broken arm now useless in this fight, he knew he could outlast her in this vicious stalemate. Darkness was her ally, but the dark was now gone, allowing him to adjust and endure the battle rhythm she had established. Seconds passed like minutes, and despite slowly gaining the advantage, Hadriel slowly began to realize that he had made a fatal mistake. Pieces started to fall into place as he started to figure out what was so off about the flow of the fight. The drugs that were peddled disrupted and dissipated the aether of its victims- but where did that excess of aether go? The pendant on her chest grew brighter and brighter as it drew from unseen reservoirs. Her attacks continued with renewed vigor and strength every time they reengaged. She danced about his katana, flipping and dodging ever so lightly as the blade grazed or kissed her flesh but never finding purchase.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to them both, one of their strikes found their mark. His blade held against the one in her grip, the other found its guard against his torso. Hadriel flung her sword wide with his, then moved to bash her head with the end of his hilt when she executed a quick backstep to gain distance a few fulms.

Blood spattered as he pulled the blade from his person and flung it to a far-off corner, then spit even more against the ground. He held his blade steady, ready to engage once again. She continued her unmitigated violence- seemingly gaining speed with each moment. Now even with one kodachi she seemed just as threatening as she had initially with two blades and no injuries. All the while Hadriel’s movements slowed noticeably. At first what had been deft deflections and parries seemed to gradually degrade into desperate attempts at warding off fatal blows.

She had bided her time for this moment and her patience had paid off. Finally, an opening presented itself after whittling away at his defense, draining what strength he had remained. Schlunk. A straight path and direct hit to his torso was afforded to her. For the first time since their reunion Rina’s posture broke and her hand began to tremble. “I…” her voice shattered in kind, her last words for him would be in the Doman tongue, “Sumimasen… sensei.” The sound of his katana falling to the floor rang throughout the structure.

Hadriel reached to embrace her yet his grip felt violent. In the moment Rina had accepted this gesture as a sign of desperation, and perhaps sorrow, until immense pain wracked her being and her own vital flow down her body. He had taken advantage of the situation to bite viciously at her neck and tear her flesh. Her eyes grew desperate while she staggered backwards, her only functioning hand cradling the wound by her throat in an attempt to stifle the bleeding. She fell to a knee, trying to reassess the situation as quickly as she could.

He spoke between labored breaths, “Thought I… taught you… to keep your guard up... until the very end.” A smirk wore on his features as he grabbed at the blade in his stomach, “It was only a matter of moving ever so slightly… for you to miss my vital organs… I thought you would’ve noticed.” Rather than leave the blade in to slow the bleeding, he drew it from his own gut vigorously as a shadowy figure erupted from the darkness. An odachi made of dark energies stemmed from a small staff as Carrera’s figure coalesced from shadow. Her eastern greatsword formed of dark magics aimed to split Rina’s head from her body yet was held at bay by the blade Hadriel pulled. 

“The deal was that you help me kill her.” Carrera spoke hatefully.

“I would never... abandon... one of my students... so easily.” Hadriel huffed out.

“You grew a conscience now? You who butchered countless lives more than any of us?” Carrera seemed perturbed.

During their exchange Rina managed to gain hold of the katana Hadriel had dropped and sparked their two swords apart.

“H…-how dare you…” her focus seemed on Hadriel alone, “Don’t act like some heroic knight now… you left me to fend for myself while you went on your journey for revenge. You’re disgusting.” All three had gained some distance from the others. 

Rina appeared frustrated- she had burned through the excess aether she had stolen from the victims of her grand plan to fight against Hadriel, “You who were once called the Wolf of Yanxia, have you forgotten what was done to my family? Our village?” she was holding the hilt of the blade while still trying to press her fingers against the gushing blood from her neck. “I… I needed this power to finally get revenge!” she coughed up blood as she exclaimed, “You forsook your title and gave up everything to track your prey across continents- and you gave me inspiration to do the same… and yet when I did… you stand here after taking away any hope of vengeance from me, after having gotten yours, and then you dare to play at being my savior!? No… as my last act- I will kill you both.”

Carrera’s face fell flat and her odachi formed with dark aether was held at the ready as she stared the other woman down. Her left eye shifted from a glowing crimson to a brilliant blue for but a moment before the glamour restored itself. Each of the executives seemed to carry with them that same eye. In the end Carrera was unimpressed and unmoved- her voice bore a dark intensity; “I, Carrera Blackheart of the Seventh Seat do hereby declare your life forfeit, Rina Inoue.”

[thewitchdump]

Master of Puppets

Gather around folks for the first bout of fighting in this year’s annual LNU Fighting Festival! In the first round we’ll witness a match between fan favorite Diana Cavendish and underdog Chloé Mercier!

Part of @dianacavendishisgay ‘s ZipperAU, Check out their blog for more

The gathered crowd at the Luna Nova University Arena went wild as the voice of professor Chariot Du Nord boomed through the loudspeakers of the massive structure. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you to our annual fight festival, here at LNU!”

Down below, deep in the bowels of the arena, Chariots’ voice and the following raucous cheers of the crowd were nearly completely swallowed up. Not that Diana minded. She had enough input to deal with, with that damned wire ticking away inside her, administering micro-shocks that were too small to cause harm, but just big enough to be massively irritating.

With a sigh, she rose off the bench that stood in the middle of the changing room between the rows of lockers, and stretched. “It’s almost time now.” She mused while her eyes wandered over to the clock hung above the door.

Another muffled wave of cheers confirmed her speculation. SHe closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to block out the annoying ‘tick, tick, tick’ of the wire inside her. “You got this.” she told herself. Despite her best efforts, her heart was beating faster and faster by the second. 

That beating only continued to intensify as she left the changing room and made her way out towards the field. The din of the crowd was transforming from a dull sound to something more harsh and defined with each step she took along the long concrete tunnel.

“Are you ready for the first match?!” she heard professor Chariot yell into the microphone. The way the professor was getting into, put a small smile on her face. That smile only grew as she began introducing her opponent for the match. 

“Here we go, folks! In the red corner we have a newcomer! Everybody, please welcome Chloé Mercier!” 

The sound that came reverberating down into the bowels of the arena was indescribable as the crowd roared full of excitement. Without any thought of her own, her smile only widened.

Damn the wire and it all, this is what she was here for and she would enjoy herself.

“And in the blue corner, we have one of this year’s favorites! Will she be able to keep up with everyone’s expectations, especially after last year’s semi-final upset? There is only one way to find out. Please welcome, Diana Cavendish!”

She felt the cheers of the crowd wash over her as she stepped into the light of the arena. The atmosphere was almost intoxicating, the way it buzzed with excitement and adrenaline. She tried to spot Akko and Hannah among the jubilating masses but to no avail. Then again, she didn’t really need to see them to know that they were watching.

Her opponent was already waiting for her on the field, a grim expression drawn across her features. Diana had seen her on campus a couple times before, but had never really spoken to her. The way the blonde student was looking at her set something within her on edge.

The two of them met in the middle of the arena, gazes leveled against each other. Still smiling, Diana extended her hand towards her opponent. “Let’s have a good match.”

But Chloe simply remained staring at her until she withdrew her hand. What was her problem? She didn’t have any time to think this over before professor Nelson stepped up on the platform with the pair.

“Alright ladies,” her voice had this peculiar drill sergeant quality to it that only a PE teacher could properly pull off “I wanna see a clean fight out here. No excessive force, no striking a downed opponent and most importantly, when I say ‘stop’ you stop whatever it is you’re doing right that instant. Understood?”

Both fighters nodded, their eyes locked in a fierce stare-off. 

“Alright then, Take your stances!”

Diana and Chloé both took several steps back while Nelson vacated the ring. The world seemed to be silent for a split second before the match started, the ticking of her wire and the beating of her heart the only sounds audible to her.

“START!”

Diana took a step towards her opponent, determined to land the first blow. But as soon as her foot touched the ground she froze. Her leg didn’t seem to want to obey her orders as it stayed planted where it was. Distressed, she tried to backpedal but found that she couldn't will any of her limbs to move.

“Now that’s a sight to behold. What’s the matter Cavendish? Did you suffer a sudden bout of stage fright?” A voice suddenly assaulted her ears, so loud that it seemed to be directly inside her head. 

Diana knew in an instant who that voice belonged to. “Get out of my head.” she hissed staring straight at Chloé who was favoring her with a cocky smile as she stepped closer to her immobilized opponent.

“What, are you afraid I might find something that I’m not supposed to, Danny?”

Diana redoubled her efforts to move, fury beginning to build in the back of her mind. But none of her efforts bore fruit. The only thing she achieved was sagging down to her knees.

Chloé who was now standing over her laughed inside her head, her visage twisted into a mocking parody of itself. “You know Cavendish, I have hated you from the moment I first laid my eyes on you.”

She swung her leg out behind her and gave Diana a hefty kick into her abdomen. She gagged and staggered backwards on what little strength her legs still had in them. Chloé went on “You and your little clique of friends think you’re so damn special, completely inconsiderate of anyone outside your little circle.”

“What are you-” Diana started but got cut short when Chloé hit her square in the face with a right hook.

“The great and mighty Diana Cavendish with her flock of groupies and adoring friends. Or should I call them your harem?” Diana took another fist to the face, staggering her closer and closer to the edge of the field. “Did you ever have to work for anything in your life? Did that Cavendish name come included with friends and yes-men? Do you even have any idea what it means to struggle?”

Diana was so astounded for a second that she didn’t even notice the blood running down her nose. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Chloé grabbed her by the chin and forced her head upwards to look her in the eyes again. “I’m gonna show you what struggling looks like!”

The blonde wound up for another punch with her free hand and Diana knew she probably wouldn’t remain conscious through this. At this point she had already given up trying to fight against Chloé’s block in her mind. She closed her eyes and braced for the impact

The sounds from the arena that had been drowned out by her opponent’s monologue inside her head came flooding back over her. The astounded calling of Chariot’s voice over the loudspeakers, the cheers, the shocked gasps, all of it. But one voice in particular seemed to rise above the rest. 

“Kick her ass, Danny!”

“Akko!” Diana whispered, her eyes snapping open to see Chloé’s fist only centimeters from her face. With no time to think her body simply reacted on its own. The arena suddenly was blinded by a flash of lightning, followed by an incredibly loud thunder crack.

Chloé staggered back with a surprised yelp, as the crowd fell silent, mirroring the blonde’s surprise. Diana felt the pressure on her mind fall off to zero in an instant. A smile returned to her face as she rose to her feet, blocking out the pain from her stomach and face.

Her opponent stared at her in shock, cradling her lightning scarred arm. “W-what did you j-just do?”

Now it was Diana’s turn to stride towards her adversary with a cocky smile on her lips. “Oh, not much. I put the positive and negative terminals for a discharge onto my face.”

Chloé staggered back, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “N-no, stay away!”

Diana, now bearing a smile not too dissimilar from Chloé’s just moments before began charging towards her staggered foe with her arms swung out behind her.

“NO!” Chloé screamed as Diana brought her hands together on either side of her head.

“STOP!”

She froze for the second time that match as Nelson's voice boomed out over the arena. Chloé had her fixed in a wide-eyed stare, feeling the electricity emanating from Diana’s palms stand the hairs on her head. She heard the hum of electricity ready to arc over; she smelt the ozone tang of ionizing air around her.

“You know what’s funny?” Diana asked, keeping her hands in position next to Chloé’s head. “You got inside my head and yet you still know absolutely nothing about me.”

She finally withdrew her arms and let the built up charge dissipate from her palms. She used her jacket sleeve to wipe off her bloody nose.

Nelson, who had stepped back into the Arena, made a wide gesture with her arms in Diana’s general direction. “The winner of the first match by TKO is Diana Cavendish!”

Diana let her eyes wander across the wildly cheering crowd as she took in the applause. Chloé took that opportunity to slink off and get some medical attention for her arm without so much as a word to Diana.

Her eyes finally came to rest on two people in the crowd who seemed to be almost jumping out of their seats at the outcome of the first fight. Even from this distance it was hard to mistake Hanna and Akko for anyone else. Waving in the general direction of her two biggest fans she whispered to herself “Thanks you two. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

[frightknights-n-monstergirls]

Wishmaster/Male!Reader

This one is long. I was feeling like a boy and wrote this.

Word Count: 2766

Mentions: Alcohol, drugs, gay sex, and a slight mention of piss, but no watersports or bathroom play! Shape shifting.

“Oh fuck…” You choke out as your hips rock into the warm mouth swallowing your cock. You swear you feel claws lightly scratch at the back your thighs as you buck a bit too roughly. A groan vibrates you earning a pitchy cry wanting to speed up your thrusts, but large hands keep you from moving too much. A clever tongue tickles around your shaft as lips drag themselves to the cusp of the tip. A prick of sharp teeth where the flat edge of front ones should be. Was your partner wearing fake fangs? That thought is pushed away as a confident suck has you focus on your dick again. The pleasure of someone sucking you in a darkened room, you never thought this would ever happen to you.

 Your mind is still fuzzy from the alcohol you guzzled not too long ago. You barely remember anything leading up until this point. However, you do recall red irises on a man you met. He was very charming and dashing, you blush at the memory of him complimenting your handsome features. The guy even bought you several rounds of drinks at the bar, including the last few establishments you and your new friend went to. One, the one with all the glow-in-the-dark paintings, had some pretty slapping music to which you felt obliged to dance.

‘Oh shit.’ You gasp as the mouth sucks the entirety of your cock in as you think back on the last thing you can remember. A woman, a pretty little thing in nothing more in what could be described as a neon bikini. Dark hair in two tight buns to show off her glowing makeup under black light. Lips were a sickly green color as they smiled at you. Your eyes drifted to her breasts as they bounced to the beat looking like they wanted to slip out of her pink bra. She had swallowed a little white pill with a giggle before placing another on her tongue. The girl had rushed forward slamming her lips to yours slipping you the pill. In a panic, you gulp it down tasting the chalkiness of it and the sting of whatever she was drinking. She grins up at you before moving on to another person who walked in.

Your friend had found you with specks of neon on his dark suit. You barely hear him when he asked if you were okay his teeth glowing in a blue color from how white they are. You notice red in his eyes for the first time tonight. You had to blink several times before everything was normal again, or so you thought. Colors were beginning to pop more, the music didn’t sound too chaotic anymore, and your body was floating. You groan hunching over placing your hands on your knees, the softness of your pants got your attention. Everything was starting to feel better, more pleasurable.

Your friend is a little concerned as you started to rub your thighs. Little contact like this was so damn good. He takes your wrist to lead you to the bar and ordered a whole bottle of liquor. You down the first shot expressing how delicious it was, then you took eight more. Your friend drank way more than you, but you were jealous at how he didn’t seem drunk at all. That’s when you blacked out.

“Hey!” An annoyed, deep, menacing voice calls you back to the present. It’s your friend on his knees having your dick in his fist looking slightly pissed. “I’m fulfilling your wish and you’re not even here!” He practically growls in normal human voice, that same red you saw earlier flashes in his eyes. You hiss as he gives your shaft a threatening squeeze, “Thinking of someone else?”

“I-“ You about to start, but he rises to his feet. His crimson tie is missing showing that he had unbuttoned the first four buttons of his black shirt. His nicely toned body peeking through the opening in all the right ways.

“You want that girl.” He smirks with a huff his eyebrows knitting close together. His expression could have easily been an evil expression, if it weren’t for the fact that he was sucking your dick not even a minute ago. “She was a pretty number, wasn’t she?”

You were about to interject when he changed. You gasp as his visage morphed into the girl in the club. You jolt backwards to try to hop away only for your back to hit a wooden wall. You look around finally noticing you are in a wooden box with a bench. Are you in an outhouse? You didn’t get the chance to ask as your friend, now the girl from the club, climbed up on the bench placing platform heels on either side of your seated form until their groin is right in front of your face.

She/He pulled on the tie of their bikini bottom letting it fall away. A bare pussy greets you, slick with arousal and pulsing. You immediately think the worst and prepare for a warm filthy shower closing your eyes. Instead you hear wet sounds coupling with soft sighs. You curiously open your eyes to see your friend playing with their clit. Two fingers rub circles on the heated flesh rocking into the hand. You peer up at their face unsure what to do. Their eyes are half lidded with their plump lips parted uttering groans and sighs staring down at you.

Your mouth his salivating at the sight of this beautiful pussy being pleasured in front of you. Your nose bumps into their hand edging closer. You groan smelling the musky aroma of the dripping juices. Your dick is now twice harder than it was before, straining to feel some friction. Their hand moves away before hips thrust into your face. You gladly lick the opening while grinding your nose into their clit. Their moans are loud as they hold on to your head, fingers clawing into your hair.

“Fuck, fuck…” They moan rocking onto your face, “Wanted a nice wet cunt, huh? You couldn’t cum without having some old-fashioned pussy, could you?”

Your face heated up to a new degree, you felt it travel down your neck and passed your ears. Your tongue plunged into them earning a high-pitched wail. Damn, they were loud. Their hips worked themselves faster on your face, you didn’t need to do any work, but you move your tongue out of curtesy. Your friend moved to where you can suck on their clit. You planted open mouthed kisses on their button reaching for your neglected dick.

“Na-uh.” They lightly kick your arm back and pin it with their shin, “Not yet.”

You groan wrapping your lips around their clit sucking ever so lightly. Your friend keens head lolling to the side back arching. Their clit becomes a thick slimy dick shooting into your mouth gagging you. You look up nearly screaming at the sight. A tall muscular demon is standing over you shoving their dick down your throat. Claws dig into your scalp as he continues to pound into your mouth. You fling your hand to where you assume his balls should be to find a warm wet crevice. He has a pussy too? You slip two fingers in curling them like you were trying to hit a G-spot. The demon roars hips stuttering as he cums in your mouth. You sputter nearly choking on the fluid gliding down your throat.

He pants pulling away from your face, dick slipping out with a wet pop. You cough a little not enjoying the foreign taste in your mouth. It wasn’t like any cum you have ever swallowed, it was thick and salty sweet in an earthy way. You look down at your dick, it’s still very hard and wanting attention.

“What the hell, man?” You blurt up at the demon who was getting down from the bench. “You didn’t tell me you were… this!”

“Actually,” The demon’s voice is deep and regal in a pseudo British accent. He grabs the wine bottle that was sitting on the floor, “I did.”

“What? When?” You blanch at him waving your hands around in a fuss.

“At the club, after you took the pill from that girl.” He states taking a hardy swig from the bottle. “You don’t remember, do you?” You shake your head, hand creeping to your hard cock to grasp the base with two fingers. He doesn’t notice as he heaves a heavy sigh, “I told you that I’m a djinn and I can grant you any wish. You said,” His voice mimics yours, “‘That’s crazy! I wish you would give me that wildest sex ever then!’”

That sounds like me, you listen as this djinn finishes the bottle. You notice the fine toned muscles on him starting with the chest and working your way down to his things. You bet they would feel so good should they straddle your hips. Your hands would slowly run up them to grab a handful of his flank to bounce him on your cock. Your hardness twitches at the thought regaining the want once again.

“I still need to fulfill my end of the bargain.” The djinn chuckles eyeing your dick like a piece of meat. You hope he’s not going to suck you off again, you saw his teeth. He changes back into the form he first met you with minus his pants. “Would you like to be on top?”

“Actually,” You blush with a firm grip on your cock, “Can you ride me? In your real form?”

He seems surprised at your request, but it is your wish he’s fulfilling. He shrugs before turning back to his true form. You move your hands and lean back a bit for him to straddle your hips easier. You rest your hands on his thighs as he takes your dick in his palm. He lefts up enough to guide you into his opening. It’s not as wet as it was before, but it is still moist enough to not be painful. You feel your head push into a slick heat, you sigh rubbing the djinn’s thighs in a circular motion. He sinks down on your length with a grunt.

You gasped at the feeling of being inside a djinn. It was like any other human hole you stuck your dick in, it constricted around you, pulsing with uncertainty at the intrusion. However, it was almost unbearably warm. You steadied your breathing so that you can get used to the heat using your thumbs to draw patterns on the djinn’s skin. You peer up at him noticing that he had been very still and had placed his arms on either side of you head, hands flat against the wall.

“Are you okay?” You question taking in gulps of air, trying not to wiggle too much.

“Fine.” He grits out taking a few breaths himself wincing whenever he adjusts himself, “Just been a while.” You don’t question any further waiting patiently for him to feel ready to continue. “And not to inflate your ego,” He straightens his back taking one hand off the wall, “You’re the biggest human cock, I’ve taken.”

Before the swell of pride blooms in your chest, the djinn moves his hips. You let out a rough sigh from within your chest as he bounces on your dick. Soon enough, moans fall from your lips as the djinn works you. Your hands travel up to his waist allowing your arms to move with him until you use the leverage to slam him back down. The djinn barks a confused ‘Uh’ as you continue the action for him to ride you harder. He’s back to being loud again and his once flaccid cock is bobbing upright in rigid attention.

“D-damnit,” The djinn curses as the new pace is set. You groan watching his dick wave up and down a few drops of precum landing on your shirt. You grip his length giving some twisting jerks in time with your own cock. The djinn lets out a string of curses in a language you never heard before as he grits his sharp teeth. You feel his pussy pulse even harder now, more frequently, you figured he was close to cumming.

“Aw yeah,” You mumble groan, thrusting upwards in a brutal pace once the djinn began to slow down, “Come on, baby. Come on, cum for me. Cum on my human cock.” That seemed enough for him. With an elongated bellow, the djinn comes with a weak stream of white and clenching on your cock in a hot vice. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck-“ You chant keeping him still as you curl on yourself losing your pace to chase your own climax. You finally push yourself over that edge getting enough momentum to reach up and clamp your teeth on the djinn’s neck. A shout set off another round of clenching from the djinn’s pussy as you empty yourself into him. Was that a third orgasm?

Your moans are muffled as hot fluid leaks into your mouth, you must have bitten down hard enough to break skin. The djinn is whining as he feels your seed enter him leaning forward to rest his forehead on the wall behind you. You release your teeth from his throat groaning as you pull him to your body, dick spent and flops out with a wet sound.  You lick his wound as it heals itself under your tongue. The djinn rests himself seating himself on your full bladder. You ignore the pain in favor of savoring the moment.

The djinn pulls away getting off you to stand up. You groan lowly seeing your cum leak out him, dick slightly twitching. He turns into the human you met at the beginning of the night fixing his shirt, but his dick is still out.

“Later, maybe somewhere where there won’t be people in a couple hours.” He smirks seeing how you’re getting hard again. He swoops down to nab the empty wine bottle before opening the door and stepping out.

You stuff your half chub into your pants before following the djinn out. Your jaw falls open upon seeing where the two of you are. A pearly white church with rows of pews, the moonlight casting a majestic glow into the large echoing room. Heat returns to your face as you cannot believe what you just did, with a djinn! You shakily step out of the room turning around to see where you two fucked. Of course, it would be the confession booth! You slowly look to find the djinn who had walked some ways away but had stopped. You were about to joke about how he wasn’t supposed to be on hallowed ground until you heard it. A faint whizzing sound that was muffled somewhat, you lean to the side to witness him using the wine bottle. So that’s why his dick was out. Your own bladder ached for release as you tried not to listen. Once he was finished, the djinn looked around spotting the table where he took the wine from and placed the bottle back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shout at him, your voice twice its volume due to the room. You slap both hands over your mouth upon hearing it. In a quieter voice, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh come on!” The djinn tilted his head with his hands up in surrender, “I’m a djinn! You really expect me to have some respect for this place? And you’re one to talk! You pissed on the front steps and almost jacked off to the Virgin Mary!”

“Hey! I can see why God knocked her up! Jesus’s mom has it going on!”

The two of you stared at each other in silence before erupting into laughter. Tears form in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. The djinn’s back is arched back giving full belly laughs rubbing his face in mirth. You both settle down trying to catch your breath.

“I, uh,” You chuckle rubbing the back of your neck with a sheepish smile. “I forgot your name.”

The djinn chuckles back saying his name in a rough sounding language. You stare at him, unsure if you should try to pronounce it back. He sighs pinching the bridge of his nose, “Verdel. Steven Verdel.”

“Nice to meet you. Again.” You blush reaching out for a handshake, the djinn takes it with a half-smile. “So, uh, my place or yours?”

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

thirteen - ashes to ashes

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

ON A BLOODY altar at Apollo's feet is a dead eagle. A clear warning from Hera's corrupt priestess, but far from enough to dissuade the Eagle Bearer from his cause. "We must be getting close," Alexios announces.

An infant's cry pierces the silence and Irene immediately sets off. The cries emanate from a temple not far from the forest altar. Not thinking about the possibility of a trap, she moves forward. Alexios catches a glint of dark steel in the dying light of the sun and grips onto Irene's waist and pulling her behind a tree. "Cultist guards," he whispers. Then he is gone -moving through the underbrush toward the temple with sword and spear in hand.

He moves like Achilles. Distracted, the princess doesn't notice the brute until he is upon her. She twists out of the way and out of his spear's reach, then retaliates with a flurry of slashes. Yet is unable to move quickly enough to avoid being struck by the point of his kopis. A quick burst of white-hot pain erupts in Irene's thigh. She ducks beneath the man's arm and thrusts the broken spear through his neck, twisting the hilt until he falls to his knees -limp.

The cries of the baby grow louder. Alexios eyes' dart between the final vanguard, the temple, and Irene. She sees his hesitation and motions toward the temple. "I can handle this!" Irene tells him and the Eagle Bearer nods, darting toward the temple doors.

The princess looks up at the Cultist guard. He's at least two heads taller with dark steel armor and a heavy shield. His face hidden behind a helmet and fearsome mask molded in the visage of a bearded man. The vanguard laughs as he tosses aside his shield thinking it will be an easy fight. "I'll crush your pretty skull!" He goads, taking a lumbering stride –swinging a battleax in a wide arc.

Irene steps back then dashes forward, sliding between his legs and popping up behind him. She drops her sword and thrusts the broken spear up into the unprotected skin beneath his arm with both hands until the point pushes through flesh and cloth, rising out of his shoulder. He howls, arm falling lame and stumbles on his feet. The princess is unable to pull the spear free before he turns. She recollects her sword with a cruel smile. It's been weeks since she felt the thrill of battle rush through her veins.

The guard drops the battleax and struggles to free his sword. She dodges the first sloppy swing and ducks underneath the next, nimble as a nymph. "Stay still so I can kill you!" The brute growls. Irene stops in front of the guard, her blade lowered. When the guard lifts his arm to strike, she lunges forward -ripping the spear from under his arm in a violent spray of blood and plunges her sword into the gap between his armor and mask.

Pulling the blade back, Irene watches blood sluice down the dark steel arm. The guard claws at his open neck for only a second then falls back to the ground, unmoving. Sheathing both sword and spear, she's caught off-guard by the smell of smoke and hollow silence.

Smoke and flames spill out from the temple when she opens the doors. "Alexios?" There's a shadowy figure moving through the smoke. He exits the flames carrying the crying babe and gingerly places it in Irene's arms, his sight entirely focused in the direction Chrysis had escaped to.

"Stay here," he utters and she nods looking down at the baby in her arms. Alexios disappears into the shadows. As Irene begins to rock the babe, its cries quiet down then stop completely when she begins humming softly.

"My son!" A woman exclaims. The princess looks over the woman and passes the child to her, unsure if it is the right decision. "Where is Chrysis?" The woman asks, glancing around hoping to see the priestess who promised to cure her son.

Irene frowns. "She lit the temple on fire with your son inside!" And Alexios.

"Chrysis is a priestess of Hera!" The woman shrieks, clutching the babe to her breast. He had begun crying again at the raised voices. "She does what needs to be done!"

Throwing her hands up, Irene shakes her head -disbelieving. "She left your baby to burn alive!" The woman grows silent and looks down at her son, unharmed save for the scent of smoke in his swaddling. With a slow breath, the woman offers her thanks and leaves down the path she came.

When Alexios returns Irene knows Chrysis is dead. Among the first of many Cultist that will fall on the broken spear of Leonidas. They make camp next to a stream near the burned temple. Come the morn they will return to the Adrestia and continue on the journey to find his mother.

Irene rolls onto her side -back toward Alexios and tentatively touches the tender spot on her thigh. The blue linen of her chiton is both stiff and damp. In the light of the stars, the princess sees blood on her fingertips.

A long shadow approaches her. "Up," Alexios says after being nigh silent since he returned.

"Not now," Irene laments, waving him away. It is late, and she is tired after a trying day that has presented more questions than answers.

"Up," he says again. Sluggish, she rises and frowns at the thick branch he places in her hands. Alexios knows Irene is a capable fighter -but she relies too heavily on the shadows. "Stealth will not always be your ally," he tells her, swinging his branch toward her torso.

Irene parries his first strike and circles away from him, keeping her mock-sword in motion -continually changing her guard and stance the way Hydarnes had taught her. Alexios slashes down at her head and she counters -raising the stick high and striking horizontally. Her blow offsets his and the edge of the stick scrapes against his cheek.

She thrusts the stick toward his throat, the same way she would've her spear. Alexios catches the stick, pulls it from her grasp and uses them both to knock her to the ground. The princess glares at him. You fall, you die. Knocking away his hand, she stands with renewed vigor. This time their movements are more akin to a dance. Each striking and gliding out of the way but the match ends no better. After landing a blow to Alexios' shoulder, he trips Irene and is quick to place the stick at her chest. A killing blow.

When Irene rises again, it's clear she is irritated. Her movements carry more force and come faster. He sidesteps a swing but doesn't anticipate her sleight of hand. The stick cracks against his side. Alexios drops down to one knee with a grunt and turns -the stick thwacks against Irene's thigh -striking the same place the cultist guard had. Her concentration falters at the burst of pain, and Alexios knocks her to the ground with his shoulder.

She looks up at him, chest heaving and sweat beading on her brow. "I've killed you thrice now," he says, pointing the stick at her throat. Irene lashes out in frustration, throwing him off balance and flat onto the ground. She leaps at the opportunity and twists his arm backward, pinning his head between her thighs in a vise grip. Alexios struggles, taken aback. "Point taken," he gasps, gripping onto her upper thigh with his free hand -something warm coats his fingers.

She lets him up then pulls her knees up to her chest. "I'm not opposed to sparring," she tells him, "just not tonight."

He holds his hand up for both of them to see in the dim firelight. Blood coats his fingertips and when Alexios looks over her he sees the blood trickling down her leg. "Malákas," he curses, "you're hurt."

"I'm fine," Irene grits out, hiding the stained patch of linen with her arm. She'd managed with far worse wounds before.

Alexios shakes his head and moves closer to her, he feels guilty for not realizing she'd been injured sooner. "I don't understand why those gifted in healing ignore themselves," he muses. Every physician he's ever come across shows selflessness on the verge of self-neglect. Irene almost laughs at how true his observation is. She stretches out her leg and pulls the hem of the chiton up past the injury. It's a small gash struggling to scab over.

Shivers creep down her spine when his fingers brush over her heated skin -damp cloth wiping away dried and fresh blood alike. She disguises the involuntary shudder as a wince and doesn't understand why every time they touch it feels like her body in burning from within. "Sorry," Alexios breaths, thinking the calluses on his rough hands are the cause of her discomfort.

"No," the princess lies, "it's not you."

He takes the clean strip of linen binding his sister's baby blanket and places it over the cut, gently wrapping it around her thigh. It is the least he can do after she'd treated his wounds in Athens so diligently. "How about we make a deal?" Alexios proposes, hand still lingering on her thigh. "We won't hide injuries from one another."

Irene searches his face, finding herself drawn to his eyes -they reflect the warmth of the fire and are flecked with gold. "Deal," she concedes.

IN THE DISTANCE a pirate ship is aflame and sharks feast before the Aegean can claim the corpses and vessel. The Eagle Bearer's crew had made short work of the would-be robbers and now he stood back at the helm of the Adrestia polishing off the blood staining the blade of his sword and spear.

"He fights like a demon dressed as a man! Like Achilles himself!" Barnabas exclaims and the crew chants his name. Rumors were quickly spreading across the Grecian mainland and islands of the misthios with an eagle and broken spear. A legendary warrior many said. Others claim he is a demigod or descended from ancient heroes.

Alexios shakes his head and glimpses Irene from the corner of his eye -sharpening the edge of a dagger. He's found something far more impressive. "But have you ever met a princess with a body count, Barnabas?" Alexios realizes his mistake as soon as the word leaves his lips. When he turns, Irene is standing behind him, arms crossed and face twisted with anger.

Barnabas glances between her and the commander and understanding dawns on him. "Princess!" He cries in surprise, never thinking his old ship would see a royal seafarer. Though now that the captain looks over her again, he can make out the features of Persian nobility. Barnabas stoops down in obeisance and Irene's cheeks grow hot. The other lieutenants and crew members look up at her with wide eyes, their mouths agape.

"Sorry," Alexios mutters, hand nervously rubbing at the skin on the back of his neck. He feels like a fool. She accepts his apology with a curt nod, but still storms off to the opposite end of the ship.

Herodotus is only amused by the scene unfolding. He had been among the first to discern her lineage –before even Perikles would ever confide such a secret in others. People whispered she bore an uncanny likeness to the Persian princess, Amytis –taken before her time– and with good reason. "Her mother was Amytis of Persia," the historian explains, though the historian does not know of Irene's father save rumors.

"By the gods," Barnabas exclaims, still in disbelief, "I saved a princess!"

Alexios gives Irene time to herself before he steps up next to her –still plagued with the guilt of letting a secret like hers slip past his lips so carelessly. He opens his mouth to apologize again, but Irene is quick to avoid the topic. Apologies cannot bring back anonymity, no matter how sincere they are. "You say this Xenia is a pirate?" She inquires.

He nods, crossing his arms. "That is what Aspasia told me."

Irene thinks she remembers Aspasia mentioning Xenia before, but she cannot recall for what purpose. The pirate general commanded a fleet of ships from Keos. She turns to Alexios. "I don't think she'll take kindly if we accidentally sink one of her ships." The princess can only hope the bireme they encountered earlier did not belong to this Xenia.

[jacksonroseroth]

Sneak Peek ~ Ivar

A/N: SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I think I’ve done a thing? Not sure where it’ll lead but I wanted to get your guys’ opinions on it?! :D It’s just a short scene that popped into my head and I’m all about it now! 

Feel free to leave a comment if you’d like. Like I said, I’m not sure where it’s gonna go, this is how my stuff usually starts; Random scenes and ideas. Lol.

~

Kaisa followed the cripple up the mountain, keeping herself at a distance and blended into the trees, hiding in her brown cloak, her dark curls tucked into the hood. As Ivar crawled across the mountaintop leaving nowhere else for her to hide, he pulled himself up on to the rock, gazing out over the visage of Kattegat, tears now flowed freely down his face as he muttered under his breath, lowering his head slightly before it whipped back, a gut-wrenching scream ripping from his mouth. Kaisa had only just emerged from among the trees, stopping dead in her tracks and her head shooting up. Ivar liked to hide his emotions; On more than one occasion, she caught him in the forest sobbing over something, usually Sigurd was the cause. But with his loss of both his mother and his father, there was no telling what he would do if he caught her following him.

Though, as Ivar’s screams filled the stillness of the bleak day, he cried, mourning his loss and cursing the gods. Once his screams quieted and his sobs replaced them, Kaisa felt safe enough to move. Slowly, watching her steps, she made her way among the rocks, inching her way closer to Ivar. Stealing a momentary glance at him to make sure his back was still turned, she misstepped and her foot slid on the side of a rock, causing her to fall with a yelp, catching herself as her hand scraped along the rock. She hissed in pain, hoping she was low enough that Ivar couldn’t see her, should the sound alert him, and held her hand as thin lines of blood began to streak across her palm. She sighed and looked up, giving another yelp and falling backward as she came face to face with Ivar looming over her.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed, lowly and absolutely enraged. Kaisa’s breath hitched as she began to scramble back, Ivar slowly dragging himself closer, one hand at a time.

“Ivar. Ivar, please, I-I meant no harm-” Kaisa said softly, her eyes pleading with him. Ivar was practically seething as his eyes glowed, glaring at her.

“Who do you think you are, woman?! Following me?!” Ivar bellowed, crawling a little faster now. Kaisa couldn’t seem to find her footing to stand and run, constantly tripping over her cloak as she scurried backward.

“Please! Ivar! I am sorry, but I just wanted-”

“Wanted what?!” He shouted. “I’ve seen you snaking around with Sigurd! You’re his little bitch, aren’t you?! Spying on me?! To report back to him that his little brother was a blubbering mess over Mummy?!”

“Sigurd is a snake, I would never be caught in his company!” Kaisa shouted, halting her crawl and glaring back at him. “If you saw me with him, it was because he caught me trying to avoid him!”

Ivar froze when she shouted back at him, stunned anyone but his family daring to do so. He listened to her words and sneered at her, slowly slinking up to her, now that she had some courage and had stopped trying to get away. He gave a soft chuckle, looking her over as he dragged himself up to her, stopping mere inches from her face. Running his lip over his bottom lip slightly, and with another chuckle, he said, “Then what is it you are doing here, Kaisa?”

Kaisa huffed at him, softly, and said, “I was concerned for you, Ivar. Ever since you returned from England and the funeral, you have not been yourself.”

“You’re concerned? For me?” Ivar said with a mock shock. Kaisa rolled her eyes and sighed, shifting to lean her elbows on the rocks behind her. He pressed a hand to his chest, shifting his weight onto the other that leaned on a rock beside her. “I am touched, Kaisa. Truly, I am.”

“Fuck you, Ivar. My concern is true.” Kaisa spat, making Ivar drop the facade and chuckle. He hovered over her for a few more minutes before he finally rolled his eyes and moved past her, crawling into the treeline, heading back to town.

~

Let me know what you guys think! As of right now it’s just a scene and it might not pan out, but let me know! :D

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