#well at least bringing a vampire back is easier thaN- WAIT IS SHE A *FUCKING WEREPIRE*

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

@what-if-i-just-did hey so yknow how my meta postcanon garbage fire is built off what the actors are doing?

hm..... welp.

anyway claire novak girlies go see abigail there’s a bit in it where kathryn newton is in a situation that made me go “oh i know she wishes she could have done this in her claire spin off show”

[chaoticbardlady99]

She’s Not Acid Nor Alkaline (Astarion x F! Pirate Captain OC) Chapter 2

Synopsis: The Heroes of Baldur’s Gate experience their first battle at sea in their adventure to bring Karlach back from the Hells.

CW: mentions of violence, NSFW cause these are two horny mofos (not a lot though- the next chapter is gonna be spicy as hell though)

Author note: I’m sorry this took so long! I am finally not horribly depressed and not sleeping at all due to work stress! I’ll be posting more for this story, starting a Master Vampire reader x astarion fic, and I have a lot of chapters written for my Trans Female Tav, Keeley, and Astarion that I am so excited to post! My goal is to get everything onto my new AO3 sometime this week! Oh and part 4 of I Wondered If I Could Come Home is almost complete 😈

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for your patience!

Part 1:

Chapter 2: Valkur’s Aasimar

Calypso is forever grateful to Lucifer for taking over the night time duties so Calypso can actually rest. It doesn’t make the early morning wake up any easier, but it helps. She loves her cabin and she loves the peace it provides.

The bed frame is built into the wall so that she doesn’t slide around everywhere as the ship continues to sail and there’s a washtub nailed down in one corner. Her desk and map table are equally as glued to the floor.

Calypso watched (and was an unfortunate victim of) her mother’s lack of ‘safety’ precautions when she was a captive on her ship. She was often run over by her mother’s bed or her desk- left for hours underneath them- when her mother had no use for her.

It’s been 60 years since Duke Ravenguard helped Calypso secure her freedom, but there had still been 90 years of torture and misuse. If her mother wasn’t absorbing every last drop of power from her bones- she was starving her, beating her into submission, waterboarding her, etc, etc. It’s not a reality that Calypso misses.

The soft glow of the morning sun outlining the shadows of Astarion’s face is a much better world to wake up in.

If Lucifer helps make waking up easier, then Astarion does not help- in fact the man makes it damn near impossible to leave her bed at all. She doesn’t want to have to untangle her limbs from his or wait for another 8 or 9 odd hours before she can be like this with him again.

Astarion had managed to keep her in bed later than usual over the last five days. The minute she so much as moves a muscle- Astarion has her underneath him writhing and begging for release or he’s fucking into her slowly, stealing all the air out of her lungs. It’s invigorating to say the least and her body sings under his attentive touch.

The more she learns about him, the more Calypso adores him. Astarion had opened up about his life pretty quickly after a bad trance. Supposedly one of his victims’ faces had been replaced with hers and he handed her over to Cazador. He was struggling to accept that the reality was different- that Calypso is well and truly alive in his arms. The man had been borderline inconsolable in the aftermath of the twisted memory, but Calypso had managed to coax him out of the fog and back to her.

Astarion even experienced Calypso at her worst- jealous. He learned very quickly that she wasn’t going to deal with that. When he had knocked on her door with his tail between his legs, Calypso made sure to answer and let him in wearing her skimpiest outfit- a nude, see through corset bralette and a pair of lacy nude panties. His apology ended with him eating her out on top of her map table- one of her maps needs to be replaced entirely after the affair.

She always made sure he actually wanted to engage in these activities with her- especially after learning about his history. Astarion assured her that he would let her know if he didn’t or if he needed to stop and he did. Astarion had only wanted to pleasure her that night and the rest of the night was spent just enjoying each other’s company.

Astarion will spend time with her throughout the day as well and his company is very welcome. Lucifer is usually taking his turn to sleep throughout the morning and into the evening so Calypso doesn’t have to worry about the two of them bickering.

Astarion has begun to ask her questions about the ship, how to be a Helmsman, commands, language, so on and so forth. He’s a very good student- picking it all up impressively fast. Calypso has let him man the ship (under supervision of course) as they made their way to the first stop.

Caer Callidyrr isn’t Calypso’s favorite doc to stay at, but they need to dock The Chimera and take a smaller ship into the Hells. The Chimera isn’t large, but it won’t be able to navigate safely through Stygia. Only Calypso and Lucifer will be traveling with the group of adventurers. With Callidyrr being only hours ahead of them, Calypso is confident they will make it before sunrise- provided there aren't any unexpected obstacles.

Which always seems to happen no matter how many times Calypso plans her routes out or how careful she is to avoid crossing paths with the Cult of Umberle or the Cult of Water. Now there are at least 8 Cult of Water ships heading in their direction.

Calypso isn’t paying attention to the frantic looks on the faces of Astarion and his companions as they realize they are about to be engaged in their first open water battle. She wants to reassure them (more so Astarion) that it’s going to be just fun, but there isn’t any time for that right now.

“I need Chain shots loaded- NOW!” Calypso shouts and her night crew sprints up from below the deck to join for the coming battle.

“They are chasing us at full sail, Calypso,” Lucifer’s voice holds an edge of aggression, “I’d prefer to not have a full blown battle on the Sh-“

“Yes Lucy,” she says with a wave of her hands, “I’m aware of what you would prefer and I’m working on it.”

Calypso climbs up the stairs and leans over the railing of the helm.

“Alright- we need the ship to come about! Wizards, warlocks- basically anyone who can cast gusts of wind- take position on the quarterdeck ,” she shouts, the crew shouts in understanding.

“Anyone else,” Lucifer yells, “split yourselves into two groups- I want some of you below deck readying the canons and the Chase gun! The other half- ready your bows and arrows and be prepared to fire when we are 3 fathoms away from the other ship!”

Lucifer looks up at Calypso and gestures to their guests- she raises an eyebrow.

“They all know what their capabilities are,” she states, “if they wish to travel on this ship then they need to protect it too.”

The looks of absolute dread on all of their faces is almost comical. They really have no faith in her! How hurtful.

“Well- then you heard the Captain,” Lucifer says with far too much gratification, “get to your assignments.”

“Careful, Lucy,” Calypso warned, “you sound so happy I may make you go below deck to help and let the Dragonborn be my first mate.”

Tav beamed, “I’m so glad I’m your first pick.

Astarion pouts up at Calypso and she flashes him a teasing grin before blowing him a kiss. Calypso stands on the rail and addresses the crew one final time.

“Oh,” Calypso clears her throat, “and may I remind you sorry lot that dead men tell no tales- so let’s try to make it out of this one alive- savvy?”

Everyone races to their positions. The laughter and the energy is infectious. Calypso isn’t worried a single bit and she watches the tension ease from Lucifer’s shoulders. He rarely thinks she takes anything seriously, but Calypso does. She is equally as protective of her crew and her guests- it’s not about her or the ship’s safety for her. Calypso has a special group of individuals aboard her group- her main crew consists of runaway slaves from Calimport, ex-Lolth sworn Drows who remain below deck until the night time and operate the canons, Half-Orcs who have been ostracized, Dhampirs who were abandoned at birth (Calypso would come across them and the crew worked together to raise them), etc. They aren’t a ragtag group of scummy pirates- they are all survivors who are standing together.

Well, except for the contract workers. Fuck those entitled pricks.

She jots back to the Helm- waiting for the exact moment to turn the ship.

The minute red and green flares go up in the air- the ship goes flying forward with the assistance of the many magic users casting gusts of wind on the sails. Calypso turns into the sudden rush of air allowing the ship to circle into position where it can slam the side of the other boats.

Calypso closes her eyes and takes a deep breath- letting the smell of the ocean water fill her senses. She imagines a storm surrounding the ship hurtling towards them- the waves thrashing them around and consuming them whole.

The thunder cracks the peaceful sound of the air before the dark clouds even begin to sweep across the sky- the water underneath her rumbles it’s war cry and Calypso allows Valkur’s power to consume her- like him, she can commandeer any ship, walk through water, control the weather, navigate through every storm unscathed, call upon Orca’s, etc. The best part though? No ship she sails on is able to sink- ever.

Then she hears Wyll scream, “HOLY SHIT!”

She looks over with a smile- her good friend, Hesjing, must have missed her enough to make an appearance. Or he’s just really hungry. Most likely he is really hungry and her targets make for easy prey considering they end up floundering in the ocean.

The massive Sea Wyvern goes flying over their heads and laying chaos to the ships- their flags going up in flames and the chaos keeps them from changing direction in time.

“NOW!!!!!”

The ship lurches forward in the water with the support of the extra wind and Calypso’s magic as Calypso prepares to ram into the 4 ships in the back of the line.

The bow crashes with an ear shattering noise through the first, second, and third ship. Hesjing takes one of the ships down in the front of the line. The world is full of smoke and flames- Calypso barely sees the four remaining ships beginning to form a circle to trap them in.

“GRAB ON TO SOMETHING!”

The command roars through the air as it’s repeated by the whole crew upon the deck. She takes one glance at Astarion- trying to remind herself not to get caught up in whatever emotions he is feeling.

Calypso is surprised to see the pure adrenaline in his posture and in the shadows of his face. There isn’t a single ounce of fear to be seen. She can’t help the smile that crosses her face. Poor Tav looks absolutely green and is holding onto Astarion’s arm for support. She’ll have to make sure to pick up something for sea sickness otherwise the Dragonborn may detest her forever.

The screams shattering through the air is the only thing that keeps Calypso from being lost in thought. One of the other ships had managed to turn towards them and was going to hit them very very hard. The ship will be fine- much like her powersake, Valkur, any ship she sails is indestructible. However, that means the ship will pass through the boat and they are going to have a battle on deck.

Calypso jumps over the Helm- yelling to Celeste nearby to take control of the Helm momentarily. She doesn’t check if Celeste goes there, she just keeps racing until she hits the deck.

The ship is barreling at them much faster than Calypso thought and she messily says a spell in Thaumaglossia (Celestial spell casting language). Both ships are being pulled up and to the side ever so slightly by a massive title wave- the captain of the other ship makes eye contact with her and she can see the fear as plainly as the whites of their eyes.

Magic flows through her fingertips and the tidal wave passes over them and engulfs them in the water- an air tight bubble surrounding The Chimera while they watch the enemy ship be demolished by not only a tidal wave, but the pack of Orcas that followed it.

It’s a gruesome scene- the pirate ship popping back up underneath another enemy ship and adding to the carnage. The Orcas leap and flip through the air with screaming cultists in their mouth.

The last two ships had been graciously taken down by Hesjing, who then proceeded to inhale one of the Orcas on his dive back down to the depths of the sea. The Chimera totters along the capillary waves as the Crew cheers loudly.

Calypso releases a sigh she didn’t realize she was holding and nearly stumbles to the ground when a large hand slaps her on the back.

“Excellent work as always Captain!” Toothless Tosh shouts out- everyone cheers in agreement.

“Oh yes, it was a very impressive display as always,” Lucifer says goadingly- his eyes flitting around her form, “so much so that drinks will be on the Captain tonight- hm?”

“You rat bastard,” Calypso mumbles under her breath, causing the man to laugh, “fine! But only because you actually hurried your asses up this time!”

The crew disbands with laughter- returning to their previous spots and helping to make sure everyone is injury free. Some of the less magically inclined individuals begin to pass out the rations for the day. Honestly she feels like she could fall over and fall asleep. It takes a lot of thought, magic, and concentration to be able to perform that many high power spells at once. For example- the Orcas did not show up on their own accord, they showed up because Calypso’s magic called out to them when she asked it to. She does feel poorly about Hesjing running off with one.

The sound of approaching footsteps and grumbling from a certain seasick Dragonborn fills Calypso with glee. Wherever Tav is, Astarion usually is.

The poor man is still tinted green on the tip of his scales, but luckily, he doesn’t have to utter a word.

Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll are smothering Calypso in questions- some she barely has any answers too. For example- how does she summon Orcas and a Sea Wyverm. Her answer? She has no fucking clue. However, she does appreciate how impressed they are.

Eventually everyone disbands to get their rations for the day. Calypso is thankful that Farview is maybe only 6 hours away and they’ll be there before the sun falls. They are running low on food and Calypso prefers to not go hungry if she can help it- especially with a crew of hangry individuals. They are all the worst people she has ever met when they are hungry- it’s great for raids.

“That was quite the show of strength, my Dear,” her lover’s melodic voice flows through her ears, “I can’t decide if I’m afraid or turned on.”

She smiles cheekily at him with an eyebrow raised, “why not both?”

“Hmm, how erotic,” Astarion teases, “should I expect to be tied up while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps, I am full of surprises, you know.”

“Oh- I am very well aware.”

Calypso can’t help it- her face always hurts when she is around Astarion (in the best way possible). Everything about him makes her smile and her heart sing. It’s proper gross if she’s being honest with herself. She never pegged herself for a smitten school girl- at least not in her adult years.

“How much longer do I have to wait to keep your attention for longer than 5 minutes at a time, East?”

Despite his teasing tone, she can sense the impatience in his tone. She tuts at him.

“I’m afraid another six hours, North,” Calypso says with an exaggerated pout, “you will have to wait several five more minute increments longer.”

The man groans and grabs Calypso’s hand- dragging her off to her cabin. The moment the door is closed- Astarion’s lips are on hers hungrily and his expert hands are already rubbing her clit, a finger and then two sliding in as soon as she’s ready- which she finds very quickly when it comes to Astarion. A hum of pleasure rolls through her body as he coaxes moans and her orgasm out of her. Her own hands have fumbled their way into his pants and she uses his precum as lube- rubbing her hands up and down his hard cock. The moans and curse words that tumble out of Astarion’s mouth are absolutely divine.

Calypso knows this is all they have time for- they would never leave if they actually had sex- and Astarion thankfully respects that, but Valkur preserve her- it’s going to be a very long six hours.

[noodyl-blasstal]

The Rule Book

It's @taznovembercelebration day 25 and I got the prompt "crisis". Read below or on A03, and catch yesterday's here if you missed it.

-

“I want to fuck a vampire.” Kravitz announces, because he can’t keep it in any more, because there’s simply no point in lying to Barry.

Barry drops his newspaper onto the table in relief. “Thank fuck! I think I’m in love with Lup.” Barry volleys right back to him, because apparently it’s a competition now?

“We’re not supposed to use names! It humanises them…” Kravitz immediately parrots the manual. Wait. Fuck. “No, wait, I didn’t mean that. Taako’s great, it’s not that I don’t have feelings for him, it’s not just all about the sex wanting. He’s human, not like human human, because of the vampire thing, but it’s not just about…” Kravitz waves his hand, searching for the right words, he can’t have Barry thinking this is just a physical thing.

“...The sex wanting.” Barry finishes for him and nods solemnly. Kravitz thinks he’s gotten away with it, then he snorts and repeats “sex wanting” under his breath.

Kravitz scowls. “Barry, we’re having a crisis in case you haven’t noticed, can we bully me later?”

Barry grumbles some but seems to agree. “Fine, fine. So what do we do?”

“Bring flowers?”

“And not our stakes?”

Kravitz groans and sinks into the chair opposite Barry. “There has to be a rule against this.”

“There isn’t, I’ve checked. Twice.” Barry pauses. “Okay, seven times. It’s not there. I read the manual front to back.”

“You’re sure?”

“I guess it’s implied?”

“But 'implied' isn’t legally in the rules.” Kravitz nods emphatically. If it’s not a firm rule it’s much easier to bend.

“There was a thing about telling them if you were ensorcelled.” Barry adds.

“Uh huh.”

“But we’re not.”

“Are you sure?” Kravitz bites at the skin on the inside of his lips, he’s been doing it a lot lately, too much. The whole situation has him on edge.

“Yep! I checked that too. No magic, we’re just the regular kind of enraptured.”

“I’m pretty sure Taako put a spell on me.”

“He didn’t, bud. He didn’t. You just like him because he’s handsome, laughs at your jokes, and is into your whole Mr Bond thing.”

“My jokes are great!”

“Uh huh.”

“And I just like suits and happen to be British. There’s nothing wrong with liking suits!”

“I like a suit as much as the next guy.” Barry indicates his denim shirt with press study buttons.

Kravitz tries not to flinch. “Canadian tuxedos don’t count.”

“It’s in the name!”

“They don’t count!” Kravitz says more firmly.

Barry shrugs in the way that means he definitely doesn’t believe Kravitz and will go on thinking that their clothing choices are exactly the same level of fancy.

“What do we do?” Kravitz turns his coffee mug aimlessly, quarter rotations with no end other than making a tiny scratching noise to let him know he’s definitely not dreaming… Taako’s so ethereal that it’s hard to believe he’s not conjured by Kravitz’s imagination. He’s certainly been a regular feature in Kravitz’s evenings.

“Not killing them sounds good.”

“Oh, thanks Barry, great call, I’ll change my plans for this afternoon and not stake Taako shall I?”

“I mean you could probably still impale him if he was into it.”

“Barry!”

“Sorry bud.” Says Barry in his least sorry voice, the one he saves for after his worst jokes.

“Well if you’re so on top of it, what’re you going to do?”

“Nothing.” Barry says confidently. “She’s not going to be interested. Look at me! As far as she knows I’m a washed up 50 something - I had to tell her I was taking a career break to do ‘some research’ because I couldn’t tell her I’m actually really good at murdering ‘monsters’ like her and have at least three awards about it.”

Kravitz stares at him. “We’re talking about the same Lup, right?

“The one that looks exactly the same as Taako?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

“So you haven’t noticed that she gravitates towards you?”

“I just have stuff she needs a lot of the time.”

“Like…?”

“Information.”

“Uh huh.”

“And napkins.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“And books.”

“And she borrows the books and then you talk about the books?”

“Yeah.” Barry looks at Kravitz puzzled. “In a friend way!”

“At her house?”

“It’s closer to the cafe than here.”

“And I’m not there.”

“We wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“And you stay over because?”

“She said it’s dangerous to walk around on my own at night.”

“And even though you used to be one of the combat trainers at the institute you said…”

“I can’t give myself away!”

“So you had literally no option but to stay over?”

“Exactly.”

“There’s no way I could have collected you in the car we have?”

“You were probably busy.”

“Nearly every night for the last month?”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t out mooning over Taako!”

“I don’t moon.” Kravitz says sulkily.

“No, of course not, you just sit at the bar with your head in your hand and stare lovesick at him five nights a week for no reason.” Barry’s grinning now.

“Well if you thought that why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well if you thought I was spending an inappropriate amount of time with Lup why didn’t you say anything?” Barry throws back at him.

Fuck.

“I thought maybe if I didn’t say anything you wouldn’t say anything and then no one had to say anything and we wouldn’t get fired.”

“Are you worried about getting fired?”

“I don’t want that on my record.”

“Do you even like our job?”

“I like money, Barry, I like being able to exist in the world.”

“Have you considered marrying rich?”

“Do you think Taako has a secret fortune?”

“Thinking of proposing, bud?”

“No!” Says Kravitz quickly, definitely not thinking of the dream he had three nights ago where he and Taako lived in a cottage by a picturesque lake and everything was soft and warm and perfect.

“I’d ask Lup.” Barry shrugs. “She’s amazing.”

“Maybe start with a date?”

“I’ll do it if you do it.” Barry smiles, smug, thinks he’s won.

“Fine.”

“What?” Barry’s smug smile is replaced by a frown.

“I said, fine. I’ll ask Taako out.”

“I thought you were a rules guy?”

Kravitz shrugs. “Maybe the rules are wrong.”

--

Had a goodfun time? Wanna read some more? Great news! Here's tomorrow's prompt.

[hekateinhell]

AU where instead of vampires they are werewolves, what changes and what doesn't?

I'm dying because since the summer I've been wanting to write a Lestat/Armand werewolf AU so I can have a fairytale anthology, but one of the things that trips me up is figuring out which werewolf lore to go with OR if I want to just amalgamate a bunch of stuff and put my own spin on it like I did with the mermaid! But Anne Rice actually wrote werewolf books — I haven't read them, but they're there! So I'm going to go with my gut on this one. It's kind of a free for all, nobody correct me as some of this will be my own lore. 🤧

Quick Lore Overview

Temperament. Werewolves tend to be much more aggressive and animalistic and lacking in self-restraint; you think Lestat's got a bad temper now? Just wait. But this goes for all of them, and it's ugly. I'm going to chose to channel this into their sex drives as well. 🫣

Werewolves can be out and about during the day looking, just like any other human! Lore varies on whether or not they only transform during a full moon or it's every night or at simply at will. I'm leaning towards the last two options simply for drama and angst reasons. Imagine Armand not wanting to be around a Daniel after sunset because he knows he's going to transform into a powerful, irrational beast only motivated by hunger and lust! Lestat will risk it all to try to spend as much time with his human lovers as possible and he will live to regret it!

Werewolves aren't immortal! Most of the time they are depicted as they have the average human lifespan. So I guess we can fuck around and make them immortal or we just have to bring everyone to the same timeline if we want the ensemble cast! Is Daniel going to 15th century Venice? Is Armand a seemingly mortal teenager running around in the 1980s or the modern day? Is Lestat living in Roman Gaul during the 1st century BC? We have options!

But if we go with that they are not immortal, everyone is (maybe) much less traumatized? Because it's not centuries and centuries — several mortal lifespans — worth of compounded trauma? So for example: while the relationship is still complicated and difficult to navigate, it's much easier for Armand to open up to Daniel. Perhaps he's not as terrifying to Lestat when they first meet because he is his mortal age and not 300 years worth of darkness and despair wrapped up in a pretty little package. And Lestat would actually be younger than Louis, and the same age as Daniel, etc.

What Changes

Lestat doesn't give Louis "the choice I never had." Most werewolf turnings are unintentional and the byproduct of an attack gone wrong and that's what happens here. Lestat's senses are so haywire and primal, he doesn't stop to take stock of his victim until it's almost too late. But he does rear back for a split-second and is so entranced by the moonlight illuminating Louis's delicate features that he stops; the shock of it jolting him back into his human form and rational brain.

Claudia happens, but since Louis is the one who attacks her, it's his bite that transforms her. And she is able to age! (But don't get me wrong, it is ridiculously hard to raise a werewolf child as well. For instance, bedtime is a nightmare).

Whatever fights you saw between any of them in canon, take that and amplify it x10 in terms of violence, hostility, and collateral damage. It's the animal in them, they can't help it! At least werewolves are still have accelerated healing, and Armand and Lestat look very sweet licking each other's bloody wounds that they themselves have inflicted (in both wolf and human form).

What Stays The Same

Louis and Lestat have a very fraught, volatile relationship in the beginning. Louis didn't consent to becoming a werewolf and he does to end his own life repeatedly before Claudia enters the picture. He loses his ability to play the martyr card when he attacks Claudia and she is transformed, and so his relationship with Lestat finally begins to gradually mend. After all, Louis is no better than him anymore.

Armand steadfastly refuses to turn Daniel. Armand did have a choice in his turning but he was very young (let's say 14/15?) and infatuated with his sire and easily swayed. Daniel is swept up in the dark romance of it all, and he covets what he perceives to be the raw, reckless freedom and power Armand and his pack (Lestat, Louis, and Claudia) exhibit, as well as the connection they share.

I think the overall relationship dynamics stay the same, for better or worse.

[writer-ish]

in the lambent light

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 2.4K words | rating: T (language)

summary: On the rooftop of the Warehouse, Grace and Mason have an honest conversation about sexuality, small towns, and love (sort of), with the revelry and light of Unit Bravo’s first Wayhaven Pride in the background.

For Week 1, Day 1 of @wayhavensummer: First Pride + #wsfchallenge “belonging”.

*

She finds him on the roof of the warehouse, of course, kicking his feet idly as they dangle over the edge, a thin wisp of smoke coming up steadily from his cigarette.

When he sees her, he puts it out and links his fingers together, eyes following her as she comes to sit beside him.

They're high up – too high; if she looks down she feels a bit dizzy – and he grunts, his eyes narrowing as she dangles her legs, too. She looks at her colourful socks - one purple, one pink - as she tries not to think about how steep the drop would be if she lost her balance or even just shuffled forward a bit.

She wonders if maybe he'll put his hand out to hold her steady, or force her to sit back.

(He does neither.)

"You don't have to do that, you know." She gestures belatedly to the ash of his crumpled cigarette still smoking lightly on the concrete. "I know I gave you a hard time before, but really, I don't want you to stop on account of me."

He shrugs. "It's fine. I don't even know why I still do it when I don’t even really need it anymore. Habit, I guess."

She opens her mouth to insist, say how she doesn't want him, doesn't need him to change for her – but her mouth clicks shut instead. It's easier to let it slide. To not delve too deeply into why he doesn't need it anymore.

They sit in silence for a bit, the evening breeze settling on them.

The sounds of revelry in the town square continue. Grace can hear the celebrations, the music, can feel the general aura of happiness radiating from below.

When she’d left to seek out Mason, Tina had been painting a rainbow on Adam’s sharp cheekbone as he sat very still, giving the situation a gravitas that it perhaps didn’t deserve, but was still heartwarming to see nonetheless.

Eric and Verda had been watching indulgently as their girls got spoiled with treats provided by Nate, who had been doing his very best to succeed at the task of “enjoying his first Pride”.

(When he’d asked if he was “doing it right”, Grace couldn’t help but give him an impromptu hug.

“You’re doing perfectly,” she’d said warmly and he had smiled down at her, eyes sparkling.)

Felix, for his part, had been bouncing around, examining the stalls set up to highlight the queer-owned business in Wayhaven, coming back to hand Nate a new trinket or snack or pin he’d purchased, and then bounding off again, the excitement practically vibrating off of him.

She smiles wistfully at the memory of how the town embraced Unit Bravo as their own, as she regards it all from a distance now, a bloom of warmth in her chest – a collection of the happiness and pride that she feels towards her little town for coming together in this way year after year. To celebrate its people; the people who make Wayhaven what it is.

To celebrate love.

She turns to Mason, spontaneously dropping a hand to his knee. He looks down swiftly and then back up at her, silver-grey eyes meeting her own.

"Was it all too much for you?" She nods in the direction of light, laughter, colour, and music. "Down there?"

He shrugs. "I respect the idea behind the celebration and I'm glad the others are happy and having fun. But yeah. It's not really my thing."

She nods slowly, going quiet again. He idly begins to play with her fingers, splayed out on his thigh. Tracing them with his own, up and down.

"You know it's not—"

"You know that we—"

They both go to speak at the same time, their voices stuttering to a stop as they realize.

"You go," Mason says eventually, the side of his lips quirked up in a small smirk. "You do most of the talking for us anyway."

"Hey!" Grace squeaks out indignantly. "I do not. Most people say I don't talk enough."

Mason snorts. "People who don't know you, maybe."

Her cheeks grow warm with pleasure at the unspoken confirmation. It feels like what he really said was: "People who don't know you the way I do."

And he's right.

"I was just going to say, Wayhaven has been doing this for years now. Decades even. We used to come when I was a kid.” She laughs in reminiscence. “There’s this picture of me – maybe eighteen months old or something – on Rook’s shoulders, watching the parade as my mom smiles up at us both.”

She feels her own smile go soft, like the edges of that faded cherished photograph. She shakes her head to clear the cobwebs of nostalgia before turning to him again. He’s regarding her in a way that can only be construed as fondness and her heart twists, ever so slightly.

“I’m glad you guys got to be here for your first Pride,” she continues, steering the conversation back to the present. To safer territory. “You hear all these things about the intolerance of small towns, and lord knows it’s true in some cases, but I dunno." She shrugs, a small smile gracing her lips once more. "It feels nice to be part of one of the good ones."

He's quiet and she turns to look at him after a moment of prolonged silence. He's still staring at her, this time a more inscrutable expression on his face. She can't tell what's going through his mind, whether it's concern or agreement or even anger. His fingers have stilled overtop hers and his large palm rests on her hand, warm and steady.

It takes another beat before he clears his throat and breaks eye contact, moving his hand off of hers. The cool air rushes to the spot where his hand used to be and she finds herself missing its warmth and comfort.

"It's true," he says finally. "It is one of the good ones." He looks at her carefully. "And you’re right. They aren't all like that."

There’s a wealth of meaning in his simple statement and it’s her turn to stare at him now, processing his words and trying to formulate an appropriate response.

"Have you…" She hesitates, trying to parse her words carefully. "Have you experienced… bad ones?"

He lets out a sigh. The very human sound, probably borne from a habit he could never quite kick, sends a tender pang straight to her heart.

"Listen, sweetheart." He leans back and looks up at the quickly dimming sky, the summer heat dwindling to a more tolerable mildness, the breeze picking up slightly and bringing with it the sweet scent of the magnolias below them. "It's no secret that I am not what people would call…"

He smirks and shoots her a side-long glance, his mischievous look belied by the glint of a single fang. "Discerning."

She stays quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve never seen value in—” He pauses, appearing to search for the right word. “—In curbing my desires to fit into a certain mold. I like what I like, I like who I like, and no real external factors – like gender or appearance or the shape of your tits or your bits – have ever really come into play.” He shrugs and pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, fiddling with it without lighting it. “Some people have a problem with that and some places like to make it known more than others.”

Something about his final sentence causes her pulse to quicken, her thoughts jangling in her head. She tries to gather them up before she speaks.

“Do you think…” She hesitates. “Do you somehow think that I… have a problem with that? That I don’t understand?”

“Do you understand?” He looks straight at her then, his eyes sharp and intense. Not intimidating or cruel, but as though he’s looking for something – perhaps the honest answer to a question he’s not sure he’s even asked properly.

“I mean—” She feels indignant slightly, even though she tries to tamp it down. “If you think I somehow have an opinion on who people love and the circumstances around that, then I feel like maybe you don’t know me that well.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He holds his hands up, unlit cigarette still between two fingers, lip curling slightly. “Who said anything about love? I’m talking about who I decide to fuck.”

That one stings. She purses her lips and looks away, trying not to let him see just how much, inhaling deeply as she tries to get her feelings under control.

“Yes, yes,” she says finally, looking away with a wave of her hand. “Fuck, love, whatever.” She turns to him again, eyes narrowed. “I might not understand in the way that you do, through lived experience, but I care enough to try. And I certainly don’t judge.”

“I never said you judged, Gracie.” His voice is soft and the way he says her nickname – so rare from his lips – makes her breath catch in her throat. He flicks the cigarette between his fingers now, back and forth. “I just want everything to be out there between you and me. So that there’s never any—” He hesitates. “—Surprises.”

“Oh, you mean like finding out you’re a centuries-old vampire?” she quips, raising an eyebrow at him, arms crossed.

He barks out a laugh. “Watch who you’re calling centuries old, sweetheart.”

She chuckles along with him, before getting serious once more.

“The least surprising thing about you, Mason, is the fact that you have no qualms about who you choose to be with. I’ve never met a more accepting and open person.” He looks like he’s about to argue with her, so she holds up a hand to stop him. “And just because we aren’t—exactly the same, in that regard—” She looks down, feeling her cheeks warm slightly. “—Doesn’t mean I don’t get it. Or respect it.” She shrugs, laughing self-deprecatingly. “I find it hard to believe you’re interested in my boring ass, to be honest.”

“Your ass is the least boring thing about you, Detective.” For that comment, he’s rewarded with a light whack on the leg. He laughs and wraps his arm around her. “C’mere.”

Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tugs her closer. He holds her tightly against him, thighs touching and feet brushing against each other.

“I’m going to say something cheesy as fuck and you’re going to listen. And then you’re never going to repeat it again. Got it?”

She nods quickly, eyes widening in anticipation.

“I see people—not for what they look like or any of that shit, but for what’s in here.” He taps gently, right above her left breast. “Yeah, I don’t get mixed up in all that love stuff, and attraction does play a big role in who I seek out and why, but it’s not an attraction to physical things. I just get this—sense of who a person is, I guess. And if I like what I sense, I follow through. If I don’t, I move on.” He gives her a squeeze. “You understand?”

She bites her lip, breath growing shallow as the impact of his words infiltrates her blood stream and causes her heart to flutter painfully.

He smiles slowly, a cheshire grin, and she curses his ability to hear the increase in her pulse.

“And guess what, sweetheart?” His voice has dropped an octave now, mouth close to her ear.

“What?” It comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“I like what you’ve got in here.” Another tap, same spot. “And I’m not ready to move on.”

As far as grand romantic statements go, Grace knows this one won’t make anyone’s top ten list. But for Mason, it’s a lot. And for her, for right now—it’s everything.

She leans forward and kisses him softly, sweetly, on the lips. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, but neither makes a move to deepen the kiss in any way, keeping it gentle and close-mouthed; an affirmation rather than the initiation of anything more. Pulling away, she looks at him, feeling the softness she sees in his face reflected in her own.

Giving him one more brief kiss, she scooches back and stands up carefully, dusting off the bottom of her blue shorts.

She catches him watching the action intently and he catches her catching him. They share a smirk that turns into a laugh and it feels comfortable and fun. It feels like an inside joke.

Like belonging.

“Let’s go, hot shot.” She holds out her hand to him and he takes it, swinging his legs around and standing up, his full height enough that she needs to tilt her head to look up at him.

“Think you can manage to rejoin the party?” she asks, her hand still in his as she tugs him to the door that will lead them back through the warehouse. “We’ll stick to the quieter corners. I’ll hold your hand the whole time,” she adds, smiling up at him, her tone cajoling, teasing.

There’s something about summer in Wayhaven, something about Pride in Wayhaven – the air feels lighter, sweeter. Grace feels lighter. Bolstered by love and friendship, warmth and comfort. All the good things about her little town seem to be highlighted during this time.

All the good things about her little life, she thinks, glancing at their joined hands.

Mason snorts and looks down at her, amused, before giving her hand a squeeze.

She squeezes back, feeling happier than she can remember ever feeling before.

“I’ll even buy you a snow cone without the syrup,” she offers as they leave, bumping his shoulder with hers.

He grunts and then stops short. “Isn’t that just ice?”

She bites back a smile, feeling laughter in her throat, and nods.

There’s a pause. He blinks once. Twice. Then—he bursts into loud laughter. The sound is so free, so surprising yet pleasant, that she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. And when he pulls her even closer and presses a kiss to the top of her head—well. She’s not sure that smile will ever go away now.

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he murmurs, keeping her close to him.

And she does.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

I'll Hold You Just The Same

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: vampire

Everyone knows about Geralt's affliction and has for years - at least the people closest to him do - and it's not a problem anymore. During the warmer months, feeding isn't difficult; there's no shortage of bandits and criminals coming after him and if they happen to wind up with holes in their neck, well, Geralt knows well enough how to dispose of a body. It's become a necessity, one he hated at first but had grown to put up with in the past few years. The only time he has to worry is during the winter, but if things go south, his brothers are always more than willing to let him feed when he needs it. Geralt never takes more than he needs and the other Witchers never offer more than they're willing to give. They know each other well and it works. So taking Jaskier to Kaer Morhen with him hardly seems like it's going to be a problem.

Their first sign that something was bound to go wrong should have been obvious. Things happen in threes, or so they say, and the first of three happens as soon as they hit the last town heading north.

It's a little place, more of a trading post than a town, really, but they have a small bunkhouse for travellers and a shop for supplies. Geralt always stays on his way up the mountain - one last night of rest before trekking up the pass. This year, there are no free rooms.

A hunting expedition gone badly, the man serving as innkeeper says, two injured and one killed, everyone remaining is being sheltered until a sled can be brought up to take the injured into town. And that's... fine. They've slept in worse places and the innkeeper offers whatever he can for supper and comfort.

Geralt leaves Jaskier in town while he heads off to find them somewhere to sleep for the night. He's hoping for a cave or an overhang of rock, something to help keep the heat for Jaskier. He especially needs a good nights' sleep before they head out. But as he's searching, Geralt encounters the second sign.

There's been a light dusting of snow on the ground for days now. This far north, it isn't uncommon, especially so late in the year, but tonight it starts snowing heavily. Geralt finds what he's looking for, sort of. It's a small shelf of rock, enough to shelter them from the oncoming snow, but it won't do much in terms of holding heat. That, he can cope with, so long as they're out of the snow.

He goes back to collect Jaskier once he's lit a fire and cleared a space for them. They sleep under the shelf that night, and it's not as bad as some nights on the road, but Geralt still feels bad. It's the first time he's brought Jaskier home with him and he wasn't expecting to have problems immediately.

In the morning, he's feeling somewhat better. He's no less hesitant about the mountain pass than he has been since asking Jaskier to come, but they've made it through the worst of it and soon enough they'll be up in the keep with his brothers, with Vesemir.

They set out early, just after dawn, and the snow hasn't stopped yet but Geralt tries not to let that bother him. He's made worse treks, including the one year he had to leave Roach at the foot of the mountain and walk up alone. Since that year, he's been much more careful.

The snow doesn't stop, though and while Jaskier is steadfast and determined, Geralt starts to worry about him. It's not until they're halfway through the day, that Geralt realizes he hasn't fed in a couple of days. At the time, he thinks it's the third in a line of problems, and that things should be easier from then on, but he has no idea what's coming.

By early evening, the snow is falling in heavy flakes and the wind has picked up. They push through, but even Geralt is finding it hard to continue with the snow piling up toward their knees. When Jaskier stumbles, Geralt barely catches him in time to keep him out of the snow and he knows they have to stop early for the night.

"If we press on a little longer, there's a cave," Geralt says, "are you okay to keep going?"

Jaskier nods. He's gritting his teeth against the cold, Geralt knows and he hates it. Unclasping his cloak, he winds it around Jaskier's shoulders, tucking it under his chin.

"Not much longer," he promises.

And it's not. Barely ten minutes later, Jaskier is ducking into the mouth of the cave and Geralt is trying to encourage Roach in after them. The roof of the cave is tall enough, but she's hesitant nonetheless and it takes Jaskier bribing her with an apple to get her out of the snow. After that, she's quite calm and happy so lay near the fire once Geralt gets it lit.

But the morning only brings more snow, rising at least six inches up from the ground and Geralt's optimism is wearing thin. He's certain now, that this must be the third in their bad luck streak, that nothing could possibly be worse than this, but he holds out. Hopefully, the snow will stop, maybe some of it will melt and they'll be able to make it up on time.

He continues to keep up hope until the third day when he realizes how long it's been since he's fed, and then the hope he offers Jaskier is no more than platitudes. He sleeps too much and Jaskier notices, fretting over him more than usual. He's always got an eye on him, always checking in, and what can Geralt do but lie. There's nothing here for him and he knows it, his only option is to sit and wait and hope his brothers come looking for him. They know he's coming this year, they know he's bringing Jaskier.

When he falls asleep that night, it's with Jaskier pressed against his chest, facing out into the cave. He's soft and warm, but he smells fucking incredible and Geralt can't help but press his nose into the back of his neck. He wants to push further, to nip at his skin, to sink his teeth in. And fuck, Jaskier would taste so fucking good. Already his scent is practically unbearable when Geralt gets to this stage. But he can't. He won't. He'd never do anything to hurt Jaskier or to harm their friendship in any way. Jaskier has been so understanding since the beginning, Geralt can't do anything to betray his trust.

He wakes, shaking, in the middle of the night and when he opens his eyes, Jaskier is kneeling over him. Geralt thinks it's a dream at first, but Jaskier's palm cups his face and he's so warm. Geralt leans into it and Jaskier sighs.

"Geralt?" he asks, "when was the last time you fed?"

"Mmm," Geralt mumbles, "before we stopped."

"Geralt, that was a week ago. Maybe longer. You need to feed."

Geralt grits his teeth. He knows what he needs, but he also knows there's no way to do it. He won't hurt Jaskier so he has to wait. He says nothing. Jaskier, of course, has a different opinion.

"You know I'd be more than happy to offer."

"Absolutely not."

"Geralt-"

"Jaskier, no. I won't risk it."

Three days pass before Geralt gives in. Three days pass and Jaskier offers every day his pleas becoming more desperate as Geralt finds himself weaker and weaker. On the fourth day, they're sitting by the fire and Geralt sways. It takes too much effort to keep upright properly any longer and the only reason he tries is so Jaskier won't worry about him. But before he knows what's happening, Jaskier is on him, climbing into his lap with his hands on Geralt's face.

"Please," he says again and he's already tugging away to unbutton his shirt. Geralt watches, exhausted, as Jaskier pulls his shirt and doublet off, dropping them into the dirt behind him.

Geralt knows exactly what he's doing, knows he probably should let Jaskier give him this, but the thought of what he might do to him. The fear wars with a budding arousal, sparked by the way Jaskier shifts in his lap, shirtless and willing.

Jaskier leans in close enough that his thighs press in against Geralt's hips and he can practically taste the woodsmoke on Jaskier's skin. He braces his hands on Jaskier's waist and Jaskier leans in closer, tipping his head to bare his neck to Geralt. One soft hand slips up the back of his head, guiding him closer and Geralt groans softly. He wants this, he does, but this is Jaskier and he shouldn't.

"Go on, love," Jaskier whispers, "you need this. I want to give it to you."

Geralt's nose bumps under Jaskier's jaw and he's not sure which one of them is moving, but then his lips are on his skin. He presses a soft kiss to the skin, then another, and he can feel each shudder that runs through Jaskier's body. When he parts his lips, Jaskier shifts in his lap, turning slightly so the angle is better.

Geralt parts his lips, lets his teeth graze Jaskier's skin before pressing forward and biting down. As he breaks the skin, Jaskier lets out a soft sound, more needy than pained and Geralt lets the sound of it echo in his ears as he drinks from him.

He loses himself in the rush of it, only vaguely aware of Jaskier moving in his lap until Geralt draws away. There's a trickle of blood down his neck and Geralt leans in, licking it away without thinking.

His strength returned, to some extent, he turns Jaskier to face him. He didn't smell it before but the air is thick with it now, arousal and anticipation. Jaskier slips back and Geralt can feel the way his cock strains against the being of his trousers. Geralt can't exactly say he's unaffected, either.

For two days they don't talk about it.

Geralt is feeling back to normal again and Jaskier had rations for at least a couple more days, so neither of them needs to think about food. Time has become irrelevant, known only by the light coming on from the mouth of the cave. It's dark though when Jaskier approaches him again.

"I can't see you like that again," he pleads and Geralt is helpless to fight.

This time when Jaskier crawls into his lap, Geralt tugs him forward so they're pressed together, so this time, if Jaskier is aroused, he'll be able to feel it. He wants to, wants to know Jaskier is turned on by this, that's is mutually beneficial.

He presses his lips to Jaskier's neck, placing soft kisses over the mark from the previous bite, then slowly moving toward his collarbone. Jaskier is shirtless again to prevent the staining of his fine clothes and Geralt takes advantage of that, running his hands over all that bare skin.

When he pulls away, Jaskier lets out a little whine, but Geralt lifts his hand, nosing at the veins in Jaskier's wrist. He can hear his pulse, feel the beat of it under his fingers and he longs to feel that skin under his teeth. Less because he's hungry than for the way Jaskier will react to it.

Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt licks the skin before pressing down with his fangs. There's a groan of pleasure and it takes Geralt a moment to realize it's coming from him. Jaskier is stone-still, watching with wide eyes, pupils blown so only a sliver of blue is visible around them. Arousal wafts off of him and Geralt can practically feel how badly he wants this. Which is... something.

If Jaskier wants this, if he feels like this about it, who is Geralt to argue. He bites down, breaking the skin and Jaskier's arm jerks involuntarily, but as the shock passes, he relaxes, a soft moan slipping from his lips. Jaskier brings his free hand up, slipping his fingers through Geralt's hair and it feels good. Geralt presses into the touch with a hum just as Jaskier slips forward and there it is. Jaskier is hard, his cock pressed firmly between them and when Geralt draws back, Jaskier meets his eyes and rocks his hips forward.

When Geralt draws back, Jaskier surges forward and Geralt has to stop him. His lips are stained red, the tang of blood lingering, and he doubts Jaskier wants to taste it.

"But I want to kiss you," Jaskier whines and Geralt huffs a soft laugh as he lets the hand pressed to Jaskier's chest drift downward. When his fingers wrap around the jut of his cock, the kiss is forgotten.

Jaskier's hips jerk forward and Geralt fumbles between them, opening Jaskier's trousers and tugging his cock free. He strokes him slowly, paying special attention to the head, squeezing tight around it then brushing his fingertips along the underside.

Geralt spares only a moment to unbuttoning his own trousers and shifting so his cock fits against Jaskier's, sliding against him with the slightest movement. He gets one hand around them both, stroking slowly as they rock against each other, his hand source of friction more than anything else.

He wants to kiss him, wants to bite his lips and make him whine and if he didn't have Jaskier's blood in his mouth, he would. Instead, he buries his face in his neck, licks and sucks at the skin there as they grind against each other. It’s rough and dirty and uncoordinated and Jaskier would probably be horrified should anyone find out this is how he treats a lover, but Geralt couldn't ask for anything more.

Jaskier wants him at his worst - literally with a mouthful of blood - and Geralt loves him more for that than the rest of his lovers, past or present, combined. He holds Jaskier against him with his free arm, cinched around his waist and Jaskier's fingers dig into his scalp.

"Bite me," Jaskier says, breathless. It's not a question.

Geralt doesn't hesitate, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Jaskier's throat and the moan he gets in response is low and heady. Jaskier's hips jerk hard, nearly dislodging them both and then he's coming, spilling hot and wet between them and Geralt can't keep his eyes off him.

Jaskier's cock twitches with one final spurt and Geralt drops his own cock, wrapping around him to pull every last drop of pleasure from him. Jaskier's shaking before he's done, mumbling breathlessly into Geralt's skin and then he's pulling away, spreading out on his stomach between Geralt's legs.

He takes his cock without hesitation, wrapping his lips around him and swallowing him down as far as he can manage. The position is awkward, but Jaskier is talented and Geralt finds himself drawing close to the edge almost immediately. He rocks his hips lightly, thrusting shallowly between Jaskier's lips and he pushes a hand into his hair, guiding Jaskier's head as he takes control again.

When Geralt comes, he doubles over, nose nearly pressed into Jaskier's hair, and it feels so fucking good. He doesn't care that he's a mess, doesn't care that Jaskier is. That they're both covered in blood and come and whoever finds them will know exactly what happened. It doesn't matter because when Jaskier pulls off, letting Geralt's softening cock drop between his legs, he kisses him.

It's just a soft peck on the lips and Geralt couldn't fault him for it; he knows what he is and he knows how people usually react to blood. But it's a kiss, nonetheless. And he resolves to spend the entire winter at Kaer Morhen returning that kiss, again and again and again.

[sunnypogue]

midsummers with hockey rafe (blurb)

requested by an anon who asked if i could write something about ward telling rafe to cover his hickeys at midsummers. obviously, had to make it coho!rafe. 

enjoy!

you didn’t really know what you were getting yourself into when rafe invited you to midsummers.

it was spring semester, the two of you were in your roommates hammock that sagged on your front porch, mapping out your summer plans.

“so you’ll come stay with my family on hilton head for the fourth, right?” you asked, playing with his big, calloused fingers.

rafe made a sound of approval.

“we’ll have to book tickets for you to fly out, huh?” you continued, still fiddling with his hands.

rafe grunted, his baseball cap slipping forward onto his face.

you frowned, bending his index finger back just enough to startle him. “are you listening?”

“yes! fuck, leave my fingers alone, you brat.” he snatched his hand out of your grasp, shifting his hat back to sit properly on his head. “and to answer your question, because I was listening - no, I’ll just drive down.”

your eyes widened. “from huntsville? that’s going to take hours!”

rafe sighed. “no, I’ll be at my dad’s the week before. easier to drive.”

“you’re going home this summer?”

rafe didn’t really “go home” - at least, not the way you did. you looked forward to summers in your savannah home, having wine nights with your mom and barbecuing with your dad, relishing the time at home with your high school friends.

rafe only went home when he had to, his strained relationship with his father and stepmom making things less-than-pleasant when he would return to the outer banks for a couple weeks. he didn’t visit at all last summer, opting to split his time between your parents home and his place in huntsville.

rafe sighed again, deep & heavy. “yeah. I’ve got this...thing.”

you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “what thing?”

“it’s...god, it’s some stupid event my family goes to every year. basically a pissing contest to see who’s family is the most successful.” rafe removes his hat, rubbing his hand over his face. “my dad likes to win.”

you offered him a pout, going to rub your hand against his chin, letting your thumb run along the stubble that was coming in. “you have to go?”

rafe nodded. “yeah, I skipped last year only because I promised my dad I would come this year - wheez is 16, so it’s kinda a big year for her.” he gave a weak smile at the mention of his youngest sister. “sarah’s gonna be there too.”

“see! it’ll be worth it then. couple days with your sisters and then you can come hang with me and my fam in hilton head.” you nuzzled into his chest. “a tour of the carolinas.”

“I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

you popped your head up, eyes wide. “me?”

rafe rolled his eyes, “yes you. sarah’s bringing her boyfriend. figure it’s time for you to see where I grew up.”

and that’s how you found yourself flying up to the outer banks for a long weekend, a couple of gown options tucked away in your checked luggage, bikinis stowed in your carryon - you spent the whole flight fidgeting, beyond nervous about what was to come.

you had met ward a couple times - a little intimidating, and relatively unimpressed by anything rafe did. you didn’t mind that rafe didn’t go see him much - it always seemed to put him in this dark, sullen mood, one that could take days to pull him out of.

you were hoping to make it out of the weekend with minimal conflict between the father-son pair.

rafe was waiting at arrivals when you waltzed outside, grinning at the sight of your tan boyfriend leaning against his Jeep. you dropped your bags on the curb, opting to tackle him into a hug instead, giggling when he had to brace himself for impact.

“hi baby - missed you too.” he laughed, hands going to rest on your hips. “need help with those?” he gave a pointed look to your massive suitcases. you just smiled, offering him a quick kiss before flouncing into his passenger seat, letting him handle the heavy lifting.

your first interaction with the family at tannyhill (apparently rafe lived in a place where homes were old enough to have their own estate names) was mild - ward was charming, in his typical slimy way, rose offered you a grimace, before clacking away in her heels to “take a call,” and wheezie had barely let rafe slip into the foyer with your suitcases before she was asking him to buy her alcohol for some party later that night.

when you and rafe made it safely to the confines of his bedroom, he attempted to apologize.

“rafe, you don’t have to apologize.” you laughed, cupping his concerned face with your hands. “families are...well, you know.” you scrunched your eyebrows, trying to search for the right word. “family.”

rafe laughed, grabbing your wrists. “very insightful.”

the next day, rafe had a fitting, which you accompanied him to (your other option was pretending to make nice with rose while laying out at the pool - hard pass), giggling at his clear disdain for the whole situation.

“it’s so fucking stupid, babe.” he groaned for what had to be the tenth time that car ride, pulling into a spot in front of the tailors. “I probably have 50 suits I could wear, but god forbid I don’t match rose’s fucking color scheme.” he snapped his seat belt off, a hint of aggression peeking through.

you nodded, following him out of the car. “hey, if it makes you feel better, she’ll hate me more than you. I didn’t bring anything that matches the Cameron “color scheme.””

rafe turned to give you a look, hand blindly reaching for the door. “no one could hate you. you could wear a sack and people would adore you.”

you pulled a face. “shut up, you have to say that shit.”

“maybe, but it’s -“

“mr. cameron, here for the 2:30 appointment?” a tall, slim man appeared in front of y’all, tape measure around his neck.

rafe tugged on his shirt collar, letting out a small groan. “uh, yeah. that’s me.”

the man gave him a glance, before offering you a glare. “right, well, follow me. back here.”

you settled into a chair at the front of the store, fucking around on your phone. an hour went by before rafe emerged from the back, head peeking around the corner.

“hey babe!” you gingerly removed yourself from the chair, back stiff from your stationary position. “all done?”

rafe nodded, “yeah, I’ve gotta change out of it, but it’s ready to take home.”

you scrambled to your feet. “wait! let me see!”

rafe groaned, quickly looking behind him to see if the tailor was near by, before slowly emerging from around the corner. “it’s pretty fucking terrible.” he groaned.

you, on the other hand, were awestruck - there was your boyfriend, with his stache and overgrown hair, in all of his 6’3”, offseason bulked out glory, wearing a baby blue suit.

it should have been hilarious - but you were fucking salivating over it.

“uh, no it’s not.” you argued, walking up to grab the lapels of his jacket. “how the fuck do you make baby blue look this good?”

rafe grimaced. “babe, it’s awful. don’t lie.”

“oh really?” you smirked, peeking over his shoulder towards the empty dressing room. you started to walk backwards in that direction, tugging his hand as you gave him your best bedroom eyes. “why don’t you come in here and let me show you how much I like it.”

“babe!” rafe hissed, his head whirled to the left, checking to see if the tailor was in the vicinity, before looking back at you with raised eyebrows. “really?”

you nodded, biting your lip. “oh yeah, baby. never told me you were such a pretty boy.”

rafe grumbled, following you into the dressing room. “I’ll fuckin’ show you a pretty boy - c’mere.”

the next day, while waiting to take pictures with the cameron family, ward approached you and rafe at the wet bar, extending cocktails to you both.

you gratefully accepted, sucking down what tasted like a heavy handed greyhound, the vodka sitting in the back of your throat as ward barked instructions at rafe.

“we’re going to do the family first, rafe, and then we can get john and - what the fuck is that?”

you glanced up at the change in ward’s tone, straw slipping out from between your lips as ward tugged rafe’s shirt collar to expose a hickey, the deep purple spreading towards his collarbone.

“dad,” he started, knocking ward’s hand away to readjust his collar. “it’s-“

“rose!” ward yelled, turning away from rafe. “can you please come fix...this!” ward gestured at rafe wildly with his hand, throwing a glare at the two of you.

you were rigid, hand white-knuckling your drink, unsure what exactly to do in this situation.

“relax dad,” sarah huffed, grabbing her clutch as she pushed her way over to where y’all were standing. “c’mon, idiot, I’ve got something that can cover that up.” she rolled her eyes, poking at his neck.

rafe smacked her hand away. “quit.”

sarah ignored her brother, poking it once more before directing her attention to you. “what are you, part vampire?” she giggled, tugging your arm with her as she started up the stairs towards her room. “c’mon rafe,” she called out, voice almost singing. “gotta go cover up the evidence! people can’t know you have sex!”

you burst out laughing as at least three scandalized voices behind you yelled “sarah!”, rafe’s separate groan audible as he followed the two of you.

sarah leaned over as y’all entered her bedroom, voice whispering in your ear, “tux’s don’t hide shit - that’s why I usually go for the chest on john b,” she giggled.

you nodded, as if learning a deep and sacred practice - well, you supposed you kinda were.

“also,” she whispered, ignoring rafe’s call from behind to “stop corrupting his girlfriend,” and continuing, “third stall, men’s bathroom at the country club - doesn’t lock. learn from my mistakes. family bathroom is gonna be your best bet.”

“are you - are you scouting places for me to hook up with your brother tonight?” you hissed.

sarah shrugged, leading you into her room. “well, what else is there to do at midsummers?” she gave a grin, like the cat that got the cream. “john b and I call the golf restrooms.” she pushed your shoulders down, settling you to the bed, before turning her attention to her brother, who was sulking in the doorway.

“rafe! let me fix your hickey, you heathen!”

[hopelessromanticvirgo]

Sincerely, Always Yours

Chapter 47

Chapter 46

“Oh god, I can’t believe we wasted so much time.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did.”

Robbe lightly slapped Sander’s hand away, which was slowly caressing his cheek with his thumb, from his face when he said that, shook his head and blushed. Sander laughed at his reaction and put his hand back on its previous place, Robbe didn’t pushing it away this time, leaning onto his tender touch.

“It’s true though, if you haven’t told me that you were in love with Jens back that day, I would have confessed my feelings for you.” Sander said, looking down at the boy who was laying on his stomach, on Sander’s chest.

“Yeah sure.” Robbe rolled his eyes in amusement, his whole face glowing.

“I swear, I was going to.” Sander admitted, taking in the other boy’s beauty, having a power to admire it freely, without any fear because that boy was his. His to love and admire as long as Sander wanted, nobody was taking him away from Sander, and it was true, Robbe was right there with him, in his arms, where he belonged to and he would stay here forever. Call him possessive but that’s how he felt, and he also learnt being possessive from the boy he was in love with.

“Uhuhh.” Robbe teased again, leaning down to kiss his nose. He put his head on his hands, still fully laying on Sander’s chest.

“You just don’t want to admit that it was your fault.” Sander said, pulling his eyebrows up in challenge.

“If that’s what you want to believe, babe.” Robbe said, rolling his eyes again, shrugging his shoulders, deeply starting into Sander’s eyes.

Sander shivered at the nickname, this whole thing still felt like a dream and he knew he wouldn’t get used to it quickly, but he could learn to live like this, living his dream life.

It felt like heaven, finally getting everything he ever wanted. Sander feels powerful, like he can move the mountains with his words. He’s happy, he’s extremely happy.

Robbe turned a bit so now he was snuggling up on Sander’s side, his left hand on his naked chest, his fingers drawing some lines.

Sander followed gazed down on Robbe’s fingers and then started laughing.

The boy looked up at him confusingly, silently asking what he found so funny.

Sander smirked.

“You act all cute and adorable right now, but you’re an animal.” Robbe still looked confused, and because of that, Sander pointed at his chest with his eyes, and that’s when Robbe’s eyes went wide, he pushed himself into his neck to hide his face, making the older boy laugh, pulling him closer with his arm around his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, you seem to have a very violent personality.” Sander kept teasing, smiling at the boy who was making noises in complain, against his skin.

In a minute, Robbe pushed himself a little bit up, so he was leaning on his elbow, looking down at Sander’s body, which was covered in love bites, not only they were red, but most of them already turned dark purple and there wasn’t just a few of them. His whole neck and half of his chest was full of them.

“I just love to mark my territory.” He smiled at him, his face still flushed.

“Yeah, I can see that. There isn’t any way for me to at least try to hide them.” Sander said while examining the ones he could see.

“Oh but Sander, that’s the whole point, and we also can’t forget that I love doing this, and you also adore them very much, I could figure out by the noises and your reactions.” He leaned forwarded, pecked his lips, smirking at him because he knew he was right.

“Oh yes, I very much enjoyed it.” Sander said, taking one of his hands to grip Robbe’s neck and hair, making the boy throw his head back a little bit.

“You’re a vampire. My cute little vampire.” He whispered, his other hand trailing down on Robbe’s chest, making the boy let out a desperate sigh.

“I don’t care what I am, I only care that I’m yours, that’s the most important part.” Robbe said, staring into his green eyes, daringly.

“You’re mine and nobody is taking you away from me, that’s final.” Sander told him, tightened his grip on Robbe’s hair, making the younger boy let out a moan.

“And you’re mine.” Robbe gulped, his face as serious as it can get, making Sander grin.

“I am, I always was and I always will be.” As soon as he said that, Robbe was on him, putting both of his legs on other side of his body, leaning forward, kissing him and holding his face with his hands.

It was crazy how just a few days ago, they would never imagine this, and how fast everything between them would change.

“I waited years to hear that.” Robbe said when they pulled away, putting their foreheads together.

“And I waited years to say that.” Sander whispered, completely consumed by the look Robbe was giving him, never feeling this kind of emotion in his whole life.

He got closer, put his head down just a little bit, trailing down his neck, gently biting down the skin, feeling Robbe running his fingers though his already grown out roots, pushing his head back, making it easier for Sander to reach his skin.

Suddenly, Robbe’s phone started ringing. The younger boy let out groan, noticing how Sander wasn’t stoping any of his movement.

“Just ignore it.” He head his lover mumbled, licking the skin.

“I can’t - what if it’s important?” Robbe said but he was still pushing his head back, giving Sander the full control, more skin to cover, not moving regardless of what he just said.

“More important than me?” Sander teased, enjoying the noises the boy was making.

“Nothing is more important than you, and you know what but wait -“ he said, quickly pulling out of his grasp, kissing him and bending down from the bed to pick up the phone he threw on the floor somewhere, almost falling off of the bed but Sander managed to catch his leg, laughing.

“Got it.” Robbe grinned when he saw and took it, letting Sander know he should help him up.

After he got back on where he was before, he looked down and saw it was Sander’s mom calling.

He put his phone in Sander’s hands, who answered it, taking Robbe’s right hand in his own, started to play with his fingers. Now both of them were sitting up against the headboard.

“Hey, mom.”

“Oh thank god, where were you? I couldn’t reach your phone and I got worried, I didn’t want to bother Robbe but I couldn’t help myself.” Robbe heard her voice loud and clear coming from his phone.

“Well, I’m okay mom, more than okay actually.” Sander started, threw a quick glance at the boy next to him, making him smile. “I’m with Robbe. Nothing to worry about.”

“Wait - wait - does that mean?” She paused stopped in the middle of the sentence but apparently that was enough for Sander to understand what she meant.

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes.

“Really? Are you serious?”

“I am.” Sander laughed.

“No, let me talk to Robbe, I don’t trust you.” His mom said and Sander put down his phone, pretending to be annoyed, putting her on speaker, mumbling ‘nobody cares about what I have to say’ making Robbe laugh.

“Hi.” Robbe said, excited to be included in this conversation.

“Hello, darling. Did he finally tell you?” She asked, her voice getting higher from happiness.

“Yes, he did.” Robbe said, taking the hand that was holding his own, bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly, grinning to ear to ear.

Sander’s mom was quiet for a while, realizing what she just heard and then she carefully asked: “Does that mean- are you two?”

Sander couldn’t hold back anymore, he groaned and then let out a laugh.

“Oh my god, yes, mom.” That was it and they heard her scream from the other side of the phone from happiness.

“Mom, no, you’re embarrassing me.” Sander whined, blush covering his cheeks and neck, the whole thing being the extremely amusing for Robbe, laughing as he was watching it unfold in front of him, looking from Sander to the phone in his hands and then back at him again.

He always loved Sander’s mom and their relationship’s dynamic.

“Oh shut up, I waited years for this moment. I’m so happy for you.” She said, exhilarated.

“Okay, okay. Enough embarrassing me now.” Sander started, cutting her off, his whole face red, not even daring to look towards Robbe’s grinning and shining face.

“Robbe, you need to come over for dinner, now officially because - wait, oh my god, I was keeping it a secret but I have to tell you boys now - I two tickets to Italy for a few days on Sander’s birthday and I wanted to force him to take you with him but now that you two are finally together, I don’t have to. And we can also -“ she completely ignored her son, her excited voice kept talking and talking.

Robbe’s eyes went wide, his heart beating out of his chest at the mention of that.

“Mom! Stop! I’m hanging up. Also, my phone’s dead and I don’t have the charger, just so you will know.” Sander said fast, his finger hovering on the “end call button.”

“Okay okay, I won’t bother you anymore.” She said, being annoyed at her son. “Robbe, sweetie, take that stupid boy and come over tomorrow for dinner, okay?”

“We will -“ Robbe started but Sander quickly yelled out “bye” and hang up, throwing the phone on the bed, taking the pillow and hiding his face in it, making the boy laugh out loud.

Robbe really could get used to this, he has never felt this warmth in his whole body before.

“So - Italy huh?” Robbe said, his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling.

“Shut up. I told her no when she first brought this topic up and she promised she wouldn’t buy the tickets.” Sander was mumbling, the fabric of the pillow still covering his mouth.

“She’s so cute.” Robbe told him, couldn’t believe how welcoming and sweet she was towards him. Snatched the pillow from Sander’s face, making the boy look over at him.

“Stop being such a baby. I’m actually so happy that you told her.” Robbe rolled his eyes, getting in his previous position before the phone called, on top of his body, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“I had to tell someone or else I’d go insane.” Sander said, staring up at him.

“Yes, I can relate to that. I kept everything secret until I just couldn’t, then I told Jens.” Robbe said so casually, not realizing what kind of shock news that was for Sander, whose eyes went enormous.

“Wait, what? Jens knows?”

“Of course he knows, he has been actually referring to you as my boyfriend, for months now, and I didn’t dare to correct him.” The boy said, brushing it off like it was nothing. “My boyfriend, it has a nice ring to it.” He added, loving the way it sounded, rolling from his tongue.

“Are you telling me that I - fuck I was jealous of person who was calling me your boyfriend even when I was in a relationship?” Sander couldn’t believe this, his whole life has been a total lie.

“Yep, you’re just dumb.” Everything felt so natural, like it has always been like this for them, teasing, hugging, kissing, just enjoying each other’s presence.

They both realized that they were never only friends, maybe at the beginning but they doubt it. They would never be able to be just friends, yes, they were best friends but they were lovers from the start and sooner or later, they’d figure it that they couldn’t live with out each other, and now they finally did.

“Wow. There’s a lot to take in.” Sander said, surprise still covering his face.

“You don’t say.”

“The thing is that I’d never imagine something like this. When you told me you were in love with him, all of my dreams came crushing down, after that, of course, I was noticing some things but I didn’t let my brain overthink it, knowing I’d only get hurt, you know? So I just tried not to pay attention, thinking my mind was doing tricks on me.” Sander admitted to not only Robbe, but to himself too.

“Actually, the same thing happened with me about your eye. When I first saw it on your other account, obviously I didn’t pay much attention because I just didn’t care enough, then I was like ‘it looks like Sander’s eye’ but I convinced myself that I was just seeing you everywhere, so I also didn’t think much about it and guess what? We were both right. We needed to pay attention to those signals.” It was funny really, how things turned out in the end, something they would never expect.

“You know I’d follow you if you asked right?” Robbe told him after the boy kept being silent, only roaming his hands in Robbe’s hair.

Sander looked at him confusingly and the boy added: “the tickets” letting him know what he was talking about.

“You would?” Sander questioned, raising one of his eyebrows, smile on his face.

“Are you kidding me? Going on a honeymoon with you for a few days? Who would have said no? I’m sure if things didn’t happen the way it did, we’d definitely break then, being all alone in Italy, somewhere nobody knows us, without any problems, sounds epic.”

“Well, we’re going, aren’t we?” Sander asked, just wanted to make sure.

“You’re an idiot. Of course we are, I need to say massive thank you to your mom, that’s not cheap and I don’t know how to feel about it.” Robbe said, never being used to taking and spending so much money on his own pleasure and enjoyment.

“It’s my birthday present. If that makes you feel better, nobody is giving you anything. I’m going, and I can manage to put you in my luggage.” He smirked at him, making Robbe roll his eyes, kissing him.

“So I’m your luggage now?”

“Didn’t you say that you didn’t care what you were, just cared that you were called mine?” Sander asked, completely aware that he won this conversation.

“You’re - “ Robbe shook his head, smile covering his face. “Well, I can’t argue with that logic since you, my man, are completely right.” He said, leaned down to kiss him again, the other boy quickly wrapping his arms around his back, pulling him closer.

* * *

“Aren’t you hungry?” Robbe asked, running his fingers in Sander’s hair who was laying on his shoulder.

“Hungry for you? Always.” The boy looked up at him, smirking.

“No, ugh, you’re unbelievable.” Robbe doesn’t know how he managed to go so long without this, without having him like this, but he was sure, he was never going back in those dark times.

“We need to make breakfast or lunch, or something. Fuck, I don’t even know if we have anything. I’m not in the mood to go grocery shopping right now, we can order something.” Robbe started thinking out loud, staring at the ceiling.

His mom was coming back later today, they decided that it was time she’d know the truth too. Robbe spent way too long lying to her when he and Sander were having problems, now he didn’t have to hide anything.

He told Sander how many times she’d mention him to Robbe, asking where he was and she knew they were supposed to stay together while she was away too, and in the end, universe made it work out for Robbe, since they were really staying together and he didn’t have to lie about that.

They were going to tell his mom today, Sander would spent the night here and tomorrow evening they’d go over at Sander’s place.

Everything seems to be working out perfectly and Robbe is too happy to even overthink about what could possibly go wrong.

He knows, when he has Sander by his side, he won’t be dealing with stuff alone anymore.

“I can make you croques.” Robbe said after the boy was quiet.

“No, don’t get up.” Sander whined and mumbled, cuddling up on his side, making the brunet chuckle.

“I know I won’t be able to make them as well as you do but -“ He started, also dreading the thought of leaving the bed.

“You’re the best one to make them, after me, but that’s not what I meant.” Sander said, giving him the puppy eyes look and how could Robbe turn him down?

“I know but aren’t you hungry?” He tried one more time.

“I just said, I’m only hungry for you.” Sander told him, pulling him down so they were face to face.

“You aren’t letting me go, are you?” Robbe asked jokingly after Sander entwined their bodies together, referring to him getting up to go to the kitchen but other part of him was asking this question generally and Sander understood the hiding meaning behind it.

“No, never. You just have to deal with it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Sander kissed his forehead, making the boy grin.

Food could definitely wait.

All of a sudden Robbe got serious, Sander noticed.

“What’s wrong?” He carefully asked, brushing off the hair that has fallen on his eyes.

“I’m sorry that I left you.” Robbe said, now staring at the wall behind Sander, not looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Back then. When I found out that I was in love with you. I ghosted you, I’m sorry.” He started, Sander tried to interrupt him by calling his name but Robbe didn’t let him. “No, I have to say it. You are right, it was my fault, no matter what I shouldn’t have said I was in love with Jens, I panicked, you were looking at me with something in your eyes, and maybe I also wanted to check what your reaction would be, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell you the whole truth.” He stared chanting, his eyes unfocused, making Sander’s heart break. “It was so hard for me, staying away from you, while all I wanted to do was to come back in your arms. And now hearing you were about to confess when I came out to you and I - I ruined everything -“ he started breathing heavily, it was obvious that this was still bothering him a lot.

“Hey, hey, stop that. I was only teasing, nothing is your fault okay? It happened how it happened, maybe I wouldn’t be strong enough to tell you I loved you, you will never know the answer to what would happen so stop punishing yourself for it.” Sander said, caressing his face with his hands, making Robbe look in his eyes.

Robbe wasn’t sure about it and Sander could see it, so he leaned down and kissed him.

“If things didn’t happen the way it did, we wouldn’t be us, we wouldn’t be as strong as we are and as in love, okay? Our past did this, we are here, together because of that. So please, let’s just close this chapter of our book and end this conversation once and for all, nothing is anybody’s fault, the universe wanted it to happen like this, alright?” He asked, hoping that his boy would stop beating himself up for this, fortunately, Robbe nodded, kissing him back, putting their foreheads together.

“You’re right, yes.” He whispered.

Sander smiled, saying “I’m always right” making Robbe glare at him.

Some time passed and they were still in the same position, just looking at each other, when Robbe started giggling.

“What?” Sander asked, interested in what he had to say.

“Can you believe that we kissed that day?” Robbe asked, referring to the night they got high.

“No, Robbe, I can’t believe it since I don’t remember.” He said, slightly annoyed at himself because he couldn’t remember this huge part of their relationship.

“Ugh, you are no fun.” Robbe breathed out, holding half of his face against his palm.

“I was worrying about sleeping with someone I didn’t know, while you were the one eating my skin and you didn’t say anything.” Sander said, grumpily.

“Well, what could I say? I only remembered us kissing, I had zero clue about the hickey, that’s why I was overthinking that maybe all of my memories were fake.”

“Looking at your art work on my body right now, I guarantee you that it was yours.” Sander teased, making the boy blush.

“I told you, about the kissing part. You were the only person I admitted it to.” Robbe whispered, then his smiled dropped, he paused. “You thought it wasn’t you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I already knew you weren’t telling me something and when you said that, in my mind it was clear that we split up, I did some things with a stranger or I don’t know and you - with -“ Sander started, couldn’t finish it, but he didn’t have to, Robbe knew exactly what he was trying to say.

“We were together the whole night, that’s what I remember but when you told me you didn’t remember anything, I tried to make myself believe it was all hallucinations.” Robbe said, still touchy about remembering how much in pain both of them were just a few weeks ago.

“I cried.” Sander said suddenly after being quiet for a while.

“Huh?”

“When you told me about this, while talking to me on the other account, I cried, a lot.”

“No, Sander.” He whispered, pulling the boy closer so their whole bodies were touching each other, then it hit him, his eyes went wide.

“When you didn’t text back? For an hour or two?” He carefully asked, already knowing the answer to it, Sander nodded his head.

“My baby.” Robbe cuddled up to him, holding his hands.

He felt his heart shattering at the thought of how much they secretly hurt each other, while not even knowing it.

Robbe felt horrible about it but like Sander said, they had to move on from this, so now, he tried to lighten up the mood.

“If that makes you feel better, I cried a lot too when you were hanging out with that bitch.” Robbe said, so casually like it wasn’t a big deal at all and it made Sander sadly chuckle.

“You’re a jealous boy, aren’t you?” Sander rhetorically asked, already figured out and knew how much Robbe despised when Sander was dating her, everything Robbe said about “my best friend’s girlfriend” was about her.

“Oh yes, I definitely am. And I’m not sorry about it. You belong to me, and only me and that’s final.” He said out of possessiveness, making Sander laugh.

“Easy there, tiger.” Sander said, turning his head to kiss him again.

“But you’re right. My whole heart, soul, body, existence belongs to you.” He said, looking up at him.

“You’re so sappy.” Robbe said, trying to hide the blush he got from his words, but he failed and he realized that when Sander hit him with “I saw that.”

“You didn’t see anything.” Robbe mumbled, not taking his face out of Sander’s neck.

“No I saw that, I saw that, let me see.” Sander started, sitting up on top of him, Robbe immediately putting his hands on his face.

“Take our hands off, I want to see you.” Sander said, smiling while the boy under him kept shaking his head.

“Okay then, if this is what you want. I already warned you.” Before Robbe even had time to ask what he meant, fingers were ticking him on his side, making him laugh, automatically taking his hands off of his face, struggling to catch a breath.

“There’s my beautiful boy.” Sander said, after Robbe showed his face, holding the hands in his own so he wouldn’t cover his face again, seeing how Robbe was burning in color red. Sander leaning down, starting kissing his forehead, then his eyelids, nose, cheeks until he finally got to his lips. Robbe was staring at him like he wasn’t real, in pure bliss, enjoying everything, feeling so happy that he was afraid he was gonna explode from the feelings.

“Just come here.” Robbe laughed, kissing him, freeing his arms wrapping them around his neck.

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Sander said, against his lips when they pulled away to take a breath.

“You better not.” Robbe gave him a teasingly stern look, admiring the way Sander looked, staring down at his body, covered in his marks, as it should be, feeling proud.

Sander laid down next to him, putting his hand on his chest, moving it up and down, kissing the skin on his shoulder before closing his eyes.

“You’re sleepy?” Robbe asked softly, enjoying the warmth of his boyfriend’s body pressed against him.

They actually haven’t talked about the titles or anything, not that they had to. Everything was obvious.

Sander hummed, kissed his skin again. Robbe also closed his eyes, listening to the sounds coming from the street. It was already way past afternoon but he didn’t care, all he cared about was a boy in his arms, about to fall asleep again, so he kissed his hair, and closed his eyes too.

* * *

When they woke up again it was already dark, around six or seven o’clock, but they still had some time until Robbe’s mom would come back.

Robbe texted her, letting her know that they didn’t have any food at home but she told him she was going to buy some stuff when she’d get off the train. Robbe also suggested going to the station to meet her but she refused, said she was going to take a taxi.

Robbe was more than happy that he didn’t have to leave Sander’s side.

They decided that it was finally time to get up. Sander took a shower and when he came back, Robbe had a few options of clothes he could wear, ready on the bed, all of them being Sander’s, ones he had stolen from his wardrobe.

As soon as Sander saw them, his eyes went wide, then he smirked, walking in the room with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking down at the clothes: “Oh, so that’s where all my hoodies and T-shirts went.”

“Shut up, you had no idea.” Robbe answered him, while putting the clothes on the chair so he could make the bed.

“I mean, maybe not exactly but I knew you had some.” Sander admitted, putting on one of his old sweatpants and hoodie.

“What?” Robbe turned around, with a confusion written on his face.

“Yeah, one time we were FaceTiming and you were wearing my hoodie. I didn’t think much about it, I just thought you wore it at my house and then forgot it was mine. Obviously, I wouldn’t ask you anything about it and I loved the fact that you had my clothes.” He smirked, now looking in the mirror, trying to comb down his wet hair.

“Wow.” Robbe said, coming behind him and then standing next to him, admiring him.

“I didn’t know you had this many though, I was constantly looking for them, thinking I was going insane since they started disappearing. What were you trying to do? Take so many of them so I’d end up being naked?” He asked, shooting him a look from the mirror.

Robbe laughed, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Yep, that’s exactly what I was trying to do. Worked pretty well, didn’t it?” Smirked at him, started walking away from the room, calling back: “if you think you are getting them back, sorry, but you are very wrong, love.”

“I’m okay with that. Make me a coffee?” Sander yelled out for him when he was already in the hallway, going to the kitchen.

Robbe walked, humming to himself, start making something to eat and of course, coffee.

He felt like he was stuck in a dream, but for the first time in his life, he admitted that he deserved this, to be happy and he was finally getting what he deserved.

He made some mistakes, yes, but who hasn’t? To balance it off, he also got hurt a lot, and now it was time for him to live as happily as he possibly could.

They were okay, more than okay like Sander said, both emotionally and physically.

Sander’s hand was almost completely healed, he took of the bandage a few days ago, now he had a long scar following down his skin on his arm, they told him that there was a big chance it’d almost disappear since the healing process was very successful, and he could also do a few procedures if he wanted to make it vanish completely. Robbe spent at least half an hour kissing every inch of it.

They were still exhausted, mainly because of how stressful everything has been for them but after this, Robbe was sure, they could finally breath normally.

It was about the time when he felt hands wrapping themselves on his body, behind him, the boy putting his face in his neck.

“Guess who?” He asked, laughing.

“Who? Lost rebel?” Robbe rolled his eye, loving the warmth of Sander pressed against him.

Sander chuckled, decided to ignore the last comment.

“You’re gonna make me coffee everyday when we get married too?” He asked, making Robbe almost choke on his breath.

“We’re getting married?” The way Sander, oh so casually said that was making Robbe crazy.

“Of course we are.” Sander said in the tone of ‘what kind of question even is that’ making Robbe’s soul melt.

His heart started beating fast, he needed to change the topic so he wouldn’t burst out of the emotions: “You won’t be able to sleep tonight, it’s way too late for coffee, San.” He said, putting the sugar in the cup, Sander’s hands were wrapped around his shoulders now making it a little bit harder for him to move but Robbe didn’t mind it.

“Who said I’m planning to sleep tonight?” Sander teased, kissing his neck, making Robbe whimper.

This boy - I swear.

“Can you take the eggs out of the fridge?” Robbe asked, when he finished getting water ready to pour it in the kettle.

Sander nodded his head in agreement, kissed the back of his neck, letting go of him to do exactly what he was told.

Robbe turned around, put the kettle down and as he took another step, he slipped on the floor tiles, yelped out a little bit and was about to reach for the counter to balance himself but Sander was there giving him a hand.

“Why are you so clumsy?” Sander jokingly asked.

“Ugh, can’t you do anything else but make fun of me all day?” Robbe shook his head, silently glad that he managed to catch him before Robbe’d hit his head on the cold floor.

“Didn’t I say I’d catch you if you fall?” Sander asked, not minding the last sentence Robbe said, making the boy remember that day when Sander promised him he’d be there to catch him.

Robbe wrapped his arms around his neck, standing on his tiptoes, whispering: “Maybe you need to be holding me in your arms all the damn time so I won’t fall on the floor” bringing his face closer to him.

Sander smiled, looked him up and down.

“I think so too. If I won’t be holding you, you might hurt yourself and we don’t want that, do we?” Sander asked. Robbe shook his head, smiling up at him.

“Then it must be a great news to hear that I never plan to let go of you.”

Chapter 48

[forabeatofadrum]

Paradiso 8 aka the one where *Simon* punches Gabriele D’Annunzio

Summaty: Again, what the title says, loves.

As always 😘 to @martsonmars. A sequel to Paradiso 6  aka the one where Baz punches Gabriele D’Annunzio. Where is Paradiso 7 you might ask? Great question!

--

2048

SIMON

“Three time’s the charm,” Rosemary casts. Her necklace is dangling from her hand, since Rosemary found out that that makes channeling her magic easier. (It does look more comfortable than her craning her neck all the time.) 

The spell hits Baz and he shudders.

Great.

“Are you sure about this, love?” Baz asks me.

“You started it!” I say back.

“Dads, please,” Rosemary rolls her eyes. She once again looks like she’s regretting this. At least this time, Baz and I were very upfront about our plans. My plans. 

My plans to revive Gabriele D’Annunzio again.

Rosemary then pointed out that this will be the third time that Baz will bring this guy back from the dead, so she decided to cast a Three time’s the charm on him to make his spellwork better. She’s dropped all pretenses of academic interest. She’s upfront about the fact that she wants to see this unfold. She’s only a bit annoyed by my reasoning behind this plan.

I need this to work.

Jealousy isn’t my strongest suit. I know this is petty and unreasonable. I can handle Baz joking about D’Annunzio being his good friend, but I draw the line at Baz calling D’Annunzio ‘the love of his life’, even when it’s in jest.

So, now I am the one punching him.

“Alright, Snow?” Baz asks me again.

I nod. Rosemary sighs and I hear her mutter “I never should’ve moved to Pescara” under her breath.

Baz points his wand towards the floating book in front of him. The book is showing the same photo of D’Annunzio like before. 

“La morte una cosa che non si pu fare due volte,” Baz casts and yeah, D’Annunzio really changed this by dying three times already. We’re adding a fourth one.

Is this ethical?

Probably not, but I need to do this.

Like the previous two times, a red spark bounces off the book onto the floor. The spark grows and slowly morphes into a human form. I know what’s coming next, so I look away. I am not a vampire, so I cannot handle this burst of light, but my husband and daughter have already described this ‘portal’ in great detail for me.

When the light dies down, a very alive Gabriele D’Annunzio is standing in our lounge. He’s befuddled.

Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for us, D’Annunzio doesn’t remember the other two revivals, so I get a kick out of asking “Signore D’Annunzio?” with a mischievous smile.

He looks confused and slightly afraid, but he eventually nods.

He’s about to say something, I take one step towards him and punch him in the face. 

“Lui è mio marito. He’s mine!” I yell for good measure.

Rosemary knows it was coming, but she still lets out a surprised grunt and Baz slaps his forehead.

Before D’Annunzio’s mind fully catches up with what the fuck just happened, Baz points his wand and at him and quickly say: “Uomo morto non fa guerra!”

The three of us watch how D’Annunzio pops out of existence.

“Did that feel good?” Baz asks after a small beat of silence.

I nod. I breathe heavily. I had no idea how intense this would be for me.

Did I ask my husband to temporarily revive an Italian poet who died in 1938 just to punch him because of petty, unreasonable jealousy? Yes, I did. It definitely felt good.

“Oh mio dio,” Rosemary sighs, “At this rate we’ll have to revive him again so that I can punch him.”

Baz and I share a look.

Rosemary notices and her eyes widen.

“Oh, no, no, no, dads, this is not happening,” she says. She turns on her heel and walks out before we can persuade her to do it.

Baz shrugs.

“We’ll keep it in mind.”

I nod.

“Yes, this is basically a family tradition. One day, Rosemary will punch him as well.”

“Can’t wait for it.”

--

End notes: You’ve heard of our good friend Jonathan Harker, so meet our good friend Gabriele D’Annunzio. This man keeps popping up everywhere, so when Marta joked that Baz calls him “the love of his life”, this happened.

Also, Marta, I hope that Google Translate was accurate with the basic bitch Italian phrases, since I didn’t want to ask you and spoil the (hopeful) element of surprise.

[builder051]

The talk

Chasing Ghosts

(I generally do not play in this arena; DO NOT ask for other stories with PMS, etc., as illness features. I do loosely plan to continue this thread, though. Or @mohini-musing might pick up for me.)

Warnings: weight (though not ED context), SA inc. prostitution, blood, emeto

____________________________

Tasha comes down the hall and stands like a ghost behind the sofa.

James is in the recliner across the living room, and he barely looks up from the textbook he's pretending to peruse. The quiet music he's had playing in one ear has long since captured his attention more than the multiplication of matrices. He's fairly sure he'll never use the skill lest he become a software engineer post-graduation, and the prospect of that's looking pretty slim.

He sees Tasha out of his peripheral vision, but doesn't move his head or lift his eyes for acknowledgment. She's probably drifted down from her weekend high, realized it's Sunday night, and gotten up for a Gatorade and maybe a glance at her homework.

Steve, though, who's lying on his stomach and taking up the whole of the couch, practically jumps to attention. He stands, scoots, and sits again in the amount of time it takes James to blink and make the first inhalation of a laugh.

"Sorry," Steve says, as if he's personally offended Tasha and just been called out. "I didn't mean... I was just, like, studying..."

Tasha shrugs. "Didn't come to sit with you," she says, in a voice that recalls the 'boys are gross' tone of young teenagerhood.

"What's up, then?" James asks, trying to bring back the balance of the room's atmosphere.

Tasha makes an ugly face. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. "Can I talk to you alone?"

James scoffs. "You think there's privacy in this apartment?"

"I can go, I don't know--" Steve looks around.

"Just talk," James says. He almost rolls his eyes, but the undercurrent of Tasha's affect seems to hold an air of seriousness. If there's something she needs to confess or ask for help with, he doesn't want her to feel less than secure.

Tasha lets out a breathy sort of sigh. "Blood," she says. "There's blood."

"Huh?" Steve responds first. "Where?"

James takes a little longer to contemplate the admission. Has she cut herself? There's no visible damage; Tasha's not holding an injury or howling in pain. Bloody vomit? That's nothing new, really, and even with vampire-red teeth, which she doesn't have, Tasha probably wouldn't come crying to him.

James is still thinking when Tasha points vaguely down the hall and to the left, which is, technically speaking, her side of the apartment. Or at least the bedroom and bathroom they'd parceled out for her when they'd unofficially moved her out of her dreary campus housing.

"What, in your room?" Steve asks.

"No." Tasha screws up her eyes. "I mean... I'm bleeding."

The cogs continue to turn in James's head, and just as he lands on an answer, Steve gives up, shaking his head and saying, "I don't get it."

"Fuck you," Tasha mumbles. "Both of you." She turns and starts to head back down the hallway.

"Tash." James jumps to his feet, his algebra book falling to the floor.

"You guys are fucking gay..."

"Hey!" Steve interjects.

James flaps his hand at Steve to shut him up. "Maybe we're gay, but I'm your big brother." He shoots a quick glance at Steve, hoping this won't surpass his no privacy promise. They've done some pretty wild stuff together: partying, puking, cleaning the carpet... Period talk shouldn't be too far out of their wheelhouse. At least, not if Tasha wants to talk about it.

Tasha huffs and rounds the edge of the sofa. She stands beside the arm, leaning her hip against it for a moment, before finally deciding to sit down, as far away from Steve as possible.

"I..." James starts, assuming it's his responsibility to keep the conversation going. "I assumed you hadn't been, um. You know."

Tasha's 100 pounds soaking wet. In her usual cutoff shorts and tank tops, he'd give her 95. Maybe 92 if she's detoxing. James assumes she has something like female athlete triad going on, except without the athlete. He doesn't like to think she's just too skinny to go through... normal biological processes. If he blames the drugs, sees them as wrecking her body instead of bringing her solace, then he'll have to turn eyes on himself, and there's no way in hell he wants to do that.

"Smart one," Tasha says. "And exactly how much thought do you give to the functioning of my uterus?"

Steve gives an 'oh shit' face, looking from James to Tasha and back again as if wondering how he's been so thick headed. James agrees, but is also relieved, in a way, that his boyfriend hasn't been thinking about his sister in, well, that way.

"Seeing as I have, more than once, pulled you out of an R-rated situation with iffy consent, and you have yet to become pregnant--" James starts.

"Yeah, ok, you don't have to..." Tasha shakes her head.

James decides not to stop his momentum. "Do you know how much sex you're having? How often you're using protection?"

"I said, you don't have to." Tasha glares at him. "I don't have one. A cycle, or whatever. I can't get knocked up."

"Well, I figured that, but you can still get an STD--

"I don't think you're hearing me," Tasha says. "I don't have one. I haven't. Like, ever."

"But--what?" James squints and cocks his head. "What about, what was it? Cheerleading camp?"

"That stupid summer program when I was 16?" Tasha bites her lip. "Yeah, that was a lie."

"You're losing me." Steve reminds them he's part of the conversation as well.

"What, didn't your mom send you to cheerleading camp when you were a sullen teen?" Tasha asks him, seemingly in all seriousness.

"Um. No." Steve withers a little under her stare. "There was a threat to beat it out of me with a bible when I was that age, but that never came to fruition."

"Mm. Fun times." Tasha scrubs her hair back from her face. "I told mom of the moment I started at camp, so then she couldn't go nuts about the moment I 'became a woman,' or whatever."

Tasha has always seemed like a little kid to James. Her stint at camp had only taken place... he quickly calculates... 3ish years ago. Tasha is a kid. She hasn't busted 20 years old yet. But, for the first time James wonders if other, more metaphorical factors are at play.

The idea quickly fades, though, when he remembers the actual topic at hand. "Ok, but Tash," James says. "What's actually going on right now?"

Tasha practically sinks into the couch cushions. She wraps both arms around her abdomen. "Blood," she says. "Kinda...everywhere."

"We'll clean the bathroom later," James says dismissively.

"And I'll do laundry," Steve offers. "I used to be the scrawny kid who got beat up a lot. I can do bloodstains."

"Not helping, babe," James tells him before Tasha can get a word in.

"Feel sick," Tasha admits, rather suddenly.

"Bathroom it is, then," James decides. "But, let's use mine."

Tasha seems to have turned into a shapeless blob on the corner of the couch, her chest meeting her thighs with her arms still wrapped around her stomach. Her face is in her knees, which James has to admit, would be easier to clean than the carpet.

"Come on," he says gently, taking Tasha's shoulder. "If you're gonna puke, don't do it here, please."

"But I already diiiiid," Tasha complains, drawing out the last word and adding the hiccup of a fake crying fit.

"Sorry." James hooks his flesh arm across Tasha's chest and lets her cling to him down the hall. He takes her into his and Steve's disorganized yet bleach-shined bathroom. Cleaning was practically Steve's hobby. Yet keeping down the clutter? Not his strong suit.

Unsure of exactly what kind of sick his sister intends to be, he sets her down, fully clothed, on the toilet, which, of course, has the seat up. Then he dives for the trash can and shoves it into Tasha's chest.

She gives James an appreciative glare, then sets her chin on the edge of the trash can, ostensibly to wait for an upcoming retch. James can practically see it, rising from the bottom of her spine, up her back, to her neck and throat before finally pushing a pitiful amount of spit and bile out of her mouth.

"Ok..." James sighs. If she's down to just that, she's been at it a while. Lost a lot of fluids already.

"Gatorade?" Steve asks in a chipper tone, putting voice to what James is thinking without a trace of delicacy.

"Hmph." Tasha spits. "If it'll... make it stop burning..."

"Lemme guess, vodka last night?" James tries to make her laugh. Maybe cough.

"Fuck you."

"Eh, we'll talk about that later," James says, hoping he doesn't sound threatening. "For now, how about I go with you?" James pulls on Steve's arm and heads for the bathroom door.

"Hey, you said no privacy here..." Tasha's irritated and sickly voice trails after them.

"Yeah, well, puking people aren't allowed to leave the bathroom," James says. "That's the house rule that trumps all the others."

"But I puke on the couch all the time--"

"That's because it's too hard to get your fucking limp-ass octopus body into the bathroom in the first place." James rolls his eyes. "Just sit tight."

He quickly drags Steve into the kitchen. "Ok," he says. "You have to know about this stuff. You took health class in high school, right?"

"I've lived with a woman," Steve reminds James, a little shamefully. "But Peggy was super private. You know, like inhibited, about, like, um..."

"Yeah, I get it." James shrugs. Then, "Did you know you can stem a nosebleed with a tampon?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know..." James shakes his head.

"Why do you?" Steve looks a little take aback now.

"The field. Desert air's pretty damn dry."

"Ah. Ok."

"We'd get donations of shit from the states. Care packages, Costco overstock, you know. Just, whatever. When we got pads and stuff, whoever was unloading the box would just hold them over their head and yell 'who needs them?'"

"And I'm assuming people would just raise their hands?" Steve postulates.

"Yup." James pops the P. "No privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's bathroom habits. When you're deep in the field, there's no men's and women's facilities. Half the time the privies don't even have doors."

"Ok." Steve nods. "Experience, then. You have lots of experience."

James shrugs again. "You have to be chill, ok?" He opens the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He holds one to either side of Steve's neck, as if to physically cool him. "This is, like, super weird and awkward for her. She's really scared, I think, and her brave face just looks...jerk-ish."

"Yeah." Steve takes the Gatorade. "I can be good with this. I really care about her, even if she doesn't think I do."

"I know you do," James says. "It's all in the presentation right now, though. She's skittish. But, also, for some reason, willing to talk. We have to tease it out. And you can't ruin it, ok?"

"Ok, ok." Steve seems to understand, even if he doesn't appreciate the words.

They head back to the bathroom, where Tasha has, for whatever reason, decided to heave into the toilet instead of the trash. She squats awkwardly, sitting on one heel. From the angle he's at, James can see a spreading stain on the back of Tasha's shorts, which has made an imprint on her ankle and the bottom of her foot.

"Don't move," James says, reaching for a towel.

"The fuck would I?" Tasha coughs, holding her stomach and moaning.

"Well, when you're done, stand up slowly and wipe your feet."

"...Shit..." Tasha spits. "Like I said. It's fucking everywhere."

"Yeah..." Menstrual blood, James has no experience with. But blood in general, yeah. It does get fucking everywhere. There's that first moment when the entire body and all its systems are still in shock, like when the arm is first blown off, and then all he can see is red. Even the bone that was white just a second ago is lost in a sea of scarlet--

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," Steve says with a grin, clearly trying to be friendly, but missing out on one, or more, of the points. "You're not pregnant."

"Well, of course I'm not, you dingbat," Tasha replies, rolling her eyes so hard that James is sure it must give her a headache. If she doesn't already have one. "And besides. He used a condom."

"Wait," James says. He's been preoccupied by not looking at Steve. "You know that?" he pokes cautiously. "For sure?"

"...Yeah..."

"Every time?"

"To be honest," Tasha starts, spitting and pushing herself away from the toilet. She crab-walks to the towel, wipes her feet, then sits on it, criss-cross like a little kid. "I don't know if he actually gets off every time." She draws her mouth into a straight, defensive line.

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" James asks.

Steve looks very much like he wants to get the bleach from the cabinet under the sink, pour it into one ear, tip his head, and see if it comes out the other.

"He pulls out," Tasha says bluntly. "And there's never any, you know. Gunk."

"Wait, he does both?" Steve's eyebrows disappear into his hair. "A condom and--"

"Ok, ok." James puts up his hands to shush them both. "And this is, what, this is your dealer we're talking about?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to call him that," Tasha says with a shrug.

"What else would we call him?" Steve now looks disgusted. "That'd be stupid to let him just, like, defile you every week."

"He doesn't--" Tasha starts, but then she hiccups, and maybe thinks better of what she was going to say. She still stares Steve down, though, then looks to James as if grasping at straws of support.

"He's, like, a manufacturer?" Tasha turns her gaze sideways.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." James puts his hand over his face. He'd assumed Tasha was getting her stuff on the street, through a framework of various interlopers. Now he's getting news that his kid sister is taking substances thrown together in some coed's bathtub? This is too much.

"Tash--" James starts, trying hard to keep his bubbling anger and concern from spilling over.

"He's a PhD candidate," Tasha says defensively. In Chemistry. And--" her eyes flicker from side to side as she seems to wonder what's appropriate to spill. "I won't tell you his name. But... I'll tell you that he got kicked off the football team for being too violent, but he still wears his green jersey all the time to prove how much better and calmer he's become since that happened, which was only in the freshman year of his undergrad..." Tasha babbles on.

The more she defends the guy, the more James hates him. He feels bad for him a little, slinging synthesized crack to get by. He feels better for Tasha, knowing that what she's taking is most probably pure. But the sex thing is--

"It's kinda creepy," Steve says, taking the words right from James's mouth. "Like, how much older than you is he?"

"I don't know." Tasha shrugs. "Not that much, I don't think. Started school early, finished fast. And I'm not sure this is his first post-graduate program..."

"Maybe shouldn't've added that last part," James says, screwing up his eyes. "So he's had, like, however long to prey on girls who are barely legal. Who might not even be legal..."

"Well, I'm legal, and I can do what I want." Tasha crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Yeah," James sighs. "Unfortunately."

"But what about the thing with the handcuffs? The gang rape? Losing your bra?" Steve blurts out.

"Wait, you..." Tasha's eyes flash with anger. "You told him?"

"What did I say about privacy?" James quickly reminds her. "The non-puking kind? And, um," He looks to Steve. "Maybe a little respect?"

"Sorry," Steve mutters. "But--I really do--"

"I don't really remember that stuff," Tasha says.

James studies her face, but he can't tell if she's lying.

"Probably just party stuff that got out of hand."

'You mean you were too stoned to know the difference between your regular and some random dude off the street,' James thinks. 'What do you do at parties? And how the fuck do you slip past me?'

"He's your pimp, too, isn't he?" Steve asks, pointing at Tasha rather accusatorially, in James's opinion.

"No!" Tasha leans forward and brings her arms down to cover her clearly still sore abdomen. "Bruce wouldn't--" She swallows. "I didn't-- You didn't hear--"

James hasn't been a student long enough to know who was on the football team 4, 5, 6-odd years ago. He supposes he could look it up, crossing the name with accounts of any violent incident that amount of time ago. He's not sure he wants to, though he'll probably wind up looking it up later. Either that, or Steve will. James still has his ex-mil connections, a few of which were absorbed into the local police force. Steve, on the other hand, is better with social media and navigating the niceties of such mysteries as SnapChat and TikTok.

"Ok, fine," James says, just ameliorate his sister's panic.

"He doesn't even drug me at parties," Tasha goes on, probably unaware of how terribly young and desperate she sounds, making lame-ass excuses so she can keep her boy toy.

"And you've had other guys who did?" Steve asks incredulously, even though James shakes his head frantically at him to try to get him to shut up.

"You know Rumlow?" Tasha asks, since apparently she's now all about spilling names.

James shakes his head, but Steve screws up his eyes and says in a disgusted voice, "him?"

"Yeah..." Tasha sighs and looks down at her fingernails, which are stained rust-red at the root. "Remember the night I didn't come home?"

"Yeah, and scared the living shit out of us because your phone was off," James fills in the blanks.

"Well, I didn't turn it off."

"You mean that asshole kept you overnight without any means of getting yourself out of there?" Steve looks downright sick. "I mean, I know he looks slimy, but that?"

"I think Maria accidentally slept on the couch and found me at, like, 6am trying to stick my head in the linen closet because I couldn't find the bathroom." Tasha laughs, though the situation is anything bur funny.

"And I was so pissed at her for having you out all night..." James trails off.

"Yeah, maybe respect my choices a little more?" Tasha glares at him. "I mean, Maria's studying to become an EMT now. You can't think that badly of her."

'Great,' James thinks. 'Someone who'll drug Tasha to the gills every weekend.' She'll be less likely to overdose, but James has seen it all too often in the field. Newly minted medical personnel eager to sow off their skills and rushing into action.

"Yeah," James says, trying not to smirk. "So you got a girlfriend and a boyfriend now?"

"Ew, no," Tasha replies. "Friends with...benefits, I guess. If you even want to call it that. Folks who look out for each other, using a barter system?"

"Did you recently take World History?" James can't help but poking at her vocabulary.

"Fucking-a, I don't know. Once I pass, it's in my past."

"That's actually a good motto," Steve points out.

"Anyway," James says, bringing the conversation back to topic. "None of your...friends... are invited to this house."

"It's not like I want to bring them over for dinner," Tasha replies. "I guess drop off and pickup might happen, since, well, you know now, and I don't have a car." She shrugs. "Cool?"

James hates the idea of someone inebriated driving a car in which his sister is a passenger, despite the fact that he's done it before. Regularly, actually. Maybe he just hates the idea of the driver being someone who Tasha just fucked. The air might be heavy between them. They might smell like each other's deodorant and musk. They might kiss each other good bye. The thought makes James's stomach turn.

But, "sure," he says. "That's fine.” At least she'll come home.

James shares a glance with Steve, which seems to confirm the same sentiments, "Yeah," Steve echoes, as if his opinion counts for anything. "Fine."

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 29

Masterpost

Prague has never smelled so much of vampires. It’s in every street, behind every corner, and she follows the smell as she speeds on her motorcycle towards the screams, through the cold night air. She smells blood, too, human and vampire, though the screams are harder to distinguish. They’re coming closer, right side of the street, and when she sees the broken windows and the glass on the street, she knows exactly where to go.

The strong wooden door has been kicked down with more than human force and she heads straight for the stairs, gun drawn. The screaming has stopped but the smell of blood intensifies with every step. The doors on the second floor are all barred and intact, though heavily scratched, so she heads up one more. The door on the left is ripped to pieces, blood splattered into the hallway. She presses against the wall, keeping her breathing down, peeking in.

There’s a severed arm in the hallway but worse, she hears faint breathing. Oh no. Not again. Steps. She braces herself-

The vampire tries to sink his fangs into her arm and she slashes his face with her knife, he screeches and presses his hands to the graying skin and she takes the opportunity to kick him in the chest, sending him flying down the hallway with a cracking sound, hitting the floor hard. His fangs are bloody, his eyes very dark, not a fledgling anymore. His clothes are shredded, dirty, barely covering the pale white skin. He’s probably one of those lone vampires roaming the countryside, hiding from detection by Schmidt’s goons, hoping to make it long enough on his own to be considered worthy, taking the lucky opportunity of a siege to ensure his own survival and drink as much blood on the way as he can. But now, he’s run into her.

She jumps at him as he scrambles up, sinking the knife into his shoulder, twisting it as he shrieks, she knocks out his right fang. His claws cut through the air and she has to retreat, shield her face. He hisses at her with his bloody fangs and attacks her. She rolls out underneath him, slashing his calf, he howls and drops to one knee, she grabs his head from behind and slashes his throat quickly but not deep enough, he pulls her to the floor with him, her armor creaks miserably under his claws but she delivers a clean uppercut, punches out the second fang and blocks his jaw while his claws try to break through her breast plate, she gets her hands on his knife and stabs him under the chin. It's not silver but it gives her enough time to grab her own knife from the floor, she bats his arms away, gets on top of him and drives it through his chest until the tip of the blade sinks into the wooden floor.

She remembers how darkness crept into Pierce's eyes when he died, flooding the white eyes with dark blood, but Pierce was an old vampire, not like this one. This one, his eyes are already dark, you'd never see it. Pierce is the only vampire she has killed whose eyes weren't red or black.

Okay. Now to the less pretty part.

She still hears the faint breathing. She already knew it wasn't the now dead vampire but the confirmation still hits her uncomfortably. She gets up and passes down the hallway into the apartment.

The crumpled body with the ripped off arm is in the living room, sucked almost entirely dry, definitely not breathing anymore. Faint whimpers coming from what must be the bedroom. Natasha heads there, knife gripped tight, controlling her breathing.

The woman is on the bedroom floor, bleeding from scratches on her arms, thighs and chest, trembling and whimpering, trying to crawl somewhere and just rolling in on herself. She has all the signs, the shaking, the sweating, the blown and twitching pupils. She smells like it, too. Natasha crouches down, carefully turning her head to bare the side of her neck. The woman startles but she can't really see, eyes darting around unfocused, fingers closing around thin air. Natasha stays back as good as she can, sweeping the hair back. The woman chokes with a sob. She must be in a lot of pain. The red bite mark on her neck is unmistakable.

"Please," the woman whispers, blindly flailing around without any force. "Please."

"I'm sorry," Natasha replies. She doesn't feel any hate anymore, it's just what it is, but if she lets this woman turn, she'll rip apart the people downstairs in a few hours. It's not her fault. It just has to be done.

"No!" the woman shrieks. "No, please, don't-"

The silver knife sinks into her chest, piercing her heart, and the begging stops, her arms drop heavily on the floor, empty eyes staring towards the ceiling. Natasha takes a deep breath, twisting the knife, then grabs the woman's head by her hair and cuts her head off with one vampire blood-fueled swing.

Now it's truly quiet. Lots of blood. The window is broken, cold December air streaming in. Maybe the smell will attract more vampires, scavengers, but she can't stick around when there are so many more places like this, so many more helpless victims, so many more vampires. She surveys the apartment once more, finding no survivors, retrieves her gun and then jumps through the window, three floors down, rolling through the impact, the armor protecting her from the glass shards, and before she knows it, she's back on the motorcycle, speeding towards the next unspeakable horror.

It's been a week. It had started slowly, more and more vampires, more and more attacks, and now every fucking night is a nightmare. A real bloodbath. Every vampire on their own is easy to kill, especially now that the vampire strength still hasn't worn off, but for every single one she kills, there are a dozen more the next night. A steady stream that only ever increases.

She's so in thought the falling thing almost hits her, throws her off the bike, but she zips out just barely. When she's steady enough to look up, she sees a window close on the fourth floor, wooden shutters slamming. Oh yeah. Driving through the city at night murdering people, very popular. That's also part of it.

She drives on anyway, catching a whiff of something around Nové Malešice and following it West. The area around the cemetery is deserted, as always, a popular superstition, so she turns South, stopping near the old prison when the smell becomes intense. A figure emerges from the shadows as she climbs off the bike. Sure, it has a few scratches from when she crashed into a bunch of vampires but it's not like she ruined it, no matter what Fury complains about. It's Sam.

He nods towards her blood covered armor and she shrugs, checking that her gun is still there. "Don't ask."

He shakes his head, looking up towards a dark window. "It's a group, five of them. Thought I'd better wait for backup."

"My phone broke two fights ago," she replies. "Are they in there?"

"Made sure they wouldn't leave," Sam confirms. "Actually, I was waiting for your friend but it looks like he's still busy."

It's beginning to annoy her she had a fucking baby with that guy and they still can't bring themselves to call him anything else than your friend. Nobody has mentioned the baby either, not even once, and she can't really complain about that but it still irks her. All the chiding looks, the quiet judgment, the barely hidden disgust. First, she had the benefit of the doubt when they didn't know how intimate she and James were, and then she was pregnant and dying and wasn't going to get too much criticism, or maybe she just wasn't well enough to notice, but now she has neither and she's just waiting until someone dares say something instead of it being clear on their faces, in their eyes.

"Don't need him," she replies. "Let's go."

  It's actually less messy than the previous fight. Sam shoots two before the vampires notice them and she gets the jump on another. Most of all, she doesn't have to kill humans again. It's not a difficult fight, at least for two people.

She takes the moment outside for a breather, staring at the cloudy sky as she grips the bloody jagged knife. This is only going to get worse. More vampires streaming in than they can kill. And then the black cloaks. Well, the ones who aren't already here. Sam joins her. "You okay?"

She nods. She's not even tired. Just weary. "Where are we going next?"

Sam checks his phone. "I don't know. Looks like your friend is still busy."

"Don't call him that," she snaps, regretting it instantly.

"What am I supposed to call him?" Sam asks calmly. "Your boyfriend?"

She doesn't reply. This is all stupid, she knows it. It felt like it would all be okay once she survived the pregnancy but it's the opposite, now she has to deal with the monster baby and the vampire invasion and her own relationship to a fucking vampire, none of it having gotten any easier. Chiding Sam for politely ignoring the nature of her relationship with James doesn't help a thing.

"Look, I know you like him, seriously," Sam adds. "He likes you, too. And I don't blame you for that or anything but- don't you ever think it's wrong ?"

It's never felt that way. But who is she to tell? Her morals are questionable at best. She knows what she's done. She also knows that she has already killed two people tonight, two humans on the verge of turning, and meanwhile she's running around still high on vampire blood and doesn't even really feel bad about it, if she's honest. At least not as bad as she should. Like she would still know what's right or wrong.

"Killing vampires is what feels right, doesn't it?" Sam asks. "Like tonight. You didn't stop for a second to think about whether one of them has feelings, you instantly knew they're bloodsucking monsters and you killed them. Seeing your- your friend's claws on your skin, that felt revoltingly wrong."

She only really has one reply, one counter argument, and she hadn't wanted to use it because it'll only make it worse but now, it slips out. "You're just jealous."

"I'm not jealous and you know that," Sam swats away easily. "I just can't help the feeling that one day, he's going to rip you to pieces. Maybe it'll be Schmidt's mind control, maybe it'll be his true nature coming through, maybe it'll just be an accident. Doesn't really make a difference. Actually, you're lucky if Schmidt kills him before it comes to that."

She shudders. Yes, she knows the prospects are grim. She knows James is still a vampire, still wants to drink her blood, she's dancing on knife's edge and hoping he miraculously has the self-control not to do it. Sam is right, he could slip at any moment, even by accident. She just can't bring herself to get off the knife. "What am I supposed to do? Dump him?"

Sam sighs. "Bobbi says he- he bit you."

She groans loudly. So much for secrets. "Not like that, it wasn't- I'm not turning-"

"I know," Sam interrupts. "I know. But don't tempt him. Don't let him get too relaxed, too close with you."

Dropping into American euphemisms again. "I'm not sleeping with him anymore, if that's what you're asking."

"Good." Sam rubs his nose. "Just, he's in your room a lot."

He doesn't really believe her. And he's not completely wrong, maybe she would sleep with James again if he wasn't- profoundly not in control of his body. Which is exactly Sam's point. "He sleeps in the chair. Sleeps a lot, actually."

"I mean, it's your business," Sam retreats. "But that's a dangerous game you're playing."

"Yeah, because everything else we do is so fucking safe," she returns. "Come on, let's go to Malá Strana, there must be more than enough vampires around."

  The castle side of the river is even worse. She hardly gets to get on her bike between fights, between shooting and stabbing and beheading. Vampires everywhere. She excels at fighting, of course, so it's not all that hard on her. Her constitution doesn't fail her even once. Compared to everything else she put her body through, this is easy.

She kills some and she saves some. Humans, that is. She kills every single vampire she comes across. For the humans, it's often too late.

She has just shot three vampires when she smells blood in the dark back room, human blood. More vampire blood, too. She takes a deep breath and kicks the barred door down.

There are vampire corpses inside, their mangled composition making it impossible to tell their number at first glance. The human smell is stronger. She's about to go through the next door when a man appears, arm wrapped in a fresh bandage, bleeding. Human. He still smells human. He looks wary when he sees her but he doesn't hide. "You weren't bitten," she states.

The man shakes his head. He's young, actually, though she couldn't tell at first. This war ages all of them. "I fought against them. The rest… it was a blur, and then they were dead."

He smells human so she'll believe him. By now, she knows what they smell like when they're about to turn. "I shot those outside. You should patch that up better or the smell will attract more."

The man bites his lip. "You should know- I saw it outside. It had a black cloak."

That could have been just James. Or it could be the Viper already, in which case they're fucked. "Was it a man?"

"Yes." The man shakes his head. "I think. No, I'm certain."

"What did he look like?" she asks. Maybe it's that Karpov guy from Russia. Or the Strucker guy from Germany. Probably not Schmidt himself, the red skin would be too recognizable.

"Dark hair," the man says. "Long. I mean, for a man."

Yep, that's her guy. "Don't worry about that one. I know him."

"You know him?" the man repeats, horrified.

"He didn't kill you, did he?" she asks back. "And you smell like a fucking buffet. Really, you should patch that up better."

The man recoils from her. "Get away from me. You- you monster ."

"Learn to kill your own fucking vampires," she returns. "Without spreading your bloody smell all over the street."

  "Wow," James remarks. "You smell like a thousand deaths."

Yeah, she has all sorts of vampire blood all over. Some human, too, even though she tried to avoid it. "More like a hundred. You should get back to the tower, sun's coming up."

James grins, stepping into her space, looking for her own smell in the puddle. Or maybe he's trying to keep the different smells apart. "You know I like to live dangerously."

He smells of vampire blood, too, though it seems to have gotten less messy for him. "Not much living if you burn to a crisp."

"Make sure Steve gets home safely," he says. "Haven't seen him for a while."

She snorts, getting on her toes. "Yeah, sure. Big muscle man needs to be walked home."

"Thanks," he replies unironically. "Letting him run around just feels unresponsible."

"Yeah, yeah." She kisses his cold cheek. "Get inside already, I'm not nursing you back to health again."

He snorts. "I'll be fine, I promise. Okay, I'll see you at the Tower, or are you doing the daytime raids?"

Fury's idea, but they haven't tried it yet. She sighs, stepping back. "Nah. Should probably sleep."

"Yeah, you should," he agrees, already eyeing the next roof. "Okay. Take care. Don't forget Steve."

Steve with the good smell is starting to annoy her. James' cloak swooshes and he's up on the roof, throwing her a last look before jumping into the cold night air, disappearing.

Okay. She really should get Steve home, everything else would be petty. Clint is waiting down the street, also looking quite annoyed, and disgusted. She snorts, heading towards him. "Shut the fuck up."

"Didn't say anything," Clint returns, checking dents on his bow.

"Your face says it all," she replies, trying to remember where she last left the motorcycle. "Do you know where that Steve guy is?"

"It's like watching you cuddle a tiger," Clint states, ignoring the question. "Sure, you'll say he hasn't eaten anyone for a while and he's really nice or whatever but it's still a fucking tiger. One day, without warning, without reason, it'll rip your fucking face off."

"Spare me your circus tales," she replies. "At least the tiger is really fucking good at hunting vampires."

"No reason to cuddle him," Clint counters. "And to answer your question, no, I have no idea where Golden Boy is."

She'll have to track down his smell then. "I'm not asking you to like it. Actually, someone threw something at me tonight. Out of a window, while I was driving down the street."

"A rock?" Clint asks.

"I don't know what it was, didn't stop," she replies. "Do you ever think… if this ever ends, we're fucking done? Absolutely useless and widely despised?"

"It won't end, though," Clint returns. "But don't worry about it, we'll all be dead in the next week or two."

Natasha snorts. "Well, in that case, might as well go cuddle my tiger."

[ranishoo]

7 for leslie and devlon do it you wont

oh fuck yeah

7. First words vs last words

First words:

Leslie felt sore. She felt hot. The ground was shifting around her. Her eyes were closed, yet light still poured in, tinting her vision red. Until it went dark again. But she was still awake, wasn't she? She tried to open her eyes, but they were far too heavy.

Fingers pressed against her neck and the weight she previously felt was gone in an instant, replaced by pure adrenaline. She shot upright with a yelp, her forehead meeting something solid that sent her back down to the ground, groaning and clutching her head. And someone else was groaning too.

Leslie opened her eyes, having to rub and blink them many times to fight the bright sunlight and a strange irritation, to find herself looking at a man sitting not too far from her. He was tall, lean but well-built, with dark skin and long dark hair, with what looked to be a side shave, or maybe a long mohawk? He too was rubbing a hand on his forehead.

"Oh god," Leslie began, "did I hit you? I-" She stopped, noticing for the first time where she was. What she was sitting on. What she had rubbed out of her eyes. Sand.

Sand?

All around her was pits of sand, dry patches of dirt and dead brush, and what might be the oldest looking ruins she'd ever seen. What the fuck? She'd just been in the Felsan foothills, surrounded by trees and rocks; what was she doing here? What was going on, and who was that man?

Leslie turned her attention back to the stranger, only to notice he had recovered and stood up, walking back over to her. He said something to her, but she couldn't make out what. She gave him a confused look, and he paused for a moment before repeating himself. Was he speaking Kett? Some of the words sounded familiar, but she couldn't fully comprehend their meaning.

The man scratched his head for a moment, and Leslie noticed two large fangs protruding from his lips. A vampire? No, he was in broad daylight, that would be stupid. Maybe a galik, then? She couldn't see his eyes, the slitted draconic pupils usually a dead giveaway, so she couldn't tell for sure.

"Ah..." the man started, his tenor voice hesitant and slow. "You... alright?"

So he knew a bit of Domian. It didn't seem like much, but at least it was something. Leslie still hoped he'd been speaking Kett before, and that she just hadn't understood through his accent; she at least knew a few phrases and random words in the language, so even if he barely knew Domian she might be able to ask him some questions.

The man cleared his throat.

"Oh! Um, yes? Sort of? Uh... sorry, where am I?" She attempted to stand, but her legs protested with possibly the worst cramps she'd ever felt, and she promptly landed back on the sand, writhing in pain.

Her eyes pinched shut, Leslie heard the man frantically calling in his language as he rushed toward her. Then in Domian, "Alright? Alright?"

It took her a moment to collect herself, but she remembered to stretch out her legs and gritted her teeth, working the cramp out. "I... yeah, yeah I am." Still on the ground, she held out a hand to shake his and gave him a pained smile. "I'm Leslie."

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly baffled. Then, slowly, he took her hand and cautiously helped her to her feet. Alright, not what she'd intended, but that was fine. She looked up at him, meeting his bright golden eyes partially obscured by the hair he had yet to brush out of the way. Slitted, just like a dragon.

"I am Delvon."

Last words:

Lucas clung to his arm as Delvon hoisted the saddlebag onto his horse, lifting the boy off his feet for just a moment. "Please don't go, Papa!" He looked at the child, his brown and gold eyes looking like that of a dog watching you eat a juicy steak. That boy had mastered the art of begging, and it took all of Delvon's strength not to scoop him up and bring him inside, foregoing the journey altogether.

He sighed. "Would you prefer I stay home and not hunt, and we go hungry for the winter?"

The boy groaned. "You could at least bring me along, I'm old enough now! Look!" He held up his tag, showing the snake fang to his father. It was galik tradition for a child to keep the fang from their first solo hunt and turn it into a necklace, a badge of pride and a sign that they were beginning the journey to adulthood. Over Lucas' life, Delvon would have the privilege to add more to the tag as his son developed his skills, and he could already tell he'd have to go searching for purple and red beads to mark the boy's prowess in vinum and impes magic. Clearly a trait he got from his mother, as Delvon still struggled on the rare occurrence when he did use his magic.

Sighing again, Delvon ruffled Lucas' curly brown hair with his free hand, a smile teasing his lips. "You have to stay home and protect the farm, remember? Mama and Kala can't do it all by themselves."

Lucas let go of his father's arm and crossed his own, pouting. "Mama could protect the farm all by herself! She's told me all about her adventures; she could keep the farm safe with both her hands tied behind her back."

The smile was still on Delvon's face, but it turned a bit more stern now. "Alright, then you're staying home to help with the harvest. The frost is coming soon, remember?"

Another groan from the boy, resigned this time. "Fine," he grumbled, "but next year I get to go hunting with you and Uncle."

Delvon rolled his eyes. "I make no promises, but I'll think about it. Now, where's your mother?"

Lucas pointed toward the house, where he'd left the door wide open when he chased after his father. Delvon started toward it, sighing. When would that boy learn that the purpose of their hearth wasn't to heat the outdoors? He stepped into the house, waiting for the boy to scramble past him before he shut the door, welcoming the warmth of his home after just a few short minutes out in the chilly morning air.

Leslie was in the kitchen, looking like she had barely just woken up as she nursed a mug of tea and attempted to keep her eyes from falling shut. She looked up from the drink to see Delvon in the doorway and she smiled, laugh lines crinkling to make her face look all the more beautiful. Her red hair was pulled back into a barely contained ponytail, curls flying everywhere to give her a frazzled look. Delvon walked over and smoothed her unruly locks, kissing the top of her head as he did.

'Somebody's a sap this morning,' he sensed her thinking, and he looked at her face to see her smirking at him.

"Perhaps I am," he shrugged, planting a quick kiss on her lips. 'Keep an eye on Lucas when I leave,' he thought, 'I think he might try to follow me this time.'

'He's been failing at that for the past two years,' Leslie replied, hiding a chuckle lest Lucas hear and ask what they're "mind-talking" about. That boy needed to come up with a better term for it; not that she had one, but it took all her willpower not to roll her eyes whenever he said the word. They'd explained tethering to both Lucas and Kala, and while Kala seemed to understand just fine, Leslie wondered if Lucas quite got the concept.

'He'll get it eventually,' Delvon said, interrupting her as he took a sip of her tea, 'he's just young.'

'For now,' she replied, taking the mug back, 'but how are you gonna feel when he gets older than you?'

She said it in jest, but the words gave Delvon pause. He had thought about this before; while he was full galik, they were only half, and they aged much faster than he did. In only sixty years they'd almost reached teenagehood, something that had taken Delvon well over two hundred years. Not to mention Leslie, who wasn't a galik at all. She was in her eighties, although she didn't look it. They wondered if it was the dwarf blood or her strong connection with magic that kept her looking half her age, but neither could figure it out.

Delvon knew what he had been signing up for when he married her; he knew he would outlive her by at least a thousand years, and he had accepted that. But it didn't make it easier to see the signs of age show on her, however slow they may appear. And to see his children grow up so quickly, while he'd seemingly not aged throughout their entire lifetime. He didn't know how he'd handle the years to come, when he was by their deathbeds, still a young man, and it terrified him. What would he do after they were gone?

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his cheek. "Hey," Leslie softly said, "you know I love you, right?"

Delvon closed his eyes and placed his own hand on top of hers, pressing his cheek into her palm. He allowed the sensation of his love and care to flow through their link, letting it wash over his wife. She shared hers with him in return, and the two stood there for a quiet moment, eyes closed as they basked in each other's affection.

As soon as the moment had started, it was over, and Delvon opened his eyes, slightly dazed. Leslie's eyes were similarly glazed over, and the two made eye contact for a moment before laughing. The overwhelming sensation they'd just shared left them both a bit stunned, and neither had really gotten used to that feeling.

A knock on the door interrupted them, setting their dog off. Sawyer rushed to the door, barking his head off, his tail wagging frantically. He knew who was on the other side.

"Settle down, boy!" Delvon called fruitlessly, more for his own benefit than anything else. Nothing could stop that damn dog from barking.

Leslie placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "You off, then?"

"It would seem so."

"You better bring us back lots of game, you hear? Oh, and preferably some animal with good bones; we need new tools."

The man snorted. "Alright, necromancer, I'll find you your precious bones."

She smacked him on the shoulder, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole. And no getting gored by a buck or a boar or anything. I've already had to patch you up enough for one lifetime; I don't wanna do it again."

Once again, Delvon kissed her on the head, taking his sword off the shelf they'd built high above the children's heads. "I promise I won't get stabbed if you promise you won't let the kids poke your eyes out with the rake."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise."

"I love you!"

"Love you too, Del."

Delvon opened the front door, smiling as he saw his brother on the other side. Sawyer rushed out to sniff Rochil's feet, his entire body squirming from excitement, and the three of them walked toward the horses. When Delvon mounted, he turned back to look at his home, seeing his wife standing in the doorway, waving to him. He saw Lucas peek his head out from behind his mother, and from a window upstairs he could see the tired face of Kala watching out the window as she waved goodbye. Delvon raised a hand to them and Rochil shortly followed. Then the two tapped their horses with their heels, setting on down the road, Sawyer trotting alongside them.

[blueluneacy]

Monsters of the Alley

I did it folks. It’s a dedicated sorbet/gelato/reader fic, written by me. I’m supposed to be studying for finals.

I got this idea from @j0succ, so you should check them out! Their blog gave me minor character disease-

It’s a Not SFW Werewolf!Sorbet x Human!Reader x Vampire! Gelato! wow

Words: 3k

Warnings: NOT SFW, implied stalking, predator/prey play, breaking and entering, violence, rough play, biting, bloodplay, SERIOUS dubcon, kidnapping, all around yandere, just a bad time for the reader

You knew that walking alone at night was a bad idea, but what could you do, really? It wasn’t like the world was going to wait around for you, cater to your every need. In a world full of monsters, you knew that it was dangerous to be a human, alone and fragile in the dark, but hey. They say that humans were the most common and that attacks from monsters were actually pretty uncommon, yadda yadda, whatever. It didn’t matter how many warnings you were given, you weren’t the type to listen to you. Maybe it was stubbornness, or just plain need that kept you moving through the dark streets. After all, you had done this probably hundreds of times before. If you stopped working, who knows what would happen. It was well worth the risk. 

So, you kept walking, kept moving through the dark streets in hopes that slipping through an alleyway here or there would get you home faster. While maybe this wasn’t the best idea, you weren’t exactly the type to care. You had pepper spray, after all. Everything would be fine.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself as you walked down the alleyway, ignoring every sound you heard down the street. Because it was always a stray cat in a dumpster, or a drug deal you weren’t about to get in the middle of. It was basic Italian sentiment to mind your own business, and you had at least picked up on that rather well. So when you passed the two men at a corner, you didn’t really give their glances two thoughts, just gripping your purse tighter and walking a bit more quickly. You let them rake their eyes over you, because that’s all you thought they would do. After all, no men would hang out around these parts of Naples unless they were up to no good. When you were a few steps away, you turned back just to see if they were still looking at you, only to find that they had walked away. Good. It was always nice when things were easier for you. Maybe they thought you would get in the way of some meeting or whatever. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just kept walking, taking your usual route home.

And maybe that’s where you should’ve been worried. After all, you took this route home every day, rarely changing your routine. Have you seen those men before? You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn something was familiar about them. Like, the darker haired man’s nose felt quite sharp, or the teeth of the smaller man looked like they almost glistened in the light. You tried to shake the thoughts away as you opened the door to your small, shitty apartment, fumbling with the key a bit in the darkness. This was hell, working late into the night like this. You knew you weren’t going to make yourself anything healthy to eat, so you didn’t even bother to kid yourself anymore. You just swung open the door, pulling off your shoes and practically flinging yourself onto the couch, sinking into the cushions as you already felt your eyes fluttering shit. 

And yet, something wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right about something in your home, but you didn’t know what it was. You sat up, looking around but you couldn’t find a thing to really put your finger on. A certain uneasiness in your chest, like you could feel yourself being watched. You got up and moved to check if your door was locked, sighing a bit in relief when you saw it was. Good, you were just going crazy. It was much easier for you to accept that you were a lunatic than you were in danger, after all. And yet, when you heard a floorboard creak behind you, you turned in fear, swallowing as you looked over what had to be an illusion.

“So nice of you to lock the door for us, cara.” You heard the smaller man practically snarl to you, but the sound was faint over the sound of the blood pumping in your ears as your breathing picked up. They were… The men from the alleyway? But how did they get here faster than you, and what was the deal with…. You noticed the large teeth and muzzle of the darker haired man, the way his eyes looked over you as if you were just meat, and maybe that’s all you really were to him. Or maybe it was seeing how pale the other man’s skin was in this light, the way you could see him baring his fangs, his tongue drifting over them idly.

Oh god. Not only were these two monsters, but they were the most stereotypical combo to murder you. Your death was totally going to look like a joke. Still you swallowed a bit, trying to show a little bit of strength in this dire moment. 

“G… Get out of my house, and I won’t call the cops.” You snapped back, letting the heavy pause linger in the air. The two of them stared at you, almost shocked at your defiance, before laughing. Well, maybe you should’ve seen that coming. Not only were the both of them stronger than you, but everyone knew that the police would take their time coming here, ready to solve a crime but not stop one. That was the way things were. With the weak being devoured by the strong. 

“I told you, Sorbet. She’s a fighter, wouldn’t it be a lot more fun that way?” The man purred, leaning his head against the taller man, who you could only assume was Sorbet, leaving him to wrap an arm around him, but not take his eyes off of you.

“This should be interesting enough.” Sorbet replied, leaving you to gulp. Fuck it. Fuck it all. It was now or never. You would rather die knowing you gave a proper fight than just let yourself be devoured by these… things. You gripped the doorknob tightly, flinging open the door and bolting out, hoping to get as far away as possible. You had no idea where or how you were going to get there, but it didn’t really matter in the long run, did it? After all, you only got ten meters out the door. 

You yelped as claws dug into your shoulders, grabbing onto you and dragging you back into your apartment. You tried to fight, but it became quickly clear that if you got away from Sorbet’s hold, it would be without your shoulder. You noticed vaguely how the vampire’s nose seemed to flare up as you were thrown to the ground, your head slamming against the shitty hardwood. You groaned, trying to pick yourself up off the ground as you heard the door slam shut, only for a boot to be slammed into your back.

“You look hungry, Gelato. Maybe you should take a bite before we get started?” Sorbet spoke out, but his teasing seemed much more sadistic that Gelato’s. Well, they were both sadistic assholes, but at least Gelato’s words had a light quality to them. Either way, Gelato just leaned down and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“That was quite a cute stunt you pulled, ragazza. We really do look forward to seeing what other tricks you attempt to pull.” He purred. You squirmed in his grasp, but his hold on you was bruising, leaving you just to snarl.

“Do you always play with your food, or am I just special?” You spat back, leaving Gelato to give you a sick smile as he let you go, only from Sorbet to thread his head through your hair and pull you up, his claws digging into your scalp.

“You’re just special, troia.” Sorbet growled into your ear, roughly using his other hand to tear off your clothing as if it were just paper. You gasped and tried to cover yourself, only for Gelato to grab your wrists and pin your against Sorbet’s body, the two of them giving you little room to move. You felt the bulges against you, and you gulped, your eyes widening a bit. Oh god, they weren’t planning to kill you. They were planning to do so much worse. You just squirmed, trying to fight your captors but to no avail. They were both just too strong, enjoying the chase a little too much. Gelato leaned down to your shoulder wound, inhaling sharply before dragging his tongue over it. You gasped at the sting, gritting your teeth as you heard the breathy purr that came from Gelato’s throat. 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t fuck around with the killing me part.” You spat back, trying to kick to get the two of them off of you, only for Sorbet to growl as he dug his nails into you, the pain leaving you to whimper a bit as you were a bit more still for Gelato to suck and lap at the wound. You were certain that it was going to leave a nasty scar at this rate.

“You’re lucky I’m not the one who’s starving, or else you’d be torn to shreds. Be good for my Gelatino, now.” He breathed into your ear, and you could feel how hot his breath was, smell the blood wafting off him in a way that just made your most primal instincts tell you to run, to escape from these predators. And yet, you gasped when you felt the two of them grind against you. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, and that was the only reason the heat was starting to coil in your belly. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Gelato finally pulled away from your shoulder with a soft hum, letting go of you to work on tearing off your pants. The two of them really had no care for your clothing, to the point where it was pissing you off. You could at least undress yourself.

“H-Hey, what the hell?! I had to pay for those, you know!” Well, it was easier to bring up smaller concerns in your attempts to be defiant in all of this, doing your best to ignore the hot feelings coiling inside of you as you felt Sorbet wrapping his arms around you as Gelato more tenderly took off your panties.

“You’ve already soaked through, troia. I guess a needy slut like you will do anything for a cock inside of her.” Gelato teased, shoving a finger inside of you. It easily slid in, but you still jumped at the roughness, a bit of fight still in you. It was quickly quelled with a tight grip from Sorbet, his nails drawing blood in a way that made Gelato lick his lips.

“Behave, or I’ll make you.” Sorbet growled, leaving you to whimper and nod just a little bit, Gelato just rolling his eyes a bit. He pulled his finger out, shoving it in your mouth with expectation to suck. With Sorbet’s threat still in the air, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your lips around his finger.

“She’s spread enough. Besides, a slut like that will enjoy the pain anyway, there’s no need.” Gelato complained, not looking at you but up at his boyfriend. You could tell that he was impatient, clearly used to getting what he wanted rather quickly and not wanting to work for it. Sorbet thought for a moment, before leaning in to press a kiss against Gelato’s lips over your shoulder. You never felt like such a third wheel before. 

“I indulge you too much.” Sorbet replied, relenting as he let you go for a moment, leaving you to wobble for a moment as you got your bearings. It might be easier to run from one rather than two, but a sick twisted part of you kind of just wanted to see where this would go. I mean, even if they were two twisted bastards who most certainly would kill you after this, well… This familiarity, you just still couldn’t quite understand what it was.

Almost as quickly he let go though, Sorbet was grabbing you again, dragging you over to the couch and onto his lap. You gasped as you felt your bare back against his chest, the fur that covered his body much more prominent. You gasped as you felt Sorbet’s cock rub up against you, realizing how big it was, and how much you fucked up by not trying to run away.

“W-Wait, it’s too big! It won’t fit, please!” You cried out, only for Sorbet to simply scoff at your pleas.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.” He growled, giving you no chance to protest before pushing into you with one harsh thrust. You screamed out, tears falling from your eyes as your body tried to adjust to the length inside of you. You gasped and heaved, barely noticing how Gelato was coming closer to you, like a fox towards an injured rabbit. 

“Look how pretty the two of you are together. I feel left out.” Gelato purred, brushing a piece of hair from your face. The tenderness was unnerving, leaving you to fear what exactly he was planning to do next.

“I never said you couldn’t join us.” Sorbet replied, and you craned your head to see a smirk on his face, the same plan forming in both their minds that you were helplessly left out of. It only clicked when you started to feel Gelato rub up against your full entrance, leaving your eyes to widen as you realized exactly what was going on.

“So kind of you to invite me. You don’t mind, do you, carina?” Gelato asked, but his voice was dripping with vitriol, clearly having no intentions to stop no matter what you said. But still, you pleaded.

“W-Wait, please, I’m too full, you can’t, p-please-” You were cut off by your own breathy gasp and Gelato pushed past your limits, thrusting himself inside of you in a way that you didn’t think the human body could actually handle. 

“Such a bad liar, puttana. It’s clear that your body was made for our cocks.” Sorbet growled, allowing you no time to adjust as he started to move, Gelato gladly taking the cue to start fucking into you with vigor. There was nowhere for you to escape, leaving you to groan, grabbing onto Sorbet’s thighs to try and give yourself something to hold onto. Gelato grabbed onto your chest while Sorbet held your hips.

“Do you like this? Like being fucked by the men who’ve been watching you all this time?” Gelato teased, and you whimpered, realizing to yourself that you did like it, quite a lot in fact. Something about the way they were fucking you seemed to scratch some primal itch, leaving you to squeeze down on their cocks heartily, moans and gasping pouring from your open mouth. 

“Che brava coniglia… It’s a good thing we got to you first.” Sorbet huffed into your ear, and god, you could feel him nipping at it lightly, subconsciously tilting your head to give the man more access.

“Any other monster would’ve devoured you by now. But you’re ours, and we like to make sure what’s ours stays right in our sight. You should be grateful.” Gelato’s tone and words were threatening, but you were too far gone to care. The two of them just felt so good inside of you that you could barely put together a coherent thought, leaving you to simply babble.

“P-Please, fuck, Sorbet, g-god, Gelato, please, I’m so so close-” You whined out, trying to buck against the two of them, but Sorbet held you far too tightly. The two of them just seemed to speed up their thrusts into you at your warning, leaning in to the opposite sides of your neck to worry at the flesh.

“Cum for us then, piccola puttana sporca.” Sorbet growled, before the two of them sunk their teeth into the sides of your neck. You moaned out loudly as you came, the waves of ecstasy washing over your body quickly leaving you just to shudder in their grasp before going limp. Lucky enough for you, the way you milked their cocks while you came seemed to be enough to push them over the edge, and you felt the heat of their mixed fluids deep inside of you. It felt so much hotter than you would’ve anticipated. They held onto your neck for a bit, before pulling away and lapping up the blood they drew, taking pleasure in the small winces and whines you gave in return. 

When they finally pulled out, you felt yourself immediately lose balance and collapse in a heap on the floor. That took a lot more out of you than you expected. You looked up drearily at the pair, thinking about how this was it, how they were going to kill you. Well. It was a good run, at least. You can definitely say you went out with a bang. 

But, Sorbet just scooped you up in his arms, carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “W-What? What’s going on, what are you doing?!” You started to squirm, but Sorbet paid it no mind, turning to Gelato.

“See anything you like here?” “Not really. It’s honestly just full of a bunch of knick knack crap. She won’t need any of it anyway.” Gelato replied, leaving you to cry out as you squirmed.

“What, can’t just eat me here?! Got more plans to torture me?!” You spat, but Gelato just smirked, shaking his head.

“Do you really think we’re going to kill you? You really are dense. Maybe we will, later. But I think I want to see how far that pretty little will of yours goes. You don’t mind, do you?” Gelato replied, and god, you had learned to hate that smile on his face. Sorbet just patted you on the back, his tone smooth but ultimately as terrifying.

“Oh, carina. We have so many more plans for you.” 

[ofsinnersandsaints]

where do you run

rating: E (this chapter is T) word count: 17805 chapter: 6/?

take place at the end of episode 77 and the beginning of 78

AO3

It was Pike’s idea to have the pillow fort, and Grog thought it was a great idea.

While Vex cleaned up, he and Pike went around the fort to scavenge for blankets and pillows to spread them out in front of the fire. They had a handful already, but Pike wanted more so they were poking around to see what else they could get. “Are you going to ask?”

Pike pulled a blanket out of trunk and sniffed it, they’d found one or two that had smelled like mold and she’d deemed them unworthy for their sleepover. “Ask about what, Grog?”

“Me and Keyleth.”

“Oh,” she tilted her head as she looked up at him. “I figured if you wanted to talk about it you’d bring it up. Do you want to talk about it?”

Grog shrugged. “Not much to talk about, I don’t think. Everyone else is poking and prodding, thought you might want to as well.”

Pike nodded and gestured for him to lean down so she could add the blanket to his growing pile. Once she did she grabbed his face and he let her. “I only have one question. Are you happy?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m fighting fucking dragons.”

“Grog,” she warned.

“It’s new,” he answered seriously because other than that he didn’t know what it was. He and Keyleth hadn’t really talked about anything after they’d made good use of his bed, just curled up and passed out. And there hadn’t been much of a chance to talk after with Daxio burning and all. There was something there between them, but he wasn’t smart enough to know the word for it. “And different. But it’s good.”

“Good is good.”

Grog returned Pike’s smile with one of his own. “Good is good.”

They walked back into the main room and put the blankets in a semi-circle around the large fire while everyone went to the table where food had been laid out. It wasn’t much, but it would get them through the night and that’s what mattered.

As Grog piled up his plate he kept an eye on Keyleth who looked as if she was about to pass out at any minute. He wondered if he should check on her, then wondered if that was his place. She could take care of herself, and for all he knew their night messing up the sheets had simply been her ‘now-or-never’ before they all died at the hands of a red dragon.

Even as the thought passed through his head he was moving to stand behind her. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

She immediately leaned back against him, her plate titling in her hand so he reached out to grab it. “I feel like I’m going to fall asleep standing.”

“I got your stuff, find a spot next to the fire so you don’t die from fainting.”

“That would be embarrassing,” she mumbled as she pushed off him and moved towards the piles of blankets and furs. She nearly bumped into Vex who came down from the bath, freshly washed but still wearing her dirty armor.

“Grog, pull out the jug, will you? I think we could all use a drink tonight.”

There was a chorus of agreement as most of Vox Machina found their places around the large hearth. Grog sat down and handed Keyleth her plate before pulling the jug out of the bag of holding. He grabbed a couple of glasses and filled them up, passing them to each of his friends except for Keyleth who shook her head.

“If I have a sip I’ll be drunk,” she said as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.

Not even a second later Vex leaned forward, eyes wide. “You’ve got a hickey, Keyleth.”

Grog stilled, but before he had a chance to worry about it Keyleth waved a tired hand. “I’m aware.”

Vex opened her mouth then closed it before she looked around at the group, settling back into her spot. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Good,” Vax piped up. “I think we’re all too tired for this conversation, stubby.”

Grog watched as Vex glared at her brother. “Aren’t you just the least bit curious?”

“I’m about as interested in whatever is going on between them as I am about whatever is going on between you and Percy. Which is zero.”

“I’m interested in both things,” Scanlan piped up. “Please, give us precise and graphic details.”

Pike threw a pillow at his head even as he laughed.

“Leave them alone guys,” Pike ordered with her serious look. “We just saved an entire city. We need to eat, drink, and then sleep. All thinking should wait until tomorrow, cleric’s orders.”

Vex grumbled but drank from her cup and just a few minutes later Keyleth was leaning against him, her eyes shut. “Might be more comfortable on the blankets.”

There was a small smile on her lips, but she didn’t move. “I’m good here.”

He shifted his arm so he could wrap it around the druid, and she immediately cuddled closer. When he felt a small warmth around his middle he looked down and saw her hands glowed slightly. “Are you healing me?” he asked, amused and touched by the gesture.

“It’s just a little spell,” she shrugged.

“I’ll be fine by the morning,” he reminded her.

“You never know what might happen in the middle of the night,” she argued. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever floats your boat, but I would like to lay down at some point.”

Keyleth pulled away and blinked her eyes open, barely awake. “Do you want to be closer to the fire, or further?”

“Further.”

She stretched out next to him, and since she was all but asleep already, he grabbed one of the fur blankets and pulled it across her. And like she had the past few nights Keyleth immediately turned into his side and rested her head on his chest.

It was weird how well she fit against him, like a piece sliding into place, her red hair falling over his arm and shoulder like the softest blanket. “Are you cold?” she mumbled against his chest.

He tugged her a little closer. “Nah, I’m good.”

  Vox Machina popped into Whitestone the next day with the help of Keyleth’s magic and as a group they headed towards the castle, but Grog stopped in the middle of the square and looked up.

Keyleth stood next to him and looked up as well. “See any vampires?”

He chuckled but shook his head. “You know, I wasn’t really up on telling time before, but all this jumping around from place to place is really fucking me up.”

Keyleth laughed. “I’ve honestly given up at this point. Come on, to the war room we go.”

They all made their way through the castle and down to the ziggurat where a handful of people were waiting for Vox Machina to arrive. It fucking baffled him every damn time. Not too long ago they were going around busting heads for gold and now some of the most important people in the word were waiting for them.

People and dragons, he corrected himself as he felt Keyleth stiffen as the large green dragon came into view.

Looking down, he saw her lips tighten and could all but feel the rage building up inside of her. He reached out and put his big hand on the back of her neck and let the weight of it rest against her skin. “You going to be okay in there?”

She seemed to breathe easier so he left his hand where it was as they stopped for a moment. “If I go after her, will you hold me back?”

Grog considered the question and finally nodded. “Yes, but only because magic doesn’t work down there, otherwise I’d be going after her right along with you.”

From their vantage point he could see Raishan, big and lethal, the whites of her eyes nearly black from whatever disease was slowly killing her. Grog squeezed the back of Keyleth’s neck gently to get her attention back on him. “She looks worse, if that makes you feel better.”

Keyleth smiled up at him. “It does actually, thanks.”

He ran his hand down her back, “Let’s get this fucking thing over with.”

For Grog, the meeting was mostly pointless. He wasn’t what anyone would call intelligent, but he knew what his job was. Wherever Vox Machina ended up, he was supposed to hit the biggest thing in the room, and he was more than happy with that.

An hour later they all got up and started heading towards their various jobs. Vex was off to track down Zahra, Vax was to Gilmore, and Keyleth had reluctantly agreed to talk to Kashaw. He’d have teased her about it if her face wasn’t already redder than a tomato.

They’d found him training outside the castle and Grog had glowered from a distance as Keyleth sputtered out an apology, but it would seem the brash paladin had his eyes focused elsewhere. As soon as Keyleth mentioned Zahra, Kashaw had agreed to go.

“She’s hiding something,” Keyleth said as soon as she was back with him. By unspoken communication they headed back inside the castle and towards his room.

“Who is hiding something?” He asked as she chewed on her lip. “Raishan? Yeah, no shit.”

“I mean about Thordack, about whatever he’s building.”

Grog had caught something about that. “You think she knows what it is?”

“She knows, or she suspects,” Keyleth allowed. “Raishan is the kind of person who likes to know things.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Grog joked as he opened his door and let Keyleth walk in first. “Is it something you want to look into more?”

Her face twisted in thought, but after a moment she threw up her hands in defeat. “Honestly, I don’t know if it would make much a difference. I just don’t like the idea of her knowing things we don’t. It makes me twitchy.”

“Makes sense,” he dropped his bag on the table and added his axe to it as Keyleth looked around the room.

“If you have a Grog sized bed, and Grog sized chairs, does that mean you have a Grog sized tub as well?”

The instant Keyleth mentioned a tub a dozen thoughts flitted through his mind, every one of them was a good one. “Can’t say as I’ve ever paid attention. Why?”

“Because I want take a bath before we go to bed.”

As they had left the war room Vex had sidled up to him and asked him if he was jealous about Keyleth going to see Kashaw, but Grog had never felt much in the way of jealousy, didn’t see a need for it. Either he had what he wanted or he didn’t, and right this moment Keyleth was in his room taking off her leathers and boots while she used cantrip after cantrip to fill up his bathtub with boiling hot water.

There wasn’t a damn thing to be jealous about. “You’re going to cook yourself in that.”

She grinned as she pulled at the threads holding her dress together and stepped out of it. “That’s the plan. Want to join me?”

Grog shook his head and leaned against the doorway to the little bath chamber. She was blushing from head to toe. “I like the view from here.”

“Whatever you say,” Keyleth snorted as she slid into the water, hissing at how hot it was.

She dunked her head beneath the surface and came back up with drops of water skating down her skin. He didn’t know much about math, but he was beginning to wonder if he had time for a ravishing before they had to do everything that needed to be done.

Grog walked over to the edge of the bathtub and sat down, reaching into the water to wrap his fingers around Keyleth’s ankle, his thumb brushing against the skin there.

Her voice was soft as she watched him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, can’t promise I’ll know the answer though.”

She pulled her hair over her shoulder, nervously braiding it. “I’ve never done anything like this before, so I don’t know what the rules are.”

“You’re talking about us?” She nodded and dropped her hair, the ends of it swirling in the water. “In that case, I’ve never done anything like this either.”

“So, if I ask if we’re exclusive, I won’t sound like an idiot?”

“Maybe a little,” he answered, softening the answer with a smile. He put his hand on either side of the side of the tub and leaned forward so he was all but crowding her in the tub. “You should know by now, Keyleth, I’m not much for sharing.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’d be good at sharing either.”

Grog leaned forward just enough to kiss her, unable to resist running his hand along the droplets decorating her arm. “You know what you should do after you kill Raishan?”

“What’s that?”

He looked up from her bare skin to her bright green eyes. “Turn her into armor.”

Those eyes lit up and she clapped, sloshing water onto the floor as she sat up straighter. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”

Grog laughed at her exuberance. “You’re a little bit blood thirsty, you know that?”

“I’m aware.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice as if she was telling a secret and someone might overhear. “But I was kind of hoping no one else would notice.”

“Fat chance of that,” he told her. “Like recognizes like.”

“Are you saying you recognized my rage?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I think I recognized you too.”

“My love of animals?” he asked, taking on the fancy voice he used when he referred to his very important title.

She smiled but shook her head, bringing her hand out of the water to link her fingers with his. “No. Your wisdom.”

Grog rolled his eyes and knew he wasn’t the type of person to blush, but his cheeks still felt oddly hot. “I’m not wise, Kiki.”

“You are,” and she said it with such certainty she didn’t leave him any room to argue. “Vex cornered me earlier, to talk about the hickey.”

“It’s almost gone,” and he was already planning how he’d replace it and where. It’d be boring to do it in the same place each time.

She reached up and touched the place where his mark was barely visible against her pale skin. “She said it seemed like it came out of nowhere. DO you want to know what I told her?”

His big heart beat harshly against his ribs, and it felt a bit like when he came out of a rage; just a little unsteady and weak. Normally he hated that feeling, and he didn’t like it much now, but there was the hint of anticipation between heartbeats. “Sure.”

Keyleth looked at his hand as if the scars on his knuckles were interesting. “Back home, on the mountain top, you can see the sun rising from the first moment. Dark blue to indigo to burgundy to orange; the sun never catches you by surprise up there.”

She took a deep breath and looked at him, their gazes locking in a way which made it hard to think of a reason why he’d look away. “But down in the valley it’s different, the mountain range blocks everything so you’re in the darkness hours after the sun has risen on Zephyr and then, suddenly, it’s daylight. With absolutely no warning. That’s all to say, just because I didn’t see this coming, doesn’t mean the sun wasn’t rising the whole time.”

Grog stood up and her eyes went wide, but he didn’t take the time to figure out what she might be thinking. Intent on his purpose he stepped into the bath without giving her any warning, grinning as she laughed.

“You’re going to flood the bathroom,” she scolded, but she was still giggling as he leaned forward and kissed her. This was no friendly peck, no frantic caress. Grog wouldn’t have used the words out loud, but when he pressed his lips to hers there was joy in it, in the touch of her fingers on his beard.

He’d been born into anger, had nearly died from it as a kid, and he’d learned to use it so it could never use him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would see that rage and not only accept it, but understand it.

And somehow this druid, this fragile looking woman with big eyes and a bigger heart, was the one to see him. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Percy’s rich, he can afford it.”

“You’re absolutely right,” she agreed and pulled him down into the warmth of the water and her arms.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 92

92

   Lance lived up to his warnings over having nightmares. His boyfriend waking up screaming four times during the night, the last time the worst as he’d barely fallen back to sleep in Keith’s arms before he was shaking and moaning for help. Keith wanted to go back in time and kill Nyma and Rolo himself.. not for the first time and probably not for the last time. With how much of the night Keith spent awake, Shiro let him “sleep in”, creeping into his bedroom a little after 8 as Keith dozed. Cuddled into him, Lance was drenched in sweat, despite his body being as cool as ever. Blearily, Keith blinked at his brother over Lance’s head

“Ugh?”

“How’s he doing?”

Stroking Lance’s hair, Keith hated how useless he’d been at calming Lance back down. His boyfriend would wake up, start crying, cling to him, then cry himself back to sleep

“Sleeping...”

  Shiro nodded in sympathy. All-nighters with nightmares fucking sucked. Lance hadn’t been violent towards him, but he’d tossed and turned plenty

“Coran’s called. He asked if you both could come in... I told him about Lance, he said it was best to let him rest”

“Mhmm... do I...?”

He hadn’t slept enough to be rested, but he wasn’t awake enough to string a sentence together

“Yeah. He said he wanted to talk to you about something he’d discovered. He was very apologetic about it all”

“When?”

“He thought it best you head in now to get it out the way. I can keep an eye on Lance”

Why couldn’t Coran come to them? Moving seemed like effort... and Lance really needed him right now. But it wasn’t as if he could say no

“I’ll... up”

“Okay. I’ve got your coffee waiting”

   Lance didn’t wake up as Keith extracted himself from his boyfriend. The fever had him concerned, as did whatever Lance was currently dreaming about. Showering and dressing in the first things he found out his closest, Keith carried his coffee mug to work with him, making it clear he’d been disturbed. Meeting him at the elevator, Coran seemed to have had a sleepless night too. Neither of them particularly talkative as they headed to Coran’s office.

  Finishing the last of his coffee, Keith stared into the cup hoping it’d magically refill. Coran letting out a long breath as he sat himself down in his chair

“I know you’re eager to get back to Lance, so I’ll keep this as brief as possible”

“He didn’t sleep well... he kept waking up thanks to Nyma and Rolo”

“He seemed very shaken last night”

“We talked for a bit... Sendak scared the fuck out of him”

“He scares me, if I’m honest. Now. I thought I’d let you know that your night wasn’t spent in vain. The Blades managed to extract some audio from your recordings that they’re following up”

“You called me down for that?”

Caffeine deprived Keith was a snappy Keith

“That and I thought you’d like to know the initial results on those samples”

  That got his attention, Coran noticing

“Now, that first sample. The blue one, we couldn’t make heads or tails of, though it did give us some clues on the bag itself. The handler had trace amounts of grease and diesel on their hands. The Blades are running their own analysis on it, and believe the bag it was in may provide some leads. The second sample has me concerned”

“How so?”

“I was hoping Lance would be here for this... we did have a conversation the other night...”

“He told me freaked out over his smell”

“Ah. That makes things easier. I wasn’t sure if he’d confided in you as to wanting to stop his heat or at least find a contraceptive that’d help. In the sample you obtained, we found an unusual mix. For the most part it was dried blood, however, upon running more tests, I’ve determined that it’s... I suppose you’d call it a werewolf viagra. Designed for werewolves predominantly, the formula has been slightly tweaked and traces were lifted off your clothes. I wanted to see if Lance was displaying symptoms”

The last thing they needed was werewolf Viagra. Matt and Rieva were horny enough as it was

“He had a fever when I left...”

  Coran frowned as his fingers went to smooth the edge of his moustache. Keith knew that fever wasn’t a good sign. He should have made Coran come to them

“That’s not a good sign. It may be emotionally related, though it may also be related to what you all breathed in last night. Is it possible for you to bring him in?”

If Lance was up for it, he would have been right here beside Keith. Coran should really know that

“He’s not up for it. Those nightmares were really bad... he barely slept at all”

“Then I want you to monitor him. I told him the other night we were still trying to figure out how to help him, and how to keep his hormone levels stable. It’s all been a muddle with Lotor. I may be overreacting...”

Overreacting was better than under reacting

“I’d rather know so I know if something does happen...”

“I thought you would. As I said, I did wish to talk to both of you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t leave here. I’m in a smidge of trouble for withholding evidence”

  The Blades could go jump. Lotor had sent them there for a reason, not the Blade members. Lotor wanted them to have whatever information was to be found... or maybe he just wanted to show them Sendak and remind them of their mortality.

  “That’s not your fault”

Coran hummed, tilting his head slightly

“That’s very kind of you to say. I’ll let you head back to Lance. If his symptoms don’t worsen by evening, he’ll be fine to return home. I do have some medication I would like him to try, just to counteract what’s in his system at the moment. It’s a bit like ingesting bad blood, and his body needs a bit of a boost to remove the last of it. Normally he burns through things quite quickly when he’s stable, making finding a way to keep a sustained dose in his system hard”

“He was really upset. He wants to do more things together. I didn’t know how freaked out shopping had made him”

“He has a soft heart, and he’s most smitten with you. I’m ashamed I’m still working on it. Though I did tell him I wanted to leave his hormones to settle for three months...”

  Keith vaguely remembered that... and Lance’s six month probationary period. Surely now Kolivan and Krolia knew Lance, Lance’s life was secured. He wouldn’t be above emotional manipulation should Krolia decide otherwise. That and he really would never forgive his mother if he lost Lance

“You know what he’s like. He’s convinced himself we can’t do anything together because I’m in danger”

Coran sighed deeply. The kind of soul deep sigh that Keith felt

“You both are, I’m afraid. His scent is quite noticeable. I have had a few vampires, and werewolves, comment on it. I’m afraid that I might not be able to give him what he wants as fast as he wants it. I may be onto something contraceptive wise. The scent... I truly believed would settle in time”

Maybe if Lance hadn’t been pulled into his world, it would have? His boyfriend had had such a quite life before he’d come along

“Basically we’re being too impatient, aren’t we?”

Coran smiled as he nodded

“You are. Young love can be that way. I remember that feeling all too well. Now, I’m going to give you an injection for him. You may call it the hopes of an old man, as well as a slight experiment, as it’s far better for him to go into heat naturally. I’ll need you to draw some of your own blood before injecting him”

  That reminded him. Lance would be proud if he could see him operating on one cup of coffee. Not only was he talking, he was remembering like a functional human

“Coran, you said before that fresh blood would help him...”

“It would, but he can’t have things both ways”

“What makes fresh blood so different?”

“Think of it like your cup of coffee. When it’s warm, it leaves you feeling much more satisfied... though, perhaps that’s not the right way to word it. Say you were starving, your choice between a fresh crisp apple and an apple with the onset of rot. Both will cure your hunger, though the crisp apple tasted better, it’s better for you, and you feel better for eating it. I’m not explaining this right... There’s more life in fresh blood. Magic if you will”

Keith nodded... Vampire welfare was on the BOM official study guide. Keith had to continually remember that they were full of shit

“Like remote control batteries. Fresh blood is like fresh batteries and last longer. Blood bags are like half used batteries that keep you going until you replace them with other half used batteries”

Coran’s eyes widened, his smile broadening to being too big for the hour of the morning

“Number two, that’s the best description I’ve heard to date. I might have to use it myself. Now, you really best be home. Allura will be meeting with Lotor later, she’s assured me he’s fine with meeting with her alone”

“I think Lance dented his ego”

“More like he smacked across the face repeatedly with a newspaper”

  They both smiled at the thought. Keith didn’t see whatever Allura saw in Lotor. All he saw was an unnecessary complication. Standing up, he stretched, muscles protesting thanks to how he’d spent the night holding Lance. If Allura wanted to meet with Lotor it really wasn’t his business, all he wanted was to get home to his boyfriend.

   *

Lance slept on, Keith feeling guilty about injecting his boyfriend while he was sleeping but didn’t want to wake him now he was finally resting peacefully. Thanks to that it turned into a lazy day, Keith pulling on his pyjamas and conking out next to his boyfriend. Leaving his phone unguarded, it wasn’t until nearly 4pm that he woke, roused by Lance waking up. Peppering kisses to Keith’s cheek, Keith smiled as he hugged his boyfriend close, determined that Lance wouldn’t feel judged over his nightmares

“Good morning, sleepy head”

  Nuzzling into Keith’s cheek, Lance was relaxed against him

“Hey, hot stuff”

“What brings you to a bed like this?”

“My boyfriend... My amazing boyfriend”

Keith’s smile widened, playing along

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He has no idea how much he helped last night”

“He sounds like a keeper”

“He is...”

  Falling into a comfortable silence, it was broken by Kosmo who’d heard them. His paws scratching on Keith’s door, whining pathetically to be let in. Shiro collecting him up before letting himself into Keith’s room. Carrying the excited puppy over, he dropped Kosmo lightly on the pair of them

“You’re lucky I don’t charge babysitting fees”

“Don’t be like that... what’s the time?”

“Nearly 4. Pidge says you’re disgusting”

Keith groaned in confusion. One minute he was having cuddles, the next Kosmo was climbing over him and Pidge’s name was being brought up

“What did you do?”

“I may have sent a photo or ten of you two sleeping to your chat”

“Shiro!”

He was going to kill his brother

“It’s your fault for not locking your phone and I wanted to let them know you guys were both alright”

  That word “alright” seemed to linger in the air. Lance going tense as if he expected Shiro to yell

“I’m sorry for last night”

“Nah. It’s alright. As long as you’re feeling better”

That desire to murder faded when Keith realised his brother was trying to reassure Lance that he was still welcome here and that having nightmares wasn’t about to wind up up with him evicted

“A lot... I’m sorry they were so severe”

“It’s okay. Nothing compared to some of the nightmares we’ve been through, and it’s not something you can help or control. Curtis is out in the living room if you two feel up to being human”

“I guess I’m staying here...”

  Keith took a moment to process before groaning, Lance kissing his cheek. His boyfriend wasn’t funny

“You’re a shit”

“I’m dead... and I probably look like shit, but I’m not sure you’re using the right descriptive words”

“You’re an idiot crumpet”

“And you’re a cranky caffeine needing anger loaf”

Keith couldn’t disagree. Shiro laughing at the pair of them

“I’ll let Curtis know you’re coming out”

“He already knows”

That smooth fucker. All Keith could do was groan again at Lance.

  Skipping showering, Keith lent Lance some of his clothes to wear. His boyfriend pulling off the cliche “stolen boyfriend hoodie” happily. Heading out to the living room, Curtis smiled at the pair of them

“Good to see you awake. Sorry I couldn’t come back last night. Coran got in trouble for bringing us along”

Lance stalled mid-step, head jerking up, looking like a deer in headlights

“Fuck. Lotor...”

“I’d rather not”

Now he had Curtis doing it too. Why were all their friends so weird?

“Noooo. Shit. We should have met with him by now”

Placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders, Keith pushed him towards the sofa

“Allura’s got it handled”

“She does? How do you know she does?”

“Because I saw Coran this morning. Now sit down already, I’m feeling exhausted already trying to guess what’s going on in your head”

  Lance obediently sat, Keith flopping down next to him

“What do you mean you saw Coran?”

“I mean I saw him. He called earlier”

“What did he say? Is Allura okay?”

“Allura’s fine. He wanted to talk but you were sleeping so I went in to find out what was going on”

Lance frowned hard. Hard enough for it be adorable

“You should have woken me”

“It’s fine. We had a chat. Blades got some leads to work on and we all got slightly drugged. No biggie”

  Shiro fumbled the mug he was holding as the smoke alarm started beeping. Lance hissing and covering his ears. In the kitchen the toaster had gone up in flames, Curtis moving to open the windows, Shiro moving to deal with the toaster. Unplugging it, he dropped the device in the sink, turning the water on to douse it in a way that couldn’t be safe. Flying up the sofa, Kosmo shook as he panted, trying to climb up Keith’s chest

“Turn the alarm off!”

“On it!”

  The whole sequence of events took place in the space of a few minutes. Lance and Keith both wide awake now. It’d been a while since anything had gone up in flames in the kitchen... as if they’d been lulled into a false sense of security. Turning alarm off, they all breathed a sigh of relief as the noise died

“Sorry ‘bout that”

Keith was confused by Curtis apologising

“What are you saying sorry for? Shiro’s the one in the kitchen”

“I should have hit the alarm before doing the windows”

“Don’t blame this on me. There’s nothing in the toaster”

Rubbing at his ears, Lance sighed

“Why does it have to be toasters? Why can’t it be something less flammable?”

Keith didn’t have an answer. Shiro was in the kitchen meaning it was his fault

“It’s the first time Shiro’s killed one here”

Shiro quick to deny

“Again, not my fault!”

“None of you should be allowed in a kitchen. I’ll clean up, and as I do, I want the three of you to sit on the sofa and have a good hard think about your actions”

  When Lance was determined, it was impossible to talk him out of something. Curtis and Shiro both looked sheepish sitting on the sofa next to Keith with their hands in their laps, Keith’s resting on a traumatised Kosmo. The three of them too scared to talk properly

“He’s your boyfriend...”

“I’m not getting invoked”

“We weren’t anywhere near the toaster”

“Doesn’t matter. Shut up. You’ll get us in trouble”

From the kitchen Lance called out

“I’d like to say I know you know I can hear you. You’ve all lost your rights to touch a toaster”

Keith kicked Shiro in the side of the leg with a glare. He’d worked hard to have toaster privileges again

“Now look what you’ve done”

Shiro gaped at him. His brother had brought this on himself

“Me? I didn’t touch it”

“Doesn’t matter. You got me in trouble”

“But I didn’t do anything. Curtis, back me up”

  Curtis decided now was the time to check under his nails for imaginary dirt

“Did you say something?”

“Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side”

“As an experienced toaster killer, it’s best you accept your punishment”

“I’ll punish you”

Ugh. Gross. He didn’t need to think about that

“Bring it. What are you doing to do? Grind my horn down?”

“No, but I might paint your tail while you sleep”

“Oh good. I was thinking it needed a fresh coat of fuck off”

Delivered deliberately, Keith felt Shiro’s soul take damage. His brother had no smart reply for that. Instead Shiro crossed his arms, leaned back into the sofa, and looked away from the both.

   Seeing they’d been banned from the kitchen, Lance made sandwiches for the four of them. Keith wanted to help, but all it took was a look for the words to die unasked. Lance wanted to feel normal, so was doing something as mundane as making sandwiches. Presenting them nicely, with coffee for three of them, his boyfriend then sat on the arm of the sofa

“Okay. You can eat now. I’m probably going to head back to Garrison tonight”

Lance wasn’t going to ask about being drugged?

“Coran said you should stay... to make sure you’re okay. I had to give you an injection of blood and stuff to help get everything out your system”

“I did wonder why my arm hurt. Did he say what it was?”

Keith blushed, mumbling

“Werewolf viagra”

“What?!”

 Screeching, Lance nearly fell off the sofa arm backwards. Hands flaying before grabbing the arm of the sofa and saving himself

“Werewolf what?”

“Viagra. Traces were on our clothes. It’d been like adjusted or something. Coran wanted to make sure you didn’t go into heat or anything”

Angrily, Lance huffed

“Oh, so now he can do something about it...”

Whelp. Fuck

“He said it would be burned through in your system and you needed a bit of jump start with that”

“I feel shitty enough without this viagra. Why the fuck would they be using it in a vampire club?”

Keith shrugged

“I don’t know... You’ll have to ask Coran”

“Because that won’t be an awkward conversation. Can you imagine Matt if he sniffs it in me? He’s horny enough as it is”

  Shiro choked on his sandwich, hitting his chest with his fist

“I don’t need to think about that”

“Neither did I. Did he tell you what I’m supposed to feel?”

“You had a fever and he was worried it’d turn into a heat”

“Great. So a guy can’t have a fever these days without being secretly horny... Thanks, life”

Curtis braved the cranky Lance

“He does have a point. A fever is a prime indicator that you’ve gone into heat”

“Not that kind of fever...”

“You also had an incredulous stressful night. Personally I believed you would turned into a bat”

“Your confidence in me is startling”

“You are swayed easily by your emotions”

  Keith winced in sympathy for Curtis. It was nice knowing him

“And your feet smell like parmesan cheese. Sometimes facts fucking suck”

It seemed Curtis would live to see another day. Keith, no longer as blind as he’d been, could see right through all of this. This was Lance doing that mood thing when things got too much and he tried too hard to make them all feel better. Yeah. He was onto his boyfriend. That irritating fake perk... that he found not as irritating when it wasn’t directed in his direction... Lance loved everyone in their friend circle so much that Keith couldn’t blame him for wanting things to feel normal between them

“That’s not my fault”

“And my emotions are what keeps me sane, though hanging out with you lot makes me question why I bother”

“Because we’re interesting?”

Lance sighed, Curtis calming him down with those three words

“I can’t deny that. And who the hell sprinkles werewolf viagra over a crowd of vampires? It’s like asking for us to be chased by horny mutts. I feel exhausted thinking about the way we all acted and now I find out that some wanker thought it was okay to drug my boyfriend. Being a vampire sucks. I want to punch someone in the dick for this��

  Keith snorted. The infamous dick punch threat was bound to come out

“You’re not alone there. I think Coran would punch them too”

“How did he even find out what it was so fast?”

“By the look of it he worked all night”

“He’s an idiot. He’s going to burn himself out if he doesn’t rest. You said we got leads?”

“Yeah. Someone slipped some stuff into Allura’s pocket. They’re still working on it, but the second lot was definitely viagra and blood”

“I’ll bet you a hundred bucks Sendak was experimenting last night and came to check the results”

  Keith shook his head. Now Lance suggested it, it seemed very likely that was the case

“I’m not taking that bet. You’re probably right. You’ve got a good instinct for these things”

“It comes with being old and tired of people... and vampires. I’m tired of vampires. I’m a tired old vampire tired of vampires”

Keith forced down his laughter. Lance wasn’t that old for a vampire. Plus, they were both old and tired of people

“You poor thing. Come sit in my lap and tell me all about it”

His boyfriend hissed at him

“I feel personally attacked now. You could have denied it”

“In the words of Pidge, “Merp””

“You can’t quote the gremlin against me. She’s magical. She’ll hear”

Pidge was magical in her own way. She was unbeaten with a laptop in her lap. The world should really fear her and her tenacious spirit

“She should write a book”

“How to “Merp” according to Pidge?”

“Pretty much”

“Maybe if she did, they’d give up this stupid fucking hunt. Did Coran say how long I have to stay I town?”

“He said you can go home if you’re still okay this evening”

  Keith would have preferred Lance stayed so they could be sure the vampire was truly okay

“I don’t want to drive back, but I have to make sure they’re still all okay. Especially after last night”

“I know”

Not that it made it easier to say goodbye. Lance reminded him of when he had to see Shiro at every chance he got to make sure Shiro hadn’t been killed like Adam

“I think I deserve cuddles for this...”

“I did offer my lap”

“I know. I’m coming in...”

Curtis’s sharp wit struck again, commenting as Lance climbed off the sofa arm

“Really? I do believe Shiro said you were coming out”

  Closing his eyes, Keith sighed to himself in the moment it took Lance to club into his lap. Why did their friends have to be so weird?

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 16

This is the sixteenth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Special | 15 | 16

Next

"Look, I'm sorry. It was my idea—"

"Yeah, no shit, now shut up and drink."

It took them at least five minutes to calm down, and another five for Mikasa and Eren to stop giggling every time they looked at Levi's scowling face, notebook still in hand (it didn't help that he kept muttering "shitty sparkly vampire movie" under his breath). But after Levi sent the two of them death glares, and Armin curled up in a literal ball on the floor beside Levi, Eren figured it was time to get back on track.

Levi drops his arm on the table. They've all gotten situated in new seats, with Levi at the head of the table and Eren and Armin on either side of him. Mikasa sits on the other side of Eren, but as Eren noisily scoots his chair closer to Levi's, she follows and ends up across from Armin.

"First things first," Levi says, looking at Mikasa and Armin, "Eren drinks from the wrist. He always bites in the right spot, so there's no need to worry about that."

Armin raises his hand, and Eren drops his head to rest his cheek against Levi's forearm, closing his eyes. So much informational stuff. He feels like zoning out.

"This isn't a school," Levi says, "but sure, Armin, go ahead."

"Oh, um." Armin laughs awkwardly and lowers his arm. "Right, sorry, uh… Is there a reason why he doesn't bite you on the neck?"

"Several actually—"

Eren really does zone out this time, moving his cheek from Levi's arm to the table so that he can easily lace their fingers together. Levi won't care if he doesn't really pay attention, right? He's told Eren all this before, anyway. There are a bunch of reasons not to drink from the neck. Concerns about turning, too close to the heart, super intimate—

Well, the "intimate" part of it probably isn't as much of a problem anymore.

"Eren."

Eren's eyes flutter open, and he finds himself looking up at Levi as the man leans over him.

"You're getting the full amount today, for the first time since you were sick. You might get more drunk than usual."

"Drunk?" Mikasa asks.

"Blood drunk. You'll understand soon."

"I'll be fine," Eren says, raising his head off the table.

He should be fine, anyway. That was the whole point of them spreading his drinking schedule out and starting with only a bit of blood at a time. All he needed was for his stomach to get used to it. Eren feels plenty used to it now. Who knows if he’ll even feel blood drunk this time around? Maybe he’s already built up a good tolerance. That's how alcohol ended up working out for him.

Eren just hopes his body doesn’t vomit all the blood out to prove him wrong.

He curls his fingers around Levi’s arm, bringing it up to meet his lips. His eyes slip shut as the warm liquid hits his tongue, and Levi’s free hand lands upon his head, pale fingers sliding into his hair.

“Is that, um—” Armin clears his throat. “Is that necessary? Does it help him, I mean.”

Eren’s only half listening. He’s distracted by the way Levi’s blood sates his parched throat, by the way the heat spreads through his veins. It’s as sweet as ever, like warm honey, but a little bit easier to get down. Warm honey with a metallic tang, a savory undertone.

It’s so nice that Eren forgets that this is the first time his friends have ever seen him drink blood—excluding that time with the wine glass on the day he met Levi. So nice that Eren forgets he should be worried about them being disgusted by actually seeing his fangs at work, by the proof that their friend isn’t a human anymore.

Even if he did remember, Levi is with him. Levi said he doesn’t see Eren as a monster. If Levi doesn’t, then his lifelong friends shouldn’t see him that way either.

Right?

“Not necessary, exactly,” Levi says. “I pull his hair to get him to stop drinking because he doesn’t remember on his own just yet. I could tell him to stop, but this is faster.”

“Oh, okay…”

“You won’t have to worry about it, if he ever drinks from you. I’ll teach him the right way by then.”

Eren lets out a little grumble at that, and Levi combs his fingers through Eren’s hair.

“Something wrong?”

Eren shakes his head, but his eyebrows are furrowed.

Something about the thought of drinking blood that’s not Levi’s rubs Eren the wrong way. Obviously, Eren knows that’s part of the reason he brought his friends here in the first place, but…

It just doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t want anybody else’s blood. He wants Levi’s. He’s with Levi now anyway. Does he even have to consider drinking Mikasa or Armin’s blood?

The tug at Eren’s scalp brings his attention back to the present, and he pulls away from Levi’s wrist with a slight sigh, swiping his tongue across the bite marks.

“You okay?” Levi asks as Eren slowly raises his head.

Eren hums a little, taking stock of his body. He’s not nauseous—thank God—and he feels warm all over, but other than that…

“Just warm,” Eren says, giving Levi a little thumbs up.

When the entire room lets out a sigh of relief, Eren rolls his eyes, dropping his head onto Levi’s shoulder.

“You guys need to relax,” Eren says, wiggling a disapproving finger in the direction of his friends. “I’m… totally fine… Big chillin’...”

Okay. Maybe not just warm. Eren can practically feel his thoughts slowing down. But that’s whatever. That’s fine. Totally nothing to worry about.

“‘Big chillin.’” Levi echoes with a scoff. “That’s a new one for you.”

“What d’you mean?” Eren asks with a frown. “I say that, like… all the time. I’m constantly in a state of chill. Big chillin’ all the time.”

“Sure.”

Mikasa whistles, dropping her chin onto the back of her hands as she looks at Eren with a small smile.

“There’s a lot about this that’s new,” she says.

“Whaat?” Eren asks. “Fuck off. I’m always like this. All the time.”

“Really?” she asks. “Have I been missing something or are you just constantly drunk whenever I’m not around?”

“‘M not drunk,” Eren grumbles. “I’m a heavyweight. Heavy. Weight. ‘S impossible for me to get drunk.”

Usually. It’s usually impossible for him to get drunk. Blood’s so weird that way. Can he get used to blood or is it always going to hit him this hard? Oh, but does he even want to get used to blood? He doesn’t want to get too used to it. He likes that it tastes super delicious every time. He feels like it’s only getting tastier the more he drinks it. Is he going to get drunker every time he drinks it? Eren’s not sure if he wants that. One of these days, he’s going to drink blood and just instantly pass out…

“Woah there, big guy.”

Eren feels arms around his waist, tugging him up and back until he’s leaning against Levi’s chest. Was he sliding out of his chair? Levi’s so nice, always noticing stuff like that… Eren’s so lucky.

He turns his head to nuzzle his face into Levi’s neck. He’s good though, careful to keep his mouth closed and his fangs away from any exposed skin. He’s so full right now anyway. He just likes to have his face there, to feel and hear Levi’s pulse thrumming beneath his skin.

It kind of makes his own neck itchy, though. Right where his bite scars are. Eren wonders why that is. Even when he scratches it, it keeps itching.

“Yeah, no,” Mikasa says. “This is definitely new.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t get drunk often,” Levi says.

“Ne-ver. Never,” Eren cuts in. “Always the… DD when we go to bars. Mr. Designated Driver, they call me.”

“Nobody calls you that, Eren,” Mikasa says.

“And I’m usually the DD,” Armin says, “because I don’t drink, and you make me nervous whether you’re acting drunk or not.”

“Don’t tell Levi that, assholes… Stop trying to make me look not cool in front of him.”

“It’s not us that are making you look not cool, Eren.”

Levi just chuckles, and Eren smiles, pressing his face against Levi’s shoulder. It’s nice, hearing Levi’s laugh from this close. Levi’s arms curl a little tighter around him.

“You’re plenty cool, Eren.”

“Ah ha!” Eren exclaims loudly, lifting his head away from Levi’s neck just long enough to glare at Mikasa. “See? This’s why Levi’s my favorite. He’s not mean to me… unless I want it.”

“What?”

Levi lets out a sound like he’s choking, and Eren’s not sure why. He was just telling the truth. They both play at bullying each other. Levi calls him little shit… Eren calls him a dumbass... It’s all in good fun. Just teasing.

“Don’t read into that,” Levi says.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t want to,” Mikasa replies.

“See, this is new too,” Armin says. “It’s not just Eren being drunk. It’s that.”

“That?” Levi repeats.

“Him being so… affectionate.”

Eren’s not sure if Armin actually sounds bitter or if Eren's just not over the fact that Levi made him laugh earlier. Not that Levi’s not allowed to make other guys laugh. It’s just… Eren’s not used to it. Not used to seeing Levi around other people. When he does see Levi with other people, Levi’s usually bullying the fuck out of them. Unless it's Petra. But Eren likes Petra. Not that Eren doesn’t like Armin. He loves Armin—

“Eren hasn’t dated anyone since high school,” Armin continues. “And that relationship—”

“Armin, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“No,” Levi says. “You brought it up. Let me hear it.”

Eren loves Armin, so he’s not sure why it rubbed Eren the wrong way. Maybe it’s not about Levi being nice at all and more about how Armin reacted. Because Armin’s so bad with people. He avoids them, lets Mikasa and Eren take the lead first. He doesn’t go out of his way to talk to strangers, and there’s usually no way Armin is comfortable enough to laugh—

“It’s just that Eren’s last relationship ended pretty badly. Because Eren barely let the guy touch him, and when they kissed—”

Wait.

“Are you guys… talking about Jean?”

Mikasa sighs.

“See, I told you that you shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I was just explaining why I thought how Eren acts with Levi is weird—”

“Noo,” Eren says, shifting in Levi’s arms and rubbing his eyes with his hands. “That’s because Jean… wasn’t right.”

“Wasn’t right how?” Levi asks.

Eren scowls. His bite scars are itchy again, even though his face isn’t near Levi’s neck anymore. Maybe it’s thinking about Jean that’s doing it.

“Thought I was into him,” Eren mumbles, “but whenever he touched me, I just… didn’t feel good. Tried telling him, but he didn’t get it. Thought I was just fucking with him. So I punched him in the face when we kissed. Haven’t wanted anybody but my friends to touch me since.”

Levi’s hands on Eren’s waist grow tense.

“And where’s this Jean guy now?”

“Hmm?” Eren shakes his head. “Dunno. We’re cool though. He thinks I’m nuts ‘cause I was the one who asked him out in the first place… Dating our friend Marco now, I think.”

“We tried to warn him,” Mikasa says.

“Eren’s just been like that for as long as we’ve known him,” Armin adds. “He doesn’t like to be touched when he knows it’s romantic. Even when it’s somebody he likes that way.”

“Mm,” Eren mumbles with a serious nod. “But Levi’s good. Like it when it’s Levi.”

And suddenly Levi’s hands are relaxed again.

“...You sure?” Levi asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Eren says, nodding again. “With Levi… Big chillin.’”

Mikasa snorts.

“That’s good,” Armin says. “I’m… glad.”

“Mmhmm…” Eren tilts his head, sliding slightly across Levi’s chest. “Probably ‘cause we’re soulmates.”

“...Huh?”

One of Levi’s arms moves away, and Eren frowns over at him to see Levi’s face buried in one of his hands.

“Whaaat?” Eren asks, trying to pull Levi’s hand away from his face. “We are! We’re soulmates. Vampire soulmates!”

“Vampire… soulmates,” Mikasa echoes.

“It’s a long story,” Levi says. “It’s not even—”

“We are,” Eren says firmly. “Say we’re not and ‘m gonna beat you up.”

Levi’s fingers spread slightly, and Eren can see a skeptical gray eye through the gap.

“Really. You’re going to beat me up.”

“Yeah,” Eren says, but then he frowns.

He doesn’t want to beat Levi up. He knows that Levi thinks it’s just a stupid myth. And it’s not like Eren has any proof. Maybe if he had some proof, he could feel a little more justified about beating Levi up. Let’s see, where could he get proof…

“If I call Erwin,” Eren says slowly, “and he says ‘yeah, vampire soulmates are totally real,’ then ‘m gonna beat you up.”

Levi just sighs and shakes his head.

“Sure. Go right ahead.”

“Vampire soulmates,” Mikasa says again.

“W-who’s Erwin?” Armin exclaims loudly, and Eren watches as Levi’s shoulders sag with relief.

“Good question. I actually need to get you his contact info.”

Levi’s arms retreat, and Eren frowns, the hazy heat in his head clearing his head slightly as he tries to wrap his head around what Levi just said. Why would Mikasa and Armin need Erwin’s contact info? Erwin knows a lot of vampire stuff, sure, but shouldn’t they just go to Levi if they have questions?

Levi completely pulls away, stepping out of his chair, and Eren slumps in his own seat, his head in his hands. He doesn’t get it.

“Erwin’s a vampire I know,” Levi says, coming back to the table with a pen and paper in hand. “If anything ever happens with Eren that you don’t know what to do about, Erwin will know. If not, there’s Hanji—another vampire. I’ll give you their number too—”

“Stop,” Eren says, lifting his head up.

Mikasa and Armin are looking at Eren with concerned frowns, but Eren’s focus is on Levi.

“Why?” Eren asks.

“Why what?”

“Why shouldn’t they just call you?”

Levi shakes his head.

“This is if I’m not around.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“If something happens to me—”

“No!” Eren shakes his head furiously. “No, nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Levi’s expression goes soft, and he slides the page he was writing on to Armin before coming back to Eren’s side.

“Mikasa,” Armin says, snatching up the paper and rushing to her side of the table. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” she repeats with a frown. “Eren drove us here—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Armin hisses, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her out of her seat. “Now let’s go.”

“Okay, okay!”

And then it’s just Eren and Levi alone in the break room.

“Eren—”

“Why would you say that?” Eren asks. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“It was just a precaution—”

“That’s not the problem!” Eren exclaims, his hands clenching into fists. “That’s not—why is it just you? Why's it just you that something bad happens to? I’m here. I’m with you.”

“Eren, I’m the one of us with the dangerous job—”

“Then take me with you!” Eren exclaims, grabbing hold of Levi’s arms. “I’m here. I’m learning to fight. I can help you. I can keep you safe.”

Levi frowns.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“And you think I want you getting hurt?”

Levi’s eyes grow wide for a moment as Eren's grip tightens on his arm. A moment later and Levi lets out a quiet sigh, kneeling down in front of where Eren is sitting.

“I… see what you’re saying.”

“Say you’re going to take me with you.”

“Eren—”

“I’m serious!” Eren says, his eyes burning and his sight getting blurry. “I can’t—you have to say you’ll take me with you.”

Levi’s gray-eyed gaze lowers, and for a second Eren thinks that’s he really not going to say it. Is that Levi’s plan? To just go off on his own somewhere and die? Even leaving Eren out of it, it’s a stupid plan. What about Isabel, Furlan, and Petra? What about his family and the people who love him—

“...Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay,” Levi says, louder now, laying his hands over Eren’s knees. “I’ll take you with me.”

Eren’s grip on Levi’s arms loosens slightly, though he still can’t hold back his frown.

“I’m with you,” Eren says, scooting forward and leaning down, closer to Levi.

“I know.”

“I can help you.”

“I know.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to go alone?”

Levi sighs.

“...No.”

“No?”

“They told me ‘be safe,’” Levi says. “If I even told them I was going. Most of the time I didn’t.”

“...You’re a dick, Levi.”

For some reason, that makes Levi laugh, and Levi moves closer, resting his head on Eren’s thighs.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not allowed to do that to me.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious. I’ll beat you up.”

“Okay.”

Eren sighs, moving his hands from Levi’s arms to Levi’s shoulders. The heat of his anger is quickly cooling back to regular, blood drunk warmth, though he’s not quite as hazy as he was before.

“‘M sorry,” Eren says. “For yelling at you.”

Levi shakes his head.

“No, I earned it. I just… If something were to happen to me—just me—I worried that you… that you wouldn’t be okay. I wanted to prepare.”

“Not gonna happen,” Eren says, squeezing Levi’s shoulders. “I’m a whole ass vampire, you know? I can protect you. As soon as you teach me to fight, ‘m gonna be way stronger than you anyway.”

“You’re right,” Levi says.

“Gonna get waaay stronger than you and then we’ll be big chillin.’”

Levi opens his eyes just to roll them at Eren.

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“What d’you mean? I always say that.”

Levi heaves a huge sigh before getting to his feet, patting Eren’s legs one last time.

“Sure, big guy.”

Eren’s nose scrunches in annoyance.

“Don’t like it when you say it like that. ‘M a big guy, but that’s good.”

“Right, right.”

Eren’s eyes narrow as he watches Levi walk towards the door.

“Why’re you leaving?”

“Somebody needs to tell your friends that they don’t need to walk home, and you’re not able to do it.”

“Ohh… Okay.”

Levi pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking at Eren over his shoulder.

“You be good and don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Levi says, pushing the door open.

“Yeah,” Eren says, nodding, “I’m Levi’s good boy. Won’t do anything stupid.”

Levi trips on his way out the door, the tips of his ears burning red.

“N-not what I said,” Levi says firmly.

“Hmm?”

It takes Petra squealing and wolf whistling for Eren to realize, ohhh, he’s definitely going to regret everything he just said once he’s sober again.