#he finds them so far beneath him that he's a bit irritated he was called to fight them

[cherubchoirs]

Hi, i was fighting a boss in elden ring today and my brain short-circuited to your gabriel when i saw the 2nd phase

(https://youtu.be/60F3uPIplxg?t=88 from 1:28)

The overall heavy grace and fighting style is a slight mismatch imo but i blasted my friend's ears anyway when i saw the wings and the tail :)

OMGHHFG....and when i've just started to think about how he might use his tail in battle, as well as hone his wings for short bursts (while he's able to) ;o; also it means so much to me that you'd think of him while playing elden ring because the souls games are such a major inspiration for me - i know i'm stylistically far out from them, but world and character designs are some of my absolute favorites :]

i think of gabriel as being defined by his role as a warrior, and fighting is the very core of his being as god made him – everything about him gives away that nature, from how he moves in fluid but guarded flight, how he carries his weapons with him even in heaven and is encased in armor as a matter of course, and even his gracious nature is that of a knight to the people he protects. he was made singularly for this and it is his whole purpose, he can be nothing else, and so fighting is an integral part of how he defines himself, how he identifies who he is in the host of heaven. for me, gabriel can only feel fully himself when he’s engaged, and his rapture in god is found on the battlefield. it’s one of the reasons why i picture him covered in scars, he fights not just for god but to feel the divine fire in himself, and part of that is the physical pain he experiences in war. all of it comes together to make gabriel, it creates a whole of his constituent parts – to strategize, to show the skill he’s honed for millennia, to be struck and bear wounds yet still triumph. that is who he is intrinsically.

in this gabriel is absolutely a courteous fighter, he wishes to fight fairly because then his technique is fully on display. his radiance shines here, a merciless warrior once engaged but always giving his enemies a chance to bow out before they begin, facing them fully up front and respecting his opponent outwardly (though he rarely does so in his mind) even if he is tasked with killing them, he still maintains his chivalrous manner and confronts them in the way he believes is necessary – he doesn’t do anything to warrant overkill, using only the strength and arsenal he finds appropriate for his current enemy both because he finds it distasteful otherwise and because well...something in him enjoys his own superiority, to know that he’s using only a fraction of his strength and dexterity. plus it draws out a battle, and his praises are full then, his connection to god’s love flooding into him as he performs his purpose. it’s one of the reasons gabriel gives everything he has into fighting, to feel himself and feel god in him too, how he is praised in return and how he is held in esteem for his work. he is a full vessel only then, and so he does anything asked of him with fervor.

when he falls, he initially holds fast to his decorum as it is all he knows, yet the pain in his body has intensified and he can no longer rely on his wings to carry him. sometimes frustration begins to show, the cracks in his once knightly attitude giving way to brutality because while he is still gracious, he is proud. and to not fight as he once did, to feel some stuttering movements as he relearns the steps and to have lost the divine connection that so defined him, causes a viciousness new to his fighting, a cruelty that maybe he learns in part from v1’s ruthless tactics. i think he eventually strikes a balance, knowing he goes much too far at some point in the anguish of his transformation, but never fully returning either to the righteous angelic technique he once bore. there is grace in his movements and there is lightness in his steps but they now deliver a harshness, unforgiving as the hell he now inhabits that doesn’t allow him the luxury he once had. most importantly, however, is that he recognizes how this is now fully his own – not an empty vessel but one creating his very own rapture

given how important battle is to him, gabriel can find opponents he respects, but it is much more difficult to find an equal – naturally tied to music as he is, fighting for him is like a dance and an equal would be his partner. he wants someone that moves in time with him, someone that matches him blow for blow and someone that treats battle with the reverence and near worship he does – a part of themself and foundational, inherent. that’s why v1 becomes his equal – it survives on battle, it engages it as an art form, and its entire mind and body are given over to it. and like i mentioned about v1 with the ferryman, it tailors its strategy for its opponent, it creates a custom dance just for the two of them and gabriel feels how they move together as one yet on opposing sides. and so his equal can only be someone made in the mold he is, that finds battle so core to who they are that they are not fully themselves outside of it. which is a bit odd, as i think he could face an opponent that could best him and yet still not consider them his equal (if that makes sense!!)

i’m sorry this is so long, but this truly is the central facet of gabriel’s character that i’ve wanted to fully talk about. and while wielding weapons is difficult for some time, he is eventually able to at least use the broken forms of his swords and control hell energy in a similar manner as his light constructs in gluttony. as an angel, he of course favored his swords, but i like the idea too that his favorite ranged weapon is a bow (i really do want to design one similar to his true swords). as a fallen his tastes change, wanting to keep in close to his opponents and so scrapping much use for anything long-range (which he mostly relies on hell energy for) his swords maintain their place in his heart, but i’m also interested in giving him something like gauntlets that can work with his claws rather than always having to file them down if he wants to use a weapon. that being said, gabriel knows how to wield almost any weapon and he finds charm in all of them, even highly interested in learning to use guns from v1. it’s a singular joy for him to find out what makes them effective, how he must move with them and respond to their particular forms to make them shine in battle. it’s truly a huge point of pride for him that he gives care to every weapon held in his hands.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Locker Room

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, enemies-ish to lovers, sexual tension, arguments, suggestive themes, intimate touching, teasing, dirty thoughts

A/N: For @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge. I used prompts 43, 97, & 99. (I had so much fun challenging myself to do this all in one go. I set a timer and everything.)

After finding an infuriating note on your desk, you confront Simon in the communal locker room.

Part Two // Simon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Beneath your skin is an inferno.

It’s not the kind that blazes for another, or burns in tandem with a deep yearning. This is just seething anger and blunt frustration.

You’re ready to knock out some fucking teeth.

How dare he? Who the fuck does Lieutenant Riley think he is?

When you return reports to Captain Price, you point out all the inconsistences and errors. The lack of accountability and absolute carelessness has been scratching at you for ages, and this time you had enough. Usually Price shrugs, fixes whatever you’ve marked—to a degree—and then returns them without argument.

This time? Price took one look at them and told you to talk to Simon.

Not a problem. No issue at all. You and Lieutenant Riley have always been on good terms. Sometimes, it’s been more than good. You’ve caught him staring for far too long, or he stands a bit too close as if the two of you are a couple and not coworkers. And while you’ve internalized the fantasy, it’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.

But now you’re just irritated.

You handed over the files yesterday evening, and this morning you found them back on your desk. It’s not the turnaround but Lieutenant Riley’s audacity of placing those files back on your desk with a singular sticky note.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Sweetheart. Sweetheart?

The other day you imagined what it might be like to have the burly, masked man call you a pet name, but this is just fucking condescending.

Your heels clack sharply against the linoleum floor. Perhaps it’s the rage in your face, because every person you meet on your rampage steps out of your way, their gaze averted. Rounding a corner, you exit through a side door and into one of the hangars. A few people glance up, frowning, but return to their job.

Sighing heavily, you approach the nearest person. “Where’s Lieutenant Riley?”

The young man—who looks right out recruitment—glances up. He swallows and peers over his shoulder as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to say. “Locker room, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” you reply sharply, turning on your heel and heading for another door leading to the communal gym.

“But—” he begins, stumbling to his feet as you charge on. “Ma’am! You can’t—”

The door slams shut behind you and you don’t look back.

This is one of several communal spaces. There are the usual training areas on base but there are also a few gyms for those that want to get a bit of extra work in. Every head turns toward you and many don’t look away. This one is just for the men, and you’re the odd duck.

And fuck it. You don’t care. You’re too fucking mad right now to think of anything else but giving Lieutenant Riley a piece of your goddamn mind.

With everything pumping in your veins, the reality of you storming toward the locker rooms hasn’t even dawned. Hasn’t clicked. Fury laces your every step, and even here, where you’re not supposed to be, the men in your path move as if they sense the rage.

When you burst through the door and meet a wall of steam, all the heat suddenly extinguishes. Glancing around, you’re met with wide-eyed stares and surprised expressions.

Keeping your gaze as upward as you can, you clear your throat. “Where is Lieutenant Riley?”

There is only silence. Maybe if you stare at the top of the lockers for long enough, you’ll somehow gather your courage again.

“I asked where Lieutenant—”

“I’m right here.”

You turn abruptly and freeze.

Lieutenant Simon Riley stands before you in nothing but a towel. It hangs low on his hips. Other than that, the bottom-half of his face is covered up by a black mask and his dog tags dangle from his neck. His hair is a wet, tussled mess, and his chest glistens with water like he just stepped out from the shower.

Simon simply stares at you for a moment as you stand in utter silence. His gaze, which is piercing and fierce, slides away to scan the room. He doesn’t have to say anything. The rest of the men in the room grab bags and clothes, rushing to exit through the door you just entered from.

When the last man leaves, Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. It makes him appear larger, more intimidating, and that one movement draws forth a heat in your belly. This isn’t anger. This is need.

“I know what you came here for,” he says, and it’s so casual a tone that the earlier rage comes rising up.

“I’m sure you do,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

Simon says nothing. His dark eyes remain on you, unmoving and cold, yet pinning you to the spot as if you’ve been impaled by a spear.

“Are you going to apologize?”

“Why?” he asks automatically.

You scoff. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You didn’t come here for an apology.”

You uncross your arms and hold them out in front of you, bent at the elbows. “The reports—”

“The reports are fine.”

You roll your eyes and throw your hands up in the air. “There are inconsistencies everywhere. I can’t submit them as they are.”

Simon rolls his neck and then strides forward. Instinct has you stepping back, moving away, but you bump into a row of lockers. He doesn’t stop until he’s leaning over you, one large hand pressing into the metal to the side of your head.

“You’re nitpicking,” he replies.

“About lazy writing?”

“Oh, love. I assure you. I’m thorough.” At that, Simon leans in, and your hands rise instinctually, pressing against his firm chest.

Simon’s gaze doesn’t drop from your face. His entire attention is on you and that heat is back, twisting in your stomach, stirring up a slickness between your legs.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, wanting the need between your legs to leave but also loving how close he is.

Sure, you’re pissed off but my god. The fresh scent of him is intoxicating, and you’re doing everything in your power not to lean in and lick up the droplet of water running along the side of his throat.

“Why did you come here?” He waits a beat, and when you don’t reply, Simon continues. “To argue?” He lightly pinches your bottom chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, dragging it down a bit. You open your mouth involuntarily and Simon makes at sound in his throat that makes your legs weak. “To see me?” He leans in like he’s about to kiss you. “To be alone?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper.

Simon has you caged in. Pinned. The only thing separating your body and his is that towel.

“Why do you think everyone left when they did?” Simon’s thumb drops away from your lips only to press at the hollow of your throat. “It’s not because you walked in.”

“Why?” you ask, as Simon’s thumb drags lowers over your top to the space between your breasts.

“Because you’re mine. And they know it.”

“You—what?” Without anywhere to go, you can’t escape his intense stare.

“I’m staking a claim.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Simon,” he growls. “Call me Simon.”

“Simon,” you say, and he groans.

His dog tags brush against your fingers. The metal is slightly cool and damp. You curl on finger around the chain, and tug, bringing Simon’s face down to yours. If he can tease and touch, you’re going to do the same. He can’t have all the power.

Your lips brush against his through the mask, and Simon’s eyelids begin to close, revealing his gentle submission in this moment. Deepening the movement, you kiss him as if there were no barrier. This time, he truly groans, and you’d give anything to remove the barriers between you and find out what it’s like to feel him deep inside.

Fisting his dog tags in your hand, you shove him away, but only enough that there is a fraction of distance.

“Fix the fucking reports, Simon.”

Instead of kissing him again, or even touching him, you unclench your fist, releasing the dog tags. Slipping under his arm, you exit through the door and out into the gym, leaving a trail of steam in your wake.

taglist:

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[pursuitseternal]

“An Afternoon in the Park” with 🦇 Batstarion in this special update to “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x Female Tav | T | 1.7 K

Summary: without their Rogue and his consort, Halsin and Shadowheart wait for Gale to come back from scouting out a Bhaalist ambush in Bloomridge Park. Fortunately, to pass the time, a pair of bats seem to join them, flying around and… engaging in some unusual behavior for this time of day, according to the Druid.

CW: bat sex, a bit of voyeurism kinda not really, “David Attenborough” Halsin commenting on Nature, yes the nature facts about bats are true, Gale sucks at recon, and Astarion is a smug bastard and a freak

A/N: for Batstarion week’s wild card day. Even though Antics is x reader, this update shifts to 3rd person for narrative purpose. In the Antics world, only Gale and Karlach know Astarion’s ‘other’ form. Until now. Enjoy my offering!

Ao3 link | Masterlist | My Ko-fi

“Bloomridge park is a curious place for a Bhaalist ambush,” Shadowheart commented, irritated and annoyed.

“Gale was sure he would find them. To think that murderous cultists could abuse the natural beauty of a park,” Halsin shifted his massive weight on his massive legs. “No one speaks for the trees in this city. There is so little space, so little greenery to soothe the soul. It’s small wonder everyone is in a foul mood.”

Shadowheart tapped her toe on the ground, impatient. “This is what we get for sending the Wizard to do the sneaking. That bloody Ascendant Rogue. He might have a palace he wants to inspect and a consort or whatever he wants to fuck in it, but dammit we need our party.” She gave a dramatically offended sigh. “We never should have agreed to give those two the evening off. I wonder what depraved, vampiric horrors they will get into.” Her outburst made Halsin’s scarred face twist in a warm grin.

His warm chuckle was probably too loud for even this public setting, and it made Shadowheart glare up at him. The Druid just shook his head. “It is typical of nature, when one head of the pack is supplanted by the next, the new predator in power will mark his territory and mate profusely. It is not different for Astarion,” he commented, always so sage in tone and smiling. As if he’s seen everything in this world.

“Please don’t call Astarion a predator to his face… or imply he’s a new alpha or something…” Shadowheart grimaced. “His ego has already grown too inflated to fit his pea-sized, smoothed brain. He already acts like the Elfsong is his palace, don’t add to that Halsin.”

Halsin only chuckled harder, putting his massive, tanned hand on the oak tree they both stood beneath at the edge of the city park. “It is remarkable how nature runs its course, even through the filth and contamination of the city. Seasons change, animals rut, and so life continues.”

Something darted over their heads. Two somethings. A streak of white and a smear of cool grey. They chittered loudly, swarming up the oak tree to cling their hooked fingers and toes into the bark. Ears twitching, wings folded, they seemed to chit at one another, squeaks from the grey and high pitched purrs from the white.

Instantly they caught the Druid’s attention. “See, not even the stain of the city can stop nature…. Although, these two do seem to behave rather curious. This white one… he seems strangely large for a bat and… strangely talkative.” The Druid moved closer to the tree, making the grey bat scamper higher in the tree, flying almost out of sight to hide far above their heads.

With a flap of his wings, the white animal was not far behind, landing on top of the other. Toes curled around toes, wings wrapped around her small furry body.

A chorus of two-toned chitters flitted from above their heads, and Shadowheart audibly gagged. “Oh that is disgusting. I have no need to hear or see that sort of… intimacy.” She almost puked on the last word.

Halsin just laughed. “Like I said, nature will always find a way.” He paused, a look more perplexed than before twisting his scarred smiling face. “It’s just this way of nature is most curious. Bats shouldn’t be out quite so early… nor is this typical for their mating season.” His thick, bushy brows furrowed. “Perhaps the corruption of the city is altering their natural courses…”

The bats then flew apart, circling the tree. Grey and white blurs passing over their heads noisily. “That white male seems bent on keeping his mate in this tree…”

Shadowheart scoffed incredulously. “Or just over our heads to annoy us,” she sassed. “Perhaps he’s just starved for the attention and requires an audience.”

“I’m not sure bats have that big an ego or a bent towards voyeurism,” Halsin chortled, watching with approval as the bats hung on another branch. “You’ll notice that the bats actually engage in a little foreplay. It’s not unusual for the male to… ahem… clean the female before coupling to ensure they are clean of a rival's sperm and…” he smirked sideways at the Cleric, “to warm the female up for another round when they are in heat.”

Shadowheart’s brows shot under her bangs. “Bats sound like better lovers than most people,” she scoffed, looking up to see the bats doing just as the Druid described.

They seemed so… into it, she noticed with a frown on her lips. Squinting, she watched them, a mess of fur and squeaks and chitters all hidden behind two large white wings. It lasted maybe two minutes before they stilled, a long pink tongue cleaning the face of the little grey bat that hung against him.

The warm smile on Halsin’s face made her roll her eyes so far back in her skull, they could have stuck there. “Where is Gale? For fucks sake, we shouldn’t have let the Wizard attempt to be the sneaky one.” She kept complaining, picking at the ends of her hair strands that had come loose from her braid.

That grey bat rushed right past her, almost buzzing the hair on her head as it zipped up the park path in the direction of the walls at the edge of the gardens. “Hey…” Shadowheart narrowed her eyes, “aren’t those the walls to Cazador’s Palace?” Suddenly, suspicion sank into her gut, just as Gale came down the path, winded and sweaty from the evening heat.

“Whoo,” he panted. “Okay, scouting isn’t technically my area of expertise, but I’m…” he placed a hand on his chest, wincing as he sucked in breath after breath. “Sorry, it took a bit to hustle around the whole park before the invisibility spell wore off.” He swallowed loudly. “I’m sure the great Ascendant would have been faster…”

“And considerably less winded,” Shadowheart grumbled under her breath as she crossed her arms over her plate-armored chest.

“Curious that,” Gale started to lecture, still winded and gasping like a fish out of water, “Astarion can’t get winded… he doesn’t need wind… or air…” he let out a long sigh, folding over with hands on knees.

Halsin beat him on the back a few times to help him clear his lungs.

“Right,” Gale finally swallowed and straightened. “While you two were busy enjoying the scenery…”

“Actually we were enjoying nature, yes,” Halsin chuckled warmly. “A lovely pair of bats must be in full heat, which is strange this time of year. What unique colors they were too, a brilliant while and sterling grey…”

A pause of… recognition fell on the Wizard. An incredulous look dawned on Gale, jaw hanging slack. “You’re kidding me,” he gaped. “Here? Just… out in the open?”

“Yes,” Halsin glanced up into the tree again. “Most rigorous and enthusiastic I would say.”

“Disgusting,” the Cleric added as she faked wrenching, tongue out as she gagged.

Gale buried his hands in his face, muttering something to himself about ‘when he gets his hands on those two horny idiots’ and ‘they couldn’t keep it in their pants… or fur… for one night…’ But before he could spiral into a whirlpool of disgust and secrets, he took a breath. “No matter,” he forced his voice steady. “I’ve counted four Bhaalist assassins in the center of the Park….”

“Six, actually…”

Oh, that sassy purr, that confidence in honey tones interrupted from behind them as Astarion strolled into the middle of the group, their fearless leader right behind him, blushing and red and unable to make eye contact with the lot of them.

“Well,” Gale squared his shoulders as he rounded on the vampire, “and just how could you be so certain?” His brown eyes glinting with suspicious mischief, his brows cocked haphazardly as he returned Astarion’s cool, sauntering stare. “It’s not like you were here? Not like you were just… flying around to get a bird’s eye view or anything….”

“Oh no, of course not,” he crooned, picking invisible dirt off the cuff of his armor. “Maybe you should be grateful we’ve decided to end our evening early. Seems you’re more pitiful at reconnaissance than even I thought possible.” He shifted his body to let Tav into the circle, her face still beet red. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Gale gave her a scolding, humored look, the kind that said, ‘You should know better….’

Astarion leaned his face into Gale’s line of sight, narrowing his eyes. “Something to say… Gale? Or are we going to murder a bunch of murder cultists?”

Halsin looked at Shadowheart, then at the tree, then with a low hum in his throat, he looked to Gale and Astairon staring at one another. “Tav, just how did you enjoy your… evening with our Rogue?”

“Fine,” she grinned her own fanged smile. “We just figured you needed a bigger party to flush out the Cultists. They are very well hidden, almost impossible to see if not from above….”

She snapped her mouth shut and blushed again.

Gale just shook his head and laughed. “Oh, not so sneaky Rogue,” he teased Astarion who gave Tav the cheekiest, most devilish leer, one dripping with conceit and self satisfaction.

“Oh… by my Lady’s name,” Shadowheart covered her eyes as she gagged again. “The bats… those fucking bats…”

Halsin gave a noise of realization, a wry smile on his face.

“I told him we needed to help survey for the ambush,” Tav muttered.

“And I said, only if she didn’t get caught,” Astarion’s sultry smirk melted with his love, his fingers lifting her chin as she placed an adoring kiss on his full and smiling lips. “It’s not my fault you’re a bunch of freaks who can’t keep their eyes to themselves…”

Shadowheart turned her back, ponytail whipping her own shoulders. “I think I’m going to be sick…”

“For the record,” Gale grinned and wagged his finger in Astarion’s face. “I’m not the one who let out your cute, fluffy little secret, O Mighty Ascendant.”

Astarion scrunched up his nose and grabbed his daggers. “Take out your disgust out on some murder cultists, everyone. Let’s turn someone inside out, shall we?”

Before they dispersed into the Park, the Druid gave one more chuckle. “It is rather fluffy and cute for a wild form to shift into,” Halsin chimed in with sage tones in his deep voice.

[pandorafairy]

star-crossed

Neteyam x Reader (fem!omatikayan)

neteyam and you are too different. you're a free spirit and a bit of a rebel. he's the chief's son and follows all rules. you both like each other but don't believe the other could ever feel same. one night, lo'ak and you sneak out, and neteyam follows. when the skypeople come, putting you all in danger, neteyam and you are forced to face your feelings.

contains: action and angst (safe for work)

You race along the vines that connect two of the Floating Mountains. The night sky glistens above you as you feel the cool air hit your face. You should be sleeping, like the rest of the clan, but you’re restless. Everytime you close your eyes, you sense the forest buzzing beneath you, full of life. You hate that the sky people have forced your clan into High Camp, into the mountains. Luckily, Lo’ak is always down to sneak out. 

You stop running once you reach the outskirts of High Camp. You see the top of your parent’s red tent and pause for a moment. Maybe you should just go home. A call from an ikran floats through the silence. You smile and set off towards the Sully’s. 

You crouch down and scuttle across the moist floor of camp. Soft whispers, snores, and the occasional cough come from various tents. Once you reach the Sully’s tent, the largest one in camp, you go left, where Lo’ak and Neteyam sleep. You listen intently, making sure Jake and Neytiri are sleeping. The last thing you want is Jake coming out and yelling at Lo’ak and you, something he’s done many times before. 

After a moment of silence, you decide they must be sleeping. You take a deep breath before scratching three times against the tent where the boys sleep. Lo’ak and you created this method of communicating shortly after the clan made camp in the mountains. Neteyam hates when you all sneak out. Sometimes he accompanies you both, grumbling the whole time about how you will all get trouble. And even though his complaints are annoying, you like when he joins. 

A moment goes by and you’re about to scratch again when you hear rumbling from inside the tent. You pause, holding your breath, praying it’s Lo’ak and not Jake. Another rustle. Then, three scratches in return. Your shoulders loosen with relief. You make your way back through the camp, not waiting for Lo’ak. You will meet him outside, in the open air, where you won’t have to whisper. 

Once you’ve reached the outskirts of camp again, you turn back. You observe how your clan has been forced to live in the mountains, far above the forest where you all belong. It breaks your heart. You look away, suddenly eager to do something fun, something that will make you forget all the pain in your heart. 

You stare out at the surrounding Floating Mountains. A few ikran fly in the distance making your heart lurch. Footsteps sound behind you. 

“Hey!” Lo’ak says energetically. You turn around to find him smiling at you, his tail flicking back and forth. Lo’ak has been your best friend since childhood. You both have a rebellious streak, love adventure, and have the same humor: you just understand each other. Some people in the village crack jokes that you are a couple but it’s never been romantic. He’s like your brother. 

You smile back at him. “Hey, wanna ride the ikran?”

“Hell yea,” he replies and begins walking towards the edge of the mountain. There’s a jump in his step, like he too has been needing an out. An escape from home and the clan. Just to be free for a while. You breathe out slowly and follow after him when a voice stops you. 

“Wait.” It’s Neteyam. He walks out of the camp, his shoulders tense and his eyes worried. You’ve always thought that Neteyam is so serious, sometimes you're jealous of that. He’s able to take all of his responsibilities and handle them. He’s so strong while you’re always looking for an escape. Neteyam stops just before you as his eyes drift to his brother. 

Lo’ak groans in irritation at the sight of his protective brother. “What, bro?” 

“Where are you two going?” Neteyam asks, his eyes slipping from Lo’ak over to you. Your heart stutters when his gaze falls on you. You also think that Neteyam is kinda gorgeous. Lo’ak used to make fun of you for having a crush on Neteyam and you denied it until he stopped. There’s no point in admitting your crush, it’s useless. Neteyam and you are two completely different people. He would never like you. So you brush off your crush by teasing Neteyam and pretending to be confident. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lo’ak mumbles back to Neteyam. 

“Oh, I’m gonna worry,” Neteyam snaps back, his ears flattening, “Dad will be pissed if he finds out.” 

“Don’t worry, mister uptight,” you tease, “he won’t find out.” Neteyam gives you a pointed look, the whisper of a blush on his cheeks.

Lo’ak laughs before saying, “He’ll never know unless you tell him.” He raises an eyebrow at Neteyam. You cross your arms over your chest. 

Neteyam pauses, staring at his younger brother, whose messes he always has to clean. He knows there’s no point in forcing him to go back home. Lo’ak is too stubborn. The only solution is to go with them. Neteyam sighs, trying to make it seem like he doesn’t want to do this. But that isn’t true. He hates breaking his parents' rules but he likes to sneak with Lo’ak because then he gets to see you. 

Neteyam looks at you. You’re standing with your arms crossed, a somewhat accusatory look plastered across your pretty face. Neteyam is enthralled by you: your spirit, your attitude, and your beauty. He’s forced his attraction down, never wanting anyone to find out, especially not Lo’ak. What would his brother think? Him having a crush on his best friend. Besides, you were a free-spirit and he’s ‘uptight’. There’s no way you’d like him back. 

“Fine, you can go,” Neteyam says after a moment of silence, “but I’m coming.”

“Whatever, bro,” Lo’ak says before turning and running across the thick vines, away from High Camp. 

Your heart tightens at Neteyam’s words. You quickly follow Lo’ak and try to ignore your feelings. 

Neteyam brings up the rear as the three of you bounce across the vines, high above the forest. The air is sweet and the smell of pines drifts up from the trees. You love Pandora, so very much. Lo’ak reaches the end of the vine and jumps onto another mountain, his familiar hair swinging behind him. The vine is soft and sturdy beneath your feet as you jump off after Lo’ak. 

You hear Neteyam land behind you but you don’t look back. “Let’s ride!” You call to Lo’ak. A sudden urgency races through you. You need to be in the air, feeling the wind against your face, letting all your worries be swept away. 

“Wanna race?” Lo’ak challenges as you reach the edge of the mountain. You peer down, seeing the stark drop into the glowing forest below. You smirk at Lo’ak. There’s nothing you love more than a competition. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Neteyam states as he joins you. 

“Bro,” Lo’ak complains and rolls his eyes, “you don’t think anything is a good idea.” 

“I don’t think your ideas are ever good,” Neteyam says pointedly, “we aren’t supposed to fly alone, especially not at night. What if the sky people come?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the mighty warrior?” You retort. Neteyam hesitates. You lean closer to him, a playful smile on your lips as you pretend to be confident. “Won’t you protect us?”

Goosebumps appear along Neteyam’s skin as you stare playfully at him. God, he hates how you are so oblivious to his crush on you. He thinks you’re so cool and unique, it makes him nervous. He swallows and forces his eyes away from your face. 

Lo’ak chuckles, “yea brother, isn’t that why you came with?”

Neteyam scoffs. He did come to protect you guys but he also just wanted to be around you… 

You tilt your head to the side. Neteyam’s stern face looks down at the forest way below. He’s so unfazed by your teasing. Nothing ever fazes him. If a woman ever catches his eye, she’ll have to be pretty amazing. Your stomach drops at the thought. You know it’ll never be you. 

“I came so you both wouldn’t be stupid,” Neteyam begins, “but you do stupid things anyway.”

“Exactly!” Lo’ak agrees before winking at you. He calls out into the night, a high pitched whistle than three low ones. Neteyam moves, his hands reaching out to grab his younger brother’s shoulders. But he’s too late. Lo’ak jumps off the mountain just before Neteyam can grasp him. He plummets down a few feet until his ikran appears, almost out of thin air. Lo’ak lands smoothly on his banshee and grins up at us, his white teeth gleaming manically in the darkness. “Hurry up!”

“Argh!” Neteyam groans in annoyance. He hates when his brother does reckless things. Doesn’t he understand danger? If something happened to Lo’ak… he isn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself. 

You flinch at Neteyam’s outburst. He seems lost in thought, well more like lost in worry. You inhale deeply and steel your nerves. Be confident, you tell yourself, act chill. You reach out and flick Neteyam’s tail between your hands. 

“Hey!” He turns around, a look of surprise on his face as he smacks your hands away playfully. 

You hold your hands up in a sarcastic surrender before smiling. “Are you scared, chief’s son?” 

He pulls his lips to the side and cocks his head. “No,” he says, his deep voice stirring something in you, “I just don’t find stupidity fun.” 

You ignore his comment and whistle three times, each of them high-pitched before turning to Neteyam. He’s standing somewhat rigid, but then again he always looks tense. His amber eyes shine and little white flecks glow along his blue face. His beauty takes your breath away. He furrows his eyebrows.

 You throw yourself off the mountain before he has a chance to say anything. God, you hope he didn’t notice the look on your face. 

Neteyam races to the edge of the mountain just in time to see you ride off on your ikran. He shakes his head with a smile on his face. He can’t help but smile at you. There’s something about you that sets him on edge. It makes him want to let loose and relax. You make him want to be more than just a perfect son; you make him want to be himself. He calls for his ikran before hurtling into the night sky. 

Lo’ak swoops and dives on his ikran, right in front of you. The moons illuminate his familiar form as he challenges you to various tricks. He shoots into the air before flipping around multiple times as he laughs. His laughter is familiar, like the smell of your mom when she hugs you. 

You follow him, sending your ikran high in the sky before flipping around and diving straight down. The wind whips your face as adrenaline shoots through your veins. You love this freedom. You love how it makes your mind go blank. You swoop, dangerously close to the sides of the mountains. 

“Yo! Watch out, cuz!” Lo’ak cries to which you laugh before diving down again. “You’re crazy, girl,” Lo’ak calls out to you, his ikran flapping behind yours. 

Neteyam sits calmly on his banshee. He watches as his brother and you fly around like insane circus acts. He notices how close you fly to the mountain, his whole body tenses up. He wonders why you do these reckless things. Is it just because you love adventure? Or is it something more? He thinks about the way you study people, how observant you are, and how deeply you think. He’s almost certain there is more to you than meets the eye. The thought intrigues him, making him like you even more. 

You notice Neteyam, calmly flying around Lo’ak and you. He never joins in on the fun. He’s always content to just watch. You wonder what it’s like to be that content. What it’s like to know who you are and what you want to do. You admire that about Neteyam. You wish you could be more sure footed like him. You force your eyes away from his strong frame and continue flying with Lo’ak when suddenly, the trees go still. 

Your ikran freezes beneath you. Your heart begins to hammer in your chest. Lo’ak stops a few feet ahead of you, his eyes wide. Silence envelopes you, not a peaceful silence but a dreadful one. The kind that warns you. You turn towards Neteyam to find him already flying towards you. 

“Back home, now,” Neteyam calls, “I have a bad feeling.” 

Lo’ak and you nod, neither of you needing more convincing. Even your ikran is on edge as she chirps nervously beneath you. Then, a sound slices through the silence, like the buzzing of a strange insect. 

All of you pause and strain your ears. The buzzing turns into a whirring. Neteyam’s mouth falls open. “Sky people!” 

“Oh shit!” Lo’ak states, panic coating his words.

Your hands begin to shake as your ikran flutters restlessly beneath you. Just then, a large helicopter appears from behind a mountain, heading straight towards you.  

“Fly down!” Neteyam orders. “Don’t lead them to Camp. Go into the forest!” 

Lo’ak and you immediately dive down as the sky people begin shooting. Gunshots burst as Pandora comes back to life. Cries of animals fill the air and a tension sets all around you. The whirring of the helicopter grows louder as it follows you three. 

You hadn’t realized how high you were flying until now. You keep diving down but the treetops are still too far away. Lo’ak is further ahead, his ikran’s wings are bent low as he speeds through the air. But your ikran is more nervous as she fights her way down. More gunshots. The helicopter is coming right after you. 

Neteyam shoots past you, following his brother. Come on, you think as you tell your ikran to go faster. A huge pile of light shoots down. You jolt in shock and your ikran screeches. The helicopter sent a flare at you. You shudder. Another round of gunshots, this time they’re aimed right at you. 

You can no longer see Lo’ak or Neteyam. Panic begins in your stomach and spreads through your veins. Another flash of bright light, like a huge fire, booms right next to you. Your ikran can’t take it. She thrashes at the sight of the light and there’s nothing you can do to calm her down. Her wings flap uselessly at her sides as she looks around the night sky in confusion. The helicopter sets off another round of gunshots, they whiz right by your head. 

You have no choice, you have to jump from your ikran or you’ll be shot. You reach for your hair and break the tsaheylu. You close your eyes and jump. 

You didn’t think anything but the words slipped out of your mouth anyway, “Neteyam!” You scream as your body falls in midair. 

Now, you’re squeezing your eyes shut. The wind is racing past you, burning your skin. You feel your arms and legs go numb with fear. You should’ve just gone into your parents tent earlier tonight. You should never have snuck out. You should’ve listened to Neteyam. Oh, Neteyam. 

You land hard against something. Arms wrap around your body, holding you steady. You don’t dare to open your eyes. Is this real? You aren’t sure. You can’t process anything except the pounding of your heart. 

The rustle of trees fills your ears and you can no longer hear the helicopter. Someone’s fingers rub your shoulder in comforting circles. Your breath is coming out quickly and sharply. 

“You’re okay,” a soothing voice says, “I got you.” 

Your heart rate slows at the sound as some of your panic begins to subdue. Pines and freshness infuse your nose: you’re in the forest. You're pushed up against a warm body. You slowly open your eyes, almost fearful of what you’ll see. 

You inhale sharply. “Neteyam.” 

His face is drawn together in concentration as he swoops between treetops on his ikran. His jaw loosens at the sound of your voice. He had been so scared. He’d never known fear like that. He was following Lo’ak when he heard your scream. It made his blood run cold. His vision had gone black, the only thing that mattered to him was saving you. He saw you floating in the air, your body hanging limply and he raced towards you. He didn’t care about the sky people and the guns, all he cared about was that you were safe in his arms. 

 And now you are. He wants to look at you but keeps his focus on flying. He can feel your rapid heartbeat and knows how scared you must have been. He wants to fly up and kill all those skypeople for making you feel like that. 

Once he sees a clearing, he slowly brings his ikran down and lands. You still lie in his arms, your body still recovering from the intensity of falling. Your face is pale. The sight of you like this hurts Neteyam’s heart. He curses under his breath before slipping his hands beneath you and lifting you up.

Normally, you would never let someone carry you like some doll, but right now, you don’t trust your legs to stand. So, you allow Neteyam to carry you towards a nearby tree where he softly sets you on the ground. You lean against the tree as he sits down next to you, worry coating his features. 

“Are you alright?” 

You nod. “I will be. Just—” you swallow, suddenly nervous. You aren’t sure you want to tell him how scared you were. You aren’t sure you want to be vulnerable with him. It’ll break the facade you’ve made for him. He stares at you openly, stress lining his eyes. You exhale. Screw it. “I was really scared. Just need a moment to recover,” you say quietly. 

Neteyam looks at you with understanding. “Take your time.”

“Where’s Lo’ak?” You ask, suddenly alarmed again. 

Neteyam holds his hands out as if to say calm down. “He’s fine. I told him to wait at the pond. I whistled to him when we landed and he replied.”

You nod and close your eyes. You're safe, you tell yourself, Lo’ak is too. You think of happy memories and try to relax. 

Neteyam thinks you look beautiful and then he instantly regrets it. Not because you aren’t beautiful but because you’re so upset and he shouldn’t be thinking that at a time like this. But he can’t stop thinking about how different you are. You stand out to him more than anyone. And the sound of your scream, your body, your pain; it made him realize it even more. He can’t keep ignoring his feelings for you. 

After a few moments, you open your eyes. You feel much better. Your legs aren’t numb and feel like yourself again. You look over at Neteyam to find him already watching you, an expression on his face that you can’t quite read. “Thank you,” you say, “for saving me.”

Neteyam smiles, a playful glint in his eyes. “I am the mighty warrior.”

“Oh, whatever!” You shove his shoulder, briefly feeling the warmth of his skin. 

He laughs. You rarely hear him laugh but when he does– it’s incredible. You can’t describe it but it’s your favorite sound in the whole world. 

Neteyam stops laughing and notices you staring at him. He feels suddenly self-conscious, maybe he shouldn’t be laughing like this, letting his guard down. “What is it?” he asks. 

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I like your laugh.” 

Neteyam freezes. He hadn’t expected you to say that. 

A blush creeps onto your cheeks. Why did you say that? Idiot, idiot, idiot. 

Neteyam’s lips break into a shy smile. His heart soaring, he wasn’t sure what your comment meant but he loved hearing you say it. “I have some redeeming qualities,” he says, thinking of all the uptight jokes that you and Lo’ak have made.

You pause, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. “Neteyam,” you say in disbelief, “you have too many good qualities to count.” You pause, studying the way his amber eyes dart across your face. “You’re practically perfect.” 

Neteyam’s mouth falls open. No way, you just said that to him. 

Your blush grows, heating your whole face. You think about laughing at him or pretend to be joking, but you decide not to. To hell with the facade. Maybe it was the near death experience that made you so bold. But you know now, you’re tired of pretending not to have feelings for Neteyam.  

Neteyam doesn’t think about his actions as he scoots closer to you. You think he’s perfect, the words bubble in his brain and float to his heart. You watch him as he moves closer. His heart pounds against his chest at the sight of your face so close to his. “I think you’re practically perfect too,” he whispers. 

Shock covers your face. “Really?” You ask. “You’re so much more sure of yourself then me.”

He laughs in disbelief. “Me? Sure of myself?” He shakes his head. His amber eyes never leave yours. “You’re the one who follows your heart. You go on adventures and you’re full of life.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. You can’t believe this is happening. You can’t believe the words coming out of Neteyam’s mouth yet here they are. Loud and clear. A smile forces its way onto your lips.  

Neteyam’s eyes brighten at the expression on your face. He reaches up, his hand shaking and tucks a strand of hair gently behind your ear. The movement sends sparks across your skin. “I like you,” Neteyam says. 

“I like you too,” you reply without hesitation. You’ve known those words to be true, you’ve kept them secret for too long, and it feels so good to say them out loud. Relief and happiness curl through your body as a grin cracks across Neteyam’s face. 

You both lean towards each other as if you’re being pulled by some magnetic force. Your lips collide instantly, moving against each other naturally, like they’ve done this before. And maybe they have in another lifetime. Neteyam reaches his hands up and cups your face as he kisses you gently. You turn the kiss as Neteyam’s heart melts. He’s dreamed of this moment, of kissing you, and he never imagined it would be as amazing as this. 

Neither of you are sure how long you’ve kissed for, neither of you want to pull apart, neither of you want to let go. You want to stay like this forever and forget the world.

~~~

idk what this even is i just thought of the idea and wrote it out. hope you guys like it!!

do you guys like the switch of perspectives? i don't usually do that but it was fun.

anyway, let me know what you think and if you want a part 2 or any other submission requests <3

[calzone-d]

Kinktober Day 1- Mirror Sex (Jason Sudeikis x Fem!Reader)

aaaand here's day one! enjoy! also ps it's actually me in this clip talking to jason. he found me and we got married last weekend. go ahead and call me cal sudeikis.

pairing: Jason Sudeikis x Fem!Reader

word count: 1410

warnings: unprotected sex (bc sometimes it's hard to write the condom in, guys), mirror sex obviously, fingering, bad words

a/n: pumped this out for you guys before bed. obviously it is mirror sex and obviously it is rpf so if that bothers you just scroll. if it bothers you then you may unfortunately be on the wrong blog.

find my masterlist here!

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 Jason’s lips are hot and wet as they travel between your shoulder and neck. Every few kisses he nips at your skin, making your breath hitch. His hand slides over your figure clad in lingerie that you haven’t even worn for twenty minutes yet. You were admiring your figure in the mirror and Jason busted in on you before you could make your way to him. 

  You’re in between his thighs, facing the new mirror propped against the wall. Jason’s cock is as hard as a rock beneath you, and the more he teases you, the more you need it. His ankles are hooked around yours, prying your legs open.

 “Look at you, honey.. Since when did you get so desperate?”, he teased. His words were followed by the warmth of his hand grazing the inside of your thigh. The other hand was splayed across your abdomen to keep you close.

“Shut u- ohh”, you let out a squeak as the pad of his pointer finger taps against your clit over the thin fabric. The action has you bucking your hips, searching for any friction to calm your hasty mind.

“Yeah? Tell me ‘bout it, sweet girl..”, Jason’s mouth was pressed to the shell of your ear. The words he spoke were low and you could feel him smirk against you as he stroked the backs of his fingers over the fabric covering your soaked pussy.

“It’s…”, with every stroke he added a bit more pressure. “Need more, Jase..”. He’d teased you so much that your mind was focused on one thing- sitting on his thick cock. The week was busy for you both, and instead of getting right to the point Jason seemed to have a different plan. 

His left hand left its spot on your abdomen to cup the back of your head. Until now, your head had been thrown back on his shoulder, eyes closed and head spinning. He grabbed a handful of your hair and pushed your head foward. Your eyes met his in the mirror and it only fueled the fire burning inside you. Those strong arms wrapped around you, thighs flexing as he used them to hold your legs open… you were so far gone you barely registered his command. 

“Keep your eyes on the mirror.. You stop, I stop.”

At this point you would’ve sold your soul for him to fill you. Your pussy was soaked and the fabric of your lingerie had taken the brunt of it. Jason stared into your eyes, expecting an answer. 

“Oh.. okay. M’kay, just please-” you grunted and bucked your hips to chase his fingers again. 

He lovingly shook his head and slid his fingertips under the damp fabric. 

“So wet, honey.. So sticky..” you felt his cock throb against your ass as he spoke. His fingertips gathered your arousal and continued stroking over your clit. He knew this was one of the worst ways to tease you. The minimal friction was enough to turn you on, but not enough to satisfy you.

Two of his slick fingertips pressed gently into you and finally provided you with some relief. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your teeth dug into your bottom lip as he worked them into you. The pleasure was almost too much, almost enough to make you close your eyes again but you knew he would stop if you did. The fabric seemed to irritate him with how constricting it was so he was quick to pull it apart at the buttons over your crotch and expose your pussy to the cool air. Before you could react, his two fingers sunk back into you and prodded around to find the spot he knew would make you fall apart.

The tips of his long fingers rocked against the spongy spot inside you, and he knew he was there. He knew you so well by now. The way your moans raised an octave, the way your jaw dropped, the way you began to meet his thrusts.. “Oh- right there, huh? There you go, baby…” 

“Jase.. Oh..I-”

“I know, hun. You’re okay.. Feels good don’t it?” He pulled you closer into him and began kissing at your ear. The image of the two of you in the mirror only added to the pleasure you felt. You hadn’t really watched yourself have sex before, but the image of him wrapped around you with his fingers working in and out of your dripping hole was another level of intimate. Sexy, too. 

Jason’s fingers slipped out of you and he shimmied backwards so he could slip his boxers off. His cock was an angry red, dripping and begging to be inside you. 

“Wanna watch, Jase..please?”, your words brought a dirty smirk to his face. 

“That’s the plan, hun.. C’mere” he pulled you on top of his strong thighs and you barely had time to register his tip prodding your folds before he was lowering you down onto him. It felt so good to finally be full of him. His cock was so thick, so warm, and you began to pant as you situated yourself in an attempt to get all of him inside you. 

Your eyes were glued to the sight beneath you, and you hadn’t even bothered looking in the mirror yet. A quick slap to your swollen clit grabbed your attention, though.

“Look, baby..”, Jason murmured while his hips slowly worked his cock into you. “Takin’ me so good.. S’meant for you, isnt it?”

You felt like you were in a daze as you took in the sight. The way your head was nodding at his words barely even registered in your brain. His blunt nails were digging into your thighs and he didn’t let up when you began grinding and bouncing on top of him. Your wetness began to gather at the base of his cock. A few drops fell onto the bed beneath you and the sounds it made as his cock plunged into you were filthy. It felt like you were being attacked from all of the sensations. You felt his hands on you as they roamed your skin and tugged at your nipples. His grunts and murmured praise went right to your pussy and you clenched around him at every sound he made. The bedroom smelled like sex, and you felt a sense of pride knowing that the love and desire you two shared did that. 

“Fuck- that’s it, honey.. Want to watch you- hmm- cum on my cock.. I know you’re almost there, sweet girl…” and it was true. The way you breath hitched and your pussy spasmed was nothing new to him. Jason knew your body inside and out, and he knew you were about to have a fucking intense orgasm. The pads of his fingers pressed firmly against your clit and began to rub tiny circles against it. It only took you showing him how you take care of yourself one time for him to learn how you liked it- how you needed it.

Your words began to bleed into moans and grunts as you climbed the hill of pleasure. You knew it would be a fast descent. 

“Oh, Jase.. I-... It’s so… fuck!”, it was no use. He kept his rhythm as you continued to babble and you could barely make out his strangled grunts through your moans. 

Your pussy milked his cock as you tipped over the edge of your orgasm. It was intense- toes curling, eyes closing, mind numbing… all of the best things about an orgasm taken to the max. 

Jason pulled you down more forcefully as he thrusted a few more times before burying himself deep in you. The throbbing of his cock was palpable and you whimpered at the sight of his balls tensing and releasing with each spurt of cum that painted your walls. Within seconds, it had began to leak out of you. 

Jason shuddered when he pulled his spent cock out of you, and wasted no time pulling you back so that he could cradle you in his arms. One of your hands grabbed at his forearm while the other took hold of his bicep, keeping him close. Your breath came out in short pants as you came down from the high of your orgasm. Jason planted kisses all over your face and hair while his own chest heaved. 

“That was… it was fucking good, babe.” you murmured with a dopey smile.

“Was all you, hun. All you..” he breathed. 

thanks for reading!

[finniestoncrane]

Wearing In

General!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 750 ok so technically this is sort of unnamed goon x reader, but rest assured eddie is sitting on a little seat watching and orchestrating everything 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: cuckoldery kinda, free use a little bit, sexual instruction, it's hard to describe this lmao

Your partner was nameless of course. They all were these days. The staff turnover within the ranks of The Riddler's henchmen was far worse than any other gang or faction in Gotham. As far as notorious criminals went, he was by far the worst when it came to any semblance of humanity. His workers were merely tools to be used. No loyalty needed, because under threat of an elaborate death, they tended to do exactly as he told them to do. And his extensive banks of knowledge meant everyone they knew and loved were at risk alongside them, should they disappoint him.

Edward Nygma even found it beneath him to have to call out "you there" to whatever poor minion was closest to him. The notion of learning the names of the ill-fated fools on his roster, then, was a ridiculous one. Why should have have to learn something as useless as that when they didn't even come trained half the time.

Training. The bane of his existence. You expected that was why he wasn't wasting any of his own energy on training you. Not when he could command someone else to do the physical part himself, while he barked orders from a seat across from you. Legs crossed, fingers drumming slowly against his knee.

It really could have been any one of them, any number of goons who happened to be walking by him when he decided it was time to wear you in. This man in particular had just happened to be lucky, or unlucky, depending on how any of the parties involved were objectively looking at the situation they found themselves in. You considered yourself the latter, given that Edward had somehow managed to choose one of his larger men to train you up.

As you hissed in pain, pressing your eyes shut tight and staring to the ground, he hesitated a moment. Pulling his cock out of your stretched and sensitive cunt, you let out a small sigh of relief. This seemed to irritate Edward, as he caught your chin with the rounded edge of his cane. He pushed it up, letting your eyes find him as he returned the intense stare past his domino mask.

"Keep your head up, please. As much as I hate to admit it, any hint of pleasure during this exercise may bruise my ego, so I want to be sure you're not enjoying yourself."

As your eyes began to drive instinctively down, trying to avoid his intense gaze, he tapped your chin, a dull pain appearing and quickly dissipating, but enough to have you focused on him.

"He's here to break you in. To make sure you know what's to be expected from you. The pleasure, I assure you, will come much later. When you're finally good enough, practised enough, for me to bother with you."

Edward nodded towards the goon, who eased the head of his cock between your plump, swollen lips, your body tensing as he filled you up once more. Fingers scratching at the floor you knelt on, mouth opening in a silent scream as Edward pulled his cane back and continued to speak.

"I don't need something shiny and new. Something pretty and untouched. I need tried and tested. Provable. Worthy."

How much longer did you have to last though? You could feel, with the exertion, the embarrassment, the feeling of your partner's thick, large cock hitting your cervix as he made you fit around him. Surely now, you were suitably worn in?

"I need to know that I won't be wasting my time with something that isn't good enough for me. Do you think you're good enough for me yet?"

He didn't let you answer, interrupting whatever word you were about to say.

"Np, you're not. You're barely good enough for him, whatever his name is. So. Stay on your arms and legs and let him stretch you out and warm you up while I watch and make sure you're responding the right way."

Your eyes remained open, even past the intense heat in your stomach, the slight clouding of your vision as you prepared to hold back the climax that was about to wash over you.

"Maybe then, you'll get your reward."

He palmed himself, the tent at the front of his pants visible even from where you were, as you resigned yourself to yet more pounding at his command.

[clueless-smut]

Unmasked Love

Summary: When Katsuki Bakugou and (Y/N) find themselves entangled in a secret relationship, they go to great lengths to keep it hidden from their classmates. However, fate has other plans, and their love is soon unmasked in the most unexpected way.

Word count: ~3000 words

Warnings: Fluff, mild language

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It had been weeks since Katsuki Bakugou and (Y/N) started their secret relationship. They kept it under wraps, stealing private moments whenever they could, and avoiding any displays of affection in front of their classmates. It wasn't easy, but they both knew that it was the best way to avoid unnecessary drama and distractions.

Their love blossomed in the shadows, hidden behind closed doors, beneath the moonlit sky. Late-night training sessions turned into stolen kisses, and casual conversations turned into sweet confessions. They cherished those moments, knowing that the world outside their bubble was not yet ready to witness their feelings for each other.

One fateful morning, the class was gathered for another training session with Aizawa-sensei. As always, Bakugou and (Y/N) were careful not to attract any attention. They maintained their usual distance, exchanging secret glances when no one was looking.

However, fate had other plans that day. During one of their training exercises, (Y/N) was caught off guard by an opponent's surprise attack. As they stumbled backward, Bakugou instinctively rushed to their side, forgetting everything else in that moment of concern.

Aizawa-sensei noticed the sudden change in Bakugou's behavior, and it piqued his curiosity. He narrowed his eyes and decided to keep an eye on them during the remainder of the exercise.

As the training session continued, Aizawa-sensei subtly observed Bakugou and (Y/N). He noticed the way their eyes always seemed to gravitate toward each other, the way their movements seemed to complement one another. His suspicions grew.

After the training was over, Aizawa-sensei called Bakugou and (Y/N) aside. "You two," he said, his gaze sharp as ever. "I need to talk to you."

Bakugou and (Y/N) exchanged worried glances but followed their teacher to a quieter corner of the training area.

"Something's going on between you two," Aizawa-sensei stated matter-of-factly.

"W-What? No! There's nothing!" Bakugou denied, trying to act nonchalant, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

(Y/N) fidgeted nervously, feeling the weight of Aizawa-sensei's gaze on them. "It's... it's nothing, really. Just friends."

Aizawa-sensei crossed his arms, unconvinced. "I may be a bit aloof, but I'm not blind. Your actions today were far from those of just friends. I won't pry, but I expect you both to remain focused during training. If there's anything going on, it could be a distraction to you and your classmates."

Bakugou's irritation flared, but he managed to keep his composure. "Got it," he muttered.

(Y/N) nodded in agreement. "We won't let it interfere with our training."

With a stern nod, Aizawa-sensei dismissed them, leaving Bakugou and (Y/N) to process the close call.

"That was too close," Bakugou grumbled.

(Y/N) sighed, "We have to be more careful from now on."

Despite their efforts to keep their relationship hidden, the class had started to pick up on subtle hints. Their classmates whispered and gossiped, making the atmosphere uneasy.

One day, as Bakugou and (Y/N) sat together during lunch, Uraraka approached them with a knowing smile. "So, you guys are dating, right?" she asked playfully.

Bakugou's eyes widened, and he glared at Uraraka. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't deny it," Uraraka teased. "We've all noticed."

(Y/N) blushed and tried to change the subject, "Come on, it's not that obvious, right?"

But their secret was no longer safe. News spread like wildfire, and soon, the entire class knew about Bakugou and (Y/N)'s relationship.

At first, Bakugou was furious, but as the day progressed, he realized that it wasn't all that bad. Their classmates were surprisingly supportive, cheering them on, and offering their blessings.

In the end, Bakugou and (Y/N) learned that love couldn't be contained or hidden forever. Sometimes, it had a way of unmasking itself, revealing the most beautiful and genuine emotions to the world.

And so, with their relationship revealed, Bakugou and (Y/N) embraced the newfound freedom, no longer bound by secrecy, but strengthened by the support and love of their classmates.

[moodymisty]

Hi! Ive read most of your darksiders content and I absolutely LOVE. IT.

I wanted to ask if you could write some smut for death? And while hes gentle with it to not hurt the fem! Reader he kinda cant cope on like how soft the reader is (as in,stroking his hair,telling Him nice things,checking every once in a while to see if hes comfortable) andhe knows she does that because she cares about him and the moment being so vulnerable he kinda cracks a little (what I mean by that is that he lets it show accidentally how positively overwhelmed he feels by her love)

Honestly,i just want death to feel loved.

Anyway,take your time and thanks in advance yo!.

Author’s Note: Let Death have a moment of peace and happiness, he deserves it. I love your prompt and did with it what I could while trying to keep it in line with what Death would allow. Because I feel like he would find some things demeaning, even if it's someone being caring.

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slightly NSFW, Death being a bitter git but not much else

The first thing you hear over the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears and labored breathing, is Death asking if you are well.

He always tries to be gentle- though not as much this time- even if he isn’t meant for it. It almost makes you smile.

“I should be asking you that too,” You say between breaths. Your skin brushes against his, significantly cooler. He gives a short grunt that you could consider a laugh, given who it's coming from.

“Is that because I’m old?”

You give Death the worst glare you can muster, rolling on your side closer to him in order to do so.

“Now isn’t the time for age jokes, Death.”

The Reaper gives you a dry chuckle, ignoring the way tour hands push down on the mattress beside him in order to push your torso upward. He does little more than cross his arms as he leans against the headboard. You wouldn’t call it casual- not relaxed either- but he is more at ease than usual.

“A pity then. I thought it was a good one.”

He distinctly ignores the irritation in your face as you come closer, now leaning over his torso to look him better in the eyes.

He’s still wearing the mask. It shadows his eyes and gives them an almost ghostly, glowing look. You’d never have the heart to ask him about taking it off, now knowing what it means. He’ll decide when, if ever.

It’s not as if it’s a hindrance for him, as he’s demonstrated.

“You need to just let someone care about you without turning it into an insult.”

As if he would ever; The reaper is clearly displeased with that statement, until you start to shift and rise upward. You get up onto your knees, moving until your straddle him at the hips. You sit down gently. Death looks at you, his height advantage making it so he doesn’t even have to look up at you.

He can feel your hands against his skin, scarred underneath your palms. He snatches one of your wrists before you've even moved more than few centimeters.

“Are you done fooling around?” He halfheartedly jokes, looking at you with a bemused and irritated expression. You tug your hand, and the reaper lets it go. You know he could easily not let you, but he's always been careful with it.

“Not yet.”

While Death might not always acquiesce on all of your silly, human ideas, he does here- much to your surprise. Maybe it's because this time he actually doesn't know what idea it is.

Though in reality it isn't one at all; It's just a fit of the moment desire to get Death to stop acting this way for once.

He continues to let you lay against him, gently pressing a kiss to the scratched and worn texture of his mask and the bit of his exposed jaw beneath it. He doesn't move, you feel his hair brush against your skin. You're surprised he's even allowed it this far, at least without complaint. Though when it comes to things a bit more complicated than you just being a tad annoying, Death tends to get almost eerily silent.

Your skin brushes against his more, you've yet to put any clothes on and the heated flush of your body presses against his significantly colder skin. You kiss his jaw again and he lets out a sigh.

As your body slides downward you can feel him tense underneath you, and though he doesn’t say a thing, you can tell that the idea of him being doted on is making him feel almost anxious. Any time you have in the past he's either masterfully turned the tables on you, or managed to distract you enough that you'd forgotten your original idea.

This time however, you aren't going to let that happen.

You can’t help but let out a shaky sigh as your heart begins to race again, only minutes after it finally managed to calm down. It’s amusing how the horseman of Death can do that to you, with even just a simple touch of your own making.

He feels the way you gently grind against him, looking at him like he’s the only thing in your world that matters. For you it’s true, but for him he dreads it. He knows nothing good will come of it, despite how good it might feel right now.

He grips your hip tight like it’s going to bruise. He can feel the warmth of your skin against his palm, polar opposite to him.

“Stop.”

He doesn’t mean it, his voice cracks just the tiniest bit. You stop, but look at him in a way that forces his eyes to advert away from you. You hate the way he so adamantly refuses to let himself feel any sort of positive affection even though it's clear he wants it, and so wish to change it. Even if he'll only let you do so for one night.

“Let someone else take the reins for a bit.”

[stray-kaz]

A Murder of Crows : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader FF mini : Part One

Summary: Modern au in which Kaz Brekker and his Crows are in the rescue business. They run an underground anti-trafficking mob. The only thing Kaz hates more than liars are powerful people who take advantage of others and the Diamondbacks are the worst of the lot.

A/N: I sincerely hope I have the impetus to keep this going. Thank you to everybody who showed interest.

Warnings: Evidence of abuse, fear of men. (Kaz thinks you are only falling for him because he saved you. Kaz is a very smart idiot).

He was covered in blood the first time you saw him, a grim reaper, dark clothed and limping. But he was far from lame.

"Demjin" you gasped.

He grinned then, a white slash in a bloody mask.

"If you like."

He extended a gloved hand towards you and you took it gingerly, rising from the dirty floor in a cloud of chiffon and expensive perfume. He glanced at your clothes with distaste, a wrathful sneer curling at his mouth. You glanced down, ashamed, and tried to cover the tattooed snake that writhed down your forearm, white diamonds patterning its back. But he shook his head, gripped your chin between gloved finger and thumb and lifted your gaze to his bitter one.

“This is not your fault” he said stonily. “Life bit you. Now you get to bite back.”

He let you go and limped through the exit, expecting you to follow and not looking back to check.

Light blinded you the second you stepped outside of the dark compound you’d been existing in for months. You kept your eyes fixed hard on the back and shoulders of the man who had let you out. Curious how, after everything you had suffered at the hands of men, you were capable of trusting this one. He was walking arrogance, pure as coal, but you believed he might just hate the men who took you and used you as much as you did.

“Your name?” you asked, reaching for his sleeve.

Your fingers had barely brushed it when he turned to look down at you with eyes like ice, the same moment someone else called to him and his head snapped away, his name ringing in your ears.

“Kaz!”

You looked up to see a tall, lanky man bounding towards you, a gleaming gun strapped to each hip, barely hidden beneath the folds of his coat. Instinct bolted and you ducked behind Kaz, hiding in his shadow. He glanced behind him, irritation melting into something else, something strange and cloying, when he glimpsed your wide eyes and the ring of dark finger bruises painted around your throat. He hadn’t been able to see them in the dark building.

He held up a hand to stop the young man in his tracks; warm brown eyes tried to find you around the wall that was Kaz Brekker, but Kaz shifted his stance on his bad leg every time he moved, so eventually he gave up and stood back, hands spread wide.

“Jesper” Kaz said quietly. “Bring me Nina and Inej.”

“But, can’t I even say -”

“No” Kaz interrupted. “You can’t. Bring me Nina and Inej.”

Jesper sighed and loped off, broad shoulders bunching under the fabric of his coat.

“Thank you” you mumbled.

He didn’t say you’re welcome, nothing like that.

“Jesper is good” Kaz told you instead. “One day you’ll see it. He is everything I’m not.”

That was your first warning.

You were driven to a place they fondly called the Slat, but you were not expecting a well kept, well lit apartment building, three levels high and packed to the roof with small luxurious one and two bedroom apartments. The two young women Kaz had sent Jesper to find for you, Nina and Inej, hustled you inside and into the waiting elevator, leaving Kaz and Jesper to find their own way up.

Inej was Suli, dark eyed and beautiful, still carrying the ghosts of a similar past to your own; you could see it in her eyes and in her sad smile when she looked at you. Nina had the wide hipped, strong look of the working class Kaelish, but turned out to be Ravkan, a top of her class heartrender and gorgeous to boot.

She held your hand in hers as she led you back out of the elevator on the second storey, producing a delicate key from inside her sleeve and unlocking the door to usher you inside, handing you the key as soon as you had stepped across the threshold.

“This is yours” Inej said, gesturing at the room. “One bedroom, one bathroom, and a small kitchen. You now hold the only key.”

You stared at her and Nina, surprised. You turned the key over and over between your fingers.

“The only key?” you asked softly. “Truthfully?”

Inej nodded.

“Truthfully.”

“What about Kaz? He owns this, doesn’t he?”

Inej glanced at Nina and you followed the look, waiting.

“Kaz will leave you alone, but if there’s an emergency, he doesn’t need keys” Nina said diplomatically. “Now, sugar, there are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. I’m sure something will fit, but if not, let Kaz know and he’ll fix it. He might look and sound like a demjin, but you can trust him. He’s wicked for all the right reasons.”

She squeezed your hand and Inej gave you another fleeting smile before they turned and left through the still open door. You closed it slowly behind them, locked it, then turned to face your room. Yours.

You sank down onto the fluffy carpet and closed your eyes, thanking the Saints for the demjin who had saved your life, right as the first tear fell.

Tagging: @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r​

[tickles-tea]

Testing Virtues

I know I’m cutting it extremely close but the day isn’t over yet! Anyway, without further ado, merry belated Christmas to @happyandticklish !! In a very funny turn of events, I ended up being your secret Santa for Squealing Santa 2023 ^^ I hope you enjoy this fic of Izaya fucking around and finding out ~ Also, a big thank you to @hypahticklish / @squealing-santa for hosting the event!!

Summary: After realizing that Shizuo is in a rather affectionate mood, Izaya decides to put his patience to the test. Word count: 2.8k

Shizuo Heiwajima could be a difficult man to read.

Despite how clearly he expressed his rage, it could be tricky to read between the lines of his surprisingly aloof resting face. Whether he was perfectly content or one second away from snapping, one could never guess.

At least, that’s what Izaya used to think.

After what he would reluctantly call ‘dating’ the man for several years now, Izaya could decipher his expressions with the ease of someone who had dedicated their life to the art. These little tells were so clear to him now, he couldn’t believe that he’d been completely oblivious to them in the past.

Like how Shizuo’s honey-gold eyes would light up with a childlike spark whenever they’d pass by a pastry shop. His lips were unmoving but his desires were spoken loud and clear. It was without a word from Shizuo that Izaya would lead them into the shop with teases already loaded on his tongue.

And when Shizuo’s shoulders hunched tight with tension-the line of them more solid than the stop signs he crushed beneath his fists- Izaya knew to keep his jabs light but deliberate. It was a bit of a balancing act, teetering between slightly bothersome and truly irritating. However, it was worth watching that harsh line ease whenever a particularly crude quip caught Shizuo off guard enough to make him laugh.

Izaya could always tell what Shizuo was feeling or wanting or needing.

But he wasn’t always generous enough to give it to him. Not without making him put in the work first.

When Izaya awoke to warm kisses being pressed to his neck and fingers creeping up his shirt with fluttery touches, he knew what kind of day it would be. 

It was the hesitation that gave it away, really; the slow progression, as if waiting for permission when they were both far past the point of being shy.

This particular mood didn’t strike Shizuo often, but it was always fun when it did. 

Izaya did nothing to dissuade him, and Shizuo’s touches grew more deliberate with increasing confidence the longer Izaya didn’t protest. A grin pulled at Izaya’s lips, but it had little to do with the hands that lightly tickled at his waist. Because as soon as it started, Izaya was sitting up and away, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. He turned to look down at his bed partner with a sleep-heavy smirk. “It’s not like Shizu-chan to be up so early. I don’t suppose you wanted to join in on my meeting this morning?”

Shizuo blinked away the drowsy confusion at the abrupt shift, now scrunching his nose with distaste as he registered Izaya’s words. “Don’t say stupid things…” He grumbled, a frustrated crease in his brow. He waited for a beat, and when Izaya only stared back at him with a knowing smile, he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Can’t you stay in bed a little longer? I thought you said that wasn’t until ten.”

Even though Izaya was sure it was meant to be a frown, the unhappy twist of Shizuo’s lips could only be described as a pout.

“The early bird gets the worm and all that. We can't all afford to sleep in, you know?” Izaya chirped back, keeping the banter light despite the intentions already solidifying in his mind. “If you want to stay in bed though, be my guest. I can wake you up once my client’s gone.”

It was a simple offer but Shizuo still took his time answering. He looked at Izaya for a long few moments, lips pursed on indecision and his hands still resting idle on Izaya’s waist, before he let out a resigned breath through his nose and pulled his hands away. “Mm, yeah, that’s fine.”

And though he nuzzled back into the pillow and closed his eyes without any more complaints, Izaya didn’t miss the way his restless hands twitched with restraint.

-

True to his word, Izaya woke Shizuo up a few hours later once his client had left with a heavier heart and lighter pockets. He hadn’t spared too much time on the task of waking him; only ducking into the bedroom with a drawled out “Shizuuuu-chaaan~” and tossing an apple at his head when he didn’t stir. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it and it wouldn’t be the last, but Izaya still couldn’t help but snicker when Shizuo exited the room a few minutes later with the half eaten apple in hand.

Izaya watched as Shizuo finished it off in a few bites and threw away the core before immediately making his way over to Izaya’s desk. Strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind as Shizuo leaned in to kiss the crook of his neck. “Good mornin’,” he rumbled, breath hot against Izaya’s skin.

“It’s noon, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo grumbled in mild annoyance. “Then good afternoon, you pest.”

He squeezed Izaya slightly to punctuate his words. However, his groused frustration was countered by those gentle fingers tapping at Izaya’s sides again. And just as before, they were light, questioning. “You busy?”

Not even the rough edge of sleep still clinging to his voice could conceal the quiet hopefulness behind his words. 

He ghosted fluttery kisses along the line of Izaya’s throat to spread goosebumps across his skin- once again testing the waters. 

And once again Izaya grinned.

“Oh~ What’s this? Did Shizu-chan need me for something?” Izaya questioned in a playful drawl, tensing beneath Shizuo’s touch. He traced mindless shapes on Izaya’s sides, veering closer to his belly to scrape the ghost of his fingernails over the sensitive skin. It took an impressive amount of restraint for Izaya to not react to the ticklish shivers that ran through his nerves.

“Izaya…” he started, shifting to murmur into Izaya’s ear to make him twitch. “C-“

He barely had a second to begin before Izaya was interrupting to answer his own question.

“-because I’m afraid I don’t have time to spare right now,” he clarified, spinning in his chair to face him and knocking his hands away in the process. The sigh in his voice was just subtle enough to pass as truly apologetic. At least somewhat. “Can it wait?”

Tipping his head up to meet Shizuo’s eyes, Izaya was met with an expression he knew well. Thick brows furrowed on growing frustration and a troubled twist to his lips because he couldn’t find a reason to be truly upset. A rarity for Shizuo, but even he could respect when someone was busy. 

He didn’t need to know that Izaya had just been playing sudoku before he walked in. It was his fault, really, for being fooled by the random document Izaya had pulled up at the last second. 

With another one of those pouty scowls, Shizuo gently knocked his forehead against Izaya’s.

“Later.”

It was a question despite bearing the bluntness of a statement.

“Later~”

-

Judging by the restless padding of feet across the hardwood floor and the too long-stares sent his way, Izaya knew that ‘later’ couldn’t come soon enough for Shizuo. 

He wasn’t exactly known for his patience and Izaya hadn’t exactly been making it easier on him. But that’s what was fun about these kinds of days, and who could blame him when Shizuo had such entertaining reactions? 

It was amusing to watch Shizuo clench his fists at his sides when Izaya stretched, raising his arms high above his head with a pleased groan as if he was oblivious to Shizuo’s plight. 

He’d nearly choked on his glass of milk when Izaya reached for a book on a high shelf, which caused his shirt -untucked for once- to raise and reveal a sliver of his belly. When Izaya had turned to look at him, Shizuo was staring resolutely at the ceiling as he chugged the rest of the glass.

It was terribly endearing when Shizuo thought he was being discreet. However, there was nothing subtle about how tightly his jaw was clenched when Izaya had him fetch a glass of water for the ‘tickle in his throat’.

Perhaps Izaya would feel more guilty about riling Shizuo up when he was asking for what he wanted so sweetly, but it was just too easy.

Izaya was an opportunist at heart, after all.

-

This secret game of his continued for another two hours, with Izaya coming up with new and subtle ways to drive Shizuo mad. Izaya was honestly impressed with how well Shizuo was holding up, but all things must come to an end, and Shizuo’s streak of patience was no exception. 

His breaking point came when Izaya settled into his chair, picked up a stack of documents, and kicked his feet up onto the desk. It must have been that it was so uncharacteristic of Izaya to ‘rest’ in such a vulnerable position that Shizuo was tipped off to Izaya’s scheming. Or perhaps it was pure coincidence that his fuse happened to burn out at that moment. Either way, Izaya wasn’t too upset when Shizuo shot up from the couch and stomped over to his desk with red-tipped ears and a snarl.

“Oi, what’s up with that pose, huh?” Shizuo growled, leaning far over the desk to meet Izaya face to face. His arms were tense with restless energy where they held his weight against the desk, bracing on either side of Izaya’s legs. 

Izaya smiled pleasantly at him. “Hm? Aren’t I allowed to be comfortable while I work?”

Shizuo glared down at him- and if looks could kill, Izaya would be six feet under. 

“You look a little too comfortable, if you ask me. Just how busy have you been, really?”

A strong hand wrapped around one of his ankles, and Izaya had to resist the urge to jerk his foot back on instinct. “Quite busy. You see, today I’m conducting an observational experiment of sorts. I suppose you could call it testing a beast’s ability to restrain itself and its needs in the face of temptation. Riveting stuff~”

Shizuo bared his teeth in an animalistic grin that sent a shiver of premonition down Izaya’s spine. “Oh yeah? What conclusion have you come to?” The grip tightening  around Izaya’s ankle might as well have been squeezing his lungs for how it caused his breath to falter in his chest. 

“That even beasts can possess an impressive level of patience and willpower, but even so, that control is temporary, and eventually they succumb to their urges. It’s in their nature, after all,” Izaya challenged with a smirk. However, his confidence couldn’t hide the way his hands clutched the arms of his chair in anticipation.

His heart was starting to thrum in his chest; because behind the irritation in Shizuo’s gaze, there was a certain glint in his eyes. Now that Shizuo knew of Izaya’s game, he was ready to play. 

Just the thought was enough to set off the butterflies in Izaya’s stomach.

“I see. If giving in is inevitable, why hold back at all then, right?” Shizuo gave him little warning before he was tugging at Izaya’s ankle to pull him closer and yanking him up by his shirt. Izaya yelped, trying not to knock over his monitors in his scramble for balance as he was pulled over and across the desk. He only had a second to be relieved that everything was intact before he was tossed over Shizuo’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Despite knowing that struggling was futile, Izaya fisted his hands in Shizuo’s shirt for stability and tried his best to kick at Shizuo’s thighs. If he felt the hits, he certainly didn’t show it. “Wait a second! What kind of brainless logic is that?!” He shouted, trying to twist his head around to see where he was being taken. He had an idea, and a turn towards the staircase confirmed it.

“Are you sure you should be mouthing off like that? Ah, but maybe you don't care since you’ve been asking for it all day,” Shizuo almost murmured to himself, his anger having faded to an infuriating breeziness.

Izaya’s cheeks flushed despite the absolute ridiculousness of that statement. “Me? Have you forgotten how many times you-!” His words were interrupted by a yelp when Shizuo gave a warning squeeze to his thigh. 

“Shut up.”

Any further protests from Izaya were met with more squeezes to his thighs, each one making him jump more than the last. Shizuo knew very well how sensitive his thighs were, and he was giving Izaya this chance to back down before he used that information against him. And while Izaya was not the kind of man to give up, every once in a while he could accept when he needed to concede. 

He had been orchestrating the setlist all day after all, and now it was time to face the choir. 

He wasn’t, however, expecting to be part of it, and the pitch his voice reached could put the star sopranos to shame. 

“Nahahaha! Shizu-chahahaha-!” His voice cracked on a cackle as Shizuo drilled his thumbs mercilessly into his hips. Upon entering their bedroom, Shizuo had wasted no time in tossing Izaya on the bed and relinquishing the control he’d been holding onto for the past few hours. And he seemed to be making up for the lost time if his zealous start was anything to go by. 

Izaya shook his head back and forth, frantically trying to pry Shizuo’s hands off of his waist, but there was no give to his iron grip. Izaya couldn’t help but wonder which would be easier to free yourself from: a bear trap or Shizuo’s merciless hold.

He quickly settled on the bear trap when Shizuo began kneading at his lower belly, sending sparks of sensitivity crackling across his nerves. “AH! Shit! Stahahahap, you beheheheast!” Izaya threw his head back on shrill laughter, his legs kicking wildly behind him in a stark contrast to Shizuo’s smug composure.

“What do you mean ‘stop’? You were showing off this spot earlier, weren’t you? You think I’m too stupid to notice you untucked your shirt before you stood up?” Shizuo drawled with a satisfied smirk. He suddenly switched from kneading to scratching lightly at Izaya’s belly to pull frenzied giggles from his lips. “It was like you were saying ‘please, please, please, tickle me here’.”

Izaya’s face lit up with a brilliant red flush at the realization. In teasing Shizuo over how much he wanted to get his hands on Izaya and tickle him to tears, Izaya had practically been asking for it the entire time without shame. What was even more mortifying was how-underneath the amusement at Shizuo’s struggle-he’d been just as eager for Shizuo to break. 

He’d choke to death on his own laughter before he ever admitted that though. 

“D-don’t blame me for your lack of self-control!” He scolded before falling into a fit of giggles when fingers skittered along his waistline. “Ehehehe! Wait, wait, wait!” 

His eyes widened into saucers when Shizuo suddenly caught his hands and pinned them above his head, learned anticipation thudding his heart against his chest.

“You were showing off this spot too, weren’t you?” Shizuo asked casually, impervious to the way Izaya tugged at his wrists like his life depended on it. “Can’t be helped then.” He followed his words with a shrug before spidering his fingers under Izaya’s arm with a practiced skill. 

The response was instantaneous; Izaya shrieked, arching his back in a desperate attempt to protect himself and failing to gain any reprieve. Shizuo knew all of the ways to drive Izaya up the wall and he wasn’t afraid to utilize them now. He was surprisingly thorough in moments like these- taking the time to try everything from rubbing his thumbs into the dip of Izaya’s underarms to lightly scritching at his biceps.

The latter had seemed merciful at first, as Izaya’s biceps weren’t normally that ticklish. He quickly learned that wasn’t the case, though, when Shizuo lingered there long enough for the sensation to become absolutely maddening. 

It took an embarrassingly long time for Izaya to find his words again, but of course he found a way to talk through the flood of mirth.

“Ahahaha! D-don’t try to act like this isn’t-“ his words were interrupted by a loud bark of laughter when suddenly Shizuo pinched at his upper ribs. “Like this isn’t whahahat you’ve been begging for all day!”

That seemed to finally get under Shizuo’s skin enough for him to scowl and lean in close. If Shizuo had to fight to keep that scowl from twitching up at the corners, neither of them mentioned it.

“Well, if this is what we both wanted, I guess I should go all out right?”

A shiver ran down Izaya’s back, and despite the squeals and protests that soon echoed through the apartment, Izaya couldn’t say that he minded it all that much. He could handle the fingers dancing along his skin, no longer restless now that they were focused on the goal of making him wheeze out desperate laughter. He could handle the lips pressing sweetly against his own, turning that same laughter muffled and breathless.

Shizuo had earned this fair and square, and in a way, so had Izaya.

Now all that was left was to enjoy the fruits of their labor. 

[viilpstick]

THIS IS MY REVENGE. HOW DARE YOU. HURT YUUNA... RAHHH

But to be fair I'm unsure that this will make u that sad since it has a hopeful ending🧍🏻‍♀️ I tried. Also. May I add. This is like years after their marriage (so they're well in their mid 20s/late 20s), pregnancy was by accident yada yada... I thought this idea would be good for Leona's character development when it comes to children since he would learn to not be afraid of treating his child like crap because he just would want to have them so bad, aka Kyra was a very wanted child by him. Also "them" is used bc I don't like using "it" for an unborn child and I didn't know if leobelle knew the gender of the baby yet

Also tw: m1sc4rr14ge, plus it's probably not well depicted but hey I did my best

•••

When Leona finally arrived home he didn't want anything more than to jump on his bed with Isabelle and sleep, though he was certain she would complain his ear off about wanting to sleep so early, that there was still stuff they could do… sometimes his wife was a real workaholic.

“Isa.” Leona called, the nickname now rolled off his tongue nicely, but he remembered a time where it felt strange, unnatural. He couldn't even remember now how he was so far away from Isabelle. “Isabelle?” He called once again, not finding her around the house.

Leona walked around, going from room to room and quickly stopping to take a look at… his child’s room.

When Isabelle had come to him, all worried with a pregnancy test showing positive, his heart sank for two reasons: one, the fact that Isabelle was worried about his reaction to her carrying his child, and two, the fact that… she was right to be worried, and unfortunately, he couldn't find much joy in the matter.

Leona knew himself, through his experiences with Cheka he was aware he had a problem with children. No, he didn't hate them, they're children; however, he had a very difficult time dealing with them, their lack of personal space, lack of ability to read a room and just their constant energy made Leona tired and irritable. He didn't want kids, he knew he would be an awful father because of his lack of patience and understanding… and deep down… he was scared his child would be mistreated because of being the son or daughter of the failed second prince.

But now Isabelle had a child growing inside her, and he couldn't just ignore that fact. 

Leona looked around the yellow room, the toys they had bought, the little crib… he sighed. He needed to suck it up and be a man, not only for Isabelle and that child but to himself.

Suddenly, he heard sobs. 

“Isabelle?” He called, walking a bit faster to the bathroom, where he heard the noise. His hand on the door handle. “Isabelle, are you alright?”

No response, the sobs just continued like she couldn't even hear him, but he couldn't leave her there alone, he needed to see if she was ok. He opened the door, and his eyes widened in shock, looking everywhere around the room.

Isabelle was crying, hugging her legs, and beneath her and around other parts of the floor there was blood. So much blood. 

“Wha– Isa, hey, look at me.” He urged, crouching down in front of her, grabbing her arms and face to make her look at him. She avoided his eyes and she couldn't stop crying, and Leona looked everywhere around her to understand where she was hurt. “Isa, where are you hurt? What happened? Can you get up?” After he finally got a hold of her face, she held his wrists and broke down once again, her tears falling down fast and she couldn't stop. Leona was so insanely worried, his mate was hurt, but he couldn't see where, he didn't understand. The smell of blood was making him sick, but he couldn't nor did he want to leave her alone like this. “We need a doctor. Wait here, I'll get the–”

“I lost them.” Isabelle mumbled before Leona was able to walk away, his hands being held by hers so he wouldn't leave. She looked at him desperately, almost as if begging for help. “I lost them, Leona. I lost them.”

He stared at her, then, his gaze made its way to her belly.

No.

“Isabelle, what do you mean?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Isa.” He urged, crouching down once again, holding her face gently as he felt his eyes sting. “What do you mean?” 

Isabelle couldn't answer, his question seemed to make her cry even more, as she threw herself in his chest and held onto his shirt. She kept apologizing, kept saying how this was her fault for not taking better care of herself, for not resting enough, for not eating as well as she should. Leona couldn't speak as he himself started tearing up.

He lost them. Before he could even meet them. Before he could even show his love for them or try to fight his awful habits.

They was gone.

•••

“Your highness, please, you should try to eat a bit, I promise it's–” the servant was interrupted by Leona as he took the plate and water from her telling her to go fulfill other duties. The servant bowed down and left, Leona sat on their bed.

“Isa.” He said softly after putting the plate on his lap and the cup of water on their night stand. “You need to eat, my love.” Isabelle didn't even move, she just kept with her back turned to him, hugging her body. Normally, she would blush and ask why he was suddenly using such a sweet nickname, but right now, there was no reaction. Leona sighed. “Please. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Isabelle stayed quiet, but after a few seconds, she slowly sat up, her blanket falling on her lap as she looked down to her hands. Her eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, her hair was a mess from trying to sleep the day away… it was like a mirror, really. She looked just like him when he was still at NRC.

All the more reason to take care of her.

Leona grabbed her chin, making her look at him. “I need you to eat. Even if it's just a bit. Do you think you can do it?”

“...I can try.”

“That’s more than enough.” Leona got a bit of the chicken soup in the spoon, blowing on it so it wouldn't burn Isabelle's mouth, then, he offered it to her. She ate it without saying a word, chewing on it very slowly, and swallowing it as if it hurt her. After five bites or so, Isabelle started rejecting the food, and Leona sighed. “Isabelle, you must eat to stay healthy.”

“I wasn't healthy enough to carry our child, so what does it matter now?”

Silence. 

“The doctor said it wasn't because of your health. The embryo just couldn't develop properly.”

“The baby couldn't develop properly.” She corrected him, her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes started to sting. “Why do you refuse to call them that?”

“Isabelle.” The beastman said, a stern tone of his voice and the woman flinched. She knew she crossed a line, but goodness she was so angry. She was so sad. She didn't know what to do. 

“Why do you refuse to call them a child? You even refused to get into our child’s room, the servants had to take all of our baby’s stuff for themselves.” She questioned, her eyes tearing up, and once a tear fell she dried it right away. Sorrow, anger and pain filling her heart. “Why are you being so… so cold?”

“Because if I call them a child, if I look at their stuff I won't be able to live with myself.” He finally explained himself. Isabelle stared at him. Leona felt his own eyes sting so he blinked a few times to try and push the tears away. He put the plate on their night stand. “Isa, I– I don't talk about it because I can't. I knew I wouldn't be a good father but– that was my child. I didn't even get a chance to try.”

Isabelle went quiet at that. She started fidgeting with her hands while seeing from the corner of her eye Leona resting his face on his hand. She's been married to him for years now, she's been dating him for even longer, she knows how he functions and right now? She screwed up.

Isabelle was the mother, and there was a special bond with her and her lost baby… but Leona was the father. That was also his child, his baby. His cub.

“Leo.” She called, he didn't look but she noticed his ears twitch at her call. “I'm… I'm sorry. I was being insensitive.” Isabelle rested her head on his shoulder, grabbing his free hand and rubbing circles with her thumb. “I’ve just… I'm just so sad and angry with myself– I wasn't able to see where you're coming from. I'm so sorry, dear.”

Leona sighed, drying his cheeks. He had cried without Isabelle noticing… that was another blow to her heart. Leona sniffled, grabbing her plate once again.

“If you're so sorry then eat.” He put another spoonful of food in front of her face and she let out a faint smile, eating it right after.

“For the record…” Isabelle started after swallowing the food. “You will be a wonderful father, Leona.”

Leona felt his heart ache, his throat dry and his eyes sting. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the sensation and gave Isabelle a long kiss on the forehead, filled with affection. 

“And you will be a wonderful mother.”

Will. Soon enough. 

me: does a really small scenario about if yuuna left, leaving her to STILL have a happy life even though she is away from vil.

mah: . . . i can do it worse.

HOW. HOW DARE YOU.

U KNOW WHAT? GO TO TIME OUT.

[thatfanficstuff]

Open Wounds - 18

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

Warnings: mentions of torture, sad bucky

Bucky woke to find himself on the jet. His head throbbed and his ears ached. It took him a moment longer than he liked to recall the grenade. He looked around for a dazed moment until his gaze fell on the group gathered a short distance away. “What’s going on?”

Everyone fell silent and turned their attention to him. It was then he noticed you were nowhere to be seen. He pushed himself to his feet immediately, ignoring the headrush he got when he did so. “Where is she?”

No one answered as they exchanged glances with each other.

Bucky clenched his teeth. He stepped closer to Steve and grasped his upper arm. “Where. Is. She?”

Steve sighed. “We had to leave her behind.”

Anger and fear shot through him in equal measure. “You did what?” His voice was low, hard and far more terrifying than if he’d been yelling. His attention shot to Natasha and Clint. “You can’t be okay with this.”

“Calm down, Barnes. We haven’t actually left her. We’re still on the ground,” Clint responded. “We need a plan. It’s more dangerous since they know we’re here, but we won’t let them keep her.”

That eased some of the tension in his chest. Made it a little easier to breathe.

“How’s it looking, Bruce?” Steve called to the scientist who was watching the monitors showing the area around the jet.

He shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

Cap nodded. “Just keep watching.” He gestured to the map of the area that was spread out on the table. “Go on, Pietro. What were you saying?”

The blond pointed, indicating an area away from the main entrance. “There is another way in here. They use it for supplies.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “That’s our entry point. Tony, Nat, Clint, we need a distraction at the main entrance. Bucky and I will go in the side.”

“What about us?” Wanda asked, sounding vaguely insulted they hadn’t been included in the plans.

“You’re staying here. The both of you. There’s too much risk of you being recaptured,” Steve answered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Pietro snapped. “Your friend was taken because she helped us. Now, we will help her in return.”

There was a pause as Steve looked over the twins. “Fine. You two are with me and Buck. Let’s go.”

Irritation and worry flowed through Bucky as he followed his team out of the back of the jet. They were no more than ten feet from it when an explosion rocked the area causing the ground beneath them to tremble. His face went slack as he shifted on his feet and he paled. No.

He repeated the word, out loud this time, as a glow lit the sky in front of them. Smoke poured into the sky. He ran forward, ignoring the shouts of the others. When he finally confirmed that the facility was gone, destroyed, he dropped to his knees. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in his hands. He reached out, searching for any sign of you. Any hint of your emotions. Nothing. There was nothing.

He refused to believe you were dead. That he’d lost you already, but he felt empty just the same.

You weren’t certain how much time passed before you woke. It seemed as soon as you’d lost sight of your team, Hydra had knocked you out to keep you from resisting. That was probably smart on their part. If they were that intelligent, it was unlikely you were in the same base. Too much risk of rescue. Damn it.

When you tried to lift your hand, you discovered you were bound to a metal table. And didn’t that bring back memories? You stifled the jolt of fear that slammed through you at the thought and focused on assessing your current circumstances.

You were bound with several straps on both your legs and arms. A raging headache pounded behind your eyes but other than that you appeared to be relatively uninjured. You blinked several times and widened your eyes in an attempt to push aside some of the fatigue weighing you down. It was mostly unsuccessful.

As you came more into yourself you felt an overwhelming sense of worry mixed with just a bit of relief. Bucky. You tried to convey the fact that you were alright at least for the moment but that wasn’t really an emotion so you were uncertain how successful you actually were.

Before you could put too much thought into it, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker sauntered into the room. A smirk twisted his lips and you wanted nothing more than to rip that stupid monocle off his face and crush it to bits. “So, we meet again, Nicto. I was beginning to think it would never happen.”

You clenched your teeth and set your jaw. God, you hated this man. “Nicto doesn’t exist anymore.”

His grin turned feral. “Oh, but she does. We just have to push a little.”

And push they did in the days to come.

Experiment after experiment. Torture after torture. They were certainly welcoming you home the only way Hydra knew how. Every time they stepped into your room you would grit your teeth and remind yourself that it was worth it. That as long as Bucky escaped this, it was worth it. You’d endure every bit of it for him.

As the minutes, hours and days passed you said nothing. Your declaration that Nicto was dead being the last words to cross your lips. They prodded and poked trying to get a response from you. Not that you were completely silent. Screams echoed through the lab rather frequently, truth be told. You had a plethora of new scars and bruises to add to your collection.

They’d just electrocuted your brain as they tried to ‘reset’ you as they’d done to Bucky. It hadn’t worked when you were a child, you didn’t understand why they thought it would now. The door opened and you turned your head expecting to see Strucker. The smug bastard had made it a habit to check on you several times a day. “Here she is,” that voice you loathed announced.

You shifted your attention from him to the man trailing behind. Alexander Pierce. The universe had to be fucking with you. Apparently, SHIELD hadn’t completely eliminated the Hydra threat from the agency. Not when this bastard was at the head of it. This did explain some things about the particularly shitty intel you’d gotten on a few missions.

His blue eyes studied you, ran over you from head to toe, before he stepped forward. “Ms. Coulson. I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you here. I was quite surprised when they told me they’d captured you. I was beginning to think the day would never come.” Someone brought him a chair and he sat beside you as if you were two friends having a conversation.

You just stared at him, hoping you could convey all the hatred and anger you carried for him and Hydra through your glare alone.

Pierce looked from you to the scientist standing at your head. The flick of a switch, another jolt of electricity flowing through your body. Your muscles burned, your blood boiled. Fuck you hated that feeling.

“It’s rude to not respond when someone is speaking with you,” Pierce said then pursed his lips.

They removed the bit from your mouth and you licked your lips. “Fuck you, Pierce, you fucking traitor.”

He nodded and they fried you again. Longer this time. Stronger. They hadn’t bothered with the bit this time and you were pretty sure you’d cracked at least one tooth as you snapped your mouth closed in pain. You’d also bit the end of your tongue. You were lucky you didn’t sever it.

You turned your head and spit a mouthful of blood on the floor beside Pierce. You smiled, knowing your teeth would be coated in red. “Hi.”

He pursed his lips again as he narrowed his gaze to look you over once more. Finally, he nodded. “Better.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “You know, we’ve discovered that our soldiers are more effective if they aren’t mindless killing machines. Intelligence is always an asset on the battlefield. So, we condition them. Train them. Help them to tap into skills they were unaware they were capable of.”

You frowned and wondered where he was going with this. “If you’re trying to recruit me, you’re wasting your breath.”

His arms spread to indicate the room around them. “I have no need to recruit you when we already possess you. No, I’m giving you a warning, Nicto.” You hated the way he emphasized that name. “Strucker here is going to continue to oversee your conditioning and training. Should you continue to fail to respond, we will have no other option than to make you the mindless machine.”

The sick feeling of fear settled in your belly and spread into your chest.

Pierce leaned forward and pressed a finger to your temple. His voice lowered which gave the conversation a sense of intimacy it shouldn’t have. “They’ll drill, just here. Then they will go in and remove everything that makes you, you. All the rebellion. The kindness.” He paused there to study you and make sure he had your complete attention. “The love for your soulmate. All that will be left is hatred, anger and a desire to follow orders.”

After another long minute of studying you, he stood suddenly. He turned to Strucker who stood at the side of the room with his arms crossed watching everything. “You have one week. If there’s no progress, you drill.” With that, he was gone.

Steve hadn’t seen Bucky for hours. He should have hunted him down earlier, but they’d been busy coordinating everyone that was coming to help them find you. After nearly a week, they believed they had a good idea where you were being held, but they were going to need all the help they could get to rescue you. The base was large and remote. It was more than their small team could handle, even with all of their skills.

After getting a location from Jarvis, Steve headed to your room. You hadn’t stayed in it much lately, preferring to sleep with Bucky, but it was still yours.

Steve knocked and received no response. He opened the door slowly, sticking his head in as he did so. “Buck?”

“Yeah.” The voice was rough and broken.

The blond stepped fully into the room but didn’t see his friend until he walked around the end of your bed. He sucked in a breath at the sight that greeted him.

Bucky sat on the floor with his knees bent in front of him, arms draped across them. His face was red and tear-stained. Fresh tears flowed from his eyes as his bottom lip trembled.

Steve crouched near him but didn’t touch him, afraid that he would set him off somehow. “It’s okay, Buck. We’ll get her back.”

The brunet shook his head and swallowed. “It’s not that.”

Cap frowned. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Finally, the grieving man looked at his friend. “She’s terrified. She’s so fucking scared and I’m not there to save her.”

[eruden-writes]

I'd lik to know more about Griar pls - loved that snippet 😍

Ahaha, that one starts off kind of silly. I think it was based on a prompt from a different page, but I can't find it now.

Here's the first part, written in 2020, so my style of writing has probably changed.

If there's interest, I'll post the second bit of what I have written, but after that I'd have to write more.

---

Next Part

---

“I can smell you. Come out!” 

Lapine gasped and ducked back, obscuring herself further from the other person with the tree she hid behind. Chewing on her bottom lip, she contemplated her options. 

There was a person hanging, upside down, in a tree not far away from Lapine’s current position. Judging from the backpack that lay beneath their swinging form, they had dropped any means to cut themselves down or even call for help with a cell phone. And they could smell her. So, they were probably not fully human.

Her heart pounded, cursing her friends for bailing on her. And screw herself, too, for thinking it was a good idea to hike alone!

Somewhere between starting out and now, she’d gotten turned around. That, in turn, got her confused as she struggled to find the beaten path, again. By the time she thought to check her cell phone, there was no signal to be had.

Now, she had to admit she was utterly lost. The trail map had been shoved to her backpack, crumpled from frustration.

That was partly why she followed the annoyed grunts and flagrant curse words the moment her ear caught them. Perhaps, she thought, they’d be able to assist her. Never, in a million years, did she expect to find someone hanging upside-down from a tree!

Instantly, her imagination fired up, producing a litany of scenarios. A convoluted scheme to kidnap passerbys. They were setting traps and one triggered on themselves. Some sort of kinky reason. An art school project. A… A....

Her brain spluttered, returning to ‘kinky reason’ and wondering if being suspended upside down enhanced anything.

Before her imagination could push that thought too far, she shook it out of her head. No. Stay focused. 

There’s a person in a tree, able to smell her, and she was alone. And possibly lost. Possibly.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she weighed her options. Just leaving seemed a bit callous. What if they were genuinely stuck?

But if it was a ploy to kidnap kind strangers, she’d be screwed. 

But who’d set up such a scheme in the middle of the forest, off the trail?

Fuck. Lapine pressed her head into her hands, wishing her friends were here to help.

---

Griar glared at the, from his point of view, upside-down forest. His situation, suspended in the air like a helpless animal, was a bad one. Whoever set the coyote snares he’d been disengaging for the last month had set this one especially for him. They had plans for him. He gnashed his teeth, considering his options.

The ongoing irritation only cracked when a sudden aroma infiltrated his nose. It was faint, but stabbed at an ache in his gut. Potential mates in heat. And he was stuck in a tree. Great.

He could get a noseful, all the way up here, but pursuing anyone wasn’t happening. Another deep-throated growl rumbled into his chest. Why the fuck hadn’t he waited to trigger the snares until tomorrow? Admittedly, his preoccupation with tonight’s humpfest probably played into his distraction.

Considering the trap was strong enough to hoist him, it was likely enchanted. Whoever planted the trap had access to magic. It could have easily been glamored into near invisibility. Since he hadn't passed out, he guessed it was ensorceled to keep his blood from pooling to his head, as well. That meant the people setting these traps wanted him alive and conscious. Griar wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, yet.

Despite the danger of the situation, his body reacted to the cloud of pheromones slowly rising from the forest. Parts of him - ahem - were stirring in excitement, completely unaware he was upside-down.

Well, he had refrained from howling, just in case his potential captors were near enough. But, if he roused his pheromones to attract attention, maybe another -thrope would come and assist. As hairbrained of a thought it was, it wasn't as if anyone was going to stumble on him. Whoever he'd scented earlier had disappeared and the trap was located away from all the popular trails.

With mixed feelings of embarrassment and hormonal need, Griar reached for his pant's zipper. Unfastening, he grabbed at his half-mast erection, rubbing his thumb over its throbbing head. 

Whatever milquetoast enjoyment he got from jerking himself off was immediately ruined as movement caught his eye. He twisted his body, craning to see the newcomer. The scent from before wafted up from them. A human stood in the clearing beneath him, large eyes on Griar. Well… their eyes were on a part of Griar currently clutched in his hand. 

Shit. His body went rigid as he fumbled to cover his cock. Of course, a non-thrope would arrive when he finally gave in to his libido. Of fucking course.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t realize-” They babbled, scrambling backward, back to the safety of the underbrush. 

“Wait! Come back!” More than a little snarl leaked into Griar’s voice, which he instantly regretted.

“I-It’s OK. Do your thing,” they squeaked, finally turning. They waved their hand over their shoulder as they added, “I-I’ll send a ranger your way to check on you, so finish up soon!” 

“This isn’t a kink thing!” Griar howled in explanation of something not even stated, swinging himself forward out of frustration. He growled to himself when no answer returned. With a heaving sigh, he pressed his hands to his face - his erection deflating - and groaned. “Fucking dammit.” 

---

Oncoming dusk crept along the edges of the forest, tailing after the setting sun. A once vibrant blue sky had bled into oranges and purples. The warm day was fading quickly into a cool dusk.

Griar still swung from the enchanted snare. Desire frothed in his loins as the scent of other -thropes in heat worsened. Every so often, he thought he could catch yowls and moans of pleasure, far off in the distance. Perhaps they were rutting in caves, or right beneath the canopies, or even in the fucking trees themselves.

Every time he considered touching himself, the expression of that stranger swam by his expression. And, every time, a cold shame softened his arousal.

A sudden fumbling in the underbrush caught his ear. Craning his head, he caught sight of the wide-eyed stranger from earlier. Annoyance and relief filled his thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” Lapine’s shoulders hunched with embarrassment, heat licking up her face over the angered look the stranger gave her. “I couldn’t find the trail again.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty far off the beaten path.” He couldn’t keep the growl of frustration from his throat. “I could’ve told you that, if you hadn’t taken off.”

Lapine couldn’t meet the dangling stranger’s eyes. “Sorry.” 

He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Just get me down, already.”

“I don’t have a knife,” she replied, voice small. Her imagination braced for derision from this stranger.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to. You need a rune knife for this kind of trap, anyway.” It was a straightforward tone; no mocking with - perhaps - a slight hint of acquiescence. What casual hiker carried a rune knife, right? He motioned toward his fallen bag. “There’s one in my stuff. Look for a stick doll or something and cut whatever binds it.” 

After rifling around in the stranger’s bag, she found a knife with runes carved into the blade. A sense of surreality clipped along her thoughts as she sought the doll the stranger spoke of. Was this normal? Or was this some weird cult thing they’d gotten wrapped up in? 

It took some rooting around the immediate vicinity, but - eventually - she found what they described. A crude little doll, made from sticks and grass bound with thread. She sliced the thread, careful as to not nick the poppet. 

From behind her, there was loud THUMP and a yelp.

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, under her breath. Immediately, she spun and started for the previously snared stranger. Lapine knelt beside them, guilt and concern needling through her thoughts, as she reached out to them. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” 

Their hand shot out, catching hers by the wrist. A small whine began at the back of her throat as she jerked slightly back. Long, dirty fingers held firm to her, though. Her gaze swiveled to their face. 

Tanned. Scruffy. Dirt on their clothes. Thick dark brown hair. Golden-green eyes. As if the sounds they made earlier wasn’t indicative enough, they were definitely a -thrope of some sort. There was just something particularly animalistic about them that made Lapine’s skin prickle. Not entirely unpleasant but wary.

While Lapine sized Griar up, the favor was returned.

Long dark hair, pulled into a ponytail. Moon-grey eyes, made even larger with a pair of glasses. A tint of skin that spoke of days indoors. Griar’s fingers twitched, suddenly thinking how soft their warm flesh would feel under his fingertips, under himself. Mentally, he booted the thought away. That was heat-brain talking. 

"Don't touch me." He released them, ignoring the blunt pain that throbbed along his back. Now that he was released, the swell of heat washed over him. His hindbrain keened, wanting to find a willing participant to sink into. Getting to his feet, Griar put distance between himself and the stranger, going to grab his pack. "It's a heat night."

"What's that mean?" She had a feeling she already knew. After all, she’d found them in a very compromising position earlier.

Picking up his pack, Griar replied nonchalantly over his shoulder. "It's a night when all nearby -thropes get hot and horny. So, y’know, I’m a bit sensitive, at the moment."

"Oh…"

He glanced up at the sky, narrowing his gaze toward the setting sun. "It's too late to get you back on the main trail. You'll have to come home with me."

Lapine paused, nose wrinkled. Her phone’s weight hung in her pocket. If only it worked out here, off-trail. Uncertainty and skepticism made her tone a little harsh as she said, "Uh-huh. This has nothing to do with the heat night?"

Griar sighed and turned to his companion. He couldn’t blame them, could he? Though, it was so irritating to waste time tonight, of all nights. From beneath his shirt, he pulled out a lanyard, flashing an ID. "I work here. You'll be safe at my place." 

Lapine narrowed her eyes at the laminated badge, but scuttled closer, staring at the words. Griar Peterson. Forest guard. Lycanthrope. He/him pronouns. The photo seemed to be him, but a few years younger, with a clean-shaven face and an awkward, almost wincing, smile. A smile with some very sharp teeth attached.

She’d heard of these sorts of positions, usually offered to -thropes only. They lived in the forest, helped stray hikers and saved illegally caught animals, and - sometimes - they found missing people or murder victims. They were a sect of unsung heroes that people often forgot about.

"Alright…" She pressed her lips together, still uncertain. He shoved the badge back under his shirt. Shifting on her feet, she realized she should introduce herself. "I'm Lapine, she/her pronouns."

Griar snorted, casting her a sidelong glance and a smirk. "Well, can't say your parents mis-named you, timid rabbit."

She glared at him, ready to give a bitter reply, before he began tromping off in the woods.

“Keep up. As soon as you’re settled at my place, I’m heading out to join the festivities.” He called over his shoulder, a bit more bounce in his step. How quickly a person’s dour mood could lift, if there was the promise of sex on the horizon. Lapine sighed, a sense of awkwardness blanketing over her.

She didn’t have much choice, though. There was no way she was spending a night in the darkening forest. Quickly, she followed after Griar, biting at the inside of her cheek as she wondered about -thropes and heat and what, exactly, she’d be hearing all night.

[tetsunabouquet]

Heir To The Lands Chapter 26

Sick of This Masterpost

Catarina's words that had confirmed Luke's earlier report and bore the proof the Blackthorn's supsicions had been correct were still fuzzy in Alec's ears. Like he was hearing them far away, not quite reaching him. Alec was too shocked to properly respond. Whilst he knew the Seelie Queen was not to be trusted, he did not think of her as being so foolish she'd toy with the newly established peace between the Shadowhunters and faeries. Unless the Seelie Queen had another batch of plans involving her son. A gamble so strong she didn't think she'd lose. Damn it, he should have killed her instead of Meliorn all those years back then! Just how many times would this woman betray everyone and be blinded by her hunger for power? He should have known better then to expect her to play nice now. Now the Rosales boy was captured and that was all his fault. It was him who sent Jaime on a mission to learn more about the protective magic of the Eternidad by tracking down the faerie smith who made it. The thought of having blood on his hands through his shortcomings as a leader hadn't occured to him until that very moment. Alec felt sick.

Dru had found the Koln Institute with ease. Tomas had already explained the Koln Institute was actually located underground, similar to the Silent City. It was one of the oldest Institutes in north-west Europe, having been built at a time where people were still clueless and figuring out locations for the Institutes. The, as English speakers would call it, Cathedral of Cologne was getting built around this point in time and with the blessing of the church the Shadowhunters had built the Institute beneath the large Cathedral. It hadn't been hard to find, considering it was just about two minutes walking distance from the Hauptbahnhoff. There was a large crowd of mundanes, tourists, who were taking pictures of the large goth-styled building. Dru honestly wished she had brought her phone with her, because it definitely did deserve to have its picture taken. With her glamor rune, she snuck into the Cathedral with ease. She looked around, knowing there was a heavily glamored trap door somewhere. Dru would have missed it if she wasn't carefully looking, the small crack in the walls and the tiny rune etched into the stone next to it. She quickly drew an opening rune against the wall, and it slowly cracked open like a hidden doorway from an Indiana Jones movie. Dru bit her lip before she disappeared inside of the tunnel, all the whilst thinking to herself that she was getting rather tired of all these secret tunnels.

The Seelie Queen huffed in irritation as she was brought to her son's little palace. Janus was impatient, and she didn't liked the way he ordered her around. He was her son's guard and she should very well teach him his place but she had far bigger things on her mind. Her alliance with the Princes was crumbling at her feet, the fact the Rosales boy had been taken and their plans would be exposed too early was calling for revisions of the plan. As she entered the palace, she could see her son waiting for her, with a packed bag. "What is the meaning of this?" She asked her son. "We should leave mother. At this rate, the Princes will turn on us, and I fear they won't spare you." Ash's voice was pleading, but his mother's blue eyes were growing more cold, more icy. "This is my Court, you are too young to take over and command me. I do as I see fit." The Queen's voice rang loudly. "I do not take orders from you and I can salvage this situation. And you," her voice cut through the air as she swung her head in Janus' direction, "You have gotten way too comfortable. I am not Sebastian, you are no brother of mine. You guard over my boy and do as I say and what I'm saying right now is that you should better hurry up and make use of the Chen girl." Ash's lips trembled as Janus nodded with a grave face. The Seelie Queen turnt around and left them both.

[slusheeduck]

Like Daylight Fading As Dusk Spreads

An old mer wasn’t what Arthas had planned to discover when he went out foraging, but that’s what he found. He was hunched, cloak draped over his thin frame and a gnarled hand holding his staff like a lifeline. For a moment, he thought to just leave him be–after all, he wasn’t the only scrounger who hung around the coast, and Azura knew he preferred being left alone when he dug through the ash.

But there was something obviously confused in the mer’s air, and without a bit of hesitation, he started tottering out into the ocean.

“Hey, hey!” he called, running after him. “Hey! G…Gahata!”

He didn’t know why calling him grandfather was the first thing that sprung to mind, but it seemed to do the trick. The mer paused, knee-deep in the water, then turned to look at him. Deep lines carved into his gray face, past frowns hanging around his mouth and brow, and laugh lines around his eyes–one of which was curiously golden. He looked over Arthas silently, then looked down at the sea as it lapped around his legs.

“Oh,” he said, voice airy and vague. “I traversed the seas once. It’s not so hard when you recall we’re the same.” 

Arthas stared, finally pulling down his scarf and shoving his helmet up to make sure the old man–Gahata, was all he could think to call him–saw exactly how baffled he was by that. He shook his head, debating. On one hand, life on Vvardenfell was an every-mer-for-themselves kind of existence. Extra mouths were nuisances at best and deadly at worst. On the other…come on. Arthas wasn’t cruel, and this fellow was likely to get himself killed if he doddered around alone for too long. With a huff, he went over, stomping through the dark sea water to grab the mer’s thin arm. The contact seemed to pull him back to the present, and he nearly seemed like he’d been awoken as he looked up at Arthas. He looked about.

“Ah,” he said. “I’ve been dreaming again.” This time, his odd-colored eyes were clear as he looked up at Arthas. “My thanks, sera. I forget my limits these days.”

“Uh, no problem.”

The mer nodded. He pulled his arm out of Arthas’ grip, using both hands to lean against his cane, still unbothered at being knee deep in the water. “Indulge an old fool, will you? What year is it?”

“It’s 199.”

“Mm. Which era?”

“The…Fourth.”

“Ah, yes, that makes sense. Thank you.” The mer gave a deep nod in gratitude. 

Arthas finally broke his stare, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “You, ah, you got any family around, sera?”

“Oh, no. No, not for a very, very long time.” The mer gave a very long sigh. “They’re all long buried, far from here.”

Arthas grimaced. Great. He’d hoped he’d be able to foist him off to some worried daughter somewhere, maybe get a handful of gold or a meal as thanks. But now, it seemed, he was stuck. Yes, he could just say goodbye to the mer…but his conscience would eat him alive. Anyway, Azura rewarded those who did good deeds, that’s what his mother always said…maybe this would pay off down the road.

He took the mer’s arm again, gently guiding him out of the water. “Here, come on, Gahata,” he said. “Let’s get you dried off and fed, at least. What’s your name?”

The mer sighed. “I had many, not terribly long ago. None of them fit me these days, all too unwieldy for my state, so I answer to nothing. Less disappointment for others that way.”

By Azura, this mer was going to get irritating. Arthas sighed as he released him, getting his scarf and helmet back in place. “...right. Okay. Well, uh, I’m–”

“Arthas.”

Arthas froze, and he turned to look back at the mer, eyes wide beneath his helmet’s lenses. “How did you know that?”

The old mer cracked a smile, very wide and sparking a light in his odd eyes. In better circumstances, it would have been electric. “I’m not always right when I guess these days. It’s always nice when I am.” His head bowed, and he picked his way up the path. Arthas stared after him for a moment, baffled.

Yes, certainly not what he expected to find today.

~

His hut wasn’t anything special, but it was sturdy, and warm, and it kept the ash out. Gahata (he really had meant the name thing, and it felt rude to just think of him as ‘old man’) had eased himself down onto a stool by the cooking fire, wasting no time in coaxing the flames up himself.

“...make yourself at home,” Arthas said dryly, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his dark hair. “I’m afraid I don’t have very much here. But I don’t think anyone else does, either.”

Gahata gave a long sigh. “Yes. I’m very, very sorry about that.”

Arthas waved his hand. “Nah, I manage all right. Still better than dealing with the cutthroats over in Blacklight.” He went to a small cupboard, pulling out a few ash yams.

“You’re a House mer, then?”

Arthas glanced over his shoulder as he pulled a pot down. “You know my name, but not that?”

Gahata chuckled, tapping his bald head. “Like I said, I’m not always right. This doesn’t work nearly as well as it used to.”

“Well, I was. House Dres, actually. Couldn’t get into the family business, so I thought I’d try my luck out in Vvardenfell.” He gestured around them with his knife before he resumed cutting the ash yams. “Didn’t exactly find my fortune, but it’s not so bad out here.”

Gahata hummed in agreement. “I grew up along the Bitter Coast,” he murmured. “Among the netchimen. I resented the simplicity of my life at the time, but now I wonder how things might have been different if I’d been content.”

Arthas looked over his shoulder. “You’d’ve probably been a netchiman.”

Gahata was silent, then let out a bright laugh at that, the fire seeming to sputter along with it. “Ah, I should have guessed you had no poetry in you,” he said, shaking his head. “Seht keep you, Arthas; that sort of clarity is rare.”

Arthas looked back again, eyebrows raising. “Seht? Be careful not to say that too loud, Gahata–even Vvardenfell’s not kind to blasphemy.”

“It’s not? It was, once,” Gahata said, not correcting the familiarity. “I suppose that was a very, very long time ago, though.” 

He was quiet through dinner, outside of expressing his gratitude for the meal, and he seemed to fall into a trance afterward, eyes fixed on the fire. Arthas had never been the chatty sort, and–since it seemed like Gahata was quite content as he was–he let the silence hang between them. He settled into his seat with a boot that needed repairing, periodically glancing up to make sure Gahata didn’t fall asleep and fall into the fire.

“I have a cot you can stay on,” he said. “For the night. We can get you back home tomorrow.”

Gahata’s gaze broke from the fire, and he looked up at Arthas. “Overlooked kindness is the greatest sin one can commit,” he said. “I shall have to find a way to thank you properly.”

Arthas shook his head. “Don’t even mention it. I’m glad to help.”

Gahata looked over him for a moment, silently. After a moment, he smiled and nodded. “Then how very, very lucky I am.”

~

“I used to be everything, once. All in equal parts.”

Arthas glanced up from where he sat on the floor, sharpening a long spear–it was the only way to really get a netch, he’d been told recently. 

“What was that, Gahata?”

“I…I think Gahalma suits me better today.”

Arthas nodded, returning to his sharpening. This wasn’t unusual; Gahalma often started mornings with some odd phrase, followed by what she wanted to be called–often, it was Gahata, some days Gahalma, and on occasion, she preferred to be called nothing at all. Arthas was always happy to oblige, and he’d learned early on to not probe too deeply into whatever nonsense came from her mouth first.

He really had tried to find her family, but it seemed that she had been right, and there was none in the area. He still hadn’t been able to turn her out–his conscience couldn’t abide it–and to her credit, she did her best to keep from being deadweight. Her hands, gnarled as they were, could mend a net neatly and quickly, and she was the one who told him to invest in a spear. Remnants of her youth in the Bitter Coast, she said. And, in her clearer moments, she was sharp–she told jokes as she worked, and often goaded Arthas into discussing all manner of philosophy. With the latter, he would inevitably throw up his hands and give the most basic answer he could; without fail, she would laugh and tell him how he reminded her of her brother, back when they spoke regularly. He died quite some time ago, she’d said, and she missed him very, very much. 

And then there were the stories. Constant stories, from historical epics to folktales to fun little stories about her own life. On her less lucid days, her own were much more rambling, but always entertaining.

“And is that one true?” Arthas would ask when she finished.

And regardless of where her mind was, her odd-colored eyes would sparkle, and that electric smile would cross her face. “Well. It’s true to me, and that’s all that really matters, sera,” she would say.

Today, though, it seemed that Gahalma had drawn inward, her melancholy managing to permeate the whole hut. She pulled on her cloak, then stared down at her hands in silence. Arthas didn’t break it; he’d never been particularly eloquent, and he couldn’t even begin to think of what to say. He studiously continued to sharpen his spear.

“Arthas,” she said after a moment. “How greedy must one be to become a god?”

Arthas looked up, eyebrows raising. Surely she was speaking nonsense again, but her eyes were fixed on him, very serious.

“I…well. I couldn’t tell you, Gahalma,” he said, sitting back. “It seems like a lot of thankless fuss to me.”

“Thankless?”

Arthas nodded. “I mean, I guess there’s the worship and things like that. But everyone expects gods to take care of their problems.” He shrugged. “And there isn’t a guarantee that anyone will actually respect you. So you’ve got all these problems, and at the end of the day, you probably don’t have much actually worth having. Look at the Tribunal, after all.”

Gahalma stared at him, and after a moment, she smiled–a thin, rueful thing. “Look at the Tribunal,” she repeated quietly. “Three fools who built an empire only to make it their tomb.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to watch the waves, Arthas. I won’t try to walk to Solstheim this time.”

Arthas watched her for a moment, then pushed himself up. “I’ll come with you,” he said. There was work to do, of course, but this was the sort of day where he didn’t trust Gahalma one bit to keep herself safe. “I don’t have much to do today, and you did say you’d tell me a story about some snake people?”

Gahalma stared at him, but then suddenly the light came back to her eyes. “The Tsaesci,” she said with a nod and a smile. “Yes, let me tell you about how I went to learn their ways of fighting, and how they believe that all waters lead to the gates of life and death.”

“But did you actually go to meet them, or are you making that up?” Arthas asked dryly, taking Gahalma’s staff and passing it to her. She smiled at him.

“Arthas, let me assure you: the answer to both of your questions is one and the same.”

~

An ashstorm came through shortly after, lasting several days, and Gahata’s melancholy worsened with it. He began saying the oddest things, when he did speak. More often, he sat and stared at nothing in particular, unable to be roused from his reveries until Arthas shook him to at least get him to eat. Over his meal, Arthas asked the same question each time: what was he thinking about? The answer was always the same.

“I’ve never written an ending I liked. I must remedy that very quickly.”

He never elaborated, often falling back into silence that lasted for hours. Arthas finally just let him be; he ensured he was fed, and warm, and that the door was locked well enough to prevent any wanderings. 

The ashstorm cleared, after a few days, and with it, so did Gahata’s mind. He was chatty again, though there was an undeniable edge to it now. He spoke rapidly and constantly, with pleas for Arthas to please listen, because he had so very, very much to say and he wasn’t sure which stories would stick. Arthas didn’t mind; truthfully, he’d missed Gahata’s stories during the ashstorm. 

These stories weren’t as grand as some of the others. He spoke of his brother, the one that Arthas reminded him of; how he was clever, wickedly clever, and very placid until he wasn’t. How they walked in step through their youth, of how Gahata tried and tried to ease the grief that stayed so heavy on his brother’s shoulders, and yet it only seemed to grow with time. Of how they withdrew from each other as they grew older–they made the same mistakes, walking in step as they always had, only to suddenly find they’d gone in opposite directions. Gahata wished he had tried harder to reach him. The second-to-last time he’d seen him, it was out of necessity. The final time, it was to wrap his body–well, what was left of it after years of chipping away at his imperfections–for his final rest.

Then he spoke of a lover, a warrior that blazed across Nirn like a fallen star. Yes, she had been beautiful, but beauty was common and fleeting. What drew him to her was her fire, passion that could be rejuvenating one moment and devastating the next. She loved so much, and so deeply, and she craved it in return. But her appetite was insatiable, and there never seemed to be enough–not from her husband, not from Gahata, not from the throngs of admirers that filled the streets just for a glimpse of her. It drove her mad, in the end; he’d always feared she’d burn too brightly to last, and against every wish and every precaution, she had done just that. Did her death hurt him as much as his brother’s? It was hard to say. He grieved her, certainly, every day. He missed the way she had been. But the death she met was a mercy; she wouldn’t have been able to abide growing as feeble as he was now. In a way, he was glad for it.

Finally, with difficulty, he spoke of earlier days. Of his youth in the Bitter Coast–he’d been a sickly child, often sitting with the mothers of the village as they worked. That was where he’d learned the power of stories, and reached the horrifying realization that if he stayed where he was, he’d never have any worth telling. When he outgrew his childhood maladies, he left; he had no skills worth having, but he survived by coaxing roadside lovers with one hand while holding a dagger in the other. And then, miraculously, he made a friend–his first and last true friend, who had nothing to gain but Gahata’s companionship. And Gahata loved him. He loved him so dearly, so much that he had no choice but to hurt him, again and again, until there was nothing left. He had a chance, briefly, to see him again years and years later. His face was different, and he didn’t know Gahata, but there was no denying the fire in his eyes. Did he ask forgiveness? No, no, what would the point of that be? But he wept so bitterly once he was alone; he didn’t remember Gahata’s love or his sins, and somehow, the latter was worse. It was a fitting punishment.

It was there that Gahata finally seemed satisfied, his thin shoulders sagging from the effort of recounting days long gone. Arthas had listened attentively throughout, and Gahata thanked him for it before he took to bed. The story wasn’t finished, he said as he got into his cot, but the climax had past, and they were reaching the end. 

This time, Arthas knew what he meant.

~

It was, rarely for Vvardenfell, a clear and sunny day. The recent storm had cleared the ash from the air, and while Arthas knew there were plenty of things he should do on a clear day like this, Gahalma insisted it was a terrible thing to waste a nice day with anything besides leisure. Who was he to argue with his elders?

He settled on a sun-warmed rock, a small knife in hand to work at some idle whittling. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but it gave his hands something to do while his mind was quiet. He worked for a while in silence, then looked up as he saw Gahalma digging in the ash.

“Gahalma? What are you doing?” he called. 

She looked up at him, then smiled. “My art was always best served by words,” she said, somewhat sheepishly. She came back to sit by Arthas, carrying handfuls of ash. “Did you know the children of Veloth didn’t always burn their dead?”

“I didn’t.” Arthas watched as she set the ash on the ground before them, carefully smoothing the edges into a large circle. 

“Mm. Early on, very early, we buried our dead. And–listen, Arthas, this is important–for warriors, it was imperative that we had two masks: one we wore to frighten off our death, and one we wore to greet it.” Gahalma pressed her thumbs into the circle of ash, creating two eyes. “I lost the first some time ago, and like a fool, I believed that I would never need the second.”

Arthas stopped his whittling, frowning. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked quietly. The look Gahalma gave him said enough: You already know the answer.

Instead of replying, she carefully gathered the ash into a nose. “My first mask was made from the ash, during one of the many times I successfully scared off my death. But I always believed that a death mask should show the soul of the wearer–one last reminder of what had resided in the empty body. My brother’s mask is made of brass, my lover’s star-studded obsidian, my dear friend’s bright gold.” Her thumb swiped at the bottom of the ash circle, making a thin mouth. “But mine, I think, should be ash again.”

Arthas watched her work, then glanced up. “Why is that, Gahalma?”

She smiled, pleased that he asked. “For three reasons. First, because Vvardenfell was always my first love, and all my failures, all my triumphs, everything I did for Resdayn–for Morrowind–I did for her first. Secondly, words are powerful, but in the end, they fall like ash, unheeded and unwanted. I wanted my words to live forever, and perhaps they shall, but they will mean very little once I’m ash–well, metaphorically ash–myself.” She went quiet, focusing hard on the face she’d drawn in the ash. 

Arthas waited for a moment, watching her. When it was clear she wasn’t about to speak, he prompted, “And the third reason?”Gahalma looked up. The lashes around her golden eye seemed a bit darker than they had a moment ago, and she smiled as she reached down to the ash pile. But now, a mask–sturdy, plain, and gray–was beneath her fingertips. She picked it up, holding it in front of her face.

“Third, I think my death will find it very funny.” She laughed behind her mask, then sighed as she turned it around to look over it. She glanced over to Arthas, face growing serious.

“Arthas,” she said.

“Yes, Gahalma?”

“I am about to ask much of you. You can do it, or not. It will not matter to me soon enough. Will you do it?”

Arthas shifted, frowning slightly. “Well, I…I suppose it depends on what you ask of me.”

Gahalma looked over him. There was a strange depth in her expression, something reluctantly desperate and almost cold–like something that wasn’t quite natural, sizing him up for something much bigger than he was. He couldn’t say where the thought came from, but he wondered if this was what it felt like for the daedra to choose a champion. 

Suddenly, the expression broke, and Gahalma was back to herself. “Most of it can wait. For now, I’m humbly asking you to use that knife I saw you so cleverly carving with on my mask.”

“Oh, I’m not…I can’t decorate, Gahalma. I can find you a much better carver for that.”

She smiled. “Yes, but they wouldn’t have been my friend. That’s very important.”

Arthas’s eyebrows rose. “Is that part of the tradition?”

“No, but I suspect my death will be very cruel in her joking if she thinks I died without a single one.” She passed the mask over to him. “I don’t need much. An identifier will be enough.”

Arthas looked over the mask, running his thumbs over the smooth surface. It seemed odd, leaving this blank face as a substitute for Gahalma’s soul. It wouldn’t show her smile, or her stories, or anything that made her…well, her. Even in the short time Arthas had known her, he knew she was more than a simple old mer, and he wished there was more to do to show that to others. He swallowed, surprised to find his throat tight as he did.

“And what should I use as an identifier?” he croaked out, rubbing his face to try to resume looking unaffected. 

Gahalma simply smiled, a quietly grateful one as she looked him over. “I think a vehk will do the trick.”

~

Gahata wasn’t doing well. 

He hadn’t risen from his cot in two days, and it was difficult to get him to speak coherently. When he was lucid, he had requested just a few things: a cup of water, a bite of yam, and a long, clean sheet of white cloth. The first two were for present needs, the second for a future one.

When he wasn’t lucid, he wept and laughed, and spoke to people who weren’t there. Arthas didn’t recognize most names, but a few were repeated several times. “Alandro” was chided for his pessimism. Gahata called “Voryn” selfish several times, and assured that he was serious, and he was ready for this, in spite of his youth. “Neht” was always said gently, deferentially. “I worry,” Gahata had whispered to Arthas, when he was stuck between past and present, “that Neht will find out I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Two names he did recognize. Gahata called out to Sotha Sil and Almalexia–initially, that hadn’t surprised Arthas; while the Temple deemed it heretical, the older generation had several mer who still worshiped the Tribunal out of habit. But the pleas that followed their names weren’t prayers. To Ayem, Arthas heard murmurs of poetry; it was mostly gibberish, really, but the bits that weren’t were soft and adoring, worshipful in a way that would certainly have been frowned upon by both the old and new Temples. To Seht, Gahata alternated between laughing and speaking very seriously about tools and plans and assurances that he knew he wasn’t heartless. 

Once, as Arthas leaned down to lay a cool cloth on his forehead, Gahata caught his face with surprisingly strong hands. His odd colored eyes were wide as they stared up at him. “I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered. “And this will never, ever happen again.” Arthas knew he must be seeing a different face than his, but he wasn’t sure whose it was. He hoped it had comforted them, whenever it was said.

Finally, Gahata went quiet for several hours, save for his labored breathing. Arthas sat by, simply waiting. Death wasn’t frightening for the Dunmer; it was no more than a journey to another place. Even so, it wasn’t one that should be taken alone. Gahata should have had his whole family here, generations of children and grand-children and great-grandchildren, all waiting to see him off. But there was none, so Arthas would have to do.

He heard Gahata let out a rattling breath, and then he went very still beneath his sheets. Arthas shut his eyes for a moment, then got up to go over to him. He knelt down, preparing to ask Azura to grant Gahata passage to his loved ones in Oblivion. Just as he bowed his head, he let out a cry of alarm as Gahata’s hand shot forward, grabbing his arm. Well. The old mer wasn’t quite done, it seemed.

Arthas looked down, surprised by the fierce look on Gahata’s face. His eyes–one red, one gold–fixed hard on his face.

“I am about to ask much of you,” he rasped. “You can do it, or you can not. But I’ll give you all you need to complete this task.”

Arthas swallowed, and he nodded. “I will,” he said quietly. “I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

Gahata stared at him, labored breaths rattling in his chest. He reached up, setting his hands on either side of Arthas’ face. 

“Soon, you’ll know when, you’ll wrap me in the sheet I asked for,” he said. “Then, I ask that you carry me to the place my brother and my lover rest. It will be a long journey, but you’ll come to no harm–I will ensure that.”

Arthas swallowed. “Where…where is that?”

Gahata shook his head feebly, in contrast to the strong grip he held on Arthas’ face. “It’s not a place easily found. With luck, you’ll be the last person to see it.” One thumb moved, pressing to Arthas’ forehead. Warmth spread from it, and an odd sort of certainty filled him. “You know the way, and you will be able to enter. There, you’ll find a place for me. Lay me there, and put my mask on. You will have done what I’ve asked, then, and you’ll be released.” Gahata gave a weak smile. “But first. ‘Gratitude before service.’”

Gahata’s thumb moved down, and it pressed to Arthas’ lips. The same warmth from his forehead spread from the touch, flowing comfortingly through his body.

“Your path will be fair and just–your feet shall never falter, and your words will move mountains. Fortune will find you, and you shall find reward to match the amount of kindness you’ve shown. That is my blessing for you, Arthas Dres–as my light fades, yours shall shine ever-bright.” As he spoke, voice clear and strong, his golden eye blazed brightly before it faded, darkening to match the scarlet of its twin. He gave a wide, electric smile, patting Arthas’ cheek before his arms dropped back to his sides. “And thank you, for giving an old mer like me some company. It was something I…sorely missed.”

His eyes fixed on something just over Arthas’ shoulder, and his smile softened. “Ah. Finally,” he whispered, “an ending I like.”

Gahata stilled, and this time, it truly was over.

Arthas surprised himself by how bitterly he wept, his wailing keen reverberating off the stone walls of his hut. For a few hours, he simply sat and mourned, a grief that felt beyond his own pouring out of him. 

And, once the initial wave of his grief subsided, he did as he had been told. He washed Gahata’s body, then wrapped him in the white sheet he’d prepared just the day before, though it felt so much longer. The shroud, he bound with a net–it seemed fitting, all things considered. Once finished, he gathered up what he would need: candles, incense, and a match, as well as the ashen mask.. 

He knew it would be an arduous journey to finish his task, but he wasn’t intimidated. His feet knew the way he must go, and he would come to no harm. So he gathered up the body in his arms, and he exited his hut without any bit of hesitation.

After all, he had Gahata’s blessing. 

~

His destination was far from his home, near the ruins of the old capital city. Baar Dau was still embedded in the earth, and the rubble of buildings surrounded it. For a moment, Arthas wondered if the tomb had been destroyed as well, and if his journey had been for nothing. But his feet continued when his head doubted, guiding him away from the city. 

He was exhausted. His arms ached from carrying the body, and the muscles in his legs burned from the long journey. But still he pressed on, determined to finish what he’d said he would. He knew he could abandon it, but it felt wrong to do so–like abandoning a pilgrimage.

Finally, he came to a stop in front of a cave, a large stone covering the entrance. Gently, he set the body down, but then despaired. He couldn’t move something like this, especially not now. His arms and legs shook, strength spent, and he went up to lean heavily against the stone. All this way, just to fail at the end. Arthas grit his teeth, and he opened his mouth to let out a frustrated yell. What came out instead was a phrase he hadn’t even considered, one that had never crossed his thoughts until now.

At his words, the stone trembled, and it rolled of its own volition, leaving the dark maw of the cave open. Arthas stared, just for a moment, then once again gathered up the body in his arms before he made his descent.

There was just one chamber in the tomb. There were no waiting doors, no ash gardens, no grave goods–just candles, freshly lit somehow, and three catafalques were in the center of the room. On two of them, a shrouded body lay on each, as if just placed–one with a mask of brass, the other with a mask of obsidian. The third was empty, but it wouldn’t be for long.

Arthas carefully laid Gahata’s body on the final catafalque, as gently as a mother putting her child to bed. Then, once he was laid flat, he carefully set the ashen mask over his face. He’d carved the vehk in it, as he’d been told to, and then, on his journey here, he’d carved another beneath it.

Because, of course, he knew who it was that he had carried all this way.

Arthas set the candles around his body, and he lit them silently. From one of the flames, he lit three sticks of incense. Each catafalque had a notch at the feet of its corpse, and each received a lit stick–first for the brother, then for the lover, then for Gahata. Once finished Arthas knelt his head and recited the prayer he’d started for Gahata before he’d received his task; he asked Azura, more humbly now, to guide their souls together, and to grant them the peace he suspected they hadn’t had in life. 

His task was finished. He gave Gahata’s body one last look, with a silent goodbye, then he made his way back out. His life would continue, in his little hut by the sea; he’d been granted fortune, but he was wiser now. The life he’d made had been enough to share; that was fortunate in and of itself. 

He took a breath of ashen air as he stepped out from the cave, and he turned to look back to the stone. All that was left was to seal it up. Arthas was no storyteller, but he knew an ending when he saw one. So he went to the stone, and repeated the phrase he’d said to open it; it was the last time, he knew deep in his bones as the stone began to roll forward, that these words would be said.

“The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.”

[lncarnon]

❛  don't make me do this. it scares me.  ❜ / gabe and max pls

There hadn't been much in regard to expectations for something between them, a gamble for the one who always claimed to understand the odds. For the most part, he did. Maximilien was certainly part of the reason omnics were forbidden from taking part in the casino scene; anyone with even a inkling of his past knew very well that he had made much of his fortune by playing the system, walking in with pennies and leaving a millionaire by nightfall. He couldn't really blame them for making such a decision, any omnic that really wanted to put in the work could have done the same, he just had been the first to try.

But this? This semblance of something that he might dare call a working relationship? Max was at a substantial loss over how to parse it. They weren't really friends, and they certainly were still at odds. Affixing a timepiece around his right wrist his mind is in a silent frenzy working over the man laying in a bed just out of his sight, the dues he had to pay for his benefactors, and which suit he was going to don for the day.

Had he the lungs he might have sighed out of the dry sense of irritation beginning to form beneath the blanket of considerations. If ever was there a chance for him to remove the thorn that Overwatch and Blackwatch alike had become for Talon, it would be now. He knows the others on the council would riot to hear that he had the Gabriel Reyes unarmed and unarmored, and instead of doing something about it, he was busy dressing himself and thinking over the day ahead. He could certainly try; there's a firearm in a drawer in the nightstand, it would either work, or he would be dead. Another gamble, hah.

Hearing Gabriel move from beneath the blanket and sheets disperses the idea quick enough, he was out of time for that, to little too late he thinks.

"Ah, he lives again. I was beginning to wonder if you were planning to sleep the entire day away. How long would it have taken one of your overt rejects to come snooping?"

Max speaks without turning around to address Gabe, instead shifting his stance just enough that he can watch him through the reflection of the mirror.

"I would be suspect number one, certainly, with how often you drag me down into an interrogation room."

There's a degree of mirth within Max's tone, an amusement for how true his statement was. It would be ruinous for the both of them for this little affair to be found out. Talon would quite literally have his head on a platter if he couldn't manage to make up some bullshit excuse for his actions or lack thereof. Would it really be such a stretch to say he was applying unique techniques for dredging up information?

Being met with silence it earns a degree of further attention from Max, who finally turns around entirely to gaze upon Gabriel.

"You are being entirely too quiet, Commander-"

The title had become something of a pet name he used to irk the man, but instead of being met with some manner of agitation, Gabe finally speaks. The words that come out of him leave room for Max to fill the silence with his own lack of words. Doing nothing more than staring at him, Maximilien finds himself at an impasse. Apparently they'd been on the same train of thought; what was this?

What were they?

"Very well," the toyful tone he'd been using, dropped entirely.

"You will not need to worry about anyone here mentioning your stay, you are free to leave.. whenever," he states with a small wave of his hand before turning to the mirror once again. So the man is a bit touchy, he does make note of such, but he cannot say that the idea for himself is any less terrifying. Max never had much reason to get close to anyone, his empire and affiliates were far too consuming for something- someone else in his life.

He will remind himself of that, next time, if it ever happens again.