#I need to catch up with Raging Sands

[rafeys-sweetie]

will there be a part 3? to the one that got away?

Part three of.. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 <3

Part one Part two

౨ৎ

The gas station is quiet in that dead way only 1 a.m. understands.

The kind of quiet that sticks to your skin. That turns fluorescent lights into interrogations and silence into white noise. You’re sitting behind the counter, legs curled under you, chin resting in your palm, watching a moth beat itself to death against the ceiling light.

It’s been an hour since your last customer.

Six days since your last text.

And maybe a week since you’ve felt like a real person instead of a placeholder someone friends stop calling when they’ve got enough warm bodies for the boat.

You shift in your seat, blinking at the dark glass of the storefront, at your own faint reflection in it. There’s something brittle in your face tonight. Something tired. You could blame the hours, but you know better. It’s not the job that’s killing you.

It’s everything else.

Your phone buzzes against the counter, a sharp jolt in the stillness. You grab it instinctively, heart thudding

But it’s not him.

Not the one you’ve been waiting for. Just a fucking scam spam number to tell you that you’ve ran a toll (you didn’t.)

You shut the screen off and set it face-down, harder than necessary. Rage has been ironing you for six entire days and it really hurts cause you don’t know why and it’s just making you silt even more.

And that’s when the bell above the door rings.

You barely look up at first. Just shift your eyes enough to see someone walk in tall, golden, reckless energy trailing behind him like a cigarette drag in the wind.

You freeze.

JJ.

He moves like he’s been here a hundred times and knows you’ll still look. And you do.

He’s in a gray tank, shoulders cut like he’s been fighting ghosts. Sweat on his collarbone, a smudge of sand on his forearm. His hair’s damp, unruly. Wind tousled from wherever he came from. Ocean maybe. Hell possibly. Same difference.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just strolls the narrow aisles, pretending to browse. But you can feel it the way his eyes flick toward you every few seconds. The way he moves slower near the snacks. Like he’s drawing it out.

Finally, he steps up to the counter and tosses a bag of Red Vines between you.

“Dinner.”

You don’t even blink. “Gonna give yourself diabetes.”

He grins, and it’s like a solar flare burning a little too bright, hiding something behind the teeth.

“Then I’ll die sweet,” he says, “like a southern boy should.”

You slide the scanner over the bag with a beep.

He doesn’t take it.

He leans on the counter instead, palms spread wide, body dipping slightly toward you just enough to let the scent of salt and summer hit you in the throat.

“Missed seeing you.”

You scoff, but it comes out dry. “Pretty sure you had your hands full.”

He tilts his head, smiling slow. “So you have been thinking about my hands.”

Your stomach tightens.

You look away.

JJ laughs softly. Low. Knowing.

“What do you want, JJ?”

His voice drops a register. “Do I need a reason to come see you?”

“Yes.”

He steps around the counter.

Your breath catches.

“No customers,” he says, moving closer. “Lights half-dead. You looked lonely.”

You force a smile. “Maybe I like it quiet.”

“I know you do.” His voice is velvet now. “Always did like being alone with me.”

You back up, but he follows. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just… deliberate.

You hit the counter behind you. No more space.

He brackets you there, hands planting on either side of your hips, body not touching but close. Close enough to feel the tension drag between your ribs like piano wire.

You don’t look at his mouth.

You absolutely do not.

He leans down, voice brushing your skin.

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been ducking all of us?”

“I’ve been working.”

He hums. “You’ve been hiding.”

“I’ve been tired.”

“Liar,” he says quietly.

And it’s the way he says it. Not teasing. Not cruel. Just… intimate.

Like he knows.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” he says. “But I still want one.”

You stare at him. He’s too close. It’s too much. And it’s never enough.

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just looks at you really looks. His gaze flicks over your mouth. Your jaw. The column of your throat. His breath is shallow now.

Like he’s thinking about it.

Like he wants it.

Like he shouldn’t.

But JJ Maybank was never good at not touching things that burn.

“You look like you need something,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “What do you think I need?”

His mouth hovers near your jaw. “That’s the problem. I don’t think I’d stop if I started guessing.”

Your phone buzzes again.

The spell cracks.

You jerk slightly and reach down to your pocket, flipping the screen over fast.

Just one word lights up:

Rafe 🧸: Outside.

Shit.

… yeah so the total votes on this won’t fully affect the outcome but it could i still got quite a few chapters before the end but so far…

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 7

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: I apologize in advance lol.

Masterlist | Read ch 6 here

Your feet buried in the sand, just inches from the gentle waves crashing to shore. You could smell the salt in the air, feel it on your skin as the wind carried droplets of water until it reached you. The sun kissed the horizon of the ocean beside you, painting the waves in streaks golden.

This was possibly your favorite thing about New Asgard, the ocean.

Or, second favorite, you thought, as you squeezed the hand holding your own.

"And Thor wouldn't listen to me, of course," Loki continued the story, his feet burying in the sand just as yours did. One of his hands interlocked with yours, the other holding his shoes. "Not until the whole tent came crashing down on him."

You giggled, the soft wind carried your laughter and messed up your hair, "Thor never was the brightest at learning our 'contraptions', as he would call them."

"No, I guess not," Loki mused, a smile of his own lingering on his lips.

You looked up at him then, watching as the fading sunlight reflected against his bright eyes and shaped the curves of his smile. You'd never tire of the sight, of him by your side.

"You should come with us next time," Loki suggested, apparently just as lost in you as you were in him.

"Camping?" You raised a brow.

Loki nodded, stopping in his tracks. He dropped his shoes to the sand without a second thought, so he could take hold of both your hands. "You'd make it better."

His voice, however, began to sound far away. You frowned, looking around as the golden sunlight seeped away, making room for a grey and stormy sky. The wind picked up speed, cutting into your skin like needles. The sea, once calm and serene, now raged and thundered against the shoreline.

"You always do." Suddenly, Loki's voice was nothing but an echo.

You didn't have time to hold him tighter before his hands were snatched away from yours.

Stumbling forward, you tried running after him, but the sand began to swallow your feet. Panic settled into your chest and got your heart racing.

You looked up, but you shouldn't have.

His eyes were bloodshot, his feet held off the ground as he struggled against the bruising grip on his neck. When Loki looked into your eyes, tears were running down both your cheeks. Blood trailed down his mouth as he choked for a breath. "Run," it was a plea, so quiet and weak past his lips.

The last thing you heard was a sickening crack.

You woke up with a scream lingering on your lips, sitting up on your bed and already clawing at your chest for the air that you desperately needed yet couldn't get a hold of. You didn't know if you were sobbing or coughing, perhaps a bit of both.

The tears were non-stop, dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your pajama shirt. You threw the covers away from your body, feeling trapped on your skin. Burying your head on your trembling hands, you did your best to try and catch your breath.

It had been a while since you've had a nightmare this haunting.

─── ·❆· ───

You felt numb. The day began and you couldn't feel anything besides the emptiness in your chest. Foolishly, you had thought you'd finally outgrew the bad memories, the grief. You wondered if you ever would.

As you walked through the hallways of the TVA, you thought back to yesterday; to the rain, the northern lights, and him. He who had those same dark curls, those same bright eyes, and alabaster skin that you saw in your dreams and nightmares. Each day it became harder and harder to believe the lie you insisted on telling yourself.

As if on cue, you heard the stomping of someone running to catch up with you.

"Good morning," Loki greeted, just a tad out of breath as he fell into step beside you.

You closed your eyes for a moment after hearing his voice. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you nodded without looking at him. "Morning."

Loki noticed, he felt the shift in the mood, heard it in your tone. You know he did, because he hesitated. "Um-" He tried to start; you could perfectly picture his eyes being unable to find a place to focus even if you weren't looking.

"I've been thinking," he tried again, and you could hear the tentative smile on his words, "For the next time you manage to borrow Mobius' tempad, I- I have a place I would like to show you, if you'd like."

There were tears brimming in your eyes. You weren't sure why. Maybe because this was such a Loki way for him to try and ask you out. Maybe because you could feel your heart melting for him as it found its home again after being in the cold for so long, and that terrified you.

"Yeah…" You cursed under your breath when your voice came out broken and strained. You cleared your throat. "I don't know when he'll let me borrow it again, so," you shrugged, quickening your steps, "I guess we'll see."

Loki fell behind just for the time it took for him to mull over your words. It didn't take much effort for him to match your pace again. "Yes, of course."

The sadness dripping from his voice made your heart clench. You didn't want to hurt him. But you didn't want to hurt yourself either.

Finally reaching your desk in your secluded nook of the library, you immediately busied yourself with threading over the fresh stack of documents resting on top of it. Pointedly avoiding Loki's concerned look.

"I can help you with those," Loki suggested, already reaching for a spare chair.

"You really don't have to," You tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, turning on your table lamp.

"I want to," he told you with that softness reserved for you only. "We can finish it twice as fast and maybe stop for tea-"

"Loki, stop!" You suddenly snapped, finally turning to look at him. "Can you just leave me alone for one goddamn second?" You hadn't meant for your voice to come out as harsh as it did.

Loki lowered his head so you weren't able to see the pang of hurt in his eyes. His hand went limp as he slowly let go of the chair. Still, he took a step closer to you and asked; "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Of course he would be able to tell. Of course he'd put your pain above his own.

You surrendered the facade with a sigh, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. "I keep seeing…" It was difficult to think of it, let alone say it. You closed your eyes. "The day I lost him, I- I keep seeing it over and over. Even after all this time."

You had gotten better, for a while, keeping busy in the TVA had somewhat helped. But you knew you only buried the feeling, never dealt with it. And then Loki—this Loki, the one who would be yours—found his way to you, and everything crumbled again. Those bright eyes of his were still the same you've always known, after all; and between the memories you had together that only you had lived, and the way his soul tangled with yours as if they never parted, you didn't know what to feel.

Your chin wobbled and a sob fell past your lips. "And I just want it to stop hurting… I just him back."

Seeing you like this, it hurt. Loki took half a step closer to you, his glassy eyes gauging every twitch of your muscles. If you told him to leave, he would, even if it's the last thing he wanted. Your pain pierced his soul like an arrow, tearing and making it bleed. More than anything, he found himself only wanting you to be okay.

No names were needed. Loki knew, just from the way you were adamantly refusing to look at him; he knew you were talking about… him.

Carefully, testing tentative waters, Loki reached for one of your hands. He held his breath when you tensed as his skin touched yours. His fingers closed gingerly around your wrist and he pulled your hand up with a gentleness he didn't know he was capable of.

You let him. You weren't sure why, but you did.

Loki brought your hand to rest above his chest, flat against his beating heart, and held it there, with his own hand still grasping yours tightly. He hesitated. He was afraid, he realized. Afraid of losing you.

Only when Loki opened his lips to speak, did he taste his own tears that had fallen. "I'm here." It was nothing but a breath. "I promise. I'm here." He tried, it was all he could give you; himself.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers shaking. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder as another sob escaped you. As the waves pulled you under.

In a place out of time, time stood still. For a precious second, only you and him existed.

You looked up after what felt like an eternity, your lips hovering as you struggled to hold his gaze. "But you're not him." The half smile that stretched the tear tracks on your cheeks held nothing but sorrow.

As if ripping apart a piece of his soul, Loki reluctantly let go of your hand. "What is it you have against me?" He whispered, pleaded.

You'd never seen him this vulnerable. His ocean eyes glimmered under the dim artificial lights of the library, eyebrows pulled softly together in what looked more like loss than confusion.

"And what is it you have with me?" You found yourself whispering back, just as desperate. "For you, we never met." Your voice broke and then dripped with frustration, "You have nothing to lose. So what is it that you want from me?"

It was selfish to put the blame on him, just because he brought back the same warmth you've been missing for so long. But you were hurting, and broken things tend to have sharp edges.

Loki's lips hovered open and he shifted his gaze down, almost as if ashamed. He held the silence for a beat longer. "I guess I just…" He stopped, and forced himself to look into your eyes. "I saw how much you loved your Loki… I think I was jealous, and I was selfish, for wanting the same thing he was lucky enough to have." His smile was that of someone who knew when he'd lost. "You."

All emotion drained from your face. It felt like a bucket of icy water being dropped on top of you.

Had Loki actually fallen in love with you?

For a moment you wondered if, in every reality and every lifetime, you were destined to fall for each other. As the universe's own twisted version of soulmates.

You would've laughed at such a sweet thought, if it hadn't just made your heartbeat skyrocket. Because deep down, you knew you'd fallen for him as well. Again. As you always knew you would.

In every lifetime. As you promised you would.

And it terrified you, because what if you were destined to fall, yet also destined to lose?

"I'm sorry," you breathed, tasting the salt of your tears on your lips. You took staggered steps away from Loki. "I'm sorry, I- I can't."

I'm sorry, I don't know if I can pick myself back up if I ever lose you again. So I'd rather not have you at all.

"Please, I-" Loki started, yet he didn't know what he was pleading for.

But you shook your head vehemently. "I need," your voice stumbled, "I'm sorry- I just need a moment alone."

You turned around then, walking away and taking Loki's heart with you. His eyes refused to watch you leave again, luckily he had tears to blur the memory.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 8 here

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[amirawrah]

⭐︎Five minutes

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: At a beach party under the stars, you and Michael sneak away for five stolen minutes that turn into something deeper.

The bonfire crackles behind you. Laughter echoes down the beach, bass thudding from a Bluetooth speaker half-buried in the sand. People dance barefoot under string lights, beer bottles clinking, waves crashing in the distance.

But none of it matters.

Because Michael is looking at you like he’s already somewhere else—and he wants you there with him.

Your fingers brush under the table once, then twice. By the third time, he grabs your hand and leans in, voice low near your ear. “Come with me.”

You don’t ask where. You just go.

He leads you past the palms, away from the lights. Past the coolers and the fire and the eyes. Past the music and noise, deeper into the dark. The sand is cool now, soft under your feet. The only light is from the sliver of moon overhead, the dull gold from distant tiki torches.

He stops when it’s quiet. When you’re hidden.

A little pocket of silence just for the two of you.

Before you can say anything, his lips are on yours.

Urgent. Desperate. Like he’d been counting down the minutes.

You gasp against his mouth, and he shushes you gently, grinning as he presses you against a tree trunk. “Keep it down,” he whispers, hands already gripping your waist.

Your laugh is breathy, teasing. “You dragged me out here, remember?”

“I know,” he murmurs, mouth moving to your jaw. “Couldn’t wait.”

You pull him closer, fingers through his locs, tugging just enough to hear him breathe harder. His hands explore like they know you by memory—which they do. Every curve. Every sound. Every weakness.

And then—

He groans your name.

Low. Drawn out. His head buried in your neck like he’s trying to anchor himself.

Your breath catches.

“You told me to keep it down,” you remind him, half-laughing, half-melting.

His voice is muffled. “I lied.”

You lose track of time. The stars blink overhead. Your bodies pressed together in the dark, breaths shallow, the space between you barely there.

The party still rages in the distance. But this? This is where the night actually lives.

In whispers. In fingers curling into fabric. In the way he says your name like a confession.

In five stolen minutes that feel like everything.

The sand clings to your legs. His hoodie is slipping off one shoulder. Your pulse is still racing like you’re on the edge of something.

Michael exhales hard against your neck, skin warm, locs damp from the humidity and you.

"Come back with me," he murmurs, barely pulling away.

You blink at him. "To the party?"

He gives you that low, lazy smirk. "To the villa. Obviously."

You want to act like you need to think about it, like you’re not completely undone by his voice right now, but the way his fingers lace through yours already answers for you.

The walk back is quiet—his thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand, like he’s grounding himself again after unraveling. When you get close to the bonfire again, the music's louder, the air warmer, voices sharper.

You're two steps away from blending in when someone spots you.

“Yo, Olise!” one of the guys from the team calls out, lifting a cup. “Where’ve you been?”

Michael doesn’t even flinch. “Bathroom,” he says casually, and everyone buys it, like he wasn’t just whispering your name into the stars ten minutes ago.

You? You're trying to wipe the dazed look off your face.

But as you pass the drinks table, your best friend narrows her eyes at you.

You avoid eye contact.

Michael squeezes your hand behind his back before letting go and murmuring, “Villa in ten. Don’t be late.”

You almost choke.

Ten minutes later, you sneak up the villa stairs barefoot, heart pounding in your ears. He’s already inside. The door creaks when you push it open, and he's leaning against the kitchen counter, water bottle in one hand, gaze on you like you're dessert.

“You always show up when I need you,” he says quietly, like it’s the only truth that matters tonight.

You smile, stepping closer, heart full and skin buzzing. "That’s because you always want me."

He sets the bottle down, moves in slow, and this time, it’s not urgent. It’s reverent. Like five minutes wasn’t enough. Like this is the part he wants to take his time with.

You know the night is young.

But here, in this villa where the air smells like salt and sugar, where your skin is sun-kissed and your heart is full—

You don’t need the party.

Just him. Only him.

The villa feels too quiet after the beach—just the low hum of the ceiling fan and the distant crash of waves outside.

Michael kisses you like he has all the time in the world now.

His hands find your waist, your back, your jaw, anchoring you to him. No more stolen touches. No more quick glances. Just you, wrapped up in each other, slow and sweet under the dim villa lights.

The glass doors are open to the balcony; you can hear the ocean rolling in and the soft strum of music still playing from the beach. It feels like another world out there—loud and reckless—but here inside? It's just you and him. Quiet. Heated.

He leads you to the bed without breaking the kiss, tugging you gently until your knees hit the mattress. His hoodie slips fully off your shoulder now, and he leans back just enough to look at you properly—like he’s memorizing you.

The night blurs into the feeling of his weight over you, the press of his body, the brush of his curls against your skin. Every touch is slower now. Every kiss sinks deeper.

And when he finally whispers your name again, it’s not rushed, not desperate, just pure love.

You wake up tangled in sheets that smell like coconut and him.

Sunlight spills across the room. The sounds of breakfast—the clink of plates, someone laughing way too loud—float up from the kitchen downstairs.

You stretch lazily, still sore in the best way, and Michael grunts into the pillow beside you.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles.

“You said that last night,” you tease, flicking his locs.

He grins against the pillow but doesn’t open his eyes.

Eventually, you both drag yourselves downstairs, trying to look normal. Trying.

But the second you step into the kitchen, it’s over.

Your best friend spots you first, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “Oh, there they are. Took y’all long enough.”

Someone else snickers into their coffee. “Bathroom break? That what we’re calling it now?”

You bury your face in your mug, cheeks flaming. Michael? Cool as ever. He just leans casually against the counter, sipping orange juice like he didn’t completely wreck you against a mattress six hours ago.

Your best friend fake-coughs: "Villa in ten, don’t be late."

You nearly choke on your drink.

Michael only smirks at you from across the room—eyes dark, mouth twitching like he’s so not sorry.

And honestly?

Neither are you.

[karlachismylife]

I'm trying to catch up on the gazprice prompts, but in the middle of it was struck by something I just need to put out in the world.

Soap puts his everything into kissing. Something inside him - must be the overwhelming volume of his feelings - protests every time he sets out to give a short peck or a modest, sweet and calm kiss. It feels simultaneously like drowning and dying of thirst, the lack of depth and closeness worse than being deprived of touch completely: before, when he was forced to keep his hands and mouth to himself because reaching out to Karlach would only turn him into blistering coal, he could shut the steel floodgate on his passion completely, his mind focused on the mission and stoic, even if he kept stoking the fire between them by letting long rants of desire roll down his tongue, words raspy and heavy with accent as he would describe ways he longed to touch her staring into her tiger eyes with his deep blues. Karlach practiced restraint for the both of them, breathing in and out instead of blurting out what she wanted in response, the heat of her engine revealing it all wordlessly by absorbing the deep sea blue into its flames and flaring up so that Johnny's face turned into a sharp graphite drawing of dark coal shadows and sweaty glint of highlights.

There is no practicing restraint once she's cooled down enough for him to touch. Soap pushes himself from under the waves and rides them, guiding the force that his raging want is, to collapse onto the tiefling. His kisses are hungry - starving - and desperate. Staring at Karlach's rich crimson lips, he pulls her in by her broad waist and doesn't waste time waiting before joining their mouths together. She's all fire and clove ash, but he drinks her like sand drinks the waves, greedily, opening his mouth wide to grasp all that is Karlach with soft wet lips. His stubble scratches her skin slightly, desperation leaves even the scar on his chin wet with the messy, sloppy kisses.

Karlach takes this wave on her chest, feet planted firmly on the ground to keep her steady even as Soap starts beding her backwards while grasping onto her wide back, seeking bare red skin with protruding scars instead of smooth leather of her clothing. She holds onto his neck, clawed hand firmly digging into his fluffy mohawk - not to pull him away, only to keep him from breaking away, her tail finds purchase on his leg, wrapping under his knee in several rounds to make sure Johnny doesn't disappear.

It doesn't always lead to sex - they kiss each other like it's their last time regardless of what comes next. Soap just isn't capable of holding back, and Karlach, still relearning loving touch and closeness, loses her hesitation when met with such concentrated adoration. Whenever she opens her burning eyes to sneak a peek through fluttering eyelashes mid-kiss, she sees Johnny's eyes closed shut, eyebrows either raised pleadingly or furrowed in an attempt to keep himself from exploding with the love condensed in his chest - no less dangerous that Karlach's engine or Gale's orb. He always leans in, smushes her wide nose against his, breathes heavily and unevenly, refusing to let go until they both get so dizzy that they nearly tip over. His tongue tingles until numbness from the foreign feeling of the tiefling's mouth, his cheeks burn from the heat within and her face, and it never is enough to satisfy the sucking feeling in his throat that demands not for air or water but for love that comes in the spicy mix of their saliva he swallows between deepening the kisses again. Karlach feels it under her thumb pressed into the soft tan skin of his neck, something throbbing behind Johnny's quickened pulse, and tries to soothe it by pulling him even closer into her burly body and taking his tongue deeper despite the invisible flush it sends to her cheeks. There isn't a world she doesn't reciprocate his passion, there isn't a time she doesn't want to put her fire under his tide.

Soap puts his everything into kissing, and Karlach returns it all.

[special-agent-sass]

Brighter Future

Warnings: Smut, Dominant Gibbs.

I wanted to try something new so I wrote this in the typical third-person POV but focusing on Gibbs’ thoughts rather than the reader’s. I don’t know how to feel about it.. read it, tell me what ya think haha. I tried my best.

Gibbs slammed the basement door behind him, his jaw clenched in frustration. That damn woman was going to be the death of him. When he'd seen Y/N leave the bar with some pretty boy, laughing and flirting, his gut had twisted into knots. He knew it was irrational - she wasn't his to claim - but that did nothing to temper the surge of jealousy burning through him.

Taking a deep breath, Gibbs tried to rein in his emotions as he started sanding the latest addition to his boat. It was a lost cause, though. No matter how hard he focused on the rhythmic strokes, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N Y/L/N. The beautiful, stubborn, reckless thorn in his side. From the moment she'd joined his team two years ago, Gibbs had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. With her leather jacket, tattooed skin, those damn tight jeans and devil-may-care attitude, she was everything he never knew he wanted.

They clashed constantly, her recklessness grating against his rigid control. But underneath the arguments simmered an attraction that left them both flustered and on-edge. He'd catch her gazing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, green eyes dark with longing. It took every ounce of restraint not to pin her against the wall and kiss that smart mouth of hers until neither of them could breathe.

Gibbs switched to a finer grit sandpaper, losing himself in the methodical motions. This was useless. She consumed his thoughts whether he liked it or not. He remembered the first time he saw her - long dark hair spilling over a muscular back, tight jeans accentuating every curve. When she'd turned and met his gaze, Gibbs felt a spark of electricity jolt through him. No one had affected him like that in a long time.

From that moment on, she was always there, challenging him, pushing his buttons. He lived for their clashes, the passion simmering between them. But he had to be careful. Dating a co-worker never ended well, and she was too young for the likes of him anyway.

So Gibbs had resigned himself to longing from afar, sure she would never share his inappropriate feelings. Seeing her with that young punk at the bar, Gibbs' restraint shattered like glass. The thought of her going home with someone else sent him into a possessive rage he didn't recognize.

Gibbs looked up when he heard his front door open. Speak of the devil. Y/N hesitated at the top of the stairs, uncertainty clouding her features. His heart stuttered as their eyes met. God she was beautiful, even with her lip caught between her teeth and uncharacteristic vulnerability lurking in her gaze.

Setting the sandpaper down, Gibbs turned to face her. "Shouldn't you be out with your boyfriend?" He winced as the words came out harsher than he intended.

Y/N didn't seem offended, though. Slowly descending the stairs, she said "He's not my boyfriend. Just an old friend from high school."

Gibbs watched her approach, the sway of her hips hypnotic. His mouth went dry when she stopped mere inches away, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't go home with him. I realized there was somewhere else I wanted to be instead."

Gibbs' pulse roared in his ears as her meaning sank in. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and caressed her cheek, thrilling when she leaned into his touch. Her skin was so soft under his calloused fingers and he ached to explore every inch of her.

"Y/N..." he started, but she placed a delicate finger over his lips.

"I'm tired of dancing around this, Jethro. I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

That was all the permission Gibbs needed. With a groan he threaded his fingers through her hair and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted against him instantly, nails scraping down his back as she kissed him back fiercely. It was better than any fantasy - the taste of her, the feel of her supple body aligning with his.

Gibbs maneuvered them until Y/N was pinned between him and the workbench. His hands drifted down to grip her ass, pulling her tight against him as he dominated the kiss, taking everything she offered. When they finally broke for air, he took in her kiss-swollen lips and darkened gaze. She was a vision.

"I need you. Now," Y/N panted, and Gibbs heartily agreed. He made quick work of her shirt, groaning at the expanse of tattooed skin revealed. Dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, he deftly unhooked her bra and palmed her breasts. Y/N moaned loudly when he bit down on the skin below her jaw, the sound shooting straight to his groin.

He deftly unbuttoned her jeans. His hand slipped inside, finding her hot and wet for him already. Y/N cried out as he stroked her. Her head fell back, exposing the graceful column of her throat. he ducked down to kiss and nip his way up to her ear.

"Tell me you're mine," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, all yours," she panted.

Gibbs withdrew his hand, ignoring her noise of protest as he stripped her jeans off. He bent her over the table.

"You've been teasing me for months in these tight jeans," Gibbs said gruffly, caressing her ass. He gave her a sharp smack and she yelped. "Now you're going to get what you deserve."

He intended to take his time worshipping every inch of her, but Y/N was having none of it. She looked over her shoulder at him with lustful eyes and begged "please, just take me!"

Well, who was he to deny such a polite request?

He freed myself from his own jeans. With one powerful thrust he was buried inside her tight heat. Y/N cried out, pushing back against him. Gibbs set a relentless pace, all the desire he’d bottled up spilling out.

"Harder!" she gasped. He obliged, gripping her hips bruisingly tight.

Gibbs could feel her getting close, inner muscles starting to flutter around him. He reached around to circle her clit and she shattered with a scream, her climax triggering his. He came hard, emptying himself deep inside her.

Later, they lay tangled together on a pile of blankets, her head pillowed on his chest. Idly trailing his fingers over her back, Gibbs pressed a kiss into her hair.

"What made you change your mind about us?" he asked.

Y/N tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "I saw the way you looked at me tonight. Like I was something precious. No one's ever looked at me like that before."

Gibbs' heart swelled and he pulled her close. "You are precious. And you're mine now."

She smiled softly. "Yours. As long as you'll have me."

"Forever then," he stated simply. Y/N's eyes shone at that and she snuggled into his embrace.

As Gibbs held the beautiful, reckless woman who had captured his heart, he sent up a silent thanks to whoever had brought her crashing into his life. With her by his side, the future seemed brighter than ever.

[ghcstao3]

marine biologist au :)

-

Soap almost misses the call from Price one unsuspecting three AM, but he wakes up in the nick of time.

He barely has his eyes open to press answer, squinting into darkness as he mumbles out some greeting before waiting to learn why in the world Price is calling him at this time.

“They’ve finally hatched,” Price tells him. And before the cogs in Soap’s head can start turning, Price clarifies, “The turtles, Soap. They’re finally out. Get your arse out here.”

It’s such an announcement that kicks Soap’s brain into a hard reboot, and suddenly he’s flying out of bed and running for his car keys, barely caring that he’s still in his pyjamas as he speeds down the road at this godawful hour. He doesn’t remember when Price or he had hung up, just knows he needs to get to the beach, and now.

The team had had their eyes on a particular bale of sea turtles since they’d laid their eggs, and had waited for so long for the hatching with continuous efforts to make sure all would go perfectly undisturbed. He couldn’t afford to miss this.

And it seems, arriving to the spot, that other scientists had a similar idea. That, or Price had called them, too.

Soap finds the man with just a bit of difficulty between the silhouettes of the small group standing a ways from little black specks crawling through the sand. He claps Price on the shoulder, whispering his excitement as his eyes adjust to the bright moonlight.

“Incredible,” Soap murmurs. He hasn’t felt wonder like this in ages, even if this isn’t the first time he’s witnessed such an event.

There’s just something so special about it.

“I’ll say,” Price whispers back, that same wistfulness.

Except… it’s not Price. Still tall and wide shoulders and rough voice, but… decidedly not Price.

Soap nearly jumps back, recoiling when he realizes he’s been hanging off a stranger’s shoulder in lieu of an old colleague’s. The stranger seems to realize the mistake without ever taking his eyes off the baby turtles, laughing quietly under his breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Soap says. “I thought—“

“Thought I was someone else?” The stranger replies, not unkindly. He angles his head just enough for Soap to catch the outline of his face in the silver glow of moonlight. “I think I can forgive you. We’re all half-asleep, anyway.”

Soap can feel a blush raging across his face, thankful for the cover of night to hide its tint. Even so, he ducks his head as the stranger goes back to watching the hatchlings. Soap takes the opportunity to do the same, though putting some distance between himself and the man, this time.

Eventually, though, their shared silence feels like too much with the hushed chattering of others surrounding them. Soap taps the man lightly on the shoulder and says, “My name’s John.”

“Simon,” Soap is told.

The quiet feels more comfortable, after that. And as time goes on and more and turtles make it out to sea, the other voices seem to die down as well.

It’s not until everyone is certain all of the hatchlings have made it that the group of scientists begin talking again, still quiet, but now above a whisper. Simon finally fully turns to face Soap, who thinks he may be experiencing his second bought of wonder that night, seeing Simon’s face in the dim light.

“It was nice meeting you.” Soap smiles softly up at Simon. “Do you think we’ll see each other again?”

Simon nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. Once glance tells Soap that he’d been rudely awakened as well, and somehow he finds comfort in it.

“I’m sure we will,” Simon says. “Especially since Price is in both our circles. You should probably go find him, by the way. Since—“

Soap groans, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t remind me. I’m sorry again.”

Soap peeks through his fingers just as Simon grins at him, something almost bashful. “Don’t be. I liked your company. Have a good night, Johnny.”

Johnny.

Soap’s ears burn as Simon walks away. He sort of wishes a crater would open up in the sand and swallow him whole.

He should go find Price.

But… in a moment. Soap can reminisce on his brief encounter with Simon for just a few seconds longer.

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 12: The band of exiles /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Azriel finally arrive at the Manor after sharing a intimate moment at the lake.

Word Count: 2,1K

Warnings: Smut!

Notes: Heheheheheh sex

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

His lips were soft and warm, fitting perfectly against hers. He had caught her by surprise and it had taken her a minute to process what was happening before she leaned in against him, moving her lips in synchrony with his. She licked his lower lip, prompting him to open his mouth, her tongue invaded, as they battled for dominance. 

Her iron nails found their way to the nape of his neck, scratching slowly the skin, causing goosebumps to erupt in his body. She whimpered when his hand grabbed a handful of her flesh, squeezing her ass and pulling her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and Azriel started to guide them back to the shore. 

He laid her on the soft parts of dark sand surrounding the lake, his knee in between her thighs as he kept kissing her. His cock throbbed with anticipation to be inside her, and by the arousal soaking his knee, he could tell that she was eager too. His mouth kept kissing down to the vale of her breasts, circling her nipple with his tongue, flickering until she was a whimpering and squirming mess beneath him.

He parted her legs with his own, his hand sneaking down. He sunk two fingers easily inside her, the wetness there allowing him to do it without hurting her. She moaned, arching her back and pushing her breasts further inside his mouth, making him moan as well. He was consumed by her, her scent, her taste and her sensation at the tips of his fingers, he never wanted to leave. 

He curled his finger inside her, hitting that spot that had her seeing stars, while his thumb moved around in circles on her clit. She clenched her legs around his hand, cursing as he kept his slow pace, driving her more hungry by the second.

“Fuck Azriel, faster.” She breathed and it was the most obscene and beautiful sound he had ever heard, he wanted to hear her moaning his name forever. As the good male he was, he obliged her orders, mouthing at her nipples in synchrony with his fast fingers pumping in and out of her slopping cunt. 

The pleasure was a stretched band ready to snap, it was years since she properly had one. So she allowed that feeling to sink in, moaning loudly his name while the orgasm washed over her like a summer night breeze, making her body shake and her head fall back, hitting the sand. 

Her walls clenched on him, caging his fingers inside of her, he smirked at that, pulling them out and popping them into his mouth, licking the sweet remnants of her orgasm from his index and middle finger. 

“I need to be inside you, can I?” He asked, aching to be inside her, she looked at him, those deep eyes impossible darker, like a raging sea. She pushed him, using her legs to turn him around, hovering on top of him. She was still panting, recovering from her orgasms when she aligned his cock with her entry, sinking down in a swift motion. 

Azriel gasped at the sudden contact with her, breathing heavily as she started to rock her hips back and forth, her clit bumping against his pelvis as she rode him. A unholy sight it was, she riding him, her eyes squeezed shut, her breasts bouncing with the movement of her hips, hair glued to her forehead and some droplets of sweat running down her plush abdomen. She was a goddess. His personal goddess and certain ruin. 

He cummed hard, shooting white stripes of hot cum inside her, she kept riding him, reaching her own release again, his cum sliding down his cock, making messily easier for her to rock her hips and cum again, her walls clenching around him and milking every last drop of his spent.

She collapsed on top of him, trying to catch her breath. The best sex she had in years and that’s for sure. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

She and Azriel rested for the rest of the day, sharing the tent and some more intimate moments before  they both fell asleep, the tiredness from riding Meraxes all night finally weighing down on them. 

It was the middle of the night when they finally reached the manor, the wyvern roaring loudly to announce their arrival, Lucien quickly walking outside to greet them. Azriel got down carrying the bags, while Y/N slides down Meraxes�� leg, pulling Lucien in for a hug.

“Welcome to my home.” He said, a smile plastered across his face. “Azriel.” he greeted with a dip of his chin, while Azriel nodded his head back at him. “Jurian and Vassa are inside.” 

He guided the way towards a spacious living room. The two coaches were occupied by a male, brown hair, pale skin and brown eyes, he looked at her curiously. The other one was occupied by a beautiful woman with red hair, she had a smile gracing her lips.

“Jurian, Vassa.. This is Y/N.” Lucien introduced and she nodded her head to them. “You already know Azriel.” 

“So you are the brave little things that will end Koschei?” Vassa joked and Y/N raised an eyebrow, the motion drawing the attention to her scar, making her flinch a bit.

“Something like that.” She shrugged. “Lucien said you might help.” Vassa leaned on the couch.

“Is that so?” The male by her side silently nodded. “Then let’s have a talk while I still can.” She got up. 

The woman motioned for Y/N to follow her, going to the back of the house, towards the greenhouse that stood proudly in the yard. Various flowers and plants filled the moonlit space, their smells oddly good together, like they were selected by hand to complement each other. 

“So..” The redhead leaned against one of the tables, her blue eyes scanning Y/N’s figure up and down. 

“You tell me, you met the monster in person, not me.” The queen smiled, liking her fierce personality. 

“He presents himself as a human, everything about him seems normal on the surface, but what lies underneath, it's something with immense power.” She took a deep breath. “I was sold by the other queens to him, he promised them power in exchange for a perfect Guinea pig.”

“What did he need you for?” She inquired and Vassa shrugged. 

“He never told me, all he said was that he needed to do some research and testing on me, he bound me to the lake with him, a queen by night and a firebird by day.” Y/N felt her skin grow tighter with tension.

“What use does someone like him have to a firebird?” Vassa shrugged again. 

“I have no idea, but he made sure that I could never harm him, I can’t use my fire on him.” Y/N took a deep breath, the engines on her head working fast. “But he made me test in other things, monsters he created to see if they could survive the fire.”

If Koschei was truly a Valg, as she suspected, this made sense, he was trying to find a way to prevent getting killed, in a land full of fae with fire magic, it was only logical to protect himself from it, knowing how dangerous it was for his kind. But creating things? The only one who could create things was Erawan himself, only a Valg king could. The room temperature dropped to a few degrees and she started to shiver, it could be worse than she expected. 

“What colour are his eyes?” She dared to ask, Vassa raised an eyebrow clearly confused before answering. 

“Gold.”

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Her head was pounding, too many thoughts at once, too many stories shared in a fireplace late at night, too many whispers shared in secret, all of them clashed and collapsed on top of her, but they all stated the same. 

“The witches with golden eyes were considered lucky and rare, having gotten this trait from their Valg blood, a reminder that they come from a strong lineage, a King’s lineage.” 

Azriel watched as she emerged from the bathroom in their shared chambers, a dark expression coating her frowning face. She finished getting ready for sleep, having come upstairs from her talk with Vassa silent as the dead. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, grabbing her hand as she sat on the bed, rubbing circles in her palm with his thumb.

“Everything is so overwhelming now, my head is a mess.” He pulled her closer by the waist, until her head was resting against his chest and she took a deep breath of him, his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar calming her nerves. 

“Let’s organise what we know.” He instructed and she nodded, scooting away just a little so she could look at him. 

“When Erawan crossed to Erilea, Elena was too weak to kill him, so she had to seal him in a coffin, which wasn’t the best idea as we paid the price centuries later.” Azriel nodded, encouraging her to keep going. 

“Someone bound Koschei to that lake, as he’s too strong to be killed.” 

“We don’t know who did it, but it was a long time ago.” Y/N nodded, lost in thought. 

“We have a wyrd gate atop Ramiel, and Koschei most certainly has a key to it.” Azriel cleared his throat. 

“Maybe that’s why he wants to free himself from that lake, so he can open it.” Y/N nodded.

“Could be.” She rubbed her temples. “Open the gate to the Valg dimension, to bring an army and conquer Prythian. That was what Erawan wanted to do, bring his little family to Erilea so they could enslave all of us.” 

“Family?” Azriel inquired.

“Erawan was the youngest of three brothers, three Valg Kings, the strongest of their kind.” Azriel swallowed past the lump on his throat. “This would make sense with the information that he was creating things, as Erawan was responsible for creating the rings and the collars that allowed valgs to possess humans. He also created the wyverns and other atrocities.”

“Do you think he was responsible for the ridderak?” She looked at him worried. 

“There was no other one who could do it besides me. We still don’t know who the Ridderak was after.” 

“It might be someone with immense power.” Azriel started to process all that information. 

“I was thinking about Rhysand, I can feel how powerful he is.” Azriel shook his head. 

“But what if he wanted more power?” Y/N stayed silent, letting him lead the conversation. “There’s only one thing that’s more powerful than Rhys in Prythian.” 

“What?” She inquired. 

“The cauldron.” Azriel’s expression faltered. “We both know someone who took more power from the cauldron than it was willing to give, someone who was cauldron blessed and could use its powers.”

“Who?” 

“Nesta.” It could only be it, he wanted Nesta to use her powers. “He thinks he can free himself from that lake if he has her powers, the cauldron powers.” 

“Fuck, we need to keep her as far away from him as we can, let her know she’s in danger. If she’s what he truly wants, he won’t stop.” Azriel could only agree with it. 

“I’ll send a letter to them later. What else do we have?” She seemed to think for a bit. 

“He’s using Vassa to create a fire resistant army.” 

“Why would he need that?” Azriel asked, confusion laced his beautiful features. 

“Valgs can only be killed by fire or by a very powerful healer. Fire is quicker. And if I’m not mistaken you guys have lots of people with fire abilities.” Azriel scoffed. 

“A whole fucking court.” He jolted from his seat. “Maybe that’s it, that’s why Beron is working with him, so he can keep autumn from attacking him while he conquers Prythian. That fucker.” 

“We can deal with whoever Beron is later.” She waved her hands in dismissal. “If the information we have so far is correct, we’re not dealing with a simple Valg.”

“No?” He scratched his head.

“Koschei is a fucking Valg king.” She spat the words. “His powers, his creations, his gold eyes, that only the kings are described to have… Looks like I’ll finally meet one of Erawan’s brothers after all.” She laughed bitterly. 

“It won’t happen again.” Azriel promised. 

“Oh it won’t, we know what we’re dealing with now, we’re going to kill the asshole.” She gritted her teeth, feeling the anger bubbling inside of her, she wouldn’t let it happen anywhere else, not again.

“You should rest, I’ll send a letter to Rhys and we can talk to Lucien later.” She nodded, watching as Azriel got up and grabbed a piece of paper. 

Her body felt heavy and her mind agitated, everything was too much to handle, so when slumber put her away, she didn’t fight against it. The only problem was that she was stuck in a nightmare where Azriel was taken from her by Valg kings and vingative ex lovers. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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[angel-of-the-moons]

Could you do some possessive Baraka x reader? :)

BOY CAN I

Mine

Baraka x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, SMUT, Jealous!Baraka, sex, voyeurism (?), exhibitionism (?) unprotected sex, feral/predator, primal sex, biting (c'mon we've all seen this man's teeth), blood play (sort of), breeding kink, slight Kanon fudging for plot reasons

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩

You were his prized possession, an Edenian who wanted to learn more about Tarkatan culture and customs. Who better to learn from than the leader of the clans, Baraka, who had the good graces of Kitana Kahn?

You studied them well. From your tiny village, you'd only ever heard stories of them, or encountered the occasional raiding tribe that tried (and failed) to pillage your homes.

You knew they were nomadic, that much was a given considering how rarely your own people interacted with them.

But you always wanted to know more. Now that Kitana Kahn brokered a peace with them, you pleaded, as an imperial scribe, to study them. (And oh, boy, learning about the Ritual of Blood was very interesting.)

She agreed, believing that the people learning about one another would bring everyone closer together.

Little did she know that it would bring you and Baraka together as well.

You found out about the so-called Time Merger, what Kotal Kahn had done to his people, and what the Titan Kronika promised him in return. In spending long hours listening, conversing... Until it morphed into him glancing at you longer and longer. Imagining how your soft flesh would be so pliant in his large, leathery hands. How sweet you would taste.

It made him salivate at the thought of tasting you.

It started out with the courting rituals, bringing you freshly hunted meat, weapons, muttering soft, raspy words in his native tongue.

You had a few relationships in your long life, but none ever lasted long.

Whereas many were hesitant, or reserved, Baraka pledged himself to you wholly, "proving" he was good enough to be your mate.

And... Yeah. You gave in to his passion, so intense that your mind could barely catch up. More than once that passion wound up with you having gravel and sand embedded in your knees, bits of desert scrub clinging to your hair as he pounded into you from behind, grooves and scratches in your skin where he'd grazed you with his claws and fangs.

Sex with a Tarkatan? Intense was the tamest word you could use to describe it. Feral was one of the others. It was rough, primal, full of pure animalistic need to not make love, but to mate; to claim you. And you'd be lying if you tried to deny it and say you didn't enjoy it.

At least a little...

The marks he would leave on you, he would go on to explain, were to ensure other Tarkatans would not dare make a move on you. However, those outside of their tribe didn't understand. Yeah, explaining to Kitana Kahn what the marks meant was... awkward to say the least.

Where Tarkatans knew to leave you be, other Outworlders and Earthrealmers did not. Males especially would gaze at you with lust-filled eyes and stand far too close for his liking.

It was after one such situation, where an envoy was sent to administer some supplies as a gesture of goodwill to the tribe that Baraka was particularly set off.

One of the men in the group decided to flirt with you, lean in and give cheap compliments in hopes of getting you out of your clothes, to sneak away for a moment of unsatisfying carnal want.

He knew you were loyal, but something about the way that you smiled and genuinely laughed at one of his jokes had Baraka seething with rage. He could feel the blades in his arms flex and shift, wanting to rend the flesh from that soft, weak little man's body.

But he waited until the man's feeble attempts at courtship ended, before he dragged you off the moment the sky blackened and stars twinkled high above.

"Baraka! What--?" You were interrupted by a deep snarl; and Baraka pinned you against a boulder, inhaling deeply your scent. A mixture of his musk and the scented oils you fancied. But now, it was tainted by that foul man's stench.

It was like silt and mud staining a perfectly glassy pool in a desert oasis. He would not tolerate it.

"I can smell him on you." His gravelly voice tumbles out against your skin, his hot breath and bits of saliva dripping onto your shoulder.

"I don't like it."

You barely had a moment to think before his hands gripped the front of your tunic, and with a hard tug, ripped it right down the front, exposing your breasts to the cooling night air.

"Baraka! Someone will see us!" You hiss at him, moving to cover yourself, looking around in a panic.

It was one thing for him to pin you down and fuck you somewhere secluded, hidden, or even in his own tent...

But you were far too close to the camp and the envoy for your liking.

"Let them see. They need to know you are mine." He snarled, pinning your hands on either side of your head as he leaned in once more, scraping his jagged fangs over the flesh of your throat.

He licked at your skin, briefly, before moving up to your lips and shoving his tongue inside mercilessly, threatening to choke you out of your oxygen. For added measure, he took your bottom lip in his teeth and bit hard enough to puncture and cause a small rivulet of blood to drip down your chin, making you whine as he licked it up, before shoving his tongue back inside your mouth to tangle with your own; the sweet, coppery flavor of your blood invading your taste buds.

He pulled away, leaving a sloppy trail of saliva to mix with your blood as his hands fell to your hips, gripping you tight, the spikes on his arms tearing into the soft fabric of your dress as he tugged slightly.

You could hear the seams ripping beneath his claws as he did this.

You let out a gasp when he parted your thighs with his knee, and he grabbed your hand, forcing you to palm his fattening cock that hung beneath his trousers.

"I will make sure they know you belong to me. That you're mine." He said to you.

You felt your mouth water and your cunt flutter at the promise of having him inside of you.

You could see spittle dribble down his chin as his nostrils flared, his red-gold eyes focusing on you with all their intensity.

"I can ssssssmell you." He said, his voice rumbling lowly and hotly against your throat.

He shoved his hand beneath your skirt, chuckling madly when he discovered nothing beneath, feeling how wet you were already.

"Hrrr." Baraka hissed. "Don't lie to me. You've been wanting this all day."

You tipped your head back, biting your lip hard to stifle your moans as Baraka teased your folds, wetting his hand before he forced two of his fingers inside of you, mindful of his claws as he curled and twisted them, stretching you out.

"Be a good girl for me." He hissed, abruptly pulling himself free and aggressively licking his fingers clean while staring directly into your eyes.

You whimpered, then, when he gripped your hips and spun you around with dizzying force, his hand between your shoulders, forcing you down until you were practically bent in half in front of him. Baraka hiked your skirt up over your hips and spread your legs wide, pussy glistening and wet. All for him.

Only him. He just needed to remind you of that, and he would, he made sure of the fact as he tugged his trousers down and freed himself.

He gripped the base of his cock with one hand, taking a moment to line himself up. You had to bite into your knuckle to swallow back the wail that tried to rip from your throat as he thrust inside of you, cramming his hard cock deep within you, the tip harshly slamming against your cervix in one animalistic thrust.

Some Tarkatans mated for life, and he definitely wanted to keep you. No other weaker male would have you. He wouldn't let them. He'd slaughter them first.

He pulled out, leaving only the tip of his cock, before snapping his hips back into you, a short yelp bubbling out at the force, feeling the air in your lungs leap with the ferocity of his pace.

You bit back your sounds, not wanting anyone to overhear the two of you as Baraka relentlessly pounded into you, fucking more and more of your slick down your legs, dripping into the cracked, sandy ground below.

Baraka had no such compunction. He was quite the opposite.

He wanted someone to hear you. For them to know how good he fucked you, how he took care of you. How he satisfied you.

And god, was he doing an amazing job.

Every thrust had your mind going blank, vision fuzzy at the edges.

He brought his hand around your front, viciously swiping at your clit as he pummeled your guts ruthlessly with his dick, knowing full well you were close to cumming, he was just trying to bring you to that delicious edge quicker.

Your walls fluttering around him, you finally choked out a sob as he fucked you through your orgasm, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as he bit down on your shoulder, lapping up the blood that welled up from the punctures.

He bullied his cock into you faster, and faster until he couldn't take your pussy squeezing him any longer, snarling and snapping his jaws at the air as he emptied every last drop of his seed into your greedy womb.

He hadn't heard of a Tarkatan breeding with an Edenian, but he was certainly not above trying with you. He brought his hand up from your aching and throbbing clit, to rub at your belly with a deep rumbling laugh coming out of his throat.

You panted, legs wobbly as he kept you pressed against the rocks; the only thing keeping you upright were his hips and hands pinning you there.

His hot breathing ghosted your sweaty skin, cold against the moisture that dripped down your body, soaking the remnants of your dress.

A deep rumbling emanated from Baraka as he lifted his head, turning to the side. You couldn't see him, but you knew he was smiling, a wild look in his eyes.

It wasn't until you lifted your gaze to look at what amused him so, that you realized.

The man from the envoy was standing there, a torch in his hand. He had apparently heard the noise and came to investigate.

You turned away, burying your face in your arm with shame.

You felt Baraka snap his hips to yours again, making you sob quietly into your arm at the fresh wave of pleasure.

Baraka laughed as he started fucking you again, his expression slightly unhinged as he rocked you with each jagged thrust.

"She's mine, little man. Go back to your little camp fire."

[snorky]

Hi how are you?

I was hoping you could write something with Vince? Angst and fluffy ending? Please ❤️

Hold Me Close, And Never Let Go

Hey y’all, and hi to the lovely person who requested this Vince Dunn angst and fluff story. I'm doing well, and I hope you all are too. The pronouns for the reader in this story are they/them (so if you want it changed, let me know *directed at the lovely requester*). I’ve been busy recently, and so I apologize for this request coming out a little later than I wanted. I hope you also all enjoy this fic, and take care of yourself!

Pairing: Vince Dunn x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst, Stressed reader

—

—

Heavy storms raged outside their Seattle apartment, the rain pitter-pattering against the windows as they tried to focus on their work. Thunder snapped now and then, and the wind seemed to whistle in the air as a warning.

The paper in front of them was taunting them, a blank page with no answer. All the numbers, letters, formulas, instructions, whatever it was, just didn’t make sense. It was all an incoherent mess to their tired eyes.

Deadlines were chasing them, yelling, screaming at them as if the time ticking down like sand slipping away through their fingers.

The pen in their hands seemed to be ticking them off at every moment. Ink flowed inconsistently, slipping on the paper in the wrong direction, scribbles and scrawls seeming to be the only thing that marked up their page.

A knock came from their door as they were lost in thought. 

“Baby? I miss you.” He called out from behind the door. “Can we cuddle together?”

It had been so long since they heard Vince’s voice, gentle compared to his figure. As badly as they wanted to cuddle with him, they had work to catch up on and do.

They just wished he could hold them, telling them that ‘it’s alright’ and ‘you’re doing lovely,’ to calm the storm of stress in their mind. The storm seemed to mirror the outside weather that was rampant, windy, and rainy.

Instead, they sighed, almost in irritation. “Can’t. I’m working.” Even though they mumbled, their voice still cracked, amplifying their exhaustion.

“Please.” The door creaked open as he came in, his steps careful as he walked towards them. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” he said quietly. “It’s been so long since I’ve even heard your voice.”

The storm continued outside, a flash of lightning followed by thunder disrupting the silence in the room.

Taking a deep breath in, it felt uneven, irritating them further. “Vince, I need to get this done,” they groaned. “Leave me alone for a bit.” Their voice came out much sharper than they had intended, and it was evident when a look of hurt appeared on his face.

He stood there in the middle of the room in silence, looking at them, arms crossed over his chest. They turned their head and looked at him for a brief moment, noticing how sad and disappointed he looked when they said that, and a pang of guilt struck them as they turned back to their work.

“Why.” He sounded hurt, his words came out so emotionally and yet empty and hollow all at once. “Why can’t you just rest with me for a moment?”

They thought about it in silence for a bit. The deadlines seemed so sudden, and the pressure to keep the expectations high was suffocating. Their body felt worn out, tense, and exhausted.

Turning to look at him, tears welled up in their eyes, blurring their vision. “I don’t know,” they croaked. “There’s just so much—”

Vince walked over to them, crouching down to be lower than eye level, and rested his hand on their shoulder. “You need a break.” He pleaded. “Okay?” His voice was always gentle with them, even when they both were upset or hurt. He never spoke louder than he had to, ever.

They finally let out a sob, exhaustion catching up to them, tears streaming down their face as they leaned into his arms. His hands braced them, holding them close as he carefully moved them off of the chair and onto the ground in his lap.

Their breaths were rough and ragged, uneven and unsteady.  “I’m sorry,” they mumbled, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry for getting upset at you.”

“It’s okay, you’re alright. I know you weren’t feeling the best and that you weren’t in the right state of mind.” His words were genuine, smile sweet as ever.

Vince being this kind to them, even when they were upset, made them cry more at how sweet he was. The tears continued to fall, running down their cheeks, their nose now stuffy and irritated as they cried.

 “Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he soothed. His thumb rubbed small circles into their back, their face hidden in the crook of his neck. “Stay here with me, just for a bit.”

They both remained like this for a while, on the floor together in each other’s embrace, the storm calming down outside to a gentle rainfall. His deep breaths steadied them, a solid rock in the ocean that never seemed to move in the most hectic storms. Despite the tears continuing to run down their face, they remained silent for the most part, taking breaths in every now and then.

He hummed softly into their hair, pulling them closer to his body as he did so. “Let’s move to the bed, alright?” Pressing his lips to their forehead gently, he spoke, “We just need a quick nap, that’s all.”

Tears welling up in their eyes again, the kindness and patience he showed never failed to disappoint them. He never once upset them or made them feel bad about themselves. He was always caring and sweet, he was always perfect in their heart.

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart?” His hand went up to their face, cupping it gently in his palms as his thumb wiped a tear away.

They shook their head, choosing to remain in silence in fear that if they tried to speak, their tears would start to fall again, unending.

“It’s okay, we can always talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he spoke softly.

Keeping his arms wrapped tightly around them, he got up and walked to their shared bed. Setting them down gently on the bed, he then got in bed and lay down beside them. He then pulled the covers over both of them, encasing them in the soft, thick blanket.

“Cozy, baby?”

They nodded in response, scooting closer toward Vince under the blanket. He wrapped his arms around them, holding them warmly as one of his hands held the back of their head as they rested it on his chest, the stress slowly crumbling away.

It was just the both of them, just him in their world at the moment. The deadlines faltering away somewhere else, the stress melting away as he held them close.

“I love you,” they mumbled quietly.

He gave them a gentle peck on the top of their head and smiled sweetly at them. “I love you too,” he said. “And I’ll never stop loving you, baby.”

They smiled at his words, and before they could start tearing up again, he peppered soft kisses all over their face, making them let out a small laugh. “That’s what I like to hear,” he hummed.

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 35

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to save the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 4.6k

TW: sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

You sit in the grass, fidgeting with a daisy you have picked up and watch Sadie chuck knives at a tree. Each throw is more aggressive than the last, as if she's wanting to blow off steam. It makes sense. Ever since Colm's hanging she looks to be plagued by something from deep within.

You too have been restless, but for different reasons. The small argument with Arthur has left you with a heavy sensation in your gut, like you've swallowed a rock. Closing your eyes and wind down also isn't an option. Everytime darkness engulfs you, you see the O'Driscoll with a knife stuck in his throat.

The memory makes you sick to your stomach and you have to fight the urge to empty out it's contents. Sadie pulls the blades out of the wood and turns to you. Her gaze is lowered, as she tugs the weapons away and you can tell, that she has something on her heart.

"I need someone to ride with me.", she says and finally locks eyes with you.

"Yeah? To do what?", you ask, aware of how ridiculous sounds. It's obvious what she wants to do.

"To finish off them O'Driscolls.", she drawls and crosses her arms. "I hear the last of 'em is holed up at Hanging Dog Ranch."

With a grunt you stand up from the ground and dust off your clothes that have gotten dirty. You're unsure if you have it in you anymore to kill more folks, to ride into the fight once again.

"I don't know if I can, Sadie. I-", your voice cracks and you run a hand over your face.

Mental images of Colm's body hanging off the gallows and a pool of blood forming under one of his men, flood your mind. Quickly you remove your trembling fingers from your face and take in your surrounding to bring you back to reality.

Sadie has taken a few step away from you and puts her hands on her hips.

"Look.", she starts and stares right through you. "You're one of the only people I can trust. I've gotta do this."

With heavy footsteps you walk up to her and hold her by her shoulders. How can you turn your back on her now? Granted, her and Arthur agreed to decide your fate for you without your knowledge and you're still incredibly furious at the both of them.

But deep down you know, that you simply can't let your friend go alone. As she said, she'd go through hell for and with you and it's safe to say, that you would do the same for her. A storm rages inside you, as you slowly come to a decision.

"When are we leaving?"

Immediately, her strained features relax. "I was thinkin' right now."

"Let's go then."

You could use some time away from camp, away from everyone. Clear your head a bit.

---

You're standing at a meadow, the horizon in the distance as clear as day. There was no sun in sight for some reason, but everything was drowned in an orange hue of dusk. The fresh smell of flowers hangs in the air and you fill your lungs with it.

A warm breeze brushes your cheeks like the fingers of a lover would and your eyes flutter shut momentarily. Then the sound of flapping wings snaps you out of it and you search for the source.

Over there in the tree you spot an owl sitting on a branch, watching you with a knowing gaze. It's eyes follow your every movement, as your legs carry you towards it. There is a certain familiarity in them like you're looking into a mirror.

Next thing you know, the scene changes drastically. It feels like someone is ripping the ground from under your feet, but you manage to catch yourself before you could fall. As the world around you seizes to spin, you take it all in.

It's still the same meadow, but also not. The smell of flowers is gone, replaced by an iron scent mixed with a hint of decay. The comfortable breeze now cuts into your clothes and you shiver uncontrollably.

The tree the owl was resting on has been cut down and left to rot in the dirt. Beside it stands a fox, crouched down in a low position and with matted fur. It's eyes are widened alarmingly and your gaze falls on the thing in their mouth. There hangs the owl, feathers ripped out and neck twisted.

---

Something pulls you out of your deep slumber and you shoot up with a gasp. Sweat sticks like a layer to the skin of your forehead and you brush away a few hair strands, that are hanging in your face. For a moment there you don't recognize your surroundings, but then you spot Sadie standing not too far away and relax.

It was a dream.

"Hey.", she greets you and motions with her chin to the side. "There's a bunch of 'em down there. Mostly drunk."

"Great.", you mumble, followed by a huge yawn and you stretch your stiff limbs. "Shouldn't be too difficult then."

"One of them is a fat feller with a beard. He's mine." There is something about her tone, that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Sure."

With a groan you stand up and check your weapons. The pistol is securely tugged into your holster and the rifle is hanging over your shoulder. Without another word, Sadie begins to lead the way to the ranch and you silently follow her. The crunching of leaves and sticks under your boots is the only noise.

As you stroll over to the ranch, you decide to break the heavy silence. "So what's the plan?"

"You'll see.", she answers curtly and without even looking at you.

Worry washes over you and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, as you watch her simply walk up to the two men at the entrance. Unsure of what exactly is going on, you follow her and open your mouth to speak. That is when she pulls something out of her satchel, something you don't quite recognize at first.

It's a bottle, but what's a bottle supposed to accomplish? Then you notice the cloth hanging out of the opening and realization hits you like a freight train.

"Sadie-"

Before you can continue what you started, the cloth is on fire and she throws it at the men. Only a heartbeat later that entire spot is engulfed by flames and your mouth is left hanging open in utter shock and disbelief. Though there is no time to linger or hesitate, as bullets already begin to fly around you.

Quickly you take cover behind the nearest rock and you throw your friend an angry glance.

"What the fuck? I would have appreciate a small heads up at least!", you snap at her, but she is in her own world.

She throws another bottle at the nearby house and the wood easily catches on fire. Shouts and screams can be heard coming from the inside and you wonder just how many of those she has at the ready.

"Cover me!", she shouts and before you can even process her words, she's already dashing for a small shed.

A variety of curses and profanities leave your lips, but you do as you're told and cover her. With your head and upper body now peaking out from behind the rock, you fire several shots at the O'Driscolls. Not all of them hit their mark, but more than you would have expected.

Once the coast is clear you make a run for another rock further ahead and slide over the dirt and dust. Not a moment too soon, because a bullet hits the spot you were only a second ago.

"There's a sharpshooter at the barn!", you warn your friend and she readies her gun to take him out.

Much to your surprise and disbelief, you make quick work of the O'Driscoll boys. The shooting comes to a halt and you take a deep breath, as you relax. With your back leaned against the cool and rough surface of the rock, you slide down to sit on the ground.

"You take the barn and I'll take the farm home.", Sadie tells you. "And remember! If he's fat and he's got a beard, he's mine!"

"Sure thing."

With your rifle close to your chest, you make yourself as small as possible and sneak up to the side of the barn. As you press yourself close to the wooden wall and wait at a window, you hold your breath to listen closely.

Muffled voices can be heard from inside and you focus on the footsteps to pinpoint the men's locations. There is one to the right and one to the left. If you're not mistaken, then it seems like there is a third feller up in the attic.

Once your heartbeat is calm again, you lean to the side and fire two shots. Both of them hit their mark, right through their skulls. This is the most accurate you have ever been and you flinch at how much of a skillful killer you have become.

Right after that, you climb on top of a barrel and hoist yourself onto the roof with a grunt. Silently, you sneak up to the window and wait a couple seconds. You can't hear the third guy and you enter the barn. One step is the most you can do before something hard and solid makes contact with the side of your head.

The rifle falls out of your hands and you hold the hurting spot with a groan. Hot, searing pain pulsates in your skull and you can't stop seeing double.

"Fucking fuck!", you hiss through gritted teeth, but you're not given the chance to compose yourself.

A figure appears infront of you, swinging something long at you again and you stumble backwards to avoid it. With your balance still being shit, you trip over a nail and land harshly on your back, your arms flailing helplessly around.

As you collide with the floor, you bite on your tongue and the taste of iron floods your mouth. Another curse leaves you and the figure is right over you. A barrel is pointing at the spot between your eyes and you knock it to the side. The same moment, a shot falls and the bullet lands next to your ear into the wooden floor.

With the world still spinning, you pull out your gun and aim at the figure. Or at least you hope it's the figure and not it's twin your eyes have conjured up. Without hesitation you pull the trigger and your opponent sacks to the ground like a doll.

For the longest time you just lay there, limbs sprawled out and staring up to the ceiling. Slowly you regain your senses and struggle to sit up. The man who has almost taken your live, is dead at your feet with a gaping hole where his eye once was.

More gun shots can be heard in the distance and you climb down a ladder to make your way to the house. You kick open the front door, pistol at the ready, but you're only being greeted with bodies. Sadie must have done quick work with them.

Then you hear a fight coming from upstairs and you run up, still feeling a bit wobbly on your feet. There you see a big man stumble backwards, closely followed by Sadie who is repeatedly stabbing him in the chest. You freeze in place, unable to break your gaze away from the brutal scene.

She wipes away the blood from her face and shakes it off her hands and arms, having the drops fly to the ground. A certain darkness grips you, seeing your dear friend like this. She looks miserable and you quickly push a chair in her direction for her to sit down on.

"He was a good man, my Jakey.", she mumbles and buries her face in her hands. Her voice breaks. "We was always sweet on one another."

A grim expression begins to take form on your face and you place your hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"I miss him everyday. Every moment.", she continues on and her features contort into an angry mask. "They turned me into a monster. But my memories of him? They still pure."

Despite her clothes being mostly covered in blood, you still lean down and pull her into a tight hug. Sadie wraps her arms around you, her hands grabbing a fistful of your button up shirt and she sniffles against your shoulder.

"Let's get out of here.", you murmur against her ear and she only nods.

---

The ride back to camp goes by in complete silence, followed by a troubling feeling, that still clings to you when you arrive. On the other side, you see Arthur and Micah standing infront of each other with squared up shoulders and you rush over to see what's going on.

Before you can make it there, you hear a large group of horses and Eagle Flies comes crashing in. He yells for Dutch, Arthur and Charles.

"They killed our people for oil! For oil!", he shouts, sounding outraged and in pain. "Today we have to ride once more! Ride with me! Ride against the factory!"

Dutch and the others make their way to him and Arthur comes standing next to you. The two of you haven't talked to each other since that 'argument' of yours and it's killing you.

"I love your courage, son!", Dutch answers, his arms spread wide. "It is a thing of great beauty-"

"Stop!" The voice is coming from the right and Rains Fall comes riding in on horseback, as if he's being chased by the devil. "Everyone stop!"

He slides off his saddle and walks to his son. "My son...my last son. When I was your age, I fought. I saw death. I have killed. The men I knew were slain. My first son, your brother, had his head smashed by a drunken soldier. My wife had her throat slit. We made peace. I knew not to trust, yet I had no choice."

He paces around. "Maybe you were right. Maybe a slow death is worse than a fast one. Maybe none of these men are good. Maybe a world in which they came to us is a world we can not endure! But endure we must."

His speech, his words, they move you, striking a chord deep within you. Though Eagle Flies, his son, his last son, seems to not pay them any mind.

"Father, you are tired.", he says, the fire still burning hot in his eyes.

"Do not die for pride, my son!", the chief continues, unwavering in his attempt to stop him from fighting. "We have suffered too much in this trick! The earth, the water, they have no pride. They endure and we must endure. My only boy...my precious boy...do not mistake my strength for weakness. As your chief, I implore you."

Silence hangs in the air. Loud. Full of meaning.

"Your words mean nothing to me, father."

With that the group rides off into the forest and your heart breaks, as you watch Rains Fall stand there, begging them to stop. Then he turns to Arthur, hope ever so prominent in his eyes.

"Mr. Morgan! After you helped me, after we spoke. This is just a trap. My son, my people, will die."

Then Dutch lays his cold eyes on the outlaw, some unknown emotion flickering in them. It sends a shiver down your spine.

"You helped this feller, Arthur?", the leader asks, making it sound more like a test than a question.

"What else have you been doin' behind Dutch's back?", Micah chimes in and you ball your hands into fists.

"Watch your mouth, Micah.", you snarl, not knowing where this courage is coming from.

He raises his eyebrows in amusement, as if you've just told him a good joke. "You better watch yours, darlin', before I-"

"The war is over, we have lost.", Rains Fall interrupts him, catching the men's attention again. "These young men will be annihilated. Please."

"I'll see what I can do.", Arthur says and you straighten your back, both proud and happy with his decision. "Who's ridin' with me?"

As he stomps to his horse, you closely follow together with Charles and you hear a scoff from Dutch.

"Oh, I'll ride with you.", he says. "Who knows what other secrets you've been keepin' from me."

The other men follow. Dutch is at the front and you're riding behind him next to Arthur. They're both fighting again. About the leader urging Eagle Flies and his men to fight, about telling them of the oil factory and to attack it.

"You handed them a death sentence.", Hosea exclaims with a grim expression.

"Just like with John if we hadn't broken him out of prison!", Sadie joins in, mad.

"Hey!", Bill barks at her. "You show some goddamn respect!"

"Oh you'll know when I ain't showin' respect, Bill."

"I had a plan!", Dutch shouts over his shoulder. "I still have a plan!"

"What goddamn plan, Dutch? Tahiti? Timbuktu?", you hear John from further behind you.

Javier interrupts him, outraged. "That's enough! What's wrong with you all? What happened to loyalty?"

You turn your head to look at him, you both locking eyes with each other. "You ready to die for loyalty or for yourself?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but Dutch cuts him off. "Right now it doesn't matter how we got here. These men need our help. I have a plan, this is my plan! So you either stick with me or cut loose! Because I am tired of this constant dissent. Now come on!"

In the distance you see a lone rider meeting you from the opposite direction. You recognize him as one of Eagle Flies' men. He looks injured, barely keeping himself ontop of the saddle and he urges you to hurry. You all signal your horses to speed up immediately.

The factory is standing almost entirely in flames and your heart drops, as you fear that you might be too late.

"Can anyone see Eagle Flies?"

"Over at the walkway!"

Arthur turns to Dutch. "You ride to the side, distract 'em and I'll go get him."

"Whatever you say.", Dutch drawls and gathers the men to ride off.

Charles, you and Sadie stay behind and follow the outlaw straight towards the factory. Men are standing in your way, shooting at you, but you make quick work of them. After only a couple of feet further down the hill, you already begin to feel the heat and Penthesilea halts, standing up on her back legs.

"We should continue on foot!", you shout over the battle noise and jump off the saddle.

With rifle in hand, you sprint with the others to the walkway, taking cover behind crates and wagons. It's a mess. The entire area is crawling with armed men and you can't even move a muscle without a bullet coming your way. But somehow you manage, you survive.

With full force and guns blazing, you push forward, closer and closer to the walkway. The wood creaks underneath your boots and it looks like you're crossing a burning lake. Pearls of sweat form on your forehead, running down your brows and you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

Further ahead is a shed and two men burst through the door, trying to wrestle one another to the ground. You recognize Eagle Flies, who is being pinned down by a soldier. Before you can even think about raising your weapon, Arthur already takes a shot, hitting the mark to no one's surprise.

Eagle Flies stands up and his entire face lights up, as he sees your small group approach. "Thank you! All of you!"

"We need to go.", Charles says in a strained tone, but his words fall on deaf ears.

"Where are my men?"

"I saw some of them fighting by the factory to where Dutch has gone."

"We must save them!"

Heavy footsteps appear behind you and you watch more soldiers charging right at you. Together with Sadie, you duck behind stacked up planks and wait for an opening to shoot them down. Adrenaline courses through your veins and every muscle within you screams at you to flee, but you stay put.

You force your will onto your limbs and steady you trembling hands to fight. Sadie and Charles dash ahead with Arthur, you and Eagle Flies following right after. The tents and buildings you sprint past are just a blur and you cough from all the smoke you have inhaled.

Once you arrive at the railway, bullets begin to fly down on you at a merciless pace. A machine gun is stationed inside one of the train carts, but no one seems to bother. None of your companions jumps into cover, but instead they press ahead, their resolve unwavering.

While the shooter at the machine gun is occupied with the others, you aim your barrel at him and pull the trigger. Instantly, the lead rain seizes and you finish off the remaining soldiers. Your group doesn't even give you an opportunity to catch your breath, as they all run ahead once again.

Your lungs are burning from the effort and the smoke, your thighs are aching and your arms feel heavy, but you push on, push through the pain. With gritted teeth, you jump onto the train and press your back against the cold, metal wall.

"Just how many men are there?", you yell, but get no answer. Everyone is too occupied with staying alive.

As you make your way around the factory, you meet up with Dutch's group and from then on it becomes easier. The remaining soldiers fall like flies under the skillful hand of the Van Der Linde gang. It felt like the fight had taken forever and with a weary sigh, you sit down on top of an empty barrel to rest your feet.

You hear yet another argument between Arthur and Dutch up ahead and you watch with tired eyes, as they approach the backdoor of the factory.

"Javier get them out of here!", Dutch orders and Eagle Flies steps up.

"Until I have all my men, I'm not leaving.", he says.

"As you wish! The rest of you get out of there!"

Charles goes to stand by Eagle Flies side. "I'm staying with you."

A shrill noise cuts through the air, as Dutch shoots the lock of the door and enters the building. Arthur throws you one last look over his shoulder before following him inside. With a grunt, you jump off the barrel and stroll over to Charles and Eagle Flies.

"I'm staying too.", you tell them and they nod. They know, that you won't leave without seeing Arthur leave the factory in one piece. Not that you doubt his competence in a fight of course, but you simply don't trust Dutch.

Who's to say, that he won't murder him in cold blood in there?

The two men and you get to work and search the area for the others. It all goes by smoothly, everything being quiet. It doesn't look like there are any soldiers left and your eyes trail over the many piles of bodies.

"What a massacre.", you breathe out and Charles hums in agreement.

Then a bang rips you out of your thoughts and you spin around on your heels. That sounded like it came from inside the factory. More shots follow and you fall into a full blown sprint. Charles yells after you, but you can't hear it over your blood rushing in your ears.

Eagle Flies reaches the building way before you do and you fish your pistol out of it's holster. As you arrive inside, you rush to kneel next to Arthur who looks shaken up. Eagle Flies had taken down the men, who threatened to take Arthur's life just a couple of moments ago.

Suddenly something stirs in the corner of your eyes and a bullet hits the young man in the stomach. Driven by instinct, you raise your pistol and kill the shooter. Eagle Flies is cowering on the ground, losing a concerning amount of blood and Arthur lifts him up in his arms. Together you hurry outside.

"You ran away!", the outlaw roars and your eyes widen in both confusion and disbelief.

"I did no such thing, don't be a fool!", Dutch protests and realization washes over you.

Dutch was ready to let the man he calls his son die. He urges everyone to move as fast as possible and you help Arthur get the injured man onto horseback.

"I gotta get the boy to his father.", the outlaw says and you mount Penthesilea.

"As you wish.", Dutch answers, sounding like a mox between disappointed and upset. "Usually is, nowadays."

"Sure."

"I'm coming with you.", Charles calls out and hoists himself onto Taima.

"Me too!", Sadie adds, but Arthur immediately protests.

"No! This ain't gonna be nothin' nice!" Then he turns to look at you. "You should leave with her."

"I'm not leaving.", you answer, your tone calm and clear.

"But-"

"I said, what I said, Arthur. Now let's go."

For a few seconds he just stares at you and you begin to think, that he will continue arguing, but then he nods. Together with Eagle Flies' men, you ride in full speed to Wapiti. Your lips are pressed together into a grim line, as you think about what will happen next.

The way to the reservation is long and tedious with the moon illuminating the road only sparely. Its hard to see, so you stick closely to the others. They talk about Dutch, the gang and the money, but you don't listen. It saddens you too much.

In the distance you spot lights and you slow down as you enter the reservation. People are dropping everything they're doing and turn around, their gazes following you. In the middle of it all stands Rains Fall.

"Bring him to me.", he calls out and you dismount.

Arthur and Charles carry Eagle Flies inside and lay him down on furs. You're walking behind the chief, making sure to leave him room. Rains Fall's shoulders tremble, as he let's out quiet sobs and his son draws his last breath.

It's too much for you. Your throat tightens up and you quickly step outside to fill your lungs with fresh air, but it still feels like you're suffocating. As Charles and Arthur join you, you quickly wipe away the hot tears, that are starting to spill.

"They need to move. Fast.", Charles speaks up. "I'll stay with them."

Your eyes go wide and you grasp his hand.

"You're not coming back with us?", you ask, your voice trembling. With a sad smile, he squeezes your hand and shakes his head.

Next thing you know, you're throwing your arms around his neck and pull him into a bone crushing hug. The tears you've been fighting from falling, are staining his shirt now and he rubs circles into your back.

"Stay safe.", you mumble into his shoulder and reluctantly break away from him.

"You too.", he says and gives Arthur a short hug too.

You throw one last look at your friend before you leave.

Taglist: @shackspossum @abducted-cowz @heloixe @onyxlune

[breckstonevailskier]

If I had a nickel for every time Ella Purnell killed a zombified parent, I'd have two nickels.

Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice. 😉

Come season 2, I'm totally expecting Lucy to kill her dad as well when she and the Ghoul catch up to him in New Vegas, bringing the whole thing full circle.

And the only difference between Kate killing her dad and Lucy possibly killing her dad will be the emotional state of mind. Kate killed her dad because he'd turned into a zombie, and was visibly upset by having to do so.* Lucy on the other hand will probably be doing this from a place of pure rage, at the man who helped ruin her celebrity idol's name (assuming Lucy idolized the pre-war version of Cooper Howard off his movies being her dad's favorite), helped Vault-Tec trigger the Great War, destroyed Shady Sands, orphaned Maximus, and ghoulified her mom.

*Fun fact, how Lucy kills her mom was originally going to be a lot more like Kate killing her dad in Army of the Dead, but Ella Purnell and the writers felt that this didn't fit Lucy's character: "We reshot [the scene], because originally we all had a different idea of how that ending was going to go. We originally shot me killing my mum as a really emotional moment; there were a lot of tears and wailing. And it just didn’t feel right. We felt like, 'if she’s gonna get up and go into the Wasteland, she needs to be a changed woman, and maybe her grief needs to give way to something harder.' By killing her mum in a mercy kill, she’s doing exactly what the Ghoul did to Roger [in episode four]. She’s learnt from him. She has turned into him. When she said, “I’ll never be you,” maybe that’s not true. And in that moment, when she shoots her mum, it means so many things. It means, ‘I’m coming with you.’ It means, ‘I’m gonna meet my makers.’ It means, ‘I fucking hate you, but I have turned into you, you were right.’ It means she’s letting go of her golden centre. I want the audience at the end of the show to wonder if their hero is still a good person. I don’t know who she’s gonna be in season two, [but] this is what happens when you break the unbreakable. I don’t know who she’s about to become."

[tuhhadkeryo]

Purple Liquor

I figured I'd start posting a bit more of my writing here :)

The near empty bottle of vodka dangled uselessly from his fingers. The glass neck was slimy with his own slobber. Hacker had lost control of his basic motor functions a long time ago, but his grip stayed tight on the only thing that gave him life right now. 

His mind was bleary. His thoughts bounced dully inside of his pounding head before it seemed like they fell out. If he tried to collect himself, all he would hear inside his mind would be the laughter. 

He’d lost. Again. 

He didn’t even know why he’d felt so surprised.

And so he simply chose not to think. The bottle tilted up and moisture reached his mouth. The taste was long dulled by his drunkenness, but his throat burned as he swallowed sloppily. A satisfied sigh left his chest.  

He clipped his shoulder hard on the doorframe. Was that doorway always so small? He stopped to glare at it beside him, but his gaze couldn’t seem to focus. His eyelids were so heavy. Hacker wasn’t even sure which way this door led to until the bitter cold air of his prison invaded his nostrils. 

Boots stumbled and dragged on rough ground, catching on pebbles and jagged roots. He peered down his nose at the puffs of vapor from his breath until he felt cross eyed. 

Purple used to be his favorite color. But purple on the ground, seared across the sky, painted across the landscape…Hacker could puke looking at it now. Or maybe that was the alcohol. 

Another hard swallow of the liquor. It could quite possibly be from his current state, but the mountains ahead of him stretched awfully far into the sky. He sneered. Their stature was impressive, but the rock was soft. Crumbling. They wouldn’t even be a landmark soon. They - Mount Rigoletto, Etney, and Julius, despite being supposedly immovable statues of nature and code, served no better purpose than trodding ground for the matted-fur mountain goats that shat upon them. 

Hacker wretched at the thought of the goats, his mindless wandering harshly interrupted by the primal need to bend over, clutching at his spasming core. This whole dismal site displayed similar traits. The trees bore no fruit or leaves of any kind, but they refused to be felled, stubbornly holding fast to the rock-hard ground. The acids they had soaked in over time made burning them fatal. 

The moonlight flashed against the glass, the bottle lifting once more. There was no heat or life-giving sun rays here. Only dry, treacherous ditches where there used to be streams of water. 

“This miserable piece of lint site,” Hacker spat, wiping vodka off his chin with a rough swipe of his knuckles.

He took some kind of misstep and swayed on clumsy feet. He glanced about the barren area, hoping nobody had seen, taking care not to twist too fast. He felt dizzy. Yes, he was alone. Hacker tried to chuckle but all that came out was a wheeze. He’d forgotten he’d sent Buzz and Delete away. 

Why should they stay? This dismal desert place was all he’d ever rule, and his subjects, hairy, smelly goats and sand spiders. No, they could leave him alone, just as he’d always be. 

Hazy memories overtook his vision. Empty threats, broken promises, meaningless lies, uncontrollable anger. Even with all of his determination, his intelligence, and cunning, he always was sent staggering back to fall onto the rough, lifeless, purple ground. 

Shaking green hands raised the bottle to his lips. The moon’s reflection in the glass stung his eyes, making them water. Nothing quenched his need to drown himself. Through the moisture in his eyes, he could see that his liquor was all gone. 

A guttural scream split the air. The glass flung from his cold, nearly numb fingers in a burst of violent rage and shattered upon the dirt. The crunching of the shards against the ground amplified his uneven footsteps. The sound filled him with hatred. Why, he probably looked like a cad, like a toddler learning how to walk, like…a drunk. 

“I’m not drunk!” Hacker yelled. 

But Hacker knew he was. He just couldn’t see right, no matter how he squinted. His insides churned and his movements didn’t feel like his own. And he was alone. 

“I’m not drunk!” he bellowed again. He didn’t even know why. 

Not even his own voice would echo back to him from those shadowy purple mountains. 

He sunk to the dirt, an overwhelming flow of emotion rising in his chest. He watched his own fingernails scrape through the pebbles, trembling as his hands lifted the powdery soil. His hands, built for work from building, to delicate circuitry, to binding difficult metals, now as useless as the mirage of wildlife in front of him. His drunkenness only worsened the shaking and loss of control from his power depletion. His eyes stung again as dread built to a knot in his throat, a harsh truth realized. He fit in here. 

Hacker whispered so quietly he hardly was even sure he said it out loud. “I belong here.”

The air felt still and tense as Buzz watched the larger cyborg’s shoulders shudder. Sobs reached his audio receptors even from this distance. While he was no stranger to his boss’s fits, it still felt wrong somehow to watch as Hacker sank impossibly closer to the ground. He should’ve thought to hide their alcohol somewhere after this scheme’s failure. 

“Buzzy…shouldn’t we go help ‘im?” Delete’s voice was a harsh whisper. 

Buzz glanced beside him. The younger bot was curled up tight against the rock, trembling from fear and from the freezing wind that was particularly vengeful today. He peered over the top, wary of their boss’s wrath should he catch them despite his wish to comfort him. 

“Nah. ‘Da boss told us to leave. He wants to be alone.” 

“I thought he fired us.” 

Buzz rolled his eyes. “He always says ‘dat. He just wants to be alone.” Hacker had sounded particularly meaningful this time, his tone strangely depressed and his order missing a malicious threat. But the bot was trusting his experience to guide him, and that meant that soon the boss would forget all about that. 

Delete looked at him in confusion. “Then why’re we here, if we’re not helpin’ ‘im?” “We are, Dee-Dee. He’s plastered right now, so he’ll need help soon, after he’s done cryin’ and all ‘dat.” He looked back to the borg curled on the ground, far enough away that he remained ignorant of their presence, and close enough that they could hear shaky whimpering. “Y’know, after the cold gets to ‘im more. When you drink a whole bottle a’ licker it gets hard to remember where you’s at. You wouldn’t know, you’s never been drunk.”

[candyswirls]

Crying in the Dark: PT 6 - Revelation

Previous - Next - MasterPost

Summary: the Little One’s past is revealed. But only to the reader >:3

His death and pain echoed across the warp. His brother had shattered his soul. Pieces glittered as they flew and small vermin tried leaping up and catching them.

Slowly, through the years and centuries, they found their way back to the main piece. Each time he found a part of himself, he grew more whole. He gained more power.

He could appear to others, his sons. He began creating a paradise for his sons. Doing what he could as he was dead.

He’d come across splinters of Magnus. Bits of Vulkan from each time their brother Curze tortured and killed him.

He tried to help them. But how could he when he was in such a state?

H…. Him. He couldn’t even refer to Him by name. The way He had killed him… the brutality… the look of pure hatred and rage… it haunted him. Waking visions of… Him attacked him throughout the day.

He was weak. Still healing. He feared he’d never stop healing. That these wounds would never become scars. The pain his brother inflicted would never leave him.

It took so much power to appear to his sons as a glorified and magnificent being. As if he was whole. He didn’t want the living ones or the imperium to worry and fear. He also didn’t have much time with this visage. As soon as he finished in a dream or vision, he retreated back to the warp where his perfect Angel persona faded away to his regular horrifying appearance. He had to have some of his sons describe it to him.

Constantly bleeding from cracks and fissures in his skin, leaving a trail wherever he moved. Dark blood stains that formed a mask on his face and ran part way up his arms and legs. His extremities faded to pitch black. Both wings were mangled and sparse with feathers. One was stiff and held tightly to his body. The other was limp and dragged behind him. One arm was hard to move and he held it close to his stomach. One knee was mangled and caused his foot to stuck out. He walked with a limp. His hair appeared dull and paler. Ratted and dirty. Choppy and brittle.

Scars of his battle with… Him littered his body. His eyes sported dark circles and bags under them. His sclera was bloodshot. His sons all said the same thing. He looked haunted and hurt. He looked exhausted. He was. It took so much just to function. To move. Often times he’d fall into deep sleeps that could last up to years. A few times had lasted near a century.

He used to cry. Cry at how far he’d fallen. No one would recognize him as a Primarch or son of the emperor now. Often times when he went to meet recently passed sons, they took him as a crude daemon attempting to pass as their Primarch. It broke his heart. Now he had his other sons go meet them.

But each piece of his soul he found, he got better. The souls of his sons were always near. The best he could do for his living ones was visions and sending the Sanguinor.

He found himself often ravished with hunger. Out hunting creatures of the warp, draining their vitality. It was his only moment of solitude. Though his sons always trailed behind him some distance.

He was hunting now, wheezing as he tracked the same type of small vermin that had tried to get bits of his soul.

He had put some distance between his sons and rested within a ravine. Sand whipped around him.

“Far prey from that cat you slayed and sported,” a voice said.

He whipped around, snarling and barring teeth.

He froze.

“Malcador?” He questioned.

“Hello Sanguinius,” the Sigilite greeted. “I’d say you are looking well but…”

He stood atop a ledge near the path.

“This is a trick,” Sang wheezed. “A figment of my…”

“There’s no need for that,” Malcador assured as he moved down. “I have some pieces of your soul.”

He presented three golden and glowing flecks that floated just above his hand.

Sanguinius didn’t think, staggering forward and snatching them from his father’s right hand man and absorbing them in. The blood stains receded a few centimeters as did the cracks and fissures.

These pieces felt good. Well taken care of. They had been safe and hadn’t needed to survive.

He looked at the Sigilite.

“Why are you here?” He questioned. “You died. Right before we to fight… that… H… Him… the one…”

Sang gripped his hair as he breathed heavily. A hand steadied him.

“I know how it affects you,” Malcador spoke. “The pain. The horror. Even now I come concerning remnants of your soul.”

“You have more?” Sang questioned, he wrinkled his nose. “Why not bring them here and now? Are they trapped?”

The Sigilite spoke, “There is much that can and cannot be explained. But yes, I know where more pieces of your soul are. Fifteen to be exact. But you cannot take them back.”

“Why?” He demanded, emotion in his voice. “Are you holding them from me? That is my soul! I need it! I-“

“Easy, easy,” Malcador soothed. “When you see, I don’t think you could bring yourself to do so. They are… well, you’ll see.”

“What?” The Angel questioned. “What do you mean?”

Malcador removed a pendant that had been hidden in his robes and held it out to Sanguinius. The ninth Primarch slowly reached out and took it. It was ceramite. On it was a common lizard from Baal, carved into it. Other Baalian symbols were upon it. The pattern and sequence was a declaration of familial love, adoration, and gratitude. Children typically gave less precise and skilled versions back on his home planet to family members.

“Th-this was given to you,” Sanguinius deduced. “Where? Who?”

“Come and see,” Malcador said. “Come and see the power of your soul.”

“My sons are tracking me now,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

“The Sanguinor too.”

“I know. They will be fine without you for a bit.”

Malcador offered a hand and a soft smile. He took his hand and followed.

Whether by powers of the warp or the Sigilite’s power, Sanguinius found himself stepping into a courtyard modeled after the older sections of the imperial palace. Vines and trees over grown onto the architecture. But what caught his attention was a large mural just below a veranda.

With intense detail and miriad of glorious colors was a portrait of him. Eyes closed, facing down, smiling.

He found himself limping towards it. He had seen countless remembrancers and artisans create visages of him. But this… this spoke to him. It wasn’t a glorified piece or one that had the artists awe in it. It was… him.

He gently ran fingers along it. Another painting, just down a hallway caught his eye.

He moved to see a similar mural. This time of his brother Vulkan. He was laughing.

Then further down was one of Magnus. Proud as psychic waves surrounded him.

As he followed the hall he found countless depictions of him and them. Some together. Different styles. Different mediums. Some carvings done with utmost skill and expertise.

The final was the biggest. It had him, Vulkan, and Magnus in separate panels. Images of them caught mid laugh. Then there was a fourth. An eldar woman with utmost beauty.

“Wh-who painted these?” He asked.

A gasp rang out.

He looked in its direction searching the brush. It was a small humanoid creature. Metallic skin. Her hair glowed yellow. Eyes glowed blue. She had long ears that flopped to the side of her head. A tail that split in two.

He could not take his eyes off of her. He felt like was peering through a mirror. The face seemed to change and he could see Magnus. No, Vulkan. Him again.

Malcador trailed behind him.

He said softly. “This is Hapipola.”

Sanguinius mouthed the word.

“Joy in Baalian,” he whispered.

Hapipola approached him, eyes staring up into his own and he collapsed to his knees.

He reached out his hands, the connection between them growing strong till his hands brushed her cheeks and she rested her palms over them.

Suddenly he was transported. Back. Back to the moment his soul shattered. The moment… his… his brother… Him.. killed him. The brutality of it. He saw the shattered pieces go flying off. Just as he remembered. But a group of them stayed together. Confused hurt. Looking for familiarity. They went to the astronomicon. There was something else there.

Then he saw countless images of Curze killing him. Bits of him being torn off. They went flying to the astronomicon as well.

Then, the screams of his world and sons dying. The wolf king slamming him down, breaking his back in two. Parts of his soul splintered off. A group looking for safety.

All three met one another. Confused, afraid, not fully understanding what happened. They clung to each other and they search. For what? They don’t know. They travel the warp and begin fusing together. Each with a piece of Magnus, a Piece of vulkan, and a piece of Sanguinius.

They’re in a horrible realm. Foul and rancid. But something draws them in. A tune. Incredibly lovely.

They see her. Trapped. They come to her. Eldar. She is kind.

“My only hope,” she says.

She speaks to the owner of the garden. Horrid and large. Yet he happily gives her what she asks for. Various materials.

Then she makes something. Then she takes them and combines them then breathes life into them. Memories of creatures from youth and human from their fathers take over as they form.

Everything goes dark for a moment. Then… they each wake up. They’re in her embrace. She is exhausted from creating. Yet so proud of them.

They’re alive. Each an individual. Fifteen of them. Daughters. Each with their own quirks and personalities. Each with the memory of their three father’s deaths.

They cannot stay long. Master of the Garden has plans for them. They’re vessels. They could carry his wretched gifts to others.

They have to flee. They’re so little.

Mother whispers a prayer before she sends them off.

“Emperor of Mankind,” she cries. “Please, find these members of your progeny.”

As they exit the garden and escape… the soul of the Sigilite is waiting for them.

His eyes finally open again. It’s not just Hapipola with him. It’s all fifteen. Different colors. Different hair lengths and styles. But they’re here and they’re his. They’re all his. His daughters.

He pulls them into an embrace the best he can, tears streaming down his cheeks.

They squeal and giggle as they swarm him. Calling him father and nestling into him. Some cry with bright eyes and wide smiles. Overjoyed he’s here.

He can feel that they did have a portion of his soul. It is now one with the other two pieces. They are their own persons now. He couldn’t take it back even if he wanted to.

“They are called the Angessa.”

He looked up, still in shock.

“Malcador,” he half laughed. “I-“

He put up a hand, “Easy Sanguinius. You have endured much. Your soul is weary.”

He moved forward and Sang took his hand.

“These are your daughters,” Malcador continued. “They discovered them right before they entered Nurgle’s garden and I could not follow. I was there when they exited. The Eldar goddess of Life, Isha’s plea with them. I call them the Adeptus Angessa.”

Malcador sighed as he sat next to Sanguinius.

“Your father is weak in his current stare,” Malcador told him. “He has… I fear he has lost all hope. I have helped raise them but they cannot stay here. I need to help your father. These little ones long for a father. Vulkan is not available and Magnus is out of the question. They can help you. I-“

One of his daughters said something in a language he didn’t recognize to one of her sisters.

“Kettra!” The sigilite scolded.

Her ears went back as he berated her in another language.

She held her arms to her chest, pouting and looking ashamed.

“I swear,” Malcador muttered. “

“What did she say?” Sanguinius questioned. “I’ve never heard this language.”

“It is my native tongue,” Malcador explained. “It is now extinct. She has a habit of using swears and other crude words just like many of her sisters. She knows better. They do not know high gothic. The plague god managed to curse them to not be able to learn it. For some reason he did not want them communicating with the Death Guard. They know a few words but otherwise cannot speak it or understand it. You can teach them Baalian though. They can only learn one’s native tongue.”

One of them offered a carved reptilian figurine to Sanguinius.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her. She giggled and ran off.

“They’re so sweet,” he laughed as another rubbed her face against him.

The Sigilite sighed, “They’re are. Except when they’re not. They’re little gremlins. Destructive and feral. I suspect they act a lot like you before you were taken in by that tribe.”

Sang just smiled while glancing at Malcador.

“I will warn you,” Malcador added. “They have a quirk from your brother Vulkan. They can and like to set themselves on fire.”

***

The cherub was now cinder and ashes.

A son of the Phoenix held an angry Hapipola outward. She pouted, smoke still coming off of her.

Smyne cackled as Lion held her outward. She sparked and blew raspberries at the cherub.

“No, no Daemon,” hissed ChiChi-Bon.

An ad mech cried over “pookie”.

Lion sighed as he turned Smyne to face him, “You just add more and more mystery to who your father is.”

She giggled at him.

[aaizawashouta]

Take It Off

pairing: kankuro x fem!reader

word count: 4.3k

summary: it's been six months since you've last seen each other. you can't help but wonder if he's still yours like you are his. (modern!au)

warnings: smut (18+, minors dni) oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, cream pie

a/n: this is my first fic ever for this show. I am on my second re-watch of Naruto, so lord, be gracious if anything is out of character.

It’s humid outside, the air clinging to your skin much like the dress you have on. Your heels click against the pavement as they carry you two blocks over. You aren’t close enough to hear the music, but gods, could you feel the bass. It’s the first party to kick off the summer. The sand siblings held a party every year and this one was no different. Well, maybe a little different. The weight of the necklace around your neck is a reminder of just how different everything really was.

The crowd is thick, the air intoxicating. Hungry eyes devour your being as you walk into the familiar home. The sound of your name catches your attention. A sly smile making its way on your face. All your favorite people are here. Your chest tightens a little. Sakura and Ino wrap you in a hug, compliments on your appearance pouring out of them. A bone crushing hug comes from behind you, venom on your tongue ready to bite when you turn to see Naruto. It dies, and all you can do is accept the affection he’s so graciously giving you.

Voices talk over each other, some getting lost in the music. But you know what’s being said. Talks of adventures, and completed missions. The relief of finally being home. The smile never leaves you as you partake in the conversation, you’ve been tucked up into Kiba’s side, his arm thrown lazily over your shoulder. Your best friend since damn near birth, it comes to no surprise that he’s missed you. Sighing, you turn your head, there is no ignoring the knowing gaze of Gaara. He’s been watching you since you got here, Temari too, just a lot more discreet.

“You’re going to leave a scar from your stare burning into my face.”

“You need a drink.”

The both of you stare at each other for a moment. The bass of the music vibrates through you.

“Naruto,” you call, breaking Gaara’s gaze. The blonde perks up at your attention. “Come.”

Normally Kiba would be at your side when it comes to this kind of thing, but that’d be a little too obvious this time. You hear Kiba laugh as Naruto makes his way to your side. If sunshine could be bottled into a person, he’d be it. He’s literally buzzing with energy. Eyes bright and slightly glassy, his signature grin taking up his face.

“Let’s get a drink,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer to you.

He nods, leading the way. His giant body parts the crowd a lot easier than you would’ve. His mouth is moving, but you can’t make out the words he says. His free hand flies as he talks, his whole body animated, eager to get his words out. It makes your lips quirk as you watch him. He really is a nice guy, a little clueless and impulsive, but nice nonetheless. If your heart wasn’t already taken by someone else, you could see yourself being completely owned by someone like him.

It’s in the kitchen when he lets go of your hand, lips brushing against your ear to ask what you’d like to drink. You barely hear him over your raging heartbeat. He’s here. Kankuro. He’s right there leaning against the counter, bottle in hand, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It isn’t him that’s getting you worked up though. No, it's the girl that’s hanging on him, doing her best to appear meek whilst shoving her tits in his face. Your nails dig crescent shapes into your palms, teeth biting into your cheek. Huh, maybe things are different now. Naruto, your saving grace, calls your name. You're thankful you were able to look away before you got caught staring. As if you aren’t embarrassed enough.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever is sweet and in a capped bottle, Naru.”

Your smile is sugary sweet when he winks at you. You fiddle with the chain around your neck, almost tempted to take it off. It went from being your hail mary to something that’s condemning you right back to hell. Maybe you made yourself a little too much of a target tonight. Your mind is attacking you and nothing has even happened. You pull slightly at the hem of your dress. It’s tight and it’s not moving—you knew what you were doing.

A snicker has you looking up. Instead of looking at the girl whose nose is the air with the audacity to judge you, your eyes meet his. A gasp gets lodged in your throat, making you choke on your breath. Fingers clinging onto the heavy metal that rests against your chest.

“Don’t think he’ll find what you’re wanting.” Her nasally voice mocks. “It’s rough or nothing around here.”

Your lips push in thought. This girl has no idea who you are. You aren’t here by word of mouth like most people. She has no idea a key to this house sits next to your own on the keychain in your purse. This castle welcomes you in, no matter what.

“Here, sweetheart.” Naruto says as he saunters up to you. “Easy to find when there’s four cases with your name written on it. Gaara really went all out for you tonight.”

Gaara. You need a drink. That’s why he’s in charge around here, you suppose. The guy just always knows. A light laugh escapes you. Naruto smiles at you quizzically, not completely understanding, but happy to see you happy. He really is contagious. Kankuro stiffens, you’re not sure if it’s from your laughter or the fact that Naruto is pressed tightly against you. Either way, you can see how he straightens, shaking the girl off him, his stare never leaving your face.

Ignoring him the best you can, you push on your tiptoes and lightly place a kiss upon Naruto’s cheek. You grin when heat blossoms instantly across his cheeks. “Thank you. Now come on, before Kiba hunts me down for a game of beer pong.”

One of the reasons you hate when Kiba hunts you down for beer pong is the fact that you guys never fucking lose. You’re a dynamic duo, carrying each other like a proper team should. Lee and Naruto are on the side of the table, frustration pouring out of both of them. Sweat beads along your hairline. Your hairdo long since forgotten due to the humidity; it’s now pulled up held loosely in a clip at the back of your head. There’s three cups left on the table, two for you and one for Lee and Naruto. It’s your turn to get the winning shot. You step into position, flicking the access water off the ball when you feel it. The heat of his stare. It’s taking in every inch of you never pausing for more than a moment. There’s nothing you can do other than freeze under such scrutiny.

Kiba calls your name, but you can barely hear him. Your gaze locks onto Kankuro’s. His eyes are blazing. Emotions swirling like a typhoon, desperate to drown you. He’s moving through the sea of bodies, shoulders knocking into others without even a backwards glance. He’s heading towards you and there isn’t much you can do.

Tearing your gaze from his, you squeeze your eyes shut. One, two, three. One, two, three. You can do this. Taking a deep breath, your eyes open, almost stumbling back because Kiba’s right in your face staring at you with a deadpan look.

“What?” You snap.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’ Throw the goddamn ball and win the game. You can fuck him later.”

Your lips part as your eyes narrow. “Listen here, mutt—”

“Don’t act like you guys weren’t just eye fucking each other.” Kiba rolls his eyes. “Plus, if you don’t, I’ll lose fifty bucks to Shikamaru. So help me out, huh?”

You don’t even know what to say. What can you say? He not only called you out on your bullshit, but Kankuro’s too. Kiba smirks, patting the top of your head before moving out of your way. All water, no cup. Lee and Naruto moan at their loss, again, as they down their drinks. Kiba howls, kissing your cheek causing you to squirm away from him. He knows you’re annoyed with him and is trying to be cute.

“I need some air.”

“Two more games,”

“Kiba! Shika is right there, use him. I need to breathe.”

You don’t miss his knowing smirk as you turn and head for the backyard. It’s drastically more quiet and you welcome it. There’s a few people out here, most taking a smoke. Your hand twitches, you should have snagged one from Shikamaru when you were inside. You walk around the yard, pulled deeper into the backyard where the edge of the yard meets the sparse trees. A light laugh escapes you when the sight of an old, roughly put together fort comes into view. Instantly you know it was Gaara’s, a place he could hide when he was younger.

A shriek comes from behind you, a hand flies to your chest as you jump. Gods, you’re wound so tight, the fresh air you were so desperate to get isn’t helping you now. If anything, you’re desperate to go home and wash the night off of you. The more you linger, the more you feel like it’s been a mistake. Even if Gaara and Temari think otherwise. You finger your necklace, the thought of taking it off and leaving it behind dances in your mind once again.

How mad would he be? Would he honestly be surprised? Does it fucking matter? Yes. It does. Because you love him. You’re a goddamn idiot in love with a bigger idiot.

Groaning, your head falls back, clip loosening, hair falling to frame your face. Yeah, it’s time to go home. Four cases of your favorite drink and you only made it through one. You’re only a little bitter about it. Tonight was supposed to be fun. He’s standing behind you when you finally make yourself turn to head inside. His presence makes you pause, eyes widening as your stare meets his. It’s quiet as you both watch each other, neither of you sure of the next move to make. It breaks your heart a little.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply, voice light.

“Had a feeling I’d find you out here.”

He leans forward, handing you a bottle. Your lips twitch. You know it in your heart of hearts that it wasn’t fucking Gaara who made sure that your favorite drink was on hand. Rough or nothing around here. You snort, not when it comes to you.

“You been busy?” you ask, taking a pull as a distraction. Whatever will keep you busy. He’s got you on edge, you don’t need to show him just how exposed your nerves are. There’s double meaning to your words, let’s see if he answers honestly.

“Seemed that way, huh?” He laughs as he shakes his head. “No. Gaara’s been keeping us all busy.” You believe him. Kankuro has no reason to lie, especially about that. “So, you and Naruto, huh?”

He takes a step closer, eyes watching you closely. He’s close enough now that you can feel his body heat. His right hand brushes yours, pinky linking with yours before letting go. Your disappointment only lasts a second, soon his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, feeling how your heart beats for him.

“So, still falling for the bait, huh?” You laugh.

His eyebrow quirks at your grin. “Normally it’s Kiba.”

“I got smart.”

Kankuro nods, a small smirk tugging on his lips. It’s turning into a game, making you go from anxious to excited. You step into him this time, your chest brushing against his. It still amazes you just how much bigger he is than you.

“Always such a tease, puppet.” You gulp down a mixture of fear and desire as he applies more pressure to your wrist, your pulse racing madly in between his fingers.

He looks down at you, eyes dancing with mirth before they trail down the rest of you. It’s only a second or two when he pulls you in closer as his hand raises to your chest. You can’t help the strangled gasp that leaves you in a rush when his fingers pull at the necklace around your neck. Lightly, they trace over your skin, making you breakout in goosebumps despite the heat.

“That’s my name.”

“It is.”

“Around your fucking neck.”

“Yes.”

He looks so baffled. It’s almost cute. “Kuro, I haven’t ever belonged to anyone else.”

The door shuts behind you, your back slams into the knob causing you to hiss. You feel Kankuro huff against your neck as he holds back a laugh. Sliding a hand up his neck, your fingers tangle in his hair. There’s no hiding your smile when he groans.

“Baby,” the word is muffled against your skin. “You’re killin’ me.”

“Can always make it worse,”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your mouth at his neck before placing your lips at his ear. “I’m not wearing anything underneath all this.”

“What the fuck,”

You lean backwards, resting your head on the door. “You know what else?”

“Hmm?”

“I wore this dress just so you could take it off.”

“It’ll end up on the floor, baby. Might just rip the fucking thing off.”

In a smooth, quick movement, Kankuro goes to the floor. heat licks up your spine.You see his small smirk, large hands trailing up and down your bare thighs. You’d done a lot of things before, but never this.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, baby.”

He runs his nose over your center, taking in a deep breath. His hands tighten on your thighs, as if he’s stopping himself from diving right in. You shudder, squeezing your thighs together only for him to pry them apart.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, breathing shallow, watching him as his hand lifts one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. You can’t stop the moan when he kisses your ankle. You can’t help but wonder if he knew he could mold you into anything he wanted. You’ve been his since for as long as you've known him. He could straight out ruin you and you’d thank him.

His hand trails up your leg, rough calluses catching on your skin. There is no buildup, his finger running through your folds, a hum as he collects it before sticking the digit in his mouth.

“You're fucking soaked, babe. Fuck, bet you taste real sweet, huh?”

“Sweet as honey.” It comes out in a sigh.

“That’s fucking right.”

You clench around nothing. Kankuro’s voice was raw, deeper than you’d ever heard it. He gave nothing else before diving in. You moan, your head falling back against the door again. Only to lift it when he smacks your thigh.

“Baby,”

You huff, but nod, biting back your whimper. His tongue is flat as it makes its way through your folds. It’s like he’s done this before. Or at least thought about it. That thought does something to you. Thinking about Kankuro having thoughts about devouring you whole. You have to tell him, god, you have to tell him.

“Kuro,” you murmur, hips lifting to roll against his face.

“Baby.” He says voice thick with arousal. You squirm at the feel of his breath against you. His thumb rolls your clit in circles as his tongue parts your folds. He slips a digit in before replacing it with his tongue.

You grind yourself on his face, barely catching the feel of his teeth and it is exquisite. You whisper his name again, wanting him to look at you, to see you. Want him to know that you’ve only been a mess like this because of him. He holds you open and licks up the seam of your sex, your hips buck, rubbing yourself across his lips and chin.

“Hey, I got you.”

He strokes and teases your pussy. Switching off between his thick fingers and his tongue. He has you quivering. The sounds of you clenching around his fingers, his tongue are obscene and he fucking loves it.

You feel like you’re drowning. Every crashing wave grows higher and higher building a tsunami that can’t be stopped. You move with every flick of his tongue. Heel digging into his shoulder when he sucks your clit into his warm mouth. It almost sends you over.

“You taste so good, baby. So fucking perfect for me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That’s because I’m made for you.”

Kankuro groans at your words. Fingers digging into your exposed thigh. You’re right on the edge. Just a little bit more. A simple push and—you cry out when his thumb brushes against your clit in a perfect circle. The perfect pressure and you're flying.

“Oh my god,”

He groans against you, feeling your release. You clench tightly on his tongue as he fucks it into you, taking everything you’ve got to give. He keeps up his pace, helping you ride it out. As your hips slow down he replaces his tongue with his fingers, his mouth going back to your sensitive nub.

“Kuro—Kankuro, no. Please.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Be a nice puppet for me, please. One more, just one more.”

It shoots straight to your core. You’re desperate, small whimpers falling from your lips. Good girl. Of course you’d be his good girl. Whatever kept him here with you is what you’d be.

You're dripping down your thighs. You know it’s all over his face, dripping down his chin. He catches your eye when he pulls away, a grin tilting his lips. He’s shining with your release. Leaning forward he catches you by surprise and kisses you. You hum into it, opening up to let him explore your mouth. Licking into him, you taste yourself. Odd, different, but not unpleasant. You're distracted when his fingers pump into you, curling into that spongy part of you that you can’t even reach. It hits fast and hard.

Kankuro’s chuckling to himself when he stands to his feet.

Your eyes narrow as your breath evens out. “Got something to say, Kuro?”

He grabs your hand and presses it against his groin. Even through the fabric of his jeans you can tell that he’s hard as steel and burning hot. “I think I’ve done enough with my mouth, hmm?”

“You going take me to bed, or fuck me against the door?”

His eyes darken at your words. “Baby I don’t know if I want to fuck you so hard the neighbors know my name, or fuck you to where you’re stupid for my cock and my cock only.”

You don’t say much as you get dragged over to his bed. Clothes are tossed on the floor. Kankuro curses under his breath when you pull your top off, his hands pulling you to him so he can suck a nipple into his mouth. You sigh with the building pleasure, hands combing through his dark locks.

“This won’t be gentle, I don’t know if I can be easy with you right now.”

“Are you warning me?”

Kankuro levels you with a look. “It’s been a while, babe.”

You trail your gaze over him from his head to his toes, lingering where his hand was working his length. “I think I’ll be okay. I know how to handle you. Always have.”

You run a thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. Your nails nip at his sensitive skin and he shivers. You fall back against the bed watching as he climbs over you. His dick nudges the soaked folds of your cunt.

“Come on Kuro,” you say softly, arching your back to lift your hips. “Ruin me, I want it.”

And you know he wants to.

“You’re too good to me,” his voice is thick with want.

Slowly he sinks into you. He’s too big. Fuck, he’s so big. The head of his cock snags at your entrance, causing him to start over. You breathe in nice and slow, relaxing yourself with every slow thrust he makes until he’s at the hilt.

“Holy fuck,” You hiss as he sits snug. You need a moment.

With a deep breath you nod, giving him permission and he’s taking it, demanding more–needing more the second he feels the tight velvet of your sex.

“Kankuro,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders.

He nods. He knows you need this as much as he does. You're clinging to him, hands tugging at his hair, cunt clenching around him like he’d slip free at any moment. His thrusts are deep, building a slow burn inside of you. Your toes curl because it’s just the beginning. You arch your back, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. You hit a good rhythm, letting yourself breathe, relax, and suck him in deeper. You’re almost where he wants you. Kankuro looks at you and your heart flips in your chest. It’s like he’s truly looking at you for the first time. He’s looking at you like he’s in love. You clench around him and he groans. He thrusts a little harder than before, causing your head to fall back.

“Eyes on me,” You whimper and open your eyes. “Eyes on me, baby.”

You watch each other, a breath apart as you circle your hips. You’re waiting for him to break. Any second now. He muffles out curses, a hand trailing up and wrapping around your neck. The action has your eyes rolling back before you snap them open. Your walls flutter around him, and his grip tightens. A knowing looking glinting in his eye. You flex your cunt, lower muscles bearing down as you grip him. He groans, the sound erupting in the silent room.

There’s pleasure coiling behind your pussy. “Kankuro, fuck,”

“What is it?”

“Fuck me,” You whine, pulling on his hair. “Please, baby, please. I need it.”

His gaze drops from your face to where he’s burying himself in your tight cunt. He nods before lifting his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

You flash him a grin and he jolts, his cock twitching deep. You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. You can’t remember the last time it was ever like this. Swallowing, you know that’s a lie. It’s always been him. He’s so big and you’re so fucking full. He fills you to the brim, cock dragging against your walls.

He's finally picked up his rhythm. Hammering into you, each deep stroke better than the last. Your orgasm takes you by surprise. You lurch against him when you moan. You melt, boneless, like jelly. You’re loose and wet and fucking perfect. His nose presses into your cheek as he grinds into you.

“Fuck, puppet. Missed the feeling of you on my cock.”

You snort, pulling yourself closer to him. Guttural grunts and low growls meet your ear. Heavy breaths that bounce around the empty room. It’s a brutal taking, and you are not wet enough. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall with every harsh thrust. You take what you're given, no complaints. Kankuro readjusts, moving you to where you are firmly planted on his thighs, giving him a better angle. You’re bouncing with each thrust from his cock now. He’s deep, so deep you can see the bulge of him in your tummy. You pull his hair, grinning when he hisses.

“You got one more for me?”

He knows you can’t talk. He knows you’re fucked out, gone stupid on his cock. Just like he said he would. He loves when you get like this. He loves it even more because you asked for it. You move, opening up your legs a little wider. He groans feeling himself sink deeper into you. You’re puffy and raw and you’re living for it. Nodding, his name falls from your lips.

It builds and builds and builds until it has nowhere to go. It roars forward, jolting you, a scream ripped from your throat and your nails digging into him so hard you can feel when he starts to bleed. Kankuro is there. He holds you into place, lips grazing your cheek. He fucks you through it all, jamming himself into your searing overstimulated sex, he meets his end. His grip tightens, a low gravel filled groan comes from deep in his chest, filling you up. You feel the drag of his necklace when he lifts his head to trail kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

You pull him on top of you, hugging him tightly to you. You bask in the feel of him. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been missing him until you were drunk off of him. You’re aching and sore but you refuse to move away from him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded as he regards you.

“Keep me in there,” he tells you and you just smile.

“Always.” You hum, scratching his head with your nails. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, baby. Always miss you.”

You swallow suddenly feeling shy. Kankuro pulls himself up, pushing loose strands of hair out of your face. He looks at you, really looks at you. Eyes roaming all over your face. He doesn’t miss a thing, never has. He knows you like the back of his hand.

“What is it?”

“Six months, Kuro. Six months of nothing from you. Then I come home to a leech on your arm.”

Even after he’s fucked you silly your feelings are hurt. Almost like a bratty little kid that didn’t get what you wanted. It didn’t matter that you had a point. He had all the time in the world to tell you he missed you, but he waited until you were right on the verge of giving up. He may be a master of puppets, but you don’t like being played with.

“You’re right. I should’ve made you a priority. I’m sorry.”

It’s not what you want, but for now, it’ll be good enough.

[sunfloweraro]

LUtober day 21: Hero

Little Time and Sky are determined to help when the others struggle to defeat the final boss. The Master Sword senses something is amiss with her heroes and sets things right.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

“I’m scared.”

“It’s okay,” little Time assured his younger friend. “They said they’ll be fine.”

Little Sky made a worried sound. “They’re liars—look!” Little Time turned to see the group struggling against the massive beast. The monster pressed down on them, and even grouped together, they were being pushed back against its almighty strength. He gasped in shock. They had promised they would be okay, but…

“We have to help,” little Time announced.

Little Sky whimpered, clutching his arm tighter. “But I’m scared.”

“I am too,” little Time said. “But they need us.”

Little Sky’s face hardened—as best as a toddler’s could—with determination. “Yeah! Look!” He pointed to the swords the group had left with them. One was much too big for them to lift, but the other one…

“We can do it together!” little Time declared, and they rushed to the sword, tiny hands clutching the hilt. A tingle ran up little Time’s arms, and he found he suddenly felt stronger. Safe. “Do you feel that?”

Little Sky nodded. “I feel safe,” he murmured. With a nod to each other, they hoisted the sword up, stumbling under its weight. “Woah!”

“Come on, before it turns around!” Together, they heaved the sword over to the battle. The monster wasn’t facing them, hadn’t even acknowledged them, and the group of heroes were too busy being crushed into the ground to take any notice as the two children heaved the sword from where it dragged on the ground.

“Three, two, one…”

“Now!”

As one, they swung the sword up, and it slid through the monster’s middle like it was made of softened butter. The monster exploded into black sand with a shriek of outrage, and the two children shielded their eyes.

“Whoa…” Little Sky stuck his hand out to catch the drifting sand, giggling as it slid between his fingers.

“You two!” Twilight snapped, eyes wide with panicked rage. “I told you—” Twilight’s words were cut off when the sword, still clutched in the children’s hands, pulsed with light. A brilliant flash that had them all covering their eyes, and when it faded, Time and Sky now stood before them, returned to their rightful ages and looking dazed.

“What the… Why does my head hurt?” Sky pressed a hand to his temple, wincing. “Am I concussed?”

“What happened?” Time asked, staggering under a wave of dizziness.

Twilight looped an arm around both of their waists, easily keeping them both upright. “We should get you two back to camp. You need to rest.”

Sky hummed, his eyes already fluttering at the thought of sleeping. Time was more determined to stay awake, squinting at Twilight through his fatigue.

“What happened?” he asked again.

Twilight grinned, his eyes soft with relief. “Boy, do we have the story for you two—with pictures!”

“What—pictures?”

“You didn’t tell us you were such an adorable toddler, Sky.” Warriors teased, earning a confused, dazed look.

“I—What?”

“Rest. We’ll talk once you’ve recovered.”

(And come morning, Wild earned two not-so-gentle smacks to the head for their negligence, though Wild themself couldn’t regret it when they had too many adorable photos of little Sky and little Time tucked away in their slate. Twilight and Warriors made them promise to be more careful—and to find a way to print the pictures so they could keep photos of the two children once they returned home, both finding they already missed their little sprout and chicken.)

[themimsyborogove]

@secretly-a-catamount I combined two of your other prompts because that got things to the right level of fucked up✨

Malcolm falsely comforting Emma after her parents death + Malcolm and Catarina discussing children

——

“Catariiiiinaaaa,” Malcolm whined. “I’m so tiiireeeeed.” He was flopped over Catarina’s kitchen table, his cheek pressed against the cool wood.

“Which one was it this time?” Catarina asked, opening cabinets and pulling out various ingredients for the dreamless sleep potion he had asked for. He would brew it himself, but it was one of those fiddly potions that had the opposite effect if it was made even slightly wrong, which would just double his problems.

“Emma,” Malcolm said. “She still thinks something other than Sebastian killed her parents.” She was right of course, but it just wouldn’t do if anyone took her obsession with it seriously. “I was up half the night with her.”

“Poor thing,” Catarina said sympathetically, getting to work on the potion.

Malcolm had found Emma on the beach, long after the other children were in bed, angrily throwing seashells into the waves she always stayed well back from.

“Another nightmare?” Malcolm asked. She nodded and continued to attack the water, the only thing she had found to blame for the death of her parents since she wouldn’t accept that Sebastian had been the culprit and she couldn’t figure out where else to direct her rage.

When she had run out of seashells, he had conjured some nicely sized rocks for her to throw. They made a much more satisfying splash when they hit the waves. He made sure to compliment her on especially impressive throws. All of her training was really paying off.

Eventually she ran out steam entirely, and he had sat with her in the sand and reassured her that life could be truly unfair, and sometimes all you could do was endure the bad hand you were dealt.

It had just been bad luck for her after all. Her parents hadn’t been killed out of any anger at them personally, or to cause Emma herself any pain, and he did wish he could cheer her up about it. Their deaths hadn’t achieved his goal, unfortunately, but they had given him better understanding of how the spells in the Black Volume worked, which was valuable in its own way.

And Emma’s parents probably would have been turned into Endarkened or been killed during the Dark War anyway, so it’s not like he did any real harm. That logic wouldn’t do much to cheer up the angry thirteen-year-old sitting in the sand next to him though, so he spoke to her of living through the unfairness and finding meaning in what was left. Perhaps one day she would learn to accept her grief and move on, and he wouldn’t have to keep misdirecting her about it all. It was getting exhausting.

He sensed a presence sneaking out of the Institute, and caught the silhouette of the figure out of the corner of his eye. Julian, coming to comfort his parabatai.

Malcolm put his arm around Emma and patted her hair, the gesture of a caring adult finally pushing her anger into sobs in a way it probably wouldn’t have in the daylight, but moonlight could do strange things to emotions, especially to children who had already used up all of their energy trying to be strong.

Julian retreated, to Malcolm’s satisfaction.

Emma, alas, took much longer to calm down and finally get back to bed, and Malcolm was paying the toll for it today.

“Don’t you have anything stronger than coffee?” Malcolm poked at the mug Catarina had set down near his head. Maybe he could take a nap right here while Catarina finished brewing the potion.

“Nothing that wouldn’t make you weirder than you already are,” Catarina said, but her tone was full of fondness. “Stimulant potions come with too many side effects, you know that. You’re better off sticking to good old caffeine.” She paused for a moment, and then added, “I know how difficult it can be to stay up all night because a child needs you.”

Malcolm turned his head at that to see Catarina better, catching the wistful look on her face. Catarina had raised a child once, he knew, but she was very secretive about the details. He wished he could pry her for more—because knowing a warlock’s secrets could always end up useful someday—but the person Catarina knew him as now wasn’t the kind of person who cared about such things. He would have to settle for the scraps of secrets that got carelessly dropped in front of him because people assumed he was too silly to do anything with them.

Catarina twisted the lid onto the potion bottle and set it down next to Malcolm’s cooling coffee. “No more than three doses a month,” she reminded him sternly. “And only use it when all other methods fail and the lack of sleep is getting dangerous.”

Her expression softened, and she ruffled his hair affectionately. “It’s kind of you to watch out for those kids,” she said, her voice full of a genuine warmth he wished he was a good enough actor to copy even a fraction of. “They’ve been through a lot.”