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growingking · 1 year

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Growing Profits

Our story begins with two orc friends, Iron Tuskar, the warrior, armed with his trusty sword, Talon, and his companion, Marduk, the mage, an uncommon profession for the orc kind, but a noble one nonetheless. Together they’ve received a mission, retrieve an mysterious chest from the Damp Cave, a location famous for being the lair of many slime creatures, not many adventurers go in there due to the lack of treasure, or any danger whatsoever, unless of course a group of slimes ambush you, now there’s some danger.

— Are we there yet? — Asked Tuskar, fidgeting with his sword, while he closely followed Marduk.

— Almost, I can already see the entrance. — Answered Marduk, the sun has begun to settle, should they retrieve the chest soon, they’ll be back in town shortly after nightfall.

Arriving at the entrance, Marduk walked side by side with his companion, the magic blue light shining above his head. Tuskar's choice of clothing was… Eccentric, to say. Wearing pauldrons held together only by rope, his muscular and hairy, deep green chest and belly was always showing, the same with his muscular legs, with only a loincloth covering his crotch and back, and leather to protect his feet, “A display of strength!” Tuskar says. Marduk always admired Tuskar’s body, his dedication in training and getting stronger, although lately he's been getting a little softer on the belly and… Well, the whole body. At least a month ago, one could clearly Tuskar's six pack, but now it is hidden beneath a visible amount of pudge. Tuskar’s always said something like "I'm just bulking! It takes a lot of energy and food to keep growing strong! You wouldn't understand!" And maybe Marduk really wouldn’t understand. How does gaining weight helps muscles grow?

Marduk on the other hand has always been slim, he wasn’t as strong as his companion, and his clothing choice was the common wizard robes, and under that a leather vest in case some enemy got close enough, luckily it never happened. While Tuskar had a deep green skin, Marduk was a very light green shade, his long hair was always tied in a ponytail, while Tuskar chose a warrior braid with shaved sides. Marduk could easily go weeks without needing to shave his beard while Tuskar had to trim at least once a day. The same with his body hair, he was as smooth as peach, Tuskar jokes about him.

— Damn, this place is bigger than I expected, where could that bloody chest be? — Marduk’s thoughts have been interrupted by his partner.

— You’re right, besides we’ve been walking here for a while now, and I haven’t seen any slime yet. That 's odd… — Marduk walked slower, paying attention to his surroundings.

— I think I saw something buried there! — Tuskar hastily ran to a darker section of the cave, without paying attention to his friend.

— Hey wait up! Pea brain! — Marduk wasn’t as fast as his partner, so he made his magic light follow Tuskar.

As Marduk was casting another light spell, he felt a droplet of something on his shoulder, it was sticky and… Blue. He knew exactly what it was, and it was too late, as he looked up, with the dim light of the other magic light, he saw a huge blue blob ambushing him, swallowing his entire body. It was translucent and he saw his friend paying more attention to the buried chest than to him unable to breathe inside the blue orb of goo, he tried to scream for help, a horrible mistake, he felt like a huge tentacle penetrated his mouth, he could feel that thing bombarding itself inside his stomach. He also felt a small burning sensation on his body, and soon his robes were dissolved, and after a little while, his leather armor, he was naked inside a blob of goo, what a shameful way of dying.

But as soon as his clothes were dissolved, the burning sensation stopped, something worse happened, he felt his stomach beginning to grow, he also felt a pressure in his ass, something, and he knew what, was looking for another way in, and it found. He felt his hole stretching as the creature invaded him, his belly was growing faster as well, and his limbs started to swell, looking he gained more weight than he could lose, he could see his tits growing softer and round, his belly was so big that he couldn’t see his cock anymore, and as much as situation looked, and was, awful, he couldn’t help but feel horny about it, his cock grew hard, and the slime found yet another entrance.

It felt like he was cumming, but in reverse, as a tinier tentacle invaded his privates, making his balls swell and his cock grow larger, he felt like he could cum at any moment now from such sensation.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, all the slime was “gone”and Marduk could grasp his breath. He was lying on the floor with his belly up, naked, in a size that he never imagined he could achieve, his much heavier body was hard to move, judging by the circumference of his gut, the softness of his limbs, and the size of his tits, he estimated that he would be weighing at least 150kg, if not more. He could feel the slime sloshing around his huge gut as he tried to get up, a task that has proven much harder now.

—Urrp… Shit, Tuskar, little help? I’ve got a big problem here! — Marduk burped again after that.

— What? Are you back there? I thought you were here with me! What’s wro- What the fuck happened?! You are huge! — Tuskar approached quickly, he couldn’t believe his eyes. A few moments ago his friend was just a scrawny tiny nerd mage, and now he was a massive fat blob.

— I got ambushed by a huge slime, urgh, could you help me get up? —

— Oh big boy, I will help you out soon. I’ve always wanted to fuck a fatty, guess this is your lucky day. — Tuskar said in a playful tone, and Marduk raised his head quickly to see what was wrong, only to see a growing bulge on his friend’s loincloth.

Marduk always admired Tuskar’s strength and looks, but he never thought about having an affair with him. But now, in a vulnerable position, and having the chance, why not enjoy Tuskar’s muscular frame against him?

— Oh… Well, since you asked so nicely. — Even though nice wasn’t the best word, it was good enough for Marduk to spread his legs with a bit of difficulty.

Tuskar ran his big hands throughout Marduk’s body, feeling his now wide calves and grabbing his thighs. He kissed his friend’s huge, soft gut, and sucked his big tits, Tuskar then lifted Marduk’s heavy legs and spread his buttcheeks, making space for his rock hard cock, the slime had already done the difficult part of opening and lubing up the backdoor for him, but his insides were still a little tight and warm.

— Oh, holy shit, your ass is so fucking perfect, i’m going to fuck you raw, mage boy. — Tuskar panted, as his cock was being swallowed by Marduk’s fat, soft ass. He grabbed his friend’s swollen tits and gut and began thrusting faster and faster.

— Oh fuck, you are so fucking hot, please, fuck me harder! Harder! — He moaned as his tits and belly jiggled more and more as Tuskar fucked him harder, he was enjoying it very much, but he noticed that he wasn’t close to cumming, Tuskar on the other hand…

— Shit, oh fuck, here it comes! I’m almost there! — Tuskar hugged Marduk’s swollen body with a lot of strength as his cum filled his friend’s ass.

— Woah, damn, that was amazing… Holy shit, your ass is delicious! — He said as he slapped Marduk’s ass after pulling his cock out, only then noticing that his friend did not came.

— Huh, that's weird, need a little help with that? — Tuskar asked.

— I think some of the slime got inside my cock as well, see? — Now that Marduk mentioned, Tuskar did notice that his friend’s cock was indeed bigger and thicker, his balls were the size of a tennis ball, and his cock were the size and thickness of a wine bottle. Tuskar felt his butthole send him a sign.

— Well friend, you are in such a need, I would never leave you like that. — Tuskar first started by licking his friend's swollen dick, it was somewhat hard to find space in his mouth, but once he managed, he started to suck him off, grabbing his own cock as his friend moaned with pleasure. Then he climbed up his fat body and began riding him, it was hard since Marduk’s cock was now supersized, but Tuskar managed.

— Oh fuck, that’s much more than i had before, shit, that feels so good. — Tuskar moaned, as he slid up and down and grabbed his friend’s new fat. Murdak still was having some trouble with his new size but was starting to get used to it and fucking harder.

— Fuck, Tuskar, i’m almost there! — As he moaned that, he grabbed Tuskar’s thighs and thrusted one final, deep time, cumming inside his friend’s ass, and being welcomed by a white load on his face.

— Oh fuck, that was great, big boy, holy shit! — Tuskar moaned and got off his friend, both tired and sweaty.

— Damn, it really was… Hey, your belly looks bigger, guess I came a lot. — Murdak noticed Tuskar's swollen belly, but something was wrong, it was growing.

— Shit, Tuskar, I think the slime in my cock is inside you! — As he said he felt his belly grow as well, did the slime use their cum to breed inside them?!

Tuskar rubbed his growing gut, it was expanding fast, and spreading to his limbs as well, will he grow as big as his friend?

— Well fuck big boy, guess we are both pregnant now… I already got the goods that we had to retrieve. What do you say if we have a good night of rest and solve this tomorrow? — Tuskar said that and slapped his bulging gut, then he approached Marduk once more and hugged him, feeling the comfort of his fat body.

— Since you mentioned that, I really am tired. I think we should indeed have a good rest. — He felt Tuskar’s embrace, his rapidly expanding gut and ran his chubby hands throughout his partner’s body.

#gaining fiction #weight gain #gainer fiction #weight gaining #slime inflation #fat #chubby #orc smut #orcs #orc

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juniper-sunny · 2 years

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The Art in the Heart - Chapter 12

Silco takes you Topside for your very first date. Then sees more of you than ever before…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act 1 | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | WC: 3.47k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 7.5 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @joscelyn02 @crunchlite @sheacrowley

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Tonight’s the big night. And you already screwed it up.

You pace back and forth frantically in front of your wardrobe, chewing on your fingernails.

You shouldn’t have kissed Silco before your first date. You’re going to scare him off with how eager— no, with how desperate you were. Everybody knows you don’t kiss until the third date. Or at least, that was what a little girl at Janna’s Hearth had told you. At the ripe old age of nine years, she had spoken with a confident, matter-of-fact tone that conveyed all the wisdom of her life experience. You had listened to her carefully with wide eyes; at that age, it’s important to show children that adults will respect what they have to say and take them seriously.

Maybe you should have paid closer attention to her.

It’s a ridiculous Topside expectation for you to wear a different dress to every single social gathering, as if it were a war crime to wear the same outfit to different parties. Why did Pilties care so much about something so inconsequential? It shouldn’t be such a big deal as long as the dress is clean. Most Zaunites wouldn’t have the money or patience to buy an excessive amount of formalwear, much less keep it in good condition.

You’re grateful right now, though, looking at six of your dresses laid out on your bed. That’s more than enough to choose from. But it also means more time to waste as you put one on, scrutinize yourself in the mirror, take it off, put it back on again, then start all over with a different one. Which do you look best in? What would Silco like?

You look at your clock. Shit, you’re running out of time. He’ll be here soon, and he’s never late. If you pick something now you’ll have just enough time left to do your hair and makeup.

Just as you’re finishing up, someone knocks on your door.

A few deep breaths help calm your rattling nerves. Also, maybe making him wait a little will help you seem more composed, if only to compensate for your earlier overzealousness.

You open the door slowly. Only to be greeted by a breathtaking sight.

The first thing you notice is that Silco has tied his hair back. His brilliant eyes are on full display, as well as a hesitant smile playing around his lips. The setting sun casts shadows on his face that emphasize the sharpness of his high cheekbones now that they’re no longer obscured.

His lithe form is emphasized all over by his outfit, carved and sharp long lines emphasizing his handsome features. A long, smoke black overcoat reaches just above his knees; its inner lining a deep, rich maroon as revealed by the large collar circling his neck. His svelte waist is encased in a close-fitting double-breasted vest, medium gray with a burgundy tint. The vest's wide collar is a darker black that emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders. His formal vermillion shirt and an eggshell white tie complement the vest. His pants and boots are the same deep obsidian as his coat. The coat and vest have matching golden edges, intricately stitched and shining in the last light of the sunset.

All in all, this is the classiest outfit you’ve ever seen him wear.

It’s so different from his more casual tank tops or long-sleeved shirts, but he’s so handsome that you could definitely get used to this look. His clothing could fool the untrained eye into thinking he's wearing Topside attire, but there are mismatched stitches here and there on the seams of his pants, a sure sign that the clothing was repaired in the Undercity and not Topside. Still, Silco is more handsome than any Piltie gentlemen you've ever seen, despite the exorbitant cost of their expensive tuxedos.

Silco shuffles his feet. He opens his mouth to greet you, but a hitch catches in his voice as he stutters. He tries to cover it up by clearing his throat to say, “Hello.”

“Hi,” you smile shyly at him. “You look very dashing.”

“Thank you. I can only hope to imitate the beauty that you depict in so many of your artworks.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you wanna know a secret?” you grin mischievously at Silco.

“Do tell,” his smile settles into an intrigued smirk.

“It’s all in the collars,” you tease, lightly pulling on his coat. “Everybody knows that bigger is better.”

“I did aspire to outshine the average gentleman in that department,” he smirks. He strands straighter, seemingly even taller than usual with how your eyes are dragged up and down his body. You only just now notice the picnic basket he has hooked over one elbow. “But no one could compare with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You blush. Agonizing over your preparations was worth it just to hear that. The dress you’ve opted for tonight is a light lilac wisp of a thing, off the shoulder with short sleeves. The boned corset of the dress cinches almost skintight around your waist. From there, the dress rests close to your body, the night breeze playing with the hemline ending just above your ankles. Your heeled boots are a slightly darker shade of purple, with a tasteful silver thread filigree in the shape of a large bird, wings open midflight.

“Thanks,” you try to say with a nonchalant tone. But as with every compliment and smile he sends your way, it sends a little thrill through your heart that curls inside you like a cat in a sunbeam.

Silco offers you his free arm. You hook your hand around it, enjoying the feel of the soft coat under your hand. When you rub his sleeve, he pulls his elbow close against his body, as if he could feel your touch through the fabric. He sets a leisurely pace that you match, heading towards Piltover.

Your throat is dry. Oh gods— You’ve held plenty of conversations with Silco before— what do you talk about now? How do you talk? The panic makes your tongue heavy in your mouth—

“I hope it’s alright that we’re headed to Topside,” Silco’s voice cuts through the night. He’s trying to sound casual, but his throat bobs as he swallows apprehensively.

“Of course, Silco,” you squeak out. “I’ll go anywhere with you.” (Shit, are you coming on too hard? You shouldn’t have said that.)

“I’ve made us dinner as well,” if he was nervous before, it finally cracks through as his voice trembles. He swallows again before continuing, “It might not compare to your cooking or Kharon’s—”

“Silco,” you interrupt him, letting go of his elbow to instead reach for his hand. You pull at his wrist, and he hesitantly entwines his fingers with yours. “It’s okay. I'm looking forward to it.”

He seems to be missing his usual confidence and self-assuredness, his eyes darting around as if he might find it discarded on the street. If there’s a chance that he’s as on edge as you are tonight, it actually reassures you a little, funnily enough. Even first-date nerves can't keep you from enjoying the comfortable, warm glow that always envelopes you whenever you’re in your friend's presence.

Your conversation falls into an easy rhythm as the pair of you head towards whatever destination Silco leads you to. The evening crowd trickles into the streets, on their way to their nighttime affairs. When he grips your hand tight, it’s not out of a protective instinct but a soothing one. Whether it’s for you or himself, you’re not sure, but you’re happy to be so close to him either way.

Silco points at the end of a large street, its gray cobblestone giving way to looser, dark gravel.

“We’re almost there,” he says. Most other people seem to be leaving the area, deterred by a bright yellow barricade and a sign declaring in bold, black letters: CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. After surreptitiously glancing around to check that no one is looking, he lifts the barrier high enough for you to duck underneath it. You giggle as you do so, exhilarated.

“Have you ever been here before?” Silco whispers. He glances up at the windows of nearby buildings, looking out for observers. The walkway slants downward into a slope, wild stones smoothing out under your feet.

“I don’t think so? Where are we?” Even if it weren’t getting dark, this area of Piltover is unfamiliar. The sound of waves creeps up on you, and your boots begin to sink slightly into sand.

Silco comes to a halt, turning with a flourish.

“May I present one of Topside’s best kept secrets: Midtown Cove,” he states grandly. With a sweep of his arm, he presents a small, cozy beach. The white sand is smooth, disturbed only by errant footprints. Moonlight casts a soft glow, illuminating a dappled stripe on the water. The faraway horizon is dotted with dark islands and distant boats.

Piltover is a beautiful place, but this beach has a wild allure all on its own, almost divorced entirely from the highly engineered and carved out gold and marble aesthetic of the city. No, the landscape here is untouched and untamed.

In that sense, it’s very much like Silco himself.

“This place is beautiful,” you say happily. It’s a lovely sight, straight out of a postcard or one of your own landscape paintings. You turn to him with a delighted grin on your face. “I love it.”

Silco looks relieved to hear you say that. “It’s probably one of the only places in Topside I like to frequent. Not many Topsiders seem to make their way here, so I had hoped this place would be new to you as well.”

“We got lucky that the beach is under repairs,” you then frown in thought. “How do you fix a beach anyways?”

“I placed the barricade there myself,” Silco laughs. He sets the picnic basket down, pulling out a large blanket. You walk forward to help him spread it, but he shoos you away with a wave of his hand. “Just to ensure our complete privacy.”

“I always knew you were a bad boy,” you tease him. “Insurrection, burglary, breaking and entering, and now trespassing? I’m surprised there aren’t wanted posters of you everywhere.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents,” he laughs. When he gestures for you to take a seat, you do so carefully, stretching your legs out and keeping your knees close together.

“Seriously though… thank you,” you smile. It’s been a long time since someone made so much effort to take you out on such a nice date. The anticipation that was building up all day has now turned into a contented gratitude. You couldn’t have asked for a better companion tonight.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies with a grimace. He carefully pulls out plates and a thermos from his basket. “I’m sorry I only made sandwiches— I should have ordered takeout from Jericho’s—”

“Stop that,” you scold him gently. You grab a plate and hold it out. “Thank you so much for dinner, Silco. I can’t wait!”

Silco can’t help but smile when he sees how eager you are. He places a wrapped sandwich on your plate before grabbing one for himself, watching you anxiously as you unwrap it.

When you bite down on it, a symphony of flavors bursts in your mouth. Rich, peppered meats, sweet and juicy tomato slices, and a smooth cheese all complement each other in perfect harmony, with a beautifully crusty bread to top it all off. You hum in appreciation.

“This is so good!” you say around a mouthful of sandwich. You swallow hastily. Crap, that wasn’t very ladylike. Even if Zaunites aren’t as concerned with table manners as Topsiders are, you’re still on a date. (Tonight’s goal is to impress him, not scare him off.) “You made these yourself?? This is restaurant quality!”

With a grin, he bites into his own dinner. “Thank you. I had consulted with Kharon on how to pair the ingredients.”

“Really?” you chuckle. “I’m glad she’s warming up to you.”

“I’m not quite sure about that,” he frowns. “It’s difficult to discern what she’s thinking.”

“But she helped you, right? She wouldn’t have bothered at all if she didn’t like you,” you point out.

“Well, when I mentioned that I intended to court you, she may have… expressed her concerns.”

(Uh-oh.) “What did she do??”

“Nothing.”

“Silco…” your annoyed expression at him is somewhat ruined by the fact that your cheeks are full of sandwich.

“She may have… raised her voice at me. Not with words.”

You swallow and sigh. “Sorry about that. Kharon can get pretty overprotective.”

He shakes his head. “There’s no need to apologize on her behalf. I understand where she’s coming from. The desire to protect someone dear to you is perfectly natural... It’s the same way I feel about you.”

You blush and look away. You busy yourself with finishing off the sandwich and brushing crumbs off of your hands.

Silco holds out a napkin for you to use. When you take it from him, you glance at him sideways. There is nothing but care and affection in his gaze.

Soon after, Silco is done eating as well. He hands you the thermos and you drink from it. When you pass it back to him, you’re seized by the impulse to scoot closer to him. As you do so, he automatically raises an arm to drape it around you, his hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. You let yourself lean into him, his coat rubbing up against your cheek.

Silco is solid and warm next to you. His fingers skim over your skin, playing with the fabric of your sleeve. The smell of his new cologne lingers in the air, a fresh and woodsy aroma that’s not too heavy but still stands out against the saltwater scent of the sea.

The two of you bask in a quiet moment, watching the waves lap at the shore. The moonlight caresses the water, bright coins bobbing and shifting over the surface.

“You were right,” you murmur quietly. “The water really is peaceful.”

Silco hums in amusement. “That’s not quite what I had in mind… would you like to see?”

You nod, curious about his meaning. When he stands up, you feel the loss of his presence keenly. It’s soon overcome by a growing alarm when he takes off his coat and unhooks his vest.

“What are you doing?!” you squeak out, clapping your hands over your eyes. You can’t help but peek between the gaps in your fingers to watch him unbutton his shirt and pull off his tie. Although you’ve fantasized about his body before, you’re wholly unprepared for him actually stripping in front of you. You clamp your eyes shut when he starts pulling down his pants.

“Come swim with me,” Silco says. You can sense him stepping closer to you, gently taking your wrists to pull you to your feet. Your eyes stay closed, though.

“Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll watch the basket,” you squinch your eyes shut tighter.

He slides his hands up your arms to hold the back of your elbows. The blush on your face travels downwards, your chest heating up like a furnace. Before you can turn away, Silco presses his lips against your forehead, softly and sweetly, whispering your name. When you crack open your eyes, he’s staring deep into you, focused and intense. You couldn’t turn away even if you wanted to.

You swallow and whisper, “Okay.”

Your breath hitches when Silco walks away to stand behind you. He slowly ghosts his fingers over the tops of your shoulders. You shiver, hoping he can’t feel the goosebumps forming everywhere he touches you.

His hands drag across your back until he finds what he’s looking for. The zipper on your dress is pulled down, slowly and deliberately. The dress falls open enough for him to place his palms on your back. Warmth blooms wherever his hands make contact: his thumbs gently stroking either side of your spine, then moving to glide over your ribs.

Your blood burns with agitation. The rough calluses on his fingers graze against your skin as he traces every inch of you, igniting fireworks in your veins.

Finally, his hands reach down to your hips and he pushes the dress off you. It falls to the ground and pools around your feet. You hold onto him for balance when you pull off your boots, leaving you only in a strapless bra and panties.

He walks in front of you to take your hands as you step onto the beach. You shyly drop your gaze to the ground, watching the cool and grainy sand sink as you step with your bare feet.

You’ve never been seen or touched like this before; it's nerve-wracking but exciting. You can feel his eyes unabashedly enjoying the sight of you in just your underwear. But you’re not afraid— except for maybe one thing.

(Is now a good time to tell him? But it might kill the mood—)

Silco starts walking backwards into the water, still pulling you along. As your toes touch the waves, the cold startles you, a deep cut to your bones. You flinch and stop walking.

“Sorry, it’s cold,” you apologize. You draw your foot back, digging your heels into the sand.

Silco’s grip on your hands tightens infinitesimally. A mischievous grin plays around his lips, a bright gleam shining in his eyes—

You realize his intentions too late.

The world turns into a blur. Wind whistles through your hair as you’re swept off your feet. You're weightless, flying through the air then crashing into the water. You shriek instinctively. He must have scooped you up and thrown you so rapidly that you barely saw or felt him move.

Your eyes close instinctively as you sink. The water is a crashing, freezing shock to your system, vision filling with white foam. Silco’s feet kick out as he spreads his arms to keep himself floating.

The cold embraces you, a soft ethereal blanket wrapping around you. Bubbles and roiling waves obscuring your vision. A part of you recognizes the truth of what Silco says: there is peace in water, but not when you’re disoriented and fighting the impulse to breathe.

Silco takes hold of your flailing arms. With a gentle grip on your elbows, he pulls you above the surface, laughing while you gasp for air.

“You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

His hands drop to your waist. He pulls you close as you rest your hands on his shoulders, both your legs kicking freely.

You headbutt him, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to show your annoyance as you purse your lips at him.

“Dummy,” you scowl. “I could’ve drowned.”

“I would never let that happen,” he vows. “Besides, when getting accustomed to cold waters, I’ve found the best approach is to dive in without hesitation.”

He rests his forehead against yours. Touching noses with you.

His eyes are half-lidded. Even when you’re blinking water out of your eyes, his gaze bores deep into yours. Your lips part and you exhale softly on him.

(He’s not really talking about the water, is he?)

You push your hair out of your eyes. Glancing down at his lips. Raising one hand to touch his face. As your thumb brushes his lower lip, his mouth falls open slightly.

The world stills around you.

There’s only the water, and Silco.

Waiting for you to dive in.

(Then what are you waiting for?)

You lean closer. Enough to smell the salt of the ocean coming off his skin. Tracing the trail of a single drop of water meandering down his cheekbones and falling off his chin.

Finally, you kiss him.

Silco reciprocates eagerly. Mouth wet from both the water and his fervor. Lips tasting as much of you as possible. His arms tighten around your waist at the same time you wrap yours around his neck.

His kisses push deeper into your mouth, and you open wider to make room for his tongue. You gasp as a hot thrill flares inside you. Not just inside your mouth, but between your legs as well.

He pulls you flush against him. The hardness of his cock rubs up against you, barely separated by the thin layer of your and his underwear. You whine into his mouth.

Silco breaks off to press his forehead into yours. The night is dark, but a fire burns in his eyes.

“Can I take you home?” he whispers, voice low and husky.

Such a small question, made up of only five words. There’s only one answer to give:

“Yes.”

Chapter 13

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH

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bitter-limelight · 2 years

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The briefest drabble on Armand wearing blue for Marius again

I wonder if he would notice if I wore blue. He chose it for me, after all, or had once. Blue, beautiful sparkling blue. His morning sky, he called me, a beautiful thing he hadn't seen in 1500 years, though I had no way to know that then.

I knew it now, though, as I held the soft cashmere shirt in front of me. Blue. Not quite like the sky, darker than that, but not so deep as his cobalt eyes. Not the blue of my jeans either though, not sapphire blue. He told me once that humans can see more shades of green than any other color but there were so so many shades of blue. I thought of this as I slipped it on, and then hesitated. There was a mirror hanging inside the wardrobe door, full length to see myself as I dressed every night, but I wasn't sure I wanted to see.

It wasn't as though I had never worn blue. It was just that I didn't choose blue. Of course I had not worn colors while in the cemetery. Even if some scrap of cloth had once been glue, the soot and grime of the years would have ate it up and turned everything to mud and muck and grey. And when I left for the theatre, I wore the colors of the day, pinks and greens and bright whites and cream. Surely blue? And then the age of color in men's clothing wanted. I wore black again, black coats and vests, until the fashions turned again and I wore canvas pants like Daniel and soft shirts like Daniel. Had I worn blue? I couldn't think. I hadn't avoided blue though, not on purpose. Maybe blue though, like the sunrise, has forsaken me. No morning sky for Satan's child.

I reached for the door, and gave myself the quickest glance. Blue suited me well and always had, the dark red of my hair striking against the shade and bringing out the flecks of gold, amber and orange in my brown eyes. I was pretty but then I was pretty in everything, admired all the damned time. Everyone noticed me, but would Marius?

I wore blue to court that night. I should have had my mind on a thousand other things. Always a crisis, this struggle of us coming together and this changing concept of our existence. My clothing didn't matter and neither did my lonely heart, but since when was I selfless? Never. I wanted this attention even if I hated myself for it. I couldn't ask for it after all. What was I to do? Go up to my Master and *tell* him I missed him? Just say to him, speak to me here, hold me, please give me what I have missed for so long, call me your child again, even in anger, let me tell you how I regret our centuries apart and miss our three short years together? Words ran through my head and I honestly tried to arrange them to show my desperation and the well of melancholy nostalgia I had every time he looked at me, but none of the sentences I made ever made sense.

I couldn't just ask for love again. I didn't know how. I wasn't ready to learn. So instead, I wore blue.

#Marius/Armand #Marius/Amadeo #Marius de Romanus #The Vampire Armand

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treatian · 2 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Hadestown

Chapter 4: Planning a Family Reunion

In all his time in Storybrooke, he'd never spent any time in the alley beside Granny's diner. And yet, suddenly, he found it was his new safe place. Between the fence and Granny's diner, he felt sheltered and hidden away in this new but familiar land. He wasn't sure what lay beyond this spot of town, but he felt secure enough here to hold the ball between his hands and gaze into it. He was unsure how a former Dark One had gotten his hands on one of these down here. But it was just another question he would add to the endless list of them forming in his head, a list that was shoved quickly aside when he looked down at the Looking Glass before him. He knew he needed the answers to those questions, but right now, there was one thing that was important and one thing only.

His family. He had to know what had happened to them. He had to know they were okay. And his gut told him to start with Belle. She was the one he was most worried about. Bae should be with Emma and Henry in the Land Without Magic somewhere, hopefully getting their life in order. He was sure there would be problems along the way, but at least they'd have each other. Belle, on the other hand…

He had to know she was okay, that she was being taken care of or at least managing life independently. He wasn't sure what he intended to do if she wasn't sure yet. But he'd fucking cross all of hell to get back to her and fix things for her if he had to.

So, he took a deep breath, focused on his Belle, then watched as the shadows inside the crystal ball began to morph and shift into something new. The light he saw within it died as it grew darker, and a small sphere began to lighten to the precise shade of Belle's skin tone. A moment later, her image appeared in front of him. He stifled a cry of relief and amazement that it had worked, that he could see her, a bright light in a dark place just as she'd always been. But then he began to take in the details. She was lying down. He hair had been pulled free as if she wanted to sleep, but she was still in her clothes, a long white shirt of some kind and something over her shoulders like a vest he couldn't clearly make out because of the blankets on top of her. But that wasn't a bed she was sleeping in. That was dirt. She was lying on the ground. Shadow and light played over her face, a familiar flicker of firelight from something close by. Staring up at him as she lay there like she could see him above her. She wasn't frowning or crying, but there was sadness in her eyes. Her cheeks looked a little more hollow than he'd like them to look, and the circles under her eyes suggested that she hadn't been sleeping. She was grieving.

He fought to take deep breaths. He expected her to be in mourning. He predicted that she'd be sad. But why the fuck was the love of his life sleeping in the dirt by a fire? Why was she grieving all by herself? Where had the curse spat her out? He was hopeful it would be where it had gotten her from, that Regina would release her or that the others would see to her release and look after her, but…maybe he was wrong? Had no one cared to come to take care of her? Had no one bothered to look for her?

His knuckles went white with anger as he stared down at her, and…her lips moved. Not in a swallow or even a twitch. She was talking. She was saying words he couldn't make out because crystal balls didn't allow sound; he needed a mirror for that. But she was obviously speaking. To who? Herself?

No. His heart dropped as she turned her head where she lay as if addressing someone close by. Wide-eyed, jealousy surged inside him as he willed the ball to show him more. Who was it? A man? He couldn't imagine Belle moving on so fast. How long had he been in that vault? Years? Decades? Belle didn't look that much older than he'd last seen her but-

Every thought he had ceased. Every internal function, breath, heartbeat, it all stopped as the ball responded to his silent desires and let him get a better look at the scene before him. He saw. But he couldn't believe it.

Belle wasn't with another man. At least not in that way, gods, he hoped not in that way. She was indeed lying on the ground with another person, but there was a blazing, roaring fire between the pair in what appeared to be a cave where they were camping. And the person on the other side of that heat source, the one having a friendly chat with her, sharing her company, was none other than Baelfire.

He had to tear his gaze from the ball to take a deep breath and wipe the tears he hadn't realized were coming out of his eyes. He couldn't help it. Devastation and anger and sorrow roared inside of him all at once. He didn't know what to address first!

What the fuck?!

It was wrong! It was all so wrong he didn't even know where to begin!

Bae and Belle were together?! There was no way that Belle could have outrun the undoing of the Curse, not with her memories intact, and even if she had managed, she wouldn't be out in a cave, camping, in clothes that looked like that! The implication was clear. Belle had gone back to the Enchanted Forest, just as she should have. But if Baelfire was with her, then that meant...Bae wasn't in the Land Without Magic with Emma. He was in the Enchanted Fucking Forest! He hadn't gone with Emma and Henry? After all he'd done and all he'd fought for where Henry was concerned, he'd just laid back, accepted his fate, and gone back home?! That didn't make sense! It didn't make any sense. Bae would have gone with Emma and Henry, and he would have stayed with them, even if Emma refused! He'd have gone unless…unless…

Fuck.

Bae would have gone...unless he hadn't known that he could.

Oh, hell. He'd thought it had been so straightforward. It had been fucking clear to him that there would be exceptions to who would go back and who wouldn't. As someone from the Enchanted Forest, the Curse would have taken Bae back if he had stayed in Storybrooke, but he hadn't been one of the cursed. He had been able to leave, just like Emma, Henry, and hell, even Pinocchio! All they had to do was step over the town line when it hit, and it would never take them. Henry couldn't go. He'd been a child of that world, not the Enchanted Forest. And Emma would never have let him be left behind alone; she'd have protested, and Regina would have known that she could stay. It would have been obvious! But Bae...

They'd been so caught up in fighting back Pan, so concerned with other things that he hadn't realized he wasn't clear enough. He'd left them with Regina and assumed that she would get it. He'd assumed his less-than-perfect, downright slow former student would understand the inner workings of that Curse. He'd assumed she'd be happy to let Baelfire and Emma Swan sail off into the distance with her son for a happily ever after.

He was a fucking idiot. Whether it was malicious or not, the message had not been clear because he'd trusted it to Regina. And now there they were. Baelfire and Belle, together, away from Emma and Henry, away from him, away from all they loved, grieving and sleeping in a damn cave! He'd never been so angry in all his life. He'd never been so disappointed in himself in all his life for not seeing this earlier and putting too much godsdamned faith in Regina!

He had to do something. He had to fix this. He hadn't a clue how to do it, but he knew he couldn't just sit here in the afterlife waiting for the next Dark One to arrive while this injustice was carried out. He had to…he had to…

Fuck!

He had to do something, but what that something was, he hadn't a clue. This was a new world, a different kind of realm that was far more unexpected than he'd ever dreamed. He didn't know where to start. He was here. Baelfire and Belle were in the Enchanted Forest, and Henry, Henry was…

He felt suddenly calm as he took one breath after another and turned his gaze back to the ball. He'd had three people in mind when he grabbed this crystal ball. He'd assumed he'd find two of them together, and indeed he had, but not the two that he'd wanted. So then all that remained was the third. The ball was clear, the busyness of his mind preventing it from getting a focus on any of his family members, but now…now he focused once more on just one. Henry. He wanted to see Henry and needed to see his grandson. If he wasn't with his Mother and Father, he had to be sure that Regina hadn't fucked up so bad that he was alone in the world. And so he gazed into the ball nervously. Seeing into The Land Without Magic had never worked when he'd been in the Enchanted Forest, but perhaps now...?

The shadows within the crystal bent and formed to his will. The haziness cleared, and much to his relief, an image formed.

There he was. Henry. He was sitting at a table, head down, staring into some sort of calculator-looking thing he kept fiddling with. It was a single glance, but it was enough. Oh, he'd grown so much! He was taller than he remembered, his hair a bit shaggier, and his cheeks! Cheekbones were emerging, along with a chin that reminded him of Emma and Mary Margaret. He was finally shedding the last remnants of his childhood baby fat and becoming a teenager. He was becoming a man. And he knew better than most just how a boy becoming a man needed a father. Even if he had-

There she was…Emma Swan. As if the ball had heard his thoughts and shifted his focus, the image in the ball pulled away so that he could see the picture more clearly. Henry Mills sat at a table with his technology, and Emma sat beside him as they ate dinner. They seemed put together. They seemed almost happy in their home like it was just a typical average day. They certainly didn't appear confused or scattered as he would have expected them to appear only a day after Storybrooke had been destroyed. And Henry couldn't have grown that much in just a day.

He didn't know if he wanted to sigh in relief or scream in frustration. Something was wrong. It was very wrong. Regina had gotten half of the instructions right. She'd at least ensured Henry was with his mother, though he would have preferred mother and father. But the timing seemed off. He'd only just arrived, and yet enough time had passed for Henry to grow, for Henry and Emma to be comfortably settled. Enough time had passed that Neal and Belle appeared comfortable together when their last interactions were tense but cordial at best?! What kind of hell was this that he'd landed in? A time where time seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and his family was maybe destitute but certainly separated. It was his worst nightmare, an absolute terror!

Or maybe…

Maybe.

He leaned there against Granny's diner's wall and let his thoughts collect, let his mind begin to weave options and plots together. What he stumbled on was not quite what he expected.

Maybe this was something good. Yes, he had wanted Emma and Bae to be together with Henry, and because of that, he'd prepared his heart for the shock of Belle residing alone for the rest of her life. But maybe, just maybe, something good could come from this mistake. After all, at this moment, no one was alone. Though not ideal, Henry had Emma, and Belle had Bae. And if he could, in fact, fix this, then the solution was to either get Emma and Henry to Baelfire or get Baelfire to Henry and Emma. And if he could get Bae to them, then it stood to reason that Bae could take Belle with him. No, he knew that Baelfire might never be as good for her as he would have been, but the time for that kind of thinking was over. He could at least be family to her. It would be a very confusing, wildly unusual sort of family, but it was always going to be that way regardless. At least it would be a family. At least his family would be together.

He was in the afterlife, a very strange and odd place indeed. Getting back to his family would take an act of resurrection he wasn't sure was possible. Dead was dead, and there was no way to reverse it. But pulling strings, getting his son and True Love to another realm, that was a difficult act, but far more likely than resurrection. And he should know; he'd already done it once before.

He could do this. He'd orchestrated the moving of heaven and earth once already; he could do it again. He could make it so that Bae could get back to his son. He could make it so that the cycle of fathers being separated from their sons was broken. He could make it so that his entire family was together. He could do this. He didn't yet know how he was going to do it, not yet, but he was the Dark One, and though he was in a bizarre version of it, he was, in fact, in Storybrooke.

He knew right where he had to begin.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Henry Mills #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #Baelfire #Savior #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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littlefreya · 4 years

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Prince Of Darkness

Summary: There'll be no escape tonight, the devil always gets what he desires.

Pairing: Devil!August Walker x Unnamed OFC (3rd person pov)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, DARK! NonCon, kidnapping, stalking, breeding, exhibitionism, loss of virginity, supernatural stuff, sex in a cathedral, mention of heaven and hell. Please proceed with caution.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: I have put a lot of effort into this story, and I’m really anxious af. We all like to see August as a demon, but I decided to go all the way... And I’m nervous at your response and going to die after hitting submit. So bye.

Many thanks to the love of my life @agniavateira, for support, brainstorm and beta. And to @crimsonrae and @wondersofdreaming who held my hand.

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Title: Prince of Darkness

Blood painted the streets, courtesy of the blinding scarlet lights that danced upon gravel and tar before dwindling into darkness. The soft, beaming glow pulsed with the muffled beats of a monotonous song that played inside the luxurious nightclub. Like thundering war drums, it rumbled in the ears of the elegant man who stood along the shadows.

Leaning against the cement, he took a sip from a glass of spiced Bordeaux and brushed an index finger over his thick moustache to wipe away misguided droplets of wine.

‘How could anyone enjoy this abomination?’ He wondered with a guttural groan, never quite grasping this electronic noise thing; but then again August was older than this music, and his tastes far exceeded cheap and trivial antics. He was a man driven by the appetite for destruction and forbidden delights, and tonight, he was finally about to obtain both. After decades of anticipation, the succulent fruit was ready to be plucked.

Oh, what an intoxicating and delicious mist his unsuspecting beloved emanated, setting his heart aflame with her sheer ripeness.

‘It’s been so long, so painfully long.’

Time had lost its meaning as he waited, curving and swerving into a stream of an infinite river flowing with decay and death.

But as the old saying went: all haste comes from the devil.

So the man lingered against the wall, a sparkle enkindled and crackled in his eyes, morphing into black wells whilst the waves of her honey-liqueured ambrosia grew pungent, seeping through his airways and sinking in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, revelling in the sound of harsh tapping heels that echoed louder with every step until she came summoned into the naked wilderness of the city street.

‘Beautiful and innocent as the garden of Eden. Of course, of course...’

The stranger scrutinised the young woman with another sip from his wine and a bite of great intrigue - but stoicism and silence, for now, were his most valuable allies.

Clad in a lithe black dress and a stylish leather jacket to keep herself warm from the chill autumn breeze, she fished for the mobile device in her purse while distress washed her wrinkling brow. Illuminated by the bright screen, her face sulked as for the seventh time in the last 30 minutes, her attempt to find an Uber bore no success whatsoever.

Was there something about tonight that all drivers were kept occupied, or had her luck simply run dry?

Showing her face to the moonlit sky, she sighed in great frustration. This must have been fate’s retribution to a mindless bad decision; she should have left with her friends, but staying alone to fruitlessly catch the eye of the uncaring bartender seemed more significant as the buzz of alcohol dimmed any ray of logic. Now deep into the night, walking home alone didn’t appear to be the most sympathetic solution, yet it occurred to her that there wasn’t much of choice.

“You seem distressed.”

Equal to a dark chant sputtering words of witchcraft, the low yet incredibly soft baritone of his voice slithered from the corner and crept down her spine with icy scales. A lurching hollow flared within her gut, her neck seized by the tight grip of a serpentine phantom.

His vibrato sounded like a voice that called her through a dream she never had before; despite the unsettling arctic spasm gyrating through her shaky limbs, it lured her to return a stare and meet the cryptic face behind the seducing chant.

Two sharp glaciers glimmered at her as the stranger sauntered into the penumbra, momentarily lit by another flash of neon red that broke onto his face and highlighted his ethereal features. Her lips drew open, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress as a shiver ran through her. To say that the stranger was handsome would be an understatement, as it almost seemed as if he was ‘designed’ by a sculptor - carved cheeks led a path to slightly pouted lips, and a stark, dimpled chin was shadowed by dark stubble. His chocolate-brown hair was elegantly combed to the side, with a couple of large lustrous locks gently nestling over his brow.

Though it wasn’t his good looks that left her riddled with prickly goosebumps, but the unprecedented magnetic haul that made her feel as if she was physically drawn toward this mysterious man.

Frightened by the unbidden reaction of her own body, she quickly retreated to gawk at the phone and provided no answer to his inquiry. A strange yearning to submit grew between her clenching thighs, a primal response to his striking looks and charms.

But she killed the seed before it set roots in her flesh.

‘They said Ted Bundy was charming as well…’ she mused. Frivolous as she wanted to be, getting murdered was undoubtedly not among her plans tonight.

Revelling in her silent reply with an arched brow, he tilted his head when a blinding flicker abruptly caught his keen eye. Kissed by the pale moonlight’s beam, a small silver cross rested upon her collarbone. His sharp fangs begged to peek with sardonic amusement, but he kept his lips clamped, not wishing to scare her too soon.

There was to be plenty of that later...

“May I offer you my help, sweetling?”

Threading his long fingers between the smooth stem and clasping them around the bowl, he lowered the glass to the side of his hip, dragging the girl’s unwilling eye to the healthy bulge in his groin.

Her lips drew open as a surge of staggering heat flushed at her apex.

It seemed enormous...

“Name’s August, like the emperor, but you can call me whatever your heart desires...”

Embers burnt at her cheeks; in her belly, the odd mystical calling continued weaving at her core in an urge to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Her eyes warred to tear her gaze away from his nether region as her lashes fluttered to meet the abysmal glance that bestowed both frost and fire through her tendons.

There was something archaically familiar about this man as if she knew him before the days had names. Yet she swore, it was the first time she ever saw his striking face.

“I can take you wherever you need to go.”

Breath laced with wine titillated her nostrils as the words spilt from his lips, whilst another crimson ray broke upon the marble of his face. Never had he urged, but instead suggested with a tongue soaked with honey. Still, a blazing aura of danger encircled him. And even though the very natural fear of walking home alone grappled her, it still seemed like a much better plan than entrusting her life to a stranger who was twice her size.

Deciding to keep her tongue knotted, she turned and began striding away. ‘Best not to engage him,’ she thought, but once she moved past his bulky figure, her heart suddenly picked up its pace and her legs refused to function as if they no longer belonged to her.

Seconds stretched into eternity. The thought that this civilised savage will assail her and drag her into the night scratched at the back of her head. But the worst of it was the simmering throb. Unforgiving, like gathering storm clouds, it thundered the closer she walked by him and then gradually died out as she finally managed to move away and free herself from this invisible bond.

Savouring the final drop of wine, August watched amused as the frightened little lamb quickly oscillated on her feet, scampering into the horrors offered by the dark. It was funny how fear made animals act so heedlessly and rush straight into the burning heart of peril.

A toothy grin peaked his chiselled cheeks. Always the gentleman, he shifted from the concrete, discarding the glass carelessly to shatter on the sidewalk. His sinew stretched in a relaxed ripple of an apex predator before he straightened both vest and jacket and stroked his thick moustache.

Though her heavenly fragrance still soaked the air, the girl was already gone from normal eyesight. It was a pity to see her leave, yet there was no need for him to rush.

There was never really a choice for her.

Strangely, the night kept growing unnaturally darker. A great ocean of blackness and crystalised stars spread from above, casting looming shadows across the tall buildings that resembled a maw filled with rotten teeth. The tepid wind that blew between the vast concrete monoliths was nothing but the breath of a mythical beast intoning her name through the shadows.

Clawing at her forearms, she meandered through the inert street with a wary eye. Desolate neon signs flickered hauntingly, bequeathing a vibrant beacon of dread over the shimmering, onyx road. Not a living soul was in sight as if the world descended into stillness, dominated by an eerie, dead silence save for the harsh echo of her hasty heels. And yet, the long path felt anything but lifeless. With every step landed on the ground, she could sense the movement beneath the surface: swarming vile things, slippery and scaled. Unseen by the human eye, they hissed dirty little secrets and slithered with sinister hunger, drizzling down their fangs.

‘You can already feel me inside you, can’t you sweetling…’ Remaining hidden, he had to admit that watching the little lamb leap shivering into the slaughter has been somewhat of foreplay.

A veil of fumes emitted from her parted lips. The air became colder, summoning a terrifying truth that made her lungs clench around the black void that abruptly filled them with the notion that maybe... maybe… that chill, liquid-like thing that threatened to touch her ankle wasn’t just in her crazy imagination.

There was something out there, something undeniably familiar. This unusual gust of wind brushing at her nape has accompanied her since she could remember herself, an unsettling breeze bidding that evil lurked between the creases, holding its sinewy fingers clasped together while waiting for her to answer his hushed calling.

‘And once you finally answer, there is no turning back…’

Fear gnawed its frosty fangs at her bones, puncturing tiny painful cavities that were needles in her flesh. Tonight, of all nights, the same hazy feeling became stronger than ever before. Deep inside, she knew she would meet her end. Pressing the oily pads of her fingers at the sharp corners of her pendant, she inhaled and chanted a prayer, refusing to succumb to the noxious malice when a frozen pin pierced her heart.

Like the lark calling on the dawn, an unbidden chant carried her name.

Drenched with frigid sweat, she exhumed a shuddering breath, praying to God that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her ears.

‘The greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.’

Indeed in the darkness, leered the beast. All teeth and malicious glee, August moved from one shadow to another, feasting on the aphrodisiac that was the mixture of her harrowing terror and unveiled desire. If only she knew the trail her scent left for him to follow - he could smell her from miles away.

The little flower between her legs began blooming the moment their entities finally encountered one another, and it was his ancient name her dew had dripped for.

‘My sweet little thing, tonight I will finally grant you a purpose...’

Like a hound awakened from a deep slumber, he flexed his bulging muscles and tailed her in utter silence. The same spell that burnt in her core seethed the blood gathering in his ardent loins. Since the dawn of humankind, he had more women than any other man on this earth, yet none has evoked such hunger in him.

He would have eaten her alive and torn her to shreds if only he didn't have bigger plans for her.

Still hidden by the unnatural night, August stalked from behind, the blaze of his enkindling burn licking her path as he crept further to ensnare his prey. He wished she could see herself through his own flaring glance, how beautiful she was with tears of despair rolling down the tender slope of her cheeks.

His beloved girl; his, by ancient law. Spirited as a rageful tempest, she insisted on escaping her prophesied fate. Muscles and bones strove against the panic that turned her boiling blood frigid. But no power, physical nor divine could revoke this otherworldly attraction that bound her to him. His bidding could never be undone and as much as his blood relished from the thrill of the chase, it was time to put an end to this dance and seal their union.

Appearing from a stygian haze of a spectral nightmare, the beast drew his claw to grasp the fleeting girl’s shoulder.

The world froze along with the scream that died in her throat. Cold, slippery wet, the phantom serpents slinked around her ankles and held on to the ground as the thing behind her bit his nails into her collarbone. His touch was no ghost, but as real as the quiet moon that voyeured her fate from above and did nothing. A wretched gasp of anguish shuddered through her airways as his fingers stalked forth to cinch at her neck.

His grip was tighter than the icy finger of death, yet its caress was the sensual lick of a gossamer tongue.

It was almost as if he worshipped her.

Shadows befell her as the assailant leaned close, wafting a mist of intoxicating fumes scented of poisonous elixirs and an ancient forest that laid deep between the veils of the underworld, hiding forbidden mysteries that none dared speak of. Seeping through her orifices, it stung her eyes and raked remorseful tears.

“Please…” she broke into sobs, shaking her head at the dawning of her fate.

The man inhaled deeply. Though she could not see him, the joyful malice that danced on his pleased breath roared in her ears.

“Do not fear me.” The sonorous rumble caressing her ear was hardly a surprise in its familiarity. It was him, the handsome bewhiskered gentleman from earlier. But of course, it was always him: the whisper in the dark, the slithering things moving beneath the tepid ground, and the smell of burning pyres.

But who the hell was he?!

As if he read her mind, his hand twisted around her nape and with a careful sway, turned her to face him. The voice inside her head warned her over and over again not to look at him; yet the temptation was too great, peeling her eyes open to stare at the thing that made her heart drop to her gut.

Vast, raven wings spread from each side of an Adonis figure, their intimidating length denying her widened eyes to look at anything but the dark god that soared tall in front her. No, not a god, a devil. A pair of small golden horns peeked from the mane of long curls, and the heavenly icy gaze she remembered from earlier had melted into an abysmal lake of fire.

He was beautiful.

He was monstrous.

And just like that, she descended from the earth, swept into a thick swamp of darkness that swallowed her whole. Never letting so much as her feet kiss the ground, August scooped her into his strong arms. Peering down upon her, he broke into a delightful grin, already enamoured with his delicate new bride. The pang of lust tingled in his groin, though despite the raging need to claim her now, it was her screams he desired more than all as he would consummate their eternal marriage.

Wicked tongues of fire licked up the shallow air, casting a faint amber glow into the abominable sombre of a vanishing nightmare. Shy as feral nymphs, the bursting sparks ascended melancholily, whispering tales of perishing days that fell to harmony with a strange mumbling chant. Still locked in a void of unconsciousness, the fallen girl shifted with disquiet, her hands restlessly clutching at a virginal silk gown that covered her body.

Vaguely remembering a horrifying dream of a demonic entity, she woke with a sudden electric jitter. A peal of breathless pants pushed through her heaving chest before she slumped into the intense relief one experiences from a brush with either death or a ghastly fantasy.

“Thank God…” she whispered with a fist pressed to her breast.

Yet, something was amiss. The low vocal melody continued despite her state of clarity, tangled with the eerie presence of a hundred cutting glares that stabbed her crawling spine. Slowly and carefully, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings.

The blood drained from her face.

Swaying like shadowy wraiths stood men cloaked in black velvet hoods. Tears of milky boiling wax trickled from the candles held by their stringy fingers, yet they didn’t seem to flinch as the burning rivulets seared their flesh. Their hollow eyes were fixated upon her while words of a dark sacrament sputtered from their lips and reverberated through the endless archways and ribbed vaults that towered above them.

Her trembling muscles were briskly stifled under the unsettling realisation of her whereabouts - a cathedral, a thousand years old if not more. Burning torches lit crumbling pillars and statues of monstrous winged creatures that encircled them from every niche, their malicious shadows dancing upon dusty obsidian bricks. Unglazed windows were barred by black iron, the beautiful floral shapes preventing any means of escape.

Only the fractured ceiling held a cheap shred of hope, as a vast rupture of broken stone exposed her to the scarred carmine wolf-moon.

If only she had wings…

Bones rattling beneath her crawling flesh, she sat upon the hard surface with wells of despair. Her hands clutched around the edge of the bed, only to be kissed by the sharp corners that pierced the delicate flesh. Hissing with pain, she lifted her arms and stared below at what appeared to be a midnight-black marble creased with golden veins and saplings-like patterns.

It was beautiful, just like the creamy gown that covered her body.

“Do you like it, bride?”

Rising from the crowd like a flame among charred coals, appeared her handsome abductor. Suitable to a true evil prince, a long red cloak enrobed his broad, sturdy form, the velvet hem trailing behind him like a thick river of blood while he marched forward with no haste in his dauntless mien. Human once again, August offered the most endearing grin; two profound dimples embellished his scruffy cheeks, and his eyes shone brighter than a frozen sea.

Yet in her sullen gaze, he was nothing but a monster.

Abruptly enraged and driven by pure instinct, she jumped off the marble and paced backwards. Tears of anger and fright rimmed her swollen lids and her bare feet nearly collided as she shook her head at August who was neither impressed nor concerned by this foolish protest.

“You stay the fuck away from me!!!” She warned with a scream and hastily turned away.

Lost in some trance, the praying mob never stirred, granting the girl a fair chance to escape the bewhiskered man who was still several strides away. Her feeble legs made three to four steps when her muscles swiftly turned to stone, and her stomach lurched.

‘No! It couldn’t be! How?!’

Curls shining like precious coils of onyx, August emerged in front of her, continuing his relaxed gait as if this was a natural occurrence. His bright icicles melted into malicious dark pools of twisted desire, and his tongue briefly laved his plump lips at the sight of pure disbelief that cascaded over her face. He could feel right under her skin, hear the thrumming heart that both chilled and fumed for him. Further beyond her thoughts, his betrothed yearned to be defiled and torn open by him.

It was her destiny, whether she liked it or not.

Still she fought, so ferocious and defiant, flinching away from his attempts to seize her. It was almost comical to watch her deny him, knowing that her fate would be no different; she will spread her legs and submit to his conquest. And yet, her battle was immensely appealing; what better bride to the dark lord than a woman who breathed fire.

“Who are you?!” She cried, her trembling voice rising with panic and her cheeks soaking with tears, “What do you want from me?!”

August's face was devoid of mercy, her whimpering hisses did nothing to deter him and only further increased the appetite of the deprived wolf that circled in his gut. With a wring of his wrist, his fingers snapped at her elbow, hauling her against his rock-hard chest with such might her heels hovered above the ground.

Writhing in his grip she flung her hands at his face, clawing streams of crimson to trickle down his cheeks. The notion of hurting this vicious man brought somewhat of a sick joy; but her onslaught died at once, and her mouth fell agape as his skin healed with not even a trace of injury.

“Oh God, what are you?!” She shuddered.

Still holding her elbow hostage, his free hand travelled to the hem of the white gown, the long, perverted fingers twisting around the fabric before yanking it off at once. A resounding rip echoed through the tall arches, causing the chanting choir to halt their susurrations at once.

All eyes were afloat as the cold air kissed her skin. In vain, she attempted to cover herself only to be felled by the restraints of August’s grasp.

“God?...” The man finally spoke, his melodic voice ending with a sonorous hum that sprouted through her arteries like a deadly toxin. Not less poisonous, his gaze trailed down her form, worshipping the very sights of his delightful prize.

“Not God, but once I was an angel,” he suggested and leaned down to inhale her skin with a gratified growl before he flicked his wide tongue at her chest.

A groan of approval emitted from his lips, the sheer coat of sweat that layered her bosom was soaked of freshly brewed fear, his most favourite savour. His wet, velvety snake swept the sweet-briny wetness and licked further down her breasts, twirling around the erect nipple.

Unintended, she moaned. A river of delights rushed between her grinding thighs.

“No!”

Wrongful, unwanted bliss awoke in her. She felt desecrated and allured at once. Her fickle body deceived, mistaking this vile conquest as consensual. And the more August took, the more she desired; her dutiful womb demanded to consummate this bond, almost as if the beast had bewitched her a long while ago, embedding his essence in the marrow of her bones.

August grinned against her skin, the scent of her arousal fresh in his nose while his lips travelled to kiss down her sternum and the slope of her torso. His thick whiskers left a trail of fluttering butterflies.

“Have sympathy, my love. I had built my own realm and waited in the forlorn abyss. Empires fell and worlds disintegrated into ashes while I waited for thou,” he explained and clutched the cheek of her behind in his claw, squeezing it possessively. “I have longed for your touch since the day your ancestor promised you to me, little lamb. A hundred years’ worth of waiting for the bargain to reach its end, and for you to finally be ripe.”

The beast pressed one last languid kiss below her navel, a guttural hum exuded in between his lips, huffing hot against her belly. Slowly he rose to his full height, towering above his helpless victim who hugged her arms to cover her naked body and watched her nightmare unfold once more. Cold wind chilled her damp cheeks as August flung the blood-red cloak and exposed his naked figure before her.

He was massive, a masculine build fit for a warrior angel, covered with thick bulging muscles and dark hair. Lips parted, she forgot herself, gawking in awe and allowing her gaze to trail down to his unapologetically monstrous cock. Firm and throbbing, it dripped with hunger, urging to find release inside her clenching cavern.

She didn’t even know a man could be this vast, but alas, he was no man at all.

It was at that moment when blackest wings spread before her that realisation finally struck through like a blunt hammer to the back of her head. Covering her mouth she cowered away, her exposed back hitting the raised altar behind her.

August was no man nor god, but Lucifer himself.

Seeing the hope die in her eyes, the devil sneered.

“No, no, no! This can’t be real! This isn’t real!!!” She yelled, pathetic little hiccups sputtering from her lips.

August tilted his head, giving a scornful pout and scoffed with amusement. “Am I not?” He asked as he lifted an arm to flick his fingers, summoning two of the hooded servants to approach the dais. Their eyes were soulless gems embedded to a grey face that was cracked like a broken eggshell.

“I am real, beloved, as real as the child you will conceive me tonight.”

Shrills of terror flew through the great hole in the ceiling. Kicking and screaming, she fought as the men seized her arms and dragged her to the altar, forcing her flat down and holding her arms to prevent her from escaping. They never blinked at the ferocious war she waged against them, though an impish smile slowly possessed their faces as their master strode forward.

“Sweet little lamb,” August chanted, enamoured with his fiery bride while he sauntered by the edge of the altar. His Adonis body golden in the candlelight, his fingers squeezed and pumped the ravenous demon that hung heavy between his legs. The twinge in her womb rose in response, a low roar thrumming as it yearned to succumb to its unbridled purpose. Sheen, the arousal trickled between her kicking legs and onto the smooth stone, making her cheek flame.

Much to August’s pleasure.

“Our son will burn this world to cinders,” he promised and snaked his fingers at her ankles. Calmly deflecting her attempts to kick against him, he dragged her toward him until her knees folded over the edge and spread between his thighs. The platform was in the perfect height, positioning her delicious Eden at the height of his blessed demon.

“You will make an excellent mother.”

Her entire body shook, her cunt clenching along her sobs in both defence and beguiling need as August leaned in and grazed the silky pink crown between her wet petals. She begged he wouldn’t be able to invade her, but her prayers fell to deaf ears.

“Please don’t do this to me! I will do anything… please!” She wailed a bargain, still trying to escape the servants’ grip and looking at him pleadingly, “I… I...haven’t been with a man!”

“Oh I know…” August beamed and stroked himself back and forth between her engorged lips. Vamping flames tingled at her flesh, her core foolishly squeezing around nothing in demand for this wretched monster to defile her.

“You’ve kept yourself for me, didn't you? I have waited for you too, for centuries even, but now our waiting has ended, and I can finally love you.”

With one brutal thrust, he breached through the gates of her sacred haven, corrupting her purity and ripping her open with the elegance of a savage.

Exasperated bats fluttered their wings over the red moon at the sound of her pained howl. Eyes flared to the bleak sky above; the girl watched them in a daze, disbelieving the blazing demon that scorched her from inside as he nestled himself between her resisting gates with no intention to cease.

In his villainy, August pushed further. Stunned thunders of ecstasy erupted from his lips, all to humiliate her along with the dark minions who circled the altar to pervertedly witness this sacrilegious ritual in which their master ravaged the unwilling maiden. Ignoring her body’s vehement protest, he forced himself unfathomably deep, only stopping until the head of his cock kissed the gateway of her cervix.

Crystalised tears rolled down her temples and stained the cold marble beneath her body. Slit impossibly sore, she twitched and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling of being invaded by another entity. Her once protected realm was now under the domain of a ruthless prince, and he took no prisoners and granted no mercy nor care at her vain endeavours to push him out.

He would never stop. He would have her again and again until her sacred little womb would be plentiful with his seed.

“Tight,” he blurted out in a blissful huff and reached his talons to bite into her quaking thighs. Spreading her wider, he hooked his hands below her knees, moulding her into a vessel to be fulfilled. Arctic orbs glazed down her naked figure, his plump lips cooing at her aching whimpers. The taut and hairy muscles of his gut flexed as he carefully withdrew his vicious cock, coated in the crimson sorrow of her maidenhood.

Hollow pain throbbed in her empty cunt as he suddenly abandoned her. Distressed and overwhelmed, she hoped he would stay out, yet her traitorous body coveted his return in a false faith that it would ease the fervid twinge that soared to her belly and even burnt in her breasts.

It was far from true.

No less vigorous than before, August plunged back inside her, stretching her again, shaping her as his own as she yipped and struggled to escape. His head threw back with a roar of divine pleasure, feasting at the thrill of her dauntless veils wrapping around him like a succulent flower. For a moment there, he wondered who preyed on who. Her concupiscent little cove sucked him so wantonly it threatened to swallow his raging cock.

‘But of course, every virgin is destined to become my whore.’

Hot and heavy, his shaft seized the void that had always been inside her, their heaving organs collided in euphoric bliss like two broken shards that were lost for decades and finally pieced back together. And even though she seared with every jerk or shift he made, the impassioned flames licked at the seams of her twitching cunt in waves of ache and foreign desperation.

“No…” she whispered, shame singeing her throat as the little pesky sparks enkindled where the devil had violated her. Vision blurry, she gazed at him utterly mystified. Part of her warred to stoke the fire that screamed heresy, while the other begged to yield to her demise.

As August pulled away again and thrust harder, a breathless moan tore from her lips.

A cutting grin radiated onto his face. “It feels so good inside you,” he sang and slid one hand to stroke all the way down from her sweat-ridden thighs to her belly, feeling the movement of his cock with every push and shove.

He was taunting her, yet she couldn’t care less. Over the cinders of pain and virtue, a garden began to bloom. With every abysmal stroke of his swelling shaft, she could feel green saplings and coy vines growing within her uterus—soft, beautiful tendrils stalked through her arteries, sprouted through her cove, and engulfed his swelling demon as well.

She was no longer burning but becoming alive. Pained cries suddenly evolved into asphyxiation of bliss. Beyond her realisation, she undulated her hips in the desire to endure each of his wet claiming thrusts. Her spine coiled against the surface, further allowing him easier passage to nourish the wilderness that continued spreading through her blood.

Noticing the change in her, approving groans rumbled in his throat; his little bride was growing tighter around his demon, her quivering lips and fluttering lashes the image of true Elysium. It was not long before he would plant his seed in her fertile lush. Her cunt milked and suckled around him, demanding to be bred by the devil.

“Yes, my love! Give in to me! Give in to your primal sin!” August urged, enhancing the rhythm until he was thrusting into her like a battering ram, the sinful elixir of their union smearing on his groin and dripping down her rump. “Descend with me!”

In her delirium she witnessed magical nightshades and sinewy stalks growing amidst the gritty bricks, encompassing the ominous cathedral with bright colours.

It was paradise on earth, given to her by the unearthly rapturous joy of having this demon violate her, slamming harder with growing frustration until his thick girth ripped through the last threads of her self-preservation and that which she tried so hard to deny erupted through her clenching core.

Euphoria.

For a lingering moment, she had wings of her own, pale as precious pearls and lustrous stars. Tingling waves of ethereal white heat burst at her seams, purifying her as she flew above the cathedral, and watched their ungodly union from above. But her wings suddenly caught aflame and before she knew it, she crashed onto the earth with a secondary, more violent climax.

The beast’s roars erupted into a brutal thunder, causing the sturdy pillars of the cathedral to quake and crack like thin glass. With all his might, he clutched her thighs and hauled her against him, slamming his swollen cock deep into her belly and releasing his smouldering, milky essence until it seeped from her sleek. August’s wings flew open as he found his own rapture, blazes following through and consuming the ancient hall.

This was no longer a hallucination.

This was Inferno.

Still radiating with orgasmic glow, she screamed horrified as everything around them vehemently burnt to coals. Even the soulless servants crumbled into dust, accepting their fate without so much of a yip. The fire raged and died within seconds, leaving nothing but broken pillars and ashen smoke.

Shortly, the tepid air of night caressed her naked skin as they remained alone in the ruins of what was once an ominous cathedral. Still buried in her viscera, August broke into a low, stretching groan of relief which made her immediately return her eyes to him. Shame rose bitter in her throat and new fresh rivulets trickled on her cheeks.

After all that he had done to her, she could see nothing in him but a beautiful monster.

“My beloved queen,” August keened to comfort her and moved his hand to tenderly stroke her lower belly.

A toothy smile broke upon his face, his eyes gleaming with surprise as he felt the life that had already begun growing in her angelic fortress. A son, strong and glorious as his father. For the first time in his long existence, the devil was truly elated and he vowed in that moment that he would give her much, and much more. But first, she needed to be cared for.

Her assaulted hole convulsed with pain as he pulled himself out, leaving a trail of creamy fluids to dribble at his departure. Sniffling and shaking, she watched him bemused, as he climbed onto the altar and moved to lie beside her. Though she no longer flinched as he touched her, what was the point of it anyway? He had already destroyed her and stolen her innocent soul.

“You make me so happy, my beloved queen,” August had murmured as he gripped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss claimed her breath, pillaging whatever left of her chastity and wit until she absentmindedly kissed back, forgetting herself as his tongue bested her will.

When he broke away, the taste of spiced ruby wine and blood lingered in her mouth.

“An eternity awaits us,” the devil explained as he pecked her nose and her forehead lovingly, to which she shivered - out of fright or out of want, she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“You had made me the happiest, now give me the chance to grant the same favour, ask for anything you want in the world and it shall be yours,” he begged and wrapped her in the shelter of his strong arms to lie down with him on the smooth stone surface.

Absentmindedly, she welcomed the protection offered from his embrace and stared silently as flakes of cement broke from the remnants of the wall floated in the air around her before she opened her mouth.

“I wish for…”

Her whisper faded into the dark.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible or August Walker

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker x ofc

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weatheredpileoftomes · 2 years

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shieldbearer

For FFxivWrite2022 Day 4, a free day, written to “party”. Grishild, early A Realm Reborn, ~1400 words. Past OC death, alcohol use, swearing. The ARR duty support NPCs make appearances here and should hopefully be easy enough to keep track of. I’ve been thinking about this one for a while.

As a former sword-and-shielder herself, Grishild trusts Avere not quite as far as she could kick him.

“That one’s bad news,” Grishild says softly, tipping her head across the gorge.

“How can you tell?” Fifina’s voice wobbles a little. She might not be sure she can do this, but Grishild’s seen her not just slinging spells at the training dummies, but locking the wheels of a runaway cart with ice before it could do more than smash a few crates.

Grishild just doesn’t like him. “He’s only polished the outside of his shield.”

“Huh,” says Sundyrund. His axe gleams, blade and haft alike. His armor’s solid too, well-oiled, the leather supple and the plate with not a speck of rust showing.

A Midlander woman runs up to Master Careless Shield’s group, breathless and babbling apologies. She’s got a conjurer’s cane strapped to her back, but she’s handing out potions to the others. Grishild looks at Kennard, curious.

He shrugs, his own cane bouncing with it. “Some people like the convenience.”

Kennard didn’t speak any louder than Grishild had, so they can all hear Master Careless Shield—Avere, apparently, by the woman’s frantic apologies—start scolding her.

Grishild’s palms itch. If she’d ever even thought about talking to Llayan like that, she would have deserved every bruise she kept. She’d never thought about it, because she wasn’t a bloody ungrateful idiot, Llayan was a damn good healer, and even a bad healer would have been better than none at all.

“I’m sorry!” Edda wails.

They’ve got a thaumaturge who’s watching Avere tear into Edda like it’s a gladiatorial match, and an archer who’s drinking straight out of the bottle, and Edda herself, doubled over with her hands braced on her thighs. Seven hells.

Edda deserves better than Llayan got in the end.

Grishild’s footsteps are silent on the thick grass. Avere doesn’t even see her coming until she stops right behind Edda and says, “The hells are you trying to do, get your whole squad killed?”

Avere looks up and scowls, then scowls darker as he realizes that Grishild is taller than he is and almost as broad across the shoulders, even though she’s wearing a light shirt under her armored vest and he’s armored like he expects a lot of people to hit him. She’d be happy to be first in line. He rallies, though, with an eyeroll and a “None of your business.”

If she’d had any good opinion of him left, that would’ve torn it. It is none of her business, but he should care anyway. He also shouldn’t be dismissing her as a threat, even—especially—to make a point. She’s not, as it happens, planning to put his guts on the outside of his body, but she’s got three knives strapped to her in plain sight and she knows she moves like she knows how to use them.

She crouches at Edda’s side, puts a soothing hand on the girl’s shoulder. Nophica spare her, Edda is small—younger than Llayan was, younger than any recruit Grishild remembers training. Maybe some of that’s Grishild being older now herself, but…damn. Damn. If she’d decided to get married and have kids instead of joining the Blades, the oldest might’ve been nearly Edda’s age. She can’t be much older than fifteen.

“You don’t want to be here,” Grishild says, gently as she can.

“Hey!” Avere shouts.

Edda gulps in air. “Oh, I d-do.” She holds out her left hand with a horrible kind of pride. The afternoon sunlight glints off the yellow metal of a ring. If it’s real gold, Grishild will eat it raw, but from the way Edda looks at it it might as well be. “Avere and I are—are engaged, we’re going to be real adventurers and when we have a little more money and a reputation we can finally get married! I can’t just leave him!”

Seven hells aren’t enough. Grishild looks up at Avere, taking him in from his shiny helmet to his muddy boots. He’s good-looking enough, she supposes, if that’s what you like, but surely the minute he opens his mouth that would put an end to that.

“Yeah.” He glares at her, like he thinks that’s actually going to scare her. It’s not that she thinks she’s too good to fear angry men with swords, but he’s got his fancy scabbard strapped so that it looks impressive but he’ll have to draw the sword slowly to keep from punching himself, and she could be up by then with both her knives out. “Stop trying to steal my girl.”

Frankly, if Grishild wanted to steal his girl, she’d’ve tried it already. Probably wouldn’t have succeeded, with how hung up on him Edda is, but she could do better than this.

The archer tips her head back, draining the last drops from the bottle.

“Look,” Grishild says to the thaumaturge, who at least could be both sober and in his right mind, “this isn’t a good plan. I was going to check out Sastasha myself, with a few fellows.”

She nods over to the group she’s…well, “assembled” makes it sound intentional, or like she’s responsible for them, and it isn’t and she isn’t. Sundyrund will be leading them once they’re inside the caverns, and Kennard will be keeping them all alive. If something happens to Sundyrund, Grishild will throw herself in front of Kennard if she has to—see how long her off-hand knife will serve as a shield—before she lets Noline or Fifina do the same, but none of it is on her. She hasn’t even set out to give them orders, they just keep…asking.

Noline waves.

“You and Edda could come with us.” She looks up at the archer, who’s—shit and derision, gazing at Avere. “You, archer—”

“Liavinne,” the thaumaturge says. He bows. “My name is Paiyo Reiyo.”

Sure, fine. “Grishild Wyght.” Crouched as she is, she can’t bow back, but she inclines her head. “Good to meet you. Liavinne, you’re going to get yourself killed all on your own if you go into battle drunk, but you’d be welcome to join us—sober—any other time.”

“No thanksh.” Liavinne leans a little toward Avere, and it takes real effort for Grishild to keep her hand from tightening on Edda’s shoulder.

They’d all adored Llayan, any soul in the squadron as ready as Grishild to give their all to protect her, and it still hadn’t been enough. Her corpse had been found just fulms away from Grishild’s unconscious body—she hadn’t even had time to run, or, knowing Llayan, even if she’d had the time she wouldn’t have done it. Edda won’t even have that, when things go wrong.

“Paiyo Reiyo—”

“Stop trying to steal my group!” Avere shouts. “The hells is your problem?”

“The hells is yours?” Grishild stands up, anyway. They’re not listening. “You’re not taking care of your gear, you’re not ready to draw that sword of yours fast—if it’s even sharp as well as shiny—and if I’d ever talked to a healer the way you’re talking to your fiancée I would have…” She shakes her head. They wouldn’t even have let her die for it, is the thing, not just sweet-tempered Llayan but any of the Blades’ conjurers and alchemists. They all took their work too seriously. She can’t imagine not respecting that.

Paiyo Reiyo bows again. “Thank you for the offer, but we’ll be fine.”

You won’t, Grishild thinks. What can she do about it, though? She can’t very well keep them out of Sastasha by force. If she’s quick enough—if they’re quick enough, depending on what they face, how many foes Sundyrund is comfortable trying to hold the attention of, how much damage Kennard is used to healing, whether Fifina and Noline as well as Grishild herself can take out their enemies before Sundyrund gets overrun. It’s not about Grishild anymore, and that’s how she wants it.

Even so, helplessness and despair weigh too familiar on her again.

“If you change your mind,” she says again, and Liavinne of all people nods. Well, it’s something, at least.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #my fic #my fic: grishild #my fic: grishild: gen #my fic: 2.0 #grishild wyght #edda pureheart #avere bravearm #arr duty support npcs #my screenshots #my screenshots: grishild

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americancowgirl19 · 4 years

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Eyes of the Devil

Summary: Pietro finds someone faster than him and you find your missing piece.

Warnings: violence, curse words, angst?, fluff

Reader: I wrote this with the reader being a male but it could be read as gender neutral; Male Vampire Reader

Pairings: Pietro x Male Vampire Reader (Gender Neutral); Laura Barton x Male Vampire Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 3,312

A/n: Reader speaks Slavic. According to Google Translate = Moja duša - My soul. Malá holubica - Little dove. Malý - Little one.... I plan on doing more one shots in relation to this one. I wouldn’t really call it a series just a collection of random one shots with Pietro and this type of reader. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in them or if you have a request for a specific one shot you wanna see. This one shot was really just a starter for those future one shots coming.

Masterlist

If you were being honest, you didn’t know how old you were. You knew you were at least a few millennia’s old but after the first thousand years, who cares to keep track?

You also knew that life could get very boring if you didn’t spice things up a little bit. Being a part time Avenger did just the thing for you. You didn’t care enough to help out full time but you were there if they were dealing with something extra tricky. Like an alien invasion or enhanced individuals.

It had been a hot minute since you had seen the rest of the team and was pleasantly surprised to get a call from them. Apparently Hydra had managed to pass abilities from Loki’s scepter onto humans giving them powers. One of them had an ability you shared thus pushing the Avenger’s to call you in.

Of course, you had a life of your own (surprisingly) and couldn’t just drop everything to help them. Although, once you managed to push your responsibilities to a loyal friend you left to track down the team.

This lead you to a seemingly abandoned factory. Shocker.

You stayed in the shadows, undetected by everyone on the lower levels. You listened to the exchange between your team and the large robot. Your eyes then fluttered to the two that stood on the robots side. You deducted that those were the special individuals the team had called you in for.

You took in a deep breath, separating their scent from the others. You could sense the power coursing through their veins. While they had both gotten their abilities from the same source, you knew that they were very different.

If you gambled you would bet that the man was the speedster that Clint had complained about. Apparently he was a cocky little bastard. You didn’t have to know the guy to know he was arrogant. He stood tall, his chest slightly puffed out and his chin high.

The talking didn’t last long before a brawl broke out. Your eyes followed the male as he zoomed around the room. While it would be impossible for the others to see him moving at such speeds, it was as if he were walking to you.

He started coming your way, oblivious to the fact that you were even in the building. When he got close enough you stepped out and slammed a punch in his jaw. The force knocked him out of motion and over the railing. You watched as he fell to the main floor.

He groans, rolling onto his side as you land silently in front of him. Your entire body is covered making it impossible for him to see what you look like. Even your face, head and eyes were covered by some form of cloth or glasses.

“What? You didn’t see that coming?” You ask, smirking behind the face covering.

You had to admit, with Clint’s description of him you were expecting him to look different. Instead he’s older and more attractive. The arrogance clung to the air around him and it only drew you in.

“Welcome to the party, Y/n,” Clint greets from somewhere in the building. You didn’t respond knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear you like you could hear him.

“Who are you?” The man asks, standing up on his feet. The Sokovian accent thick on his tongue.

“Someone you don’t want to piss off,” You warn fairly. He scoffs, causing your smirk to deepen. “Wood of advice, stay out of the way, Moja duša” You said, the name rolling off your tongue so casually you didn’t realize what you had said at first. When you do realize, the weight of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

You stare at the man in front of you, his eyebrows furrowed. You knew that he could translate the words but he did not know the true meaning of them. Before he could ask anything, you sped out of sight.

You help out the rest of the team whilst keeping an eye on the speedster. After a few minutes, you noticed the others slowly begin to drop. Natasha stopped responding, Thor was muttering to himself and Steve looked lost. You could hear Hulk going on a rampage with Tony trying to stop him.

You snap out of it when you sense a presence behind you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was the witch that had single handedly taken down the team.

When she got close enough to you, you whipped around and wrapped your hand around her throat. Her eyes widened and she becomes panicked. Her hand claws at your wrist as you lift her a few inch off the ground to become eyelevel with you.

“There is no nightmare you can show me that I haven’t already lived,” You hiss, tightening your grip around her. “Be careful, little witch, or you’ll find a fight you can’t win,”

You see, out of the corner of your eye, her brother speeding to her rescue. You hold onto her for a moment longer before dropping her to the ground and wrapping that same hand around his throat. While your grip is firm, it doesn’t constrict his airway. You take a moment to admire how he looks with your hand around his throat. An unseeable grin comes to your lips.

“Are you mentally challenged or do you just not listen?” You ask, tilting your head. He glares and fights your grip but it’s iron tight. “Take your sister and run far away, Moja duša,” You tell him, the name slipping your tongue once again.

“Who are you?” He asks, once again.

“Someone who will get you killed,” You tell him. You hand slowly leaves his neck. He stands there, observing you pensively. When he blinks, you’re out of sight.

...

You stuck around with the team. You got caught up on what was going on and what had happened since you last saw them. They asked if you would stay for a bit longer and your agreed.

You spent the night at Clint's with the others. His children hanging off of you as if you were a jungle gym. You tossed them into the air as many times as they pleaded you too. You also sped them around and played games with them. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, the children had you wrapped around your finger. They have since they were born.

When you weren’t entertaining children, you’re mind lingering on the male enhanced. You had learned their names through Steve. Wanda and Pietro.

You found yourself whispering his name as the night rolled on. You would smile a bit but it never lasted. You knew what he was to you and you to him. You also knew nothing could come of it, no matter how much you desired.

“You’re up late,” Your head snaps to the side to see Laura waddling into the kitchen. You winced when she flicks the lights on. She mutters a small apology.

“I don’t sleep, remember?” You reminded her.

“Ah, right,” She whispers. “In my defense, I have pregnancy brain mixed with morning brain,” She admits. “I’m forgetful,”

“I’ve known you since you were a child, how could you forget me?” You question, smirking at her. “I feel as if I’m quite unforgettable,” You admit, watching as she reaches for a glass to fill with water.

"I can’t forget you because you continue to pop up in the most random moments demanding for attention,” Laura tells you, slowly lowering herself into a seat at the table.

“I may be an isolated creature but even I need some socializing,” You tell her. She motions for you to sit as she sips on her water. “You should go back to sleep, Clint will be leaving in the morning. You need your rest, malá holubica,” You whisper to her.

“You leave as well and who knows when the next time you’re going to pop in,” She says, patting the spot beside her. Her eyes pour into yours. Without the threat of the sun, you didn’t need so much covering. You stayed in your trousers and vest but your arms, neck and head were exposed. “Don’t make me beg for you to sit next to me,”

Sighing, you give into her wishes. You glide across the floor and sit beside her. She shifts so that the both of you are face to face. One of her hands rest on her stomach while the other falls onto your lap. You smile a bit, holding her hand within yours.

“Something’s on your mind,” She mutters.

“Something’s always on my mind,” You whisper back, keeping your gaze on her hand. It’s significantly smaller their yours. It reminds you how fragile she is compared to you. “Its nothing for you to worry about,” You assure her.

“Well, we can still talk about it and make conversation,” Laura smiles.

“There’s plenty of other things to talk about, it’s been a while since we've seen each other,” You said, finally meeting her gaze. She doesn’t say anything for a moment as she stares into your eyes. She’s always been fascinated with them. They’re so inhuman. It always amused you how she found something about you, that struck fear and panic into so many, so beautiful.

The color of your iris’s are different shades of red. The red around your narrow pupil is bright and rich before transitioning into a deeper, darker red. The dark red seemed the slowly blend into the blackness of your sclera. Although, at the moment your eyes are significantly darker than normal as your throat continues to ache with hunger.

“You need to feed,” She tells you. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Dinner was lovely,” You comment. Her eyes narrow. “I’m fine, malá holubica,”

“You need to take care of yourself,” She scolds.

“What will happen if I don’t? I’ll die?” You growl, your hand clutching her a smidge too tight. Your anger vanishes when you notice her subtle flinch. “I’m sorry,” You whisper, gentle massaging away the ache you had caused in her hand.

“What happened today?” She asks. “Did you get affected like the others?” You smile, laughing quietly.

“No amateur witch can sneak up on me, you should have more faith in me than that,” You tell her.

“Then what’s going on?” She asks you. “You’ve been distant, lost in your own world. You snapped at me, you never snap at me,” She playfully pouts.

“I apologized, malý,” You practically whined. She smiles giving your hand a squeeze.

“I know but it just shows that something is bothering you... I won’t be able to sleep unless we talk this out,” She threatens. You narrow your eyes at her. “Like you said, I’ve known you since I was a little girl. You can’t intimidate me,” Your glaring snarl turns into a pout. “Talk to me,” Sighing, you give in.

“Moja duša,” You whisper. Laura stares at you.

“My soul,” She mumbles under her breath. “Dimitri?” Your dead heart pangs at the sound of his name. Her face softens, her hand gripping yours in comfort.

“Pietro,” You correct her.

“Pietro?” She questions. “As in..?” You nod. “Maybe this is fates way of using you to get him and his sister on the right path,”

“Or it’s way of cursing me into another heartbreak,” You growl, withdrawing your hand from hers. You stand and return to your spot by the window. “The fates are cruel and hateful,” You snap.

“You don’t mean that,” She whispers. “She never meant to bring you more pain. She only wanted you to find unconditional love during a heartless time,”

“She should have kept to herself,” You growled. “Should have left me to my isolation. If she had she would still be alive and I would be-”

“Alone,” Laura cuts you off. “Your sister didn’t want you to live alone. She knew she couldn’t live as long as you. She knew you would outgrow everyone you knew,”

“Way to cheer me up,” You mumble. Laura sighs, pushing herself out of her chair. “Point is, this wasn’t supposed to be a curse... She had the right intentions,” She mutters, rubbing your back gently.

“I miss her,” You whisper, closing your eyes tightly.

“I know but you have me for the time being,” Laura whispers, hugging you tightly. You wrapped your arms around her, resting your chin on the crown of her head.

“Have I ever told you how similar your soul is to hers?” You whisper. “It’s what drew me to you... It’s like I have her back through you,”

“I just want you to be happy, she would too,”

“Can you women just let me find my own happiness on my own terms and stop meddling with things?” You grumble. She laughs quietly.

“We can’t help it,” She whispers. “I love you, Y/n,” She whispers.

“I love you too, malá holubica,” You whisper, kissing her head. “Now, you’re caught up on the drama’s of my life. Please, go get some rest,”

“Fine,” She sighs. “But do me a favor,” You sigh as she steps away from you. “Think about the good that will happen if you let Pietro in instead of pushing him away. Then remember all the times you tried to push them away but ended up holding them close,”

“Why am I so open with you about my past?” You sigh. “All you do is throw it in my face,” She laugh, gently tapping your face.

“Think about it,”

...

In the morning, you left with your team. You gave the kids extra long hugs before giving an equally tight hug to Laura. She scolds you for not visiting more and you promise to change that before climbing onto the jet.

When you find Ultron, you stick with Steve. The two of you fight the large robot to keep him occupied. While Steve managed to push the tin man around a bit, your punches managed to dent his plating.

Ultron began to put his focus towards you, which you found flattering. You took the brunt of the punches while Steve basically danced around him. The both of you were managing to fight off the robot when Ultron got a hand on your hood and ripped the jacket off of your body.

You screamed as your arms, neck and face began to burn under the sun’s rays. You barely register Steve tackling Ultron into a train. You fall to your knees feeling your skin begin to catch on fire.

Your mind pushes you through the pain. You look for shade but before you can run for cover your being grabbed and put onto the train. You lean against the wall, away from the sun.

You breathe heavily, your eyes opening a little to see Pietro kneeling in front of you. There’s concern in his eyes and despite the pain you’re in you smile.

“Perfect timing, Moja duša,” You pant.

“Y/n, you alright?” Steve asks, standing beside you. You just give him the thumbs up. “Lost sight of Ultron, there’s civilian’s in our path,” Steve say looking to Pietro knowing that your body is too focused on healing to help.

“Go,” You whisper, seeing his hesitance. Pietro nods and speeds off. You groan when the train goes off the rails.

“You sure you’re going to pull through?” Steve asks, once the train stops. While the burns on your skin were to a lesser degree they were still red and you were still sore.

“Just help me up,” You grumble, holding out a hand. Steve grips it and hauls you to your feel. “Fucking robots and trains... I miss the days when humanity didn’t have fucking technology,” You grumble, following Steve off the train.

“-need to take a minute,” Pietro pants.

“I’m very tempted not to give you one,” Steve snaps, marching up to him.

“The Cradle, did you get it?”

“Stark will take care of it,” Steve assures them as you speed past the sun and back into the shade. Pietro stares at you for a moment before disappearing only to reappear with a sweatshirt. He hands it to you.

“Thanks,” You mutter, pulling it on to shield you from the sun.

“Don’t mention it,” He smirks.

...

Vision’s introduction was dramatic, to say the least. You stayed out of the drama. The only reason you continued to stick around was for Pietro. Although, you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Death follows you wherever you go, even more so than the Avengers.

You knew you needed to make a decision soon before the bond got to the point where you couldn’t leave. It didn’t help that Pietro didn’t respect the distance you were putting between the two of you. He followed you around like a damn puppy.

“What are you?” He asks.

“Take a wild guess,” You say, looking through the fridge for something to drink.

“I can only think of myths and legends... Stories to scare children,”

“You believe in talking robots but not me?” You ask, turning towards him with a blood bag in hand. He watches as your fangs extend and sink into the bag.

“So, you are real...” Pietro mutters.

“Unfortunately,” You mutter, tossing the empty bag to the side.

“What does Moja duša mean?”

“You know what it means,”

“I don’t think I do,” He says moving toward you. “I think it means something more to you,”

“Stop,” You tell him but he doesn’t until you’re toe to toe.

“My grandmother would tell my sister and I stories about you... or your kind,” He tells you. “Said that certain people were cursed to be stuck with your kind for eternity,”

“She’s right... it is a curse,” You tell him.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” He tells you.

“Candy, bread, beer, it all tastes good but they’re not necessarily good for you,” You tell him. “Think of this on a much bigger, much deadlier scale,”

“Sounds exciting,” He smirks. You sigh pressing your lips together. He raises his hand toward the glasses you had yet to take off. Your hands shoot up and wrap around his wrist.

“Turn around and go back to your sister,” You demand. “Forget you ever saw me,”

“You’re unforgettable,” Pietro whispers. The two of you stay still until Pietro begins to move his hands again. They slip from your wrist as you allow him to take the glasses off. “Oči diabla,” He recites the line that is in all the stories. “Eyes of the devil,” He translates. “Who would have thought the devil would be so attractive?”

...

“If I see another Goddamn robot after this, I’m going to blow a gasket,” You hiss towards the end of the battle against Ultron and his multiples. You run around the city killing robots and rescuing civilians.

Eventually, ships come to the edge of the city to evacuate everyone. You run through the city multiple times in order to make sure nobody is left behind. You return to the ships in time to see Pietro go to save Clint and the child he’s protecting.

Your instincts over take you. Your by his side faster than a heart beat. Your arms wrap around him. You speed out of harms way without missing a beat. When you’re out of the way, you rip a door off a car and launch it at the spaceship sending it to the ground before turning to Pietro.

“Are you alr-” Pietro cuts you off with a kiss. The simple kiss amplifies the already strong bond between the two of you. Your hand instinctively rest on his hips and pull him against you.

“Thank you,” He mutters against your lips. You smirk, returning your lips to his.

...

I plan on doing more one shots in relation to this one. I wouldn’t really call it a series just a collection of random one shots with Pietro and this type of reader.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in them or if you have a request for a specific one shot you wanna see

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sweetest-honeybee · 3 years

Text

Impulse’s New Outfit

Summary: Scar helps Impulse into a suit much like his own.

TW: None

Word Count: 1278

Notes: This wasn’t edited lol

Enjoy!

——————

Impulse wanted to try a new look, a style he usually wasn’t very familiar with. But, he supposed that Scar could help him given the man’s taste in his clothing.

After Charlie’s message, he got to work on building his factory and it eventually hit him that a factory meant business and business, on this scale anyways, meant that he’d have to dress in something more formal. At least, more formal than his usual t-shirt and cargo shorts. Scar seemed the perfect choice as he’d been swaying away from his usual brown denim jacket and towards coats made of expensive fabrics- his head now crowned with a top hat as well, of course.

So, he did just that. After finishing the entrance of his factory, he glided over to the large wagons across the village. Thankfully, Scar was around, having only been in his garage until he looked up as Impulse landed with a stumble. Through the iron bars, Impulse watched as his friend finalized his Swaggon restock and walked to the garage’s entrance.

“Hey Impulse!” the builder greeted happily.

Impulse approached him with a wave. “Hey! The new, uh, Swaggon? I think? It’s looking great,” he chuckled.

Scar glanced at the new version of it with a proud smile. “Yeah, I’m excited to roll ‘em out.”

Impulse nodded. “Right right, so um, I need a favor from you.”

The other raised a brow but then shrugged. “For the right price, anything’s possible.”

“I need to look like,” he gestured up and down towards Scar, “that. Can you help a guy out?”

Scar looked down. “My clothes?”

“Yeah. I’ve got this whole business thing going on with the factory, thought maybe you could get me looking kinda fancy, you know? You’re the fanciest Hermit I know.”

“Aw, well I do love me some flattery. Sure! Just step on inside this here wagon and we’ll get you started.” He bounded away with what Impulse noticed was a skip in his step. Scar must’ve been excited to do this.

He followed and the builder led him to the top floor where his desk, bed, and lounge resided. Scar left him to stand idly while he dragged a large trunk from out beside the couch near the window.

“I’ve got a whole chest of stuff you could wear,” he started. He eyed Impulse with a hum. “I’m thinking black and yellow to not throw off your whole theme. Or, if you had something else in mind-“

“Black and yellow sounds just fine,” Impulse answered.

“Alright, what do you want to wear? I’ve got shirts, vests, jackets, coats of many kinds, and a bunch of hats,” he listed. “If you want my opinion, I’d say some kind of tailcoat at least.”

The redstoner pondered over the suggestion then shook his head. “No, too fancy I think. A jacket kind of like yours seems like a good choice.” He raised his hands with a shrug. “But, you’re the expert here so you don’t have to listen to me.” He flashed a lopsided smile.

Scar tutted. “It’s your outfit, Impulse. Your feedback is crucial in this process. But,” he trailed off to dig into the trunk, then pulled out a black top hat with a yellow ribbon wrapped around its base. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

He went over and placed the hat on his friend’s head. Impulse looked up as if he could see it which promoted Scar to grab a hand mirror from his desk. He held it up in front of Impulse.

“If you like this hat then my idea should be a good one.” He awaited an answer. Then, really much to some surprise, Impulse broke into a wide smile.

“I like it!”

The builder clapped happily. “Awesome! I’ll grab the rest of the main suit, then you can help pick accessories, yeah?”

Impulse still stared into the mirror admiring the hat. If it were only the hat that produced such a reaction, he assumed Impulse would die from smiling so much. It did bring one to Scar’s face though. Impulse would leave the wagon looking like a new man.

They two set to work on the rest of the outfit. Scar rummaged through the chest and pulled out a matching black coat and slacks trimmed with yellow, and a yellow vest to match. He showed them to Impulse.

“Thoughts?”

The redstoner only looked confused. “Aren’t those…your size?”

This brought out a laugh from the other. “Oh, a little vex magic never hurt anyone. Some tailoring is all.” He waved a dismissive hand which he then used to snap his fingers. The snap produced a blue sheen that travelled down the clothing, effectively enlarging their size. “This should fit you fine.”

Impulse opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut. Whatever worked, he supposed.

He put on the articles of clothing with ease. With more vex magic, the builder summoned a full body mirror that sat against the wall. Impulse twisted and turned, marveling at the look. Though, the t-shirt under such a suit made his face twist which prompted Scar to find a button up to go underneath. After the change was made, Impulse was extremely impressed and so excited that he bounced on his toes.

“I love it! Maybe a bit longer of a coat but I’m very happy with it!” He commented as he tipped his hat at the mirror with a laugh.

Scar was more than proud of himself. His friend looked amazing and it only made his cheeks burn from grinning. Or, it might’ve been the flush that rose to them from the compliments. He turned and lifted a small wooden box from where the trunk previously was by the window. Impulse eyed him curiously as he walked back.

“Are you more of a bow tie or necktie person?” Scar asked. “I also suggest a monocle if you’re feeling particularly dangerous.” He winked and his friend laughed.

“I’m not that dangerous, but a bow tie sounds fun. Not a very serious thing, you know? It’s a candy factory.”

The builder opened the box with a hum. “Any colors you have in mind? Maybe a yellow to match the ribbon on your hat or a darker shade?”

The other peeked into the box which held many accessories- bow ties, neckties, cufflinks, collar pins, and decorative gold and silver chained charms. Much more than he was certainly used to and likely wouldn’t use. But, a vibrant yellow bow tie caught his eye which he pointed at.

“How about that one?”

Scar plucked it from the box alongside a grey bow tie. He put it down on his desk, leading Impulse to the mirror. He put up the bow ties in front of the other.

“Yellow seemed fitting for the kind of business you’re running, but I grabbed a grey one in case you didn’t want something so vibrant,” the builder explained. He alternated the bow ties, giving Impulse time to choose.

“Yeah, I like the yellow actually,” agreed the redstoner. So, Scar put it on the other and stood back, taking in the finished outfit from farther away.

“You look awesome! You’re like a whole new man!” He mused. “It suits you,” he added with a snicker.

“This season and the puns,” Impulse muttered with a laugh. He looked over into the mirror. “I absolutely love it, thank you.”

Scar patted him on the shoulder. “That’ll be a diamond block by the way.”

“Wait, what-“

“Kidding! Only kidding, it’s free.”

“We’ll I sure hoped so-“

“The first time anyways. Additional appointments are a diamond block.”

Impulse rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “Right.”

#this came out a lot longer than I thought #oops #I’ll add a read more here soon #my fic #hermitcraft #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar

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magpie-to-the-morning · 3 years

Text

Pull the Blinds - Part Three

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4k

Tags: Established Relationship, Journalist reader, no Y/N, Established relationship, Dom!Javi, female reader, unprotected p in v sex (don’t do that), fingering (female receiving), oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, name calling, aftercare

Summary: A failed raid sends Javi spinning, desperate to take the edge off. Luckily for both of you, you’re also in need of something to take your mind off work. This is the third in a series, but they can be read individually.

Huge thank you to @keeper0fthestars for the encouragement, brainstorming/co-thirsting, and beta’ing when I couldn’t look at this anymore. Love you babe! 😘

Part One - Part Two - My Masterlist

Read on Ao3

“God damn it,” you slam your folder shut and tear your glasses off to pinch the bridge of your nose. You’ve hit a dead end on this assignment and even taking the day to work from home, all your papers spread out on the kitchen table before you, hasn’t helped. Tension is radiating down your neck and shoulders, lines of stress and pain only worsening the harder you try to force yourself to think through the problem. Pressing a thumb between your brows eases that tension somewhat, and you’re just standing up to take a well-earned break when you hear someone pounding at your door.

You freeze. You’re not expecting anyone. Normally you wouldn’t be so concerned (it’s the middle of the afternoon, after all, and you live in a decent neighborhood), but between your career as an investigative journalist and the drug war tearing Colombia apart at the seams, it never hurts to be cautious. Reaching behind the sofa, you pull out a baseball bat before inching towards the door. The door rattles on its hinges, the knocking louder and more insistent than before. This is no casual visit.

“Who is it?” Your voice is level, even as your knuckles tighten around the aluminum and you take a deep breath in, out. Your mind is already spinning through potential scenarios- has someone clocked your undercover work, tracked you to your home? Adrenaline surges through you, your body screaming at you to be ready for anything, and you only relax a fraction when you hear a familiar, muffled, “It’s me.”

“Javi?” A glance through the peephole confirms that it is Javi, palms braced against your door jam, his dark brown hair slick with sweat and his green, DEA-issued tactical vest wrapped around his chest. His gun is holstered, hanging from the leather belt slung low around his narrow waist. No immediate danger, then.

Setting the bat down you open the door, eyes wide with concern. “Everything okay?” You look behind him, expecting to see the street lined with official vehicles and men bristling with guns, but there’s just his Bronco, parked rushed and crooked against the curb.

Javi’s already brushing past you so you shut the door and follow him. None of this is like him, not the disheveled state of his hair or the sweat-drenched pink shirt clinging to him, and certainly not him barging in, looking like he’s just come from a raid. You get in front of him, taking in his wild eyes, the way he can’t seem to keep still. It’s unnerving, and not doing a damn thing to reassure you that he’s remotely okay or to calm your own racing heart, but you adopt your calmest tone and say “Javier. Talk to me.”

Finally seeming to actually see you, Javi stops pacing for a moment to answer you. “We had them, we fucking had them!”

You’ve never seen Javi like this. It’s not that he never brings the work home with him- how could he not? You’ve seen him exhausted, worn out from lack of sleep and endless hours spent chasing leads that go nowhere. You know what it’s like when the seeming futility and endless bureaucracy wear him down, seen him stressed and frustrated and devastated by loss. But you’ve never seen him like this- electrified, explosive. It’s all you can do to meet his raw, frayed energy with your own carefully constructed calm. “Slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Javi gives you the gist. Nothing confidential, nothing that would put either of your professional ethics in jealousy, but enough to see the shape of the thing. A raid, weeks in the planning, turned up nothing but an empty warehouse. Someone must have tipped the targets off, warning them before the DEA could spring their trap.

You wince. You know the effort that had gone into it, the countless hours of sifting through transcripts, painstakingly confirming scraps of rumors whispered through hushed calls. Weeks of work, wasted, all gone to ashes in mere moments. No arrests to show for it and worse, a potential leak. Javi’s desperation makes sense to you now. If one of your investigations had imploded this catastrophically you’d be out for blood, too.

But of course, there’s nothing he can do about it. Not yet. Not until the dust has settled and the analysts can come up with new leads. Until then, Javi just has to sit with the knowledge that his last several weeks of work have been utterly wasted, that the cartel has slipped from their grasp yet again, and are likely laughing their heads off about it from a safe distance, all while plotting their next devastating move. It’s eating him alive.

His story finished, Javi heaves a sigh and scrubs his hands over his face, still coated in a sheen of sweat. Belatedly, he takes in your scattered papers, the chair shoved away from the table where you were working when he burst in. “Shit, you were in the middle of something, sorry. I shouldn’t have burst in on you like this, I just-” he shrugs vaguely, still looking bewildered and only half present.

“Hush.” You lay a hand on his chest, can feel it rising with every heaving breath beneath the solid tac vest, and tip his face up so his eyes meet yours. “What do you need?”

You’re assuming it’ll be something like ice water or, more likely, a shot of whiskey. Maybe a shower to cool off. He’s got some clothes in a drawer in your bedroom, maybe he’ll feel better if he changes…?

While you’re brainstorming potential solutions, Javi is staring at you with all the intensity of a panther sizing up its next meal. Before the thought can properly register, he surges toward you, so suddenly your back hits the counter, its edge digging into your lower back as his arms surround you. His broad hands clutch at the fabric of your dress, making the skirt ride dangerously high up your thighs. His lips crash against yours, slanting and molding to you as he grabs the back of your head. When you gasp he deepens the kiss, his hand clenching in your hair as he tips your head back, plundering your mouth so aggressively you feel teeth. It’s only after those teeth nip sharply at your bottom lip that he pulls back, his breathing ragged.

“I’m sorry, I’m not- I should go.” He hunches his shoulders like he’s ashamed to be seen like this and makes for the door.

Oh. So that’s what he needs. You can picture it now- him bending you over the counter and taking you, hard, right then and there, using you to work the sharp edge off his temper. Just the idea of it, Javi pouring that frustration into fucking you, is thrilling. Besides, turning your brain off for a bit, giving yourself over to all that fury is exactly what you need right now, and he thinks he needs to shield you from that impulse? Hell, no.

You stop him with one touch of your hand. “Don’t go.” Javi’s head jerks up and he stands rigid as you press yourself against him, your hips touching, your hands moving over the taut lines of his arms. “You clearly need to take the edge off.” He hisses as your lips close on his trapezius, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “And I could use a distraction,” you croon.

“I’m too worked up- I don’t want to hurt you, cariño,” he bites out, even as he looks at you like he could eat you alive and spit out your bones, still hungry for more.

Javi knows you like it rough. Hell, he’s fucked you through gritted teeth and snarls enough times to know you love it that way. This is different. This is burning rage and rough hands, the difference between training rounds and live fire.

You want all of it.

Your lips curl in a knowing smile and you straddle his thigh, denim-clad muscle taut against the scrap of cotton separating your bodies beneath your skirt. You grind down on him and meet his burning gaze. “Not even a little?”

He growls at your challenge, a caged jungle cat, all sleek, bunched muscle and barely checked savagery. He eyes you up and down, assessing, his knuckles tightening against the counter. He runs a thumb over his lower lip and that’s when you know he’s genuinely considering it. You clench and shudder in anticipation, eyes locked on him as he demands “give me your safeword.”

“Javi, you know what it is.” The two of you had chosen it months ago, a reminder of the vacation you’re always meaning to take but never quite get around to.

He leans closer, eyes dark and grin darker. “Remind me,” he rumbles, clutching the edge of the counter he’s got your back up against.

Your throat bobs as you swallow. He’s so close. You can see the sweat sliding down the planes of his neck, feel the edge of his tac vest digging into you, practically taste the bitter tang of unspent adrenaline. The thrill of the hunt rolls off of him in waves, the livewire burn of his need sparking an answering flare in your blood. You have to lick your lips before answering in a whisper “It’s Aruba.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice the inescapable rumble of an impending landslide. His nose drags against your cheek, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “And you’ll use it if you need to.” He’s no longer asking. He’s telling.

“Yes, Javi.”

His teeth close on your earlobe sharply. “Yes, what?”

Another shiver runs through you. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s fucking right.” Without further warning, Javi grabs you by your upper arm and shoves you towards the bedroom.

Your heart rate spikes, blood thrumming in time with Javi’s heavy tread marching you down the hallway. His grip is fierce, his expression fiercer, and you suddenly wonder what it’s like to go toe to toe with this man, Agent Peña, in the field. For all his honor and dedication to justice, there’s a streak of ruthlessness running through the heart of him, a need to see the mission through to the end, no matter the cost. Javier is a good man, better than he’ll admit to himself, but that darkness is there. Not a flaw, not really. A smoky occlusion in the ruby heart of him, one more facet in the complex matrix of his inner self.

This knowledge isn’t new to you, but Javi letting you see it firsthand is. It doesn’t scare you. Nothing about him ever could. You trust him, know him, too well for that. No, you’re honored that Javi is willing to show you the jagged edges of himself, to trust you to handle these broken pieces without either of you winding up bloodied.

As you step through the doorway to your bedroom, Javi pushes you towards the bed. “Strip.” His eyes rake over you hungrily, devouring every new bit of skin you reveal as you obey, dropping one garment after another on the floor of your bedroom. He watches, arms folded, still fully clothed, still wearing that tac vest that shorts your brain out. In no time you’re completely naked before him, your body on full display in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, but he makes no move to undress. He sits in the middle of your bed, leaning his back against the headboard like he owns the place and crooks his finger at you. You crawl to him on hands and knees, letting him pull you into his lap.

“Tell me what you want, querida.” His voice is low and sweet, amber honey dripping into your ear while he noses at your cheek, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through you. Fuck if that voice doesn’t go straight your cunt.

You squirm in his lap, shifting to straddle his waist, your naked sex molded to the bulge swelling beneath his tight jeans. “I want you to fuck me, Javi. Let me help you get rid of all that tension.” You reach up, start kneading his shoulders, but he tsks and pushes your hands aside.

“Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You jut out your lip in a mock pout. He’s the one who pounded on your door, amped up and aching, so it hardly seems fair that he’s turned the tables on you this easily, and yet...

You’d expected him to take you quickly, to burn through you wildfire fast, but now that he’s got you where he wants you he’s intent on breaking you down slowly.

Your fingers curl over the edge of his vest, clinging to him while he kisses you breathless. He’s in complete control, every gasp and jut of your hips unfolding at his urging. He tastes every part of you, his teeth closing over pulse points, tongue flicking over every dip and hollow of your body. You lose all sense of time when he reaches your breasts, drowning in sensation, only pulled back to the present when he pinches a nipple or bites down on the full moon swell of your breast.

He leaves marks as he goes, livid reminders of his claiming every inch of you. You submit to all of it, your fingers scrabbling for purchase over the expanse of that heavy vest as Javi bears down on you. Heat is building in you with every bite and suck and caress, but your body is screaming out for more, more, more. It’s then that it finally hits you- the bastard is doing this deliberately. He wants you as keyed up as he is. That realization pitches you headlong into the blaze he’s been stoking all along and you moan, desperate for more.

He indulges you, still painfully slowly, more fuel for the fire raging in both of you. Reaching down between you, he drags his fingers over your thighs, already slick with the desire dripping from you. “Christ, you’re so wet from just this. You like letting me do this, don’t you? Getting so worked up being my good little slut.”

You gasp and nod, whimpering now that he’s so close to where you need him but still not quite there. He rewards you by finally pressing those thick, clever trigger fingers against your weeping cunt. He moves in slow, torturous circles, and you reach for him, try to kiss him, to beg wordlessly for more. He pulls away, chuckling at your eagerness. “No. Let me do this for you.”

He knows damn well what he’s doing, pushing you to see when you’ll get impatient. You try to wait him out but forget yourself when he slips one finger into the molten clutch of your sex. It’s so good but you need more. “Please,” you murmur, moving to kiss him once more, your hand dropping between you, needing to feel him. Besides, a wicked, wanton part of you wonders what he’ll do if you disobey him like this.

Your answer comes swiftly. Javi flips you onto your back with a snarl, one hand behind your head to cushion the sudden move. Grabbing your wrists in one hand, he hauls them above your head, pinning you in place. “What did I tell you? Hold still!” He slaps your pussy once, twice, three times in rapid fire succession, each hit harder than the last, leaving you stinging and aching for more. You moan and writhe in his hold, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some kind of release.

Javi watches you mercilessly. “Yeah, you like that? Filthy thing. Want me to do it again?” Your toes curl and he takes that as your answer, delivering one more slap to your cunt. He leaves his hand there, tracing slow, deliberate circles around your clit. The sudden tenderness, the tantalizing possibility of finally gaining some relief has you practically sobbing.

“You gonna be a good girl and keep those hands to yourself?”

“Y-yes, Javi.”

He pulls his hand away at once and you whimper, realizing your mistake as his expression darkens. “I know I didn’t just hear you forget your manners.”

“Sir,” you correct yourself quickly. “I meant, yes sir.”

“That’s what I thought.” You know from experience that he loves this, temporarily reducing you to a pleading, pliant mess. He knows the trust this requires, and the way it frees you to give yourself over to pleasure completely. It’s a responsibility he never takes lightly. He always knows just how far to push, what boundaries to test or limits to prod, knowing that’s half the fun. As for the other half...

He works you open, one thumb on your clit, his fingers probing deeper and deeper inside you. Your breath hitches when he’s knuckle-deep, massaging that spot that makes you clench and shudder. He gets you off like this more times than you can count, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you from your curled toes to your tingling scalp. He strokes you and finger fucks you for what feels like an eternity, all the whole whispering sweet filth into your ear. Dark promises of how he intends to take you, to use you, all without filling you the way he knows you crave.

“Please, please fuck me. I need you so bad baby, I don’t think I have another one in me like this.” He’s made you cum so many times you’ve lost count, worked your clit until you’re completely over stimulated and begging for mercy.

He has none. Instead of giving in, he delivers another harsh smack to your abused cunt. “Tell me who owns this pretty pussy.”

“You do, Javi, please...”

“Then give me one more.” He spits and you feel it land, slipping over your swollen folds. It’s lewd and obscene and forgotten the instant Javi lowers his head and licks the sting of the latest slap away. His broad tongue works you mercilessly, ripping another shuddering cry of his name from your lips as he brings you to the edge and shoves you over it once again.

“Get on your knees.” He makes you wait, arms trembling, pussy drenched and waiting while he gets up to undress. He misses nothing, clocking the instant when you clench, your throat bobbing, as he unbuckles his leather belt. Javi quirks an eyebrow and, folding it in half, he swats it once, hard enough to be loud but not enough to truly hurt, against your ass. An experiment more than anything else. You let slip a filthy moan, confirming his suspicion that you truly are this comfortable with rougher treatment.

“Maybe next time, querida,” Javi chuckles. He tosses the belt aside, along with those tight jeans and every other bit of clothing, rejoining you on the bed. He takes his place behind you, hands clutching your hips as he teases your entrance with the fat head of his cock. You can feel how hard he is, the length of him like steel as he pushes himself lazily against your folds. It’s more agonizing buildup, and even when he finally, finally starts to fuck you, he does it with just the tip of his cock, thrusting shallowly, enough to make you clench without being filled. It’s torture. You try to push your hips back to take him deeper, but his firm grip holds you motionless.

“Something the matter, baby?”

You grit your teeth. If he doesn’t fuck you properly right the fuck now you might actually combust. “I need more Javi, please,” you beg.

“Yeah, think you can take it?”

Your only response is a desperate whine, met with a harsh chuckle. “You asked for it.”

He shoves himself inside you in one savage thrust. Even with all of his teasing, the orgasms he’s already pulled from you, and the slick practically dripping from your swollen pussy, it’s a shock. You gasp, his thick cock plunging into you with a filthy squelch, and the sudden overwhelming fullness forces another climax from you without warning. You clamp around him and cry out, barely even registering the flood of wetness practically squirting from you, soaking the rough curls at the base of Javi’s cock.

“Fuck that’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good - fucking - girl.” He thrusts into you in time with his words, working you through the sudden orgasm. As if your release was some sort of signal, this is the moment when Javi finally lets the leash of his control slip, fucking you like a man possessed. His hands grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise, he pulls you onto him as his hips slap against you, setting a brutal, punishing pace.

You’re dimly aware that the harder the fucks you, the more your body slips against the sheets and away from him. Frustrated, Javi shifts his grip, pulling you up, your back flush against his chest and his arms bands of steel around your breasts. His breath is ragged in your ear and even when his teeth close on your shoulder, it does little to muffle his harsh grunts.

Time slips away again and all you know is the bone-rattling ferocity of Javi fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure you hardly know when one orgasm rolls into the next, all you know is that Javi has you in a death grip and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Finally, through a haze of sweat and bliss, you feel him stiffen behind you, his hips stuttering and a strangled groan escaping him as he drops his head to your shoulder, his cock spitting deep inside you. You bury your hand in his hair, mutter soothing nonsense as he spills himself into you. When he finally stills, the two of you collapse into a heap on the bed, his body a comforting weight on yours.

You lay there, in a sweaty, blissed out tangle for several minutes, both trying to catch your breath. Javi recovers first, rolling off of you and gathering you into his arms. He pushes the hair from your eyes, his own going concerned when you’re still too boneless to respond to him calling your name.

Giving you some time to recover, he gets the arnica gel from your nightstand and is already smoothing it over the livid marks on your hips when you come back to yourself enough to speak.

“Mm, feels good,” you slur, rolling onto your side to give him better access. You’d introduced him to this particular remedy when he’d shown up with bruises after a particularly difficult arrest, and it had quickly become a favorite aftercare ritual whenever things turned rough in bed. Javi’s thick fingers glide soothingly over every ache and sting, though you catch his wrist when he moves to smooth the gel over the bite marks he left on your breasts.

“Oh, baby, was I too rough here?” His eyes are soft with concern and the beginnings of apology, so you’re quick to shake your head no. You roll closer and brush away the sweat-slick curls threatening to hide his face.

“It’s not that, Javi. I just… kind of like seeing the marks. The gel makes them heal faster, so leave a few for me, would you?”

He kisses you. “Ok, wild thing,” he says affectionately. “Give me your wrists though, unless you want everyone at your office seeing what I did to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you tease, but offer him your wrists nonetheless. He’s so gentle, cradling the back of your hand in his own massive palm, his fingers rubbing the gel into your wrist in slow, circular strokes. When he’s finished, he raises your hands to kiss your palms, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes you melt.

“C’mere, baby.” Javi pulls you to lay on top of him, running his hands over your hair and pressing kisses to your face. “You good?”

It’s sweet, the way he fusses like this after having just taken you entirely apart, soothing you with the same single-minded determination he brings to every other part of his life, and you bask in the glow of his care. “Yeah Javi, I’m perfect.”

Javi huffs out a laugh at that. “I'll say.”

You shift in his arms to get a better look at him. He seems more like himself now, less agitated, more present. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He drops a kiss to the crown of your head and breathes out. You can feel his body relaxing as he does it, proof that he’s telling the truth.

“Sleep then, I’m sure you need it.” He nods, his breathing already turning slow and even as he drifts towards rest. You close your eyes, about to join him when the solution to your work problem flashes through your mind, clear as day. As soon as you’re sure Javi has drifted off, you slip out of bed and back to work.

Maybe you both could use that vacation after all…

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x F!Reader #Javier Peña x Fem!Reader #My fic #Pull the Blinds

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shellibisshe · 3 years

Text

word count: 818

warnings: none? maybe? Gabe’s here and he’s being controlling

summary: Elle meets someone new, Gabe’s not having it. Or: Elle and Lyra spend most of this staring longingly until Gabe shows up.

extra: thank you @faithchel for letting me use Lyra and making up this whole new canon for the gorls. thank you also for writing most of the dialogue and the banner 🥺 it all came together so well

The jail’s busier than it has been for as long as Elle can remember. She has some clue of what’s going on but not much, but even she is finding herself rushing around like a madwoman. Nancy had stepped out to go to the bathroom or her break or something, and Elle’s looking for one specific form on her desk. She’s opening all the drawers, looking through each folder, hell even looking under Nancy’s desk, when she hears footsteps.

No, heel clicks. Approaching the desk.

“Hello?” The voice says, and Elle just about knocks herself out when her head hits the underside of the desk. It’s high, with an accent Elle can’t quite place, but she speaks again, “I’m here to speak with Nancy?”

Elle stands up fully behind the desk, dusting her shoulders off and fixing her ponytail before she looks at the stranger.

Whoever she is, Elle has no clue. She’s taller than Elle, with the heels. Her hair is long, a soft red that frames her face. She’s got a long, almost white, pink dress; there’s a slit on one side that runs up almost her entire leg, where the dress wraps. All over her arms are rose tattoos, and Elle can’t really make out the one on her leg. Although this wasn’t why she was looking, she noticed ‘wrath’ spelled out on her chest, right under her collarbones.

Elle almost feels underdressed, even in the jail, “Nancy uh…she stepped out for a second,” Elle pauses, looking past the woman and at the door instead. Nancy should be back soon, so should Gabe.

“What about that bothersome man, Gabriel Brett?” the woman asked. A mischievous smirk spread on her face at the mention of him as she peered into the office space in the next room. For a second, hearing his full name, Elle almost didn’t know who she was talking about. But when she followed the woman’s gaze, Gabe’s desk was still empty.

“Gabe? He should be back soon,” Elle looked into the office space as well, at everyone else, “I can write down a note for you.”

Her smirk tightens. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll see him soon enough,” The woman’s eyes flicker over her. “I’d rather hear about you.”

“Afraid I’m not very interestin’,” but Elle started nonetheless, “deputy Elenore Parker, most everyone calls me Elle, though. Been livin’ in Hope County all my life.”

“All your life?”

“Only left the county twice; trainin’ and tourin’ colleges with my sister,” Elle laughs slightly; she needs to call Emily again, “for her, not me. School’s not my thing.”

“What is your thing then, Deputy Parker?” the woman leaned on the counter covering Nancy’s desk now, a curious look in her eye.

But before Elle can answer, the door to the jail clicks open, “there he is.”

Gabe. He looks exactly the same as when he left— but his vest is off; he’s carrying it. He’s got his jacket on, the bright yellow “U.S. Marshal” on the sleeve seems even brighter now as he makes his way to the front desk. He smiles at Elle before shooting the woman a look. He knows her, and his bright blue eyes seem darker at the sight of her.

“Lyra,” he says, and there’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, a tone Elle knows by heart at this point. The woman looks at him through her eyelashes at the sound of her name. Lyra, Elle thinks, pretty.

“Ah, Gabriel,” and she looks at Elle again, stepping closer to her, pulling her into a sort of trance, “you neglected to mention your coworkers aren’t all so unappealing. I would have come by sooner.”

“Because that one,” Gabe puts a hand on Elle’s shoulder, shaking her out of it, “is my wife.”

“I don’t see a ring.”

“Because we don’t wear them at work.”

“Ah.” She inclines her head. “You are either exceptionally confident or exceptionally foolish. Which is it, I wonder?”

“Neither, we don’t want them to get damaged,” he pulls Elle closer a bit, and he offers a warm smile, “I think it’s time you leave.”

“Certainly, darling. I do hope you are so careful with all things in your life,” Lyra turns to Elle, a hand reaches out to Elle’s free shoulder, “Delighted to meet you, Elle. I expect we’ll be seeing a good deal of each other.”

And Elle just offers her own warm smile back before she can feel Gabe’s grip on her arm tighten. Lyra turns to leave, and the jail seems a bit darker now that she’s gone.

“Don’t talk to her,” Gabe bites out, and his grip is even tighter now. Elle gives him a look, silently trying to free herself, but he lets go before she can even ask. He leaves, retreats to his desk in a huff while Elle stands there, bewildered, as the door clicks shut.

#my writing #lyra fairbanks #gabe brett #far cry 5 #fc5 #x: no body no crime #oc: elenore parker

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theloneliestshipper · 3 years

Note

What about a Soulmate or red string of fate AU for Leia and Boba?

I actually had multiple requests for this one. I came up with a premise years ago for this and yet writing it out only made me realize how hard it would be to get these two stubborn, independent people to buy into it. I dragged them as far as I could, I swear.

AO3 Link

“It’s Mandalorian.” Her father’s voice was hushed. He sounded worried. “I recognize the lettering.”

“Could we have it translated?”

Leia rubbed her leg just above her knee as she listened to her parents whispering outside her door. The darker patch of skin had always been there. Her mother said she always had. It was only after her tenth birthday that the color began to deepen and the foreign letters began to take shape.

“Yes, but should we?” Her father continued. “This whole business of soulmates, it’s a lot of pressure. Maybe it’s best if she doesn’t know.”

Her mother sounded uncertain. “There’s a lot she doesn’t know, Bail. What if this is one thing too many?”

---

“You have a soulmark?” Sabine Wren’s eyes went wide.

“You don’t think it’s crazy?”

“My parents have them...so, no. My dad’s says, “I’m looking” and my mom’s says, “look at this beautiful sight!” My dad was painting a picture of a lake when they met, and he wanted her to look at the view and she wanted to look at him.” Sabine shrugged. “And those were the first words they said to one another. My mom says she was just grateful that hers was in Mando’a.”

Leia fidgeted, keeping an eye out for anyone passing in the hall of the rebel base. “Mine is in Mando’a too.”

“It is? That means it’s your soulmate’s first language!”

“I looked it up, but the translation wasn’t exact. It’s just one word. Slana’pir.”

“Huh.” Sabine considered that for a few seconds. “That can mean ‘get lost’ or ‘go away’ depending on the context. It’s kind of a funny thing for someone to say as their first words to you. The first letter, does it angle at the bottom? This way?” She illustrated with her hand.

Leia had to think about it. “No. The other way.”

“That’s interesting. It means they’re probably Concordian, from Concordia or Concord Dawn.” She grinned. “A hick Mandalorian, you know? In some places they use slana’pir literally, from a Concordian it’s more likely to be a threat.”

“Great,” Leia replied dryly. “I’ll just keep my eyes peeled for a Mandalorian who instantly threatens me. Are your parents...it’s real for them?”

“Oh yeah. They’re really happy together. My dad always says he doesn’t mind dying at the same time as my mom, because he can’t imagine living without her.”

“Wait. You die if your soulmate does?”

“That’s part of the deal. Once you meet and exchange words, you literally can’t live without one another.”

“But what if it’s someone you pass on the street and never speak to?”

“Then I guess you do what you want like everyone else.”

---

Leia couldn’t understand the grunts of the Gamorrean guards who dragged her through the door. They tossed her in the direction of the bed and left, locking the door behind them. The room was simple, the only furniture was a bed.

Jabba had made the terms of her captivity clear with the scraps of metal and cloth she was forced to wear. She was a trophy for the Hutt to display. So why lock her in here?

She paced for a while. When she got tired of pacing she sat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the door. That quickly became boring and so she laid down, curled up on her side. At some point she fell asleep.

When she woke up there were voices outside the door. Bib Fortuna, the Twi’lek majordomo, and a second voice.

Boba Fett.

Leia bolted upright. Of course. Jabba was passing her on as a bonus to his pet hunter. Her hands curled into fists as the door opened and the Mandalorian bounty hunter strode in.

“Get out.”

She resisted the urge to cover her soulmark with her hand. “Congratulations,” she snarled instead. “You can read.”

He didn’t respond. He stood frozen in front of the door until it finally occurred to Leia that something had happened. “The fuck,” he whispered, the words barely audible through his helmet. Suddenly he was moving towards her, and before she could scramble away he was on his knees at her feet, his hand on her leg. His gloved fingers scrubbed across her soulmark as if he was trying to rub it off.

“Ow!” She pulled her leg up under her, shoving him away. “Get off me!”

He straightened, started to walk away and then turned back. And then away again, as if he had lost all sense of direction. “It can’t be,” he said to no one.

“Are you on spice?”

He laughed, a harsh, unexpected sound that caused a burst of static in his helmet. “I wish this were a spice dream, but neither of us is going to get that lucky.” He lifted off his helmet, setting it on a table before he removed his jetpack. He was in his thirties, with dark curly hair and tan skin. A handsome man, in spite of his grim expression. He looked as if he wanted to be doing anything other than what he was doing.

He stripped off his bracers and then worked open the flak vest his chest plates attached to. When he started opening the neck of his flight suit Leia realized that he was undressing.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “Lay a hand on me and one of us is going to die.”

“I’m not going to touch you.” He said it scornfully, as if the very idea was offensive. “I have to show you something.”

“Why?”

His anger faded a little. “I think you have a right to know.” He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his flight suit and let the top half hang over his belt. He wore a white sleeveless undershirt beneath it, which he pulled over his head in one smooth motion. His back was all smooth skin and muscle, except for a few scattered scars and the line of aurebesh letters that ran vertically down along his spine.

Congratulations. You can read.

“Oh my gods.” Leia could scarcely breathe. “You...you didn’t read it. It was just...the first words you said.”

“Seems impossible that we haven’t spoken before. But even on Bespin we never talked. Not directly.”

“It’s you,” Leia said, still trying to process it. “You’re the hick Mandalorian. From...Concorda...or something.”

He blinked at her. “Concord Dawn. And I’m not. But my dad was.” He waited a moment, as if he was trying to decide something. “When did they show up for you? The actual words, I mean.”

“I was ten, I think.”

“Me too.” A smile appeared, fleeting but sincere. “My dad said they were funny. Like a joke.” He shook his head. “It’s a fucking joke, all right.”

“Tell me about it.” Leia rubbed her temple. “My soulmate is a bounty hunter.”

“And mine is in love with someone else.” Fett winced as if something had just occurred to him. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if I don’t you’ll get yourself killed trying to rescue Solo. You know what happens now, right? Now that we’ve met? If you die, I die.”

“You could help me. Help me get Han out and-”

“And what? You’ll marry him, move to the outer rim and live a long, peaceful life?” His tone was rich with skepticism.

“Maybe I will,” she lied, trying not to think about the rebel forces gathering on Yavin IV.

He looked at her for a moment in silence and then dropped his gaze. “I’ll leave. Whatever plans you have, I’m not part of them. We’ll both just try to...stay alive.” His shoulders rose and fell in one sharp breath. “Since we probably won’t see each other again, is there anything you want to know?”

Leia plucked at the blanket on the bed. “I guess you’ve heard some of the same things I have.”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“I didn’t feel anything when you…” she gestured at her leg.

“Might have been blocked by the gloves.”

“Yeah. That makes sense, I guess.” It might be her only chance to test it. “If you want to try it again…”

He worked his glove off his right hand and approached her cautiously. His hand spread over her thigh, covering his words completely. Leia felt nothing. She gingerly placed her hand on his naked back, over her own words.

And then she felt everything.

It was...a connection. She could think of no other word to describe it. This person belonged to her. His life, his body, his mind and his soul. He fit her like home. She looked up into his eyes, eyes that reflected the same intense longing. “Oh no,” she breathed, overwhelmed and shaking.

“Yeah,” Fett gasped as he leaned in and kissed her and it was perfect the way no kiss between two strangers should be. Leia’s hand went to his chest and then up around his neck as the kiss deepened and then she was wrapped around him and they were both nearly horizontal on the bed.

And then suddenly he was pushing away, detangling himself from the embrace. He turned his back to her and clutched at his head as if he had a stabbing headache. “No,” he growled. “No fucking way.”

Leia couldn’t take her eyes off the words on his back. Her words. She wanted to touch him again. To hold him and comfort him. But clearly that wasn’t what he wanted. She swallowed the lump that was suddenly in her throat. “So I guess that’s real.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still facing away. “No matter what some stupid magic tattoo says, that was out of line.”

“It wasn’t…” She didn’t know how to finish that. Was it better or worse if it truly wasn’t what he wanted? For that matter, how could she be sure that it was what she wanted? “No apology necessary,” she said finally.

“That’s gracious of you.” He reached for his undershirt and pulled it back on. “I think I have all the information I need.”

“Yes,” Leia agreed. “So what now?”

“Now I ask you for a favor.” He turned to face her and he put his arms through the sleeves of his flightsuit. “Be careful. Play along with Jabba and don’t do anything that might get you tossed in the rancor pit.”

She inhaled slowly, weighing her options. “I’ll try if you do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave.”

His hands stilled for a second, and then he looked away. “It’s going to be hell,” he said, almost casually. “Not knowing where you are or what you’re doing. Fine. I won’t leave. I’ll help you if I can, but don’t ask me to lift a finger for Solo.”

“Fine.”

---

Things had taken a turn. Leia could feel it in her bones as Jabba’s minions raced for the deck of the sail barge. Fett clearly knew it too.

Artoo bumped against her leg with a quiet beep, and Leia took advantage of the Hutt’s distraction. She crouched down beside the small droid and held the length of chain between her hands. One zap and it broke.

But when she straightened, the bounty hunter was gone.

She heard Jabba’s cry of outrage as she bolted for the deck, but she ignored it. All of his guards were busy fighting. She caught a quick glimpse of her friends on the skiff and then the bounty hunter at the rail. The engines on his jetpack were lit.

Leia seized a pike that had fallen to the deck in the mad rush and swung it as hard as she could. Her aim was too good. Not only did she smash it into his jetpack but the force of the blow sent him over the railing.

Into the sarlacc pit.

She raced to the railing. He’d managed to slow his fall by grasping at the side of the barge, but without a good handhold in reach he was slipping down the side. She reached down with the pike and he grabbed it. A blaster shot ricocheted off the barge inches from his head. Artoo appeared on the deck and whistled sharply. Leia looked over at the droid. “What do you mean ‘it’s going to blow?’”

She jumped barely a second before the explosion. She collided with Fett on the way down and they hit the sand, rolling towards the mouth of the pit until suddenly they jerked to a stop. Fett had one arm wrapped around her and when she looked up she saw his other arm stretched over his head, bent at an angle that screamed ‘broken’ but anchored by his fibercord grappling hook to the skiff above them.

“Leia!” She heard Han shout, but she was too busy trying to hold onto Fett and keep herself from sliding further into the pit.

“Blaster,” Fett rasped. “Sarlacc…”

A tentacle slapped at her ankle and she pulled her leg up as high as she could. She managed to pull the bounty hunter’s blaster pistol from it’s holster and fired at the beast, causing the ground to shudder beneath them.

Chewie appeared over the railing of the skiff and then suddenly the skiff lurched and began to move. Fett let out a muffled cry of pain as it dragged them to safety.

---

“Can you see this?” Leia waved a hand in front of his face and Han squinted.

“I can see the motion.”

“That’s a good sign. Try to get some sleep, okay?” She bent down to kiss his forehead before leaving the Millennium Falcon's crew quarters. Fett was sitting up on the cot, his back against the wall. His arm had been set and placed in a sling and at the insistence of everyone else, his other hand was cuffed to the cot. His helmet sat beside him, and his eyes were half-shut. Lando had given him a pretty big dose of painkillers.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve felt worse.” His mouth curved into a bitter smile. “You fucked up.”

Leia folded her arms over her chest. “I still saved your life, Fett.”

He shook his head as if the motion took effort. “The sarlacc keeps its victims alive. You could have lived your whole life while I was being digested.”

“I don’t think I could have.” Leia sat down beside him on the cot. “I don’t want you to suffer. That’s not the magic tattoo, that’s who I am.” She brushed a dark curl off his forehead and laid her palm on his cheek. The sense of connection and wholeness she felt at Jabba’s was just as strong now. He leaned into the touch and Leia leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, which led to a longer kiss. And then an even longer one.

“What are we doing?” Fett demanded as soon as they broke apart.

“Nothing. You’re drugged to the gills and Chewie would love to have an excuse to throw you out the airlock.” She sighed and leaned back against the wall beside him. “I don’t like being told what to do. Even by fate.”

“My dad used to say ‘fate is whatever you make of your life.’”

He’d spoken of his father before, and always in the past tense. “When did he die?”

“Years ago. When I was still a child.”

“What about your mother?”

“Never had one.”

“I’m sorry. I can tell by the way you talk about your dad that you were close.” Leia turned her head towards him. “I’m an orphan too, you know. Maybe if we’d met at a different time or in a different place…”

Fett nodded and gave her a quick, tired smile. “If fate is real, maybe it’ll bring us back together when we have an actual shot at it.”

She laughed softly. “I like that idea, actually. Put it to the test.”

He lifted his hand as far as the cuff would allow. “I’d shake on it, but…”

“Nice try.” Leia sat up and gave him one last kiss. “For fate.”

#boba fett/princess leia #random au #my fic #rebelbounty #prompt fic #soulmate au #boba/leia #Anonymous

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carnationcreation · 4 years

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can you do 15 with reggie peters pls❤️

TITLE: 3 Simple Rules (Reggie Peters x reader) [MUSICAL THEATER AU]

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Request: can you do 15 with reggie peters pls❤️

Prompt/summary: [Musical Theater AU] Reader has to explain the three simple rules of the theater to Reggie. (And also help him out of trouble)

Word Count: 1,411

Authors note: From my AU prompt list on Tumblr!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were three rules that came with being in the theater department at Los Feliz High School.

Rule One: No talking in the wings.

From the moment I met my co-star Reggie Peters at auditions, I knew he was going to be a pain to work with.

For example, he did not prepare an audition song. Instead, he broke out a guitar and took a request from Mrs. Harrison and wowed with his impressive vocals instead. His lines were half memorized and his wardrobe was not fit for the dance portion of the audition.

For Christs sake we’re doing NEWSIES!

The rehearsal period was over a month long and every week about thirty students crammed into the auditorium to relentlessly rehearse and prepare for opening night.

My character, Katherine, didn’t dance much other than in King of New York. The big tap dance number I had to master next week.

A lot of my time was spent waiting in the wings for my next cue. Unfortunately, so was Reggie’s.

“Wait was that my cue?”

“SHHHHH!” I said, looking anxiously to see if the stage manager on the other side of the stage heard us.

“Oh come on,” he said, “they can’t hear me over the music.”

I rolled my eyes before grabbing his hand and dragging him to the hallway of dressing rooms right behind the stage.

“Do you seriously not know anything?”

He looked at me confused.

“The rules of being in theater?” I said, when he shrugged I continued, “One, no talking in the wings. Two, no eating or smoking in costume. And three, always show up early or else you’re late.”

“I didn’t think this was that serious.”

I scoffed, “Why did you even sign up for this?”

He shrugged, “Mrs. Harrison cornered me in English and said she needed someone who could actually sing for Jack Kelly.”

I rolled my eyes, “You better keep your mouth clean. I don’t want to have to kiss someone who’s breath stinks every weekend.”

Suddenly, the door we just came out popped open.

“(Y/N)! It’s almost your cue! Reggie, what are you doing out here?” Julie whispered.

“Nothing. Let’s go Reginald.”

“It’s Reggie!”

Rule 2: No eating in costume

The snack table near the dressing room was kept stocked with lots of different things, and it was meant for those out of costume or stagehands since we didn’t get to eat dinner until afterwards on show nights.

I’d never been a stickler about eating in costume considering I’ve done it myself numerous times. At least I was always careful about it though, putting on a jacket or blanket over me to keep stains from getting on the meticulous costumes our school would make.

“What are you doing?”

I tried to keep my voice low, but the shock and panic that went through me when I saw orange smears on Reggie’s vest from the pack of Cheetos in his hand made it come out in a squeek.

He looked up at me frantically, “I forgot!”

I huffed in frustration before running into the womens dressing room to grab paper towels.

Reggie tried to take them from me when I came out but I slapped his hand away.

“You’ll try to rub it, you need to pat the stain out.”

The wet paper towel made the brown vest look darker, but at least I got the orange out.

I grabbed his hand and dragged him back into the dressing room, “Stand there.”

He stood where I pointed right beside the electrical outlet and watched me silently as I plugged in the hair dryer and set it to the cool setting. I put it on it’s lowest setting so I could carefully listen so we wouldn’t be late for our cues. Luckily it was Pulitzer’s solo so we should have enough time.

I looked up and noticed his cheeks were red, “What? It isn’t too hot is it?”

“Uh- no I just- we’re in the dressing room alone-”

“And I’m getting the stain out of your shirt so Katie won’t go nuts when she sees your costume almost ruined. No one’s gonna say anything Reggie, especially not to me. This happens more than you think.”

He nodded and looked down at the vest. It was still slightly damp but not enough to be noticeable on stage.

“Thank you,” Reggie said as I pulled the door open.

“Next time put a jacket on before you eat. Three simple rules Peters. Remember them.”

Rule 3: Always show up early or you’re late

It was almost the end of our show run. The past few weeks had been amazing and it was saddening to think that tonight I would have to say goodbye to Katherine.

As I sat in my dressing room I heard a knock at the door, Julie entered and stood behind me as I pinned my hair up for my wig.

“Have you seen Reggie? It’s almost 10 minutes till places.”

“No I haven’t, has he messaged Luke about being the understudy?”

She shook her head, “Katie said he hadn’t.”

I felt anxiety rise in my chest, hopefully we wouldn’t have to delay the show just to get someone in costume.

I peaked my head outside and just as I did Reggie Peters came sprinting down the hallway.

“Where have you been?”

“I got a flat on the way, how much time do I have?”

“10 minutes till places. If you hurry you might not be late.”

He nodded.

“Rule number 3 Peters!”

He shouted over his shoulder back at me, “I know!”

I rolled my eyes. Having pity for the boy, I decided to try and help.

I went and grabbed his mic from the stage manager and updated her on the situation. With it in hand I went back to his dressing room and knocked.

“Come in!”

Reggie stumbled around the room finding pieces of his costume to pull on.

“Sit,” I said once he had the pants and shirt on.

I handed him the vest and tucked the mic pack into the back of his belt before letting him run the wire up through the shirt.

“Do your hair, I’ll get the makeup ready.”

He tousled his hair and I couldn’t help but stare. Him clearing his throat brought me back to reality and I began applying the foundation and powder to his face. The entire time I felt his eyes looking at me causing my face to become unexplainably hot.

Finally I pressed a cut up makeup sponge covered in black and gray eye shadow to give him the look of a dirty newsie.

“All done,” I said. I tried to stand up quickly so I could go and get my face to not feel like it’s on fire.

He grabbed my wrist, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He sighed, “You’re always helping me with something.”

“Well,” I smiled, “Hopefully you’d do the same for me if the situation was reversed. Besides theater geeks look out for each other.”

“I’m not a geek!”

I laughed, “It’s almost time for places. Let’s go Peters.”

The final curtain call had most of the cast in tears. This was the night we’d have to put all the props away and say goodbye to Newsies.

I neatly put my costume away before turning off my dressing room light for one last time.

I’ll admit. Working with Reggie wasn’t all that bad. At least he was a good kisser and took a mint before the finale each night.

I pulled my duffle bag over my shoulder and walked towards the entrance of the school.

“(Y/n)!”

I looked behind me to see Reggie jogging to catch up with me.

“The rest of the crew is going to iHop, are you coming?”

“I dont know,” I said, “I’m kinda tired.”

“Come on,” he groaned.

“No Reginald I’m tired and sad the show ended.”

He smirked, “And going with the rest of the cast will make the grief a little less.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Please?”

I walked off leaving him to trail behind me.

“Please (Y/n)!”

“Why do you want me to go that bad Reginald?”

“It’s Reggie,” he said, I smirked, “And... I don’t know anyone else that well.”

I stopped and turned to him, he looked slightly embarrassed.

“Please? I don’t wanna go by myself.”

I sighed, “Fine. But you’re buying me a milkshake.”

He smiled widely and before I could react pressed a kiss to my cheek.

As he pulled back he realized what he had done causing us both to blush.

“Is that against the rules?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #jatp #jatp imagine #au imagine #julie and the phantoms au #reggie peters #reggie peters imagine #reggie peters x reader #jatp reggie #jatp reggie imagine #jatp reggie x reader

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estrel · 4 years

Text

suptober20 day 30 prompt: dress up (ficlet) | tfw 2.0, destiel | ~2.4k words

read on ao3 | read all my past suptober20 prompts

“Are we really doing this?”

Dean was already fitted into jeans and a white button-down that had been buried somewhere deep inside his closet. He’d just finished combing his hair through with his fingers, spritzing it with water to get that off-shore look about him.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam smiles, “It’s for Jack. C’mon, the kid’s three. We can at least do this. Besides, what’s the harm in it?”

Dean crosses his arms. He doesn’t have a good argument, and he knows it.

“I’ve just never…you know, played dress up before. You can’t blame me for being uneasy.”

“Sure we have, Dean. We dress up for cases all the time.”

“That’s different.” He stares at Sam a moment. “Hang on,” Dean points a finger at him, “who did he tell you to dress up as?”

Sam smirks, finishing with the buttons on his black button-up and finally turning to him to answer. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“Hey! Not fair,” Dean motions to himself and his attire. “He wouldn’t even tell me who I was supposed to be. What story are we doing? Shouldn’t I, y’know, be getting a script, or something?”

“Dean, this is playing dress up for our kid, not dress rehearsal for an award-winning film of the year. Just—take a deep breath, relax. I’m sure you’ll be happy with who Jack wanted you to be.”

Dean isn’t convinced, but follows Sam nevertheless into the Dean Cave, where Jack had asked them all to meet after getting dressed. They were the first ones there, so Dean flops on the couch and turns on the tv. Sam almost immediately yanks the remote away and sits down next to him, flipping channels.

“What the hell? This is called the Dean Cave for a reason.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam yawns, “You owe me for the case in Iowa.”

Dean grimaces but rests again against the couch, watching Sam flip between some murder mystery show and a documentary from National Geographic during alternating commercial breaks, until he feels boredom start to kick in.

He hangs his head back on the couch, about to let his eyes slide closed when he sees the upside-down figures of Jack and Cas step through the doorway. Dean’s head jerks up then, clinging to the blue he’d gotten a flash of, and he twists in his seat to get a better look.

It was blue, alright. It was Cas, dressed in a blue button-down and a darker blue vest on top, hair mussed so that it looked like he had just gotten out of bed. Jack, beside him, wore a red hoodie and jeans.

What the hell kind of story were they about to play?

“You look great,” Jack grins. Sam turns around to look too, then, shutting off the tv. “Both of you!”

“Jack, will you finally tell us what this is about?” Cas asks, exasperated. He pulls absentmindedly at the hem of his vest.

Dean watches as Jack and Sam share a look.

“Hold on, were you two,” Dean glances between both of them, “Were you two plotting something?”

Sam shrugs, trying to hide a smile. “Plot what? The story already exists, Dean. We’re just going to…act it out.”

“What story?” Cas frowns.

Dean feels his heartbeat speed up, looking to Jack for the answer.

“The Little Mermaid!”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“Seriously?” Dean asks. Sam nudges his shoulder, chiding him.

“Yes! Cas reads me a lot of stories before I go to bed, and he told me the tale of the little mermaid. It sounded…familiar,” Jack glances at Sam again, “So I thought it’d be a good idea to see if dressing up would jog my memory.”

“Familiar,” Cas says. He stares down at Jack with confusion. “Jack, none of us here are mermaids.”

“Yeah, and who exactly did you make us dress up as?” Dean adds on. He looks around at all of them, trying to reign in his distant, foggy memory of the one time he’d gotten a glimpse of the movie.

Jack smiles and points at himself, “I’m Sebastian, because he’s my favorite.”

Dean turns his gaze Sam for help. “The crab,” Sam whispers. Dean nods like he knows what that means.

“Sam’s Ursula,” Jack continues, clearing his throat to say the next part in one quick exhale, “Dean-is-Prince-Eric, and Cas-is-Ariel.”

Dean blinks at him, mouth dry. “What?”

“I believe he said that you are the prince,” Cas responds, eyes studying the ground. “And…”

“And you’re…”

“The princess,” Sam finished for both of them.

They all look at Sam, who shrugs and stands up. “Well, time to get this show on the road! Where do you want us, Jack?”

“Now, wait a minute,” Dean holds up a hand, brain still processing, working over the implications of what Sam just said. “Just how far into this are we going?”

Sam looks down at Dean with an evil glint in his eye.

“I think we can fast forward through the beginning parts where it’s just Ariel and get to the part where she meets the prince,” Jack suggests.

“Jack–” Cas protests, but Jack’s already dragging him over to the couch and plopping him down next to Dean.

“Alright,” Jack holds his hands up, as if to set the scene. “So Ariel, you’ve just saved Dean—I mean, Prince Eric—from drowning in the ocean. Eric, you’re still unconscious on the sand.”

“Un–?”

Jack pulls out a small slip of paper for Cas to take.

“What’s this?” Cas asks.

“Your lines!”

“So there is a script!” Dean glares over at Sam, who’s crouched on the other side of the couch. “What are you hiding over there for?”

Sam peeks his head over the back of the couch. “Well, I’m not in this scene. I wasn’t there when you—I mean, Ursula isn’t there when Ariel saves Eric.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother, trying to ignore the way his nerves had started to bubble up for no reason.

“Jack, I can’t—” Cas starts to say, eyes skimming his lines, but Jack shushes him and goes around to the back of the couch to hide with Sam.

“Hey, we’re doing this for you, and you’re not even watching?” Dean asks, heart hammering in his chest.

“It’s a private moment!” Jack whisper-shouts. “Besides, we can hear you from here. Just play your part, Dean, and act like you’re asleep.”

Dean sighs. Sounds easy enough.

He moves so that he lays flat on the couch, fighting his own lungs to keep his breathing even. He glances at Cas once, gaging from his slightly panicked expression that Cas had reservations about doing this as well, before closing his eyes and letting Cas take the wheel on this one.

Dean hears Cas clear his throat.

“Is he…dead?” Cas asks. Dean resists the urge to open his eyes at that, smiling a little instead. This was ridiculous.

“I can’t hear his heartbeat!” Sam says from behind the couch. Dean hears Sam and Jack giggle at the tone of voice Sam had put on. Dean’s smile turns into a grin.

“No, look, he’s breathing,” Cas says in the most monotonous tone of voice that is so Cas that Dean has to force down a chuckle.

But the thought to laugh fades quickly when he feels a hand rest gently—carefully—on his face, cupping his cheek and jaw. Dean’s breathing stutters. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, feeling the rest of Cas looming over him like a cloud.

“He’s so beautiful,” Cas continues. It still sounds to Dean like Cas is forcing the words out, but Dean can honestly barely hear them anyway over the sound of his heart beating against his rib cage.

“I would…” Cas falters. Tries again. “I would give anything to live here on earth with you, to see you smile at me. If we could stay here forever, where would we go? Just…just you and I? If I was part of your world…”

Dean opens his eyes, met with Cas’ blue ones staring down at him intently. Cas withdraws his hand and sits back on his calves, holding onto the paper Jack gave him like his life depended on it. Dean swallows hard.

The moment is broken when Sam pops his head up above the couch with a wide smile.

“Ahh…I’m Ursula!! What do you want, Ariel?”

Cas looks lost. “I don’t know…Jack didn’t give me a script for this part.”

“You’re the one that read the story to him, Cas,” Sam deadpans. “You don’t need a script.”

“But then why—”

“Hurry up, Cas!” Jack’s voice says from his spot on the floor.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Fine. Um…hello, Ursula…I’ve come to uh, ask for a favor.”

“Yes?” Sam drawls.

“I want to go on land to meet Prince Eric. Can you, by chance, bless me with bipedalism?”

Sam presses his lips together to contain a laugh, continuing when he’s got it under control, “Perhaps. But for a price!”

Cas stares, waiting for Sam to continue. When he doesn’t, Cas sighs. “What price?”

“You have a beautiful voice, Ariel. If you want to go on land, then I want to take your voice. Hand it over,” Sam outstretches his hand towards Cas who, frowning down at it, makes a motion over his throat, like he’s extracting his voice to give to Sam. Dean thinks the gesture is oddly familiar.

Sam waves his hand around like he’s doing some type of magic. By now, Dean has calmed down enough to huff out a laugh.

“There. Now you have legs. Go find your prince.”

Sam disappears back behind the couch, and Jack pops his head out next.

“Ariel! That was a bad idea! But I will help you go to land because I am your friend. Let’s go!” Jack grabs Cas’ hand over the couch and drags him to go hide with himself and Sam. A few moments later, just when Dean is about to ask what the hell he should be doing, Cas reappears back on the couch.

“Uh…hi?” Dean asks, before remembering that Cas isn’t supposed to speak. He leans over the side of the couch to where Jack and Sam are.

“What do I do now?”

Jack looks up at him. “We can just skip to the part where you guys are on your date on the boat.”

Dean stares, wondering how much trouble he would get into if he reached over and wrapped his hands around Jack’s neck for putting him through this.

“Don’t worry, Dean, you don’t have to say much, just make casual conversation, ask him his name. It’s mostly my lines, anyway.”

Dean turns back to Cas, who looks like he wants to say something more than he has ever wanted to in his life. Dean thanks Jack, at least, that it was up to Dean to lead their fake date, instead of Cas with his frankly horrible improv skills.

“So…I think we’ve met before, but I don’t know your name,” Dean starts, looking anywhere but at Cas. “Since you can’t talk…should I take a guess?”

Cas shrugs, but Dean takes it as a yes, to move the story along. Of course, he already knows what it is, but he might as well humor the kid some more while he’s already here.

“Is it…uh, is it Cassandra?”

Cas frowns at him. Dean smiles back cheekily. “How about Anna? No? Not Anna?”

“Ariel, it’s Ariel!” Jack whispers.

“Ariel?” Dean asks. Cas nods. “That’s a pretty name, Ariel.”

“This is the perfect time,” Jack starts to say, “to make a move! Eric, you should kiss her, and give her her voice back!”

Dean’s stomach sinks. He nearly tips the couch over with how quickly he looks back over the side. “Do what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says, “I forgot one of my lines, earlier. Uh, the only way Ariel can break the spell and get her voice back is if Eric kisses her.”

Dean grips the couch cushions so hard, his knuckles turn white.

“No way–”

“Just a kiss on the cheek, Dean,” Jack gives him puppy-dog eyes. “It’s not for real. Please?”

“Jack, you can’t ask Dean to–” Cas tries.

“Ariel, you don’t have your voice back yet,” Sam says, cutting Cas off before he can finish. Cas shuts his mouth. “Go on, Dean, it can just be a hug.”

Dean turns back to Cas. Just a hug. They’ve hugged before. This would be fine. Normal, even.

So he nods and leans forward, wrapping his arms around Cas in a hug. He feels Cas’ hands on his back, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and when Dean pulls away it’s only far enough back that he and Cas are nose to nose. His eyes flit down to Cas’ lips, and then back to Cas’ eyes. His breath hitches in his chest, heart racing—

No.

Dean pulls away.

Sam and Jack were just inches away from them. They were pretending. It wasn’t real.

He got up, abruptly, and stormed out of the Dean Cave without a word, just about done with the shenanigans he’d had to endure for the night. When he got to his room, Dean pushed the door shut with a thud, and flopped onto the bed as if the mattress were a black hole.

A few minutes had passed—or maybe it was more than a few minutes, Dean wasn’t exactly sure—when there was a knock on his door. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. The door opened anyway.

“Leave.”

There were footsteps, and a dip on the mattress next to him. Dean turns over to see who it is.

Cas was playing with his fingers nervously. “I’m sorry, Dean. That um,” he shakes his head a little, “that went too far.”

Cas was still wearing his stupid blue shirt and the stupid blue vest and his hair was still ruffled, and Dean was still angry. So he grabbed Cas’ hands to stop him from picking at them, and brought his other hand to Cas’ face like Cas had done to him earlier.

This time, Dean didn’t think. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a kiss, letting his frustration and pent up emotions show through to Cas in the only way he could think of.

When they pulled away, Cas was looking at him with what looked like confusion and worry. Dean tilted his head.

“What?” he asked.

“Was that…was that kiss real or just…part of the story?”

Dean breathes out a gentle laugh. “Both, Cas,” he says. “It was both.”

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