#it just swelled a dot on my lip a little and my cheekbone got a little red

[aro-aizawa]

when i was a kid and i baked with my grandma i’d often get an allergic reaction, not generally due to me eating things i knew i was allergic to, mostly because i’d touch something and put my hands near my mouth and being like 5-8 i didn’t wash my hands everytime i touched something. anyways allergic reactions were common for me as a kid bc i was allergic to raw egg which is required in nearly all baking. as an adult i pretty much never have allergic reactions as i outgrew my raw egg allergy (i think) and generally am only allergic to hazelnuts now. anyways i was looking through my grandma’s decades old recipe folder and ended up getting an allergic reaction from something that was on the sheets.

[donutloverxo]

Stevie's new beard

*gif by @marvelheroes*

Birthday shot #2 & Kinktober day 8 - Beard kink

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission.

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - You have some strong feelings about Steve’s new look.

Warnings - 18+ only please, smut(m/f), dom Steve, daddy kink.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x female reader

Word count - 2.5k

Masterlists are linked in the bio!

One more swift turn over the corner, your eyes squinting as you tried to concentrate, “That’ll show him,” grumbling under your breathe, pressing the scissors down, “done.” With a smirk on your face.

You had been working on cutting out Steve’s face from your honeymoon album. An album you had spent hours on, your blood, sweet and tears, literally, you must’ve gotten like five paper cuts working on it. But none of that mattered. You were mad.

No, you were fuming.

The previous year, you hadn’t been able to celebrate your birthday with Steve since he was called on an emergency mission. Which was fine at the time you had only been dating for a few weeks. And when he went to Siberia over a month ago, you thought he’d be back for your birthday for sure. Then you’d get to have him pamper you and baby you for the whole day, not that you needed such an excuse, but still.

It was one in the morning, your birthday had already started and you doubted that Steve would be able to make it. He had gone silent a week ago, for his teams and your safety.

Well, by the time he’s back you’ll have cut him out of all your pictures. Maybe you’d even go stay at your sister’s for a while. You missed her and needed a vacation and teach Steve a lesson. You wouldn’t be back until he’s growling on his knees - begging for your forgiveness.

Or maybe... he wouldn’t care. Maybe he’d be glad that you’re gone. You didn’t know what you’d do if that happened, you always seem to be weighing him down. You understood that being married to Captain America meant that you had to share him with the rest of the world. Most of times, you were alright with that. You didn’t care much for the Captain, he was fine but he was no Steve Rogers.

You sighed, giving up on your little project, thinking about maybe calling it a night. Hopefully your friends remember your birthday and do something special for you.

Slipping into Steve’s t-shirt – because as much as you were mad at him, you really did miss him. This was the longest you had been away from him.

Fluffing your pillow, keeping Mister Steebie next to you, you climbed on top of it. Ready to switch off the lights -

“Hey there, sweetheart,” you gasped when you heard the low rumble, clutching your neck, taken aback and panting.

Taking a deep breathe, you looked at your door over your shoulder, sighing when you noticed it’s Steve.

Except it wasn’t...?

“What the fuck?” you frowned and did a double take.

Getting off your bed and walking over to the door. He was still dressed in his dark stealth suit, his dirty blonde hair swept back, his jaw covered in a thick beard - a few shades darker than his hair.

You stopped a few steps away from him, taking in his new look. You didn’t know what to make of it but it did make you shiver - for some reason.

Your lips pressed in a flat line as you stared at him. He spread his arms out, in an attempt to hug you, probably, trying to close the distance between you but you took a step back. Eyeing him suspiciously.

“What’s wrong, doll?” he tilted his head to the side, giving you his Disney eyes.

“What’s wrong with your face?” you spat.

“What do you mean?” his eyebrows scrunched together as he rubbed a hand over his beard.

“Don’t do that!” you admonished him, folding your hands under your titts, perking them up.

“Do what?” scratching his beard, “You’re not making any sense, doll. Didn’t you miss me?”

“I did,” you huffed, “Do you know what date it is?”

“Yes, I do know. That’s why I’m here. I got back as soon as the mission wrapped up. Now come here and let me give you a birthday kiss,” extending an arm towards you.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head.

“Why?” he pouted. “I made it back in time, just like I said I would. I missed you, come on just one kiss... wait a minute. Is this about the beard?” You nodded. “You hate it? Tony said you would, I just didn’t have time to shave. I’ll go do it now then.” Since he was desperate for kisses and cuddles.

“No, don’t!” You pressed a palm on his chest, in an effort to stop him. “I mean, sure if you want to... but I don’t hate it. It’s kind of the opposite... I think. I just need time to process this.”

“Doll,” he exasperated, sighing, 'politely’ trying to tell you off. “I’m tired. And you’re really not making any sense.”

“I just fucking love your beard, ok!” you snapped. Your cheeks heating up at the brash confession. Clenching your thighs together. You shouldn’t like it as much as you did. It hides Steve’s beautiful face and makes him look so feral and dangerous. So not Steve.

“Really?” he quirked a brow, pulling you flush against his chest, “how much do you like it, puppy?”

“I - I don’t know...” Still embarrassed, you hide your face over his heart, rubbing your cheek against the rough kevlar of his suit. “I like it a lot, I think. Please keep it?”

He hummed, “But you won’t even look at me.”

“It’s a lot to take in, okay? It’s like, ugh remember when you saw me in my wedding dress?”

He'd never forget, he had cried like a baby. “This is nothing like that,” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s... give me some time. Small steps.” Bringing up a shaky hand to touch his soft fuzzy jaw, “Oh! Remember that time I bought that forties style nightie. And you went to town on me?” looking up at him, “This is like that.”

He nodded, finally understanding. “I get it, doll. But I’m afraid I don’t have time for ‘small steps’. I missed you so much,” Rutting his erection into your belly - as if to physically prove it. “And I need to make your birthday special. Treat the birthday girl right, huh?” He pressed his thumb on your cheekbone, caressing it, dipping his neck down to kiss you but you pulled away.

You hugged him again, standing on your tippy toes and nuzzling your nose in the crook his neck, his beard tickling you ever so slightly.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it. That I’d be all alone.” You whined. And then he comes back looking this good! Making it impossible for you to stay mad at him.

“Of course, I made it. Couldn’t let my best girl be alone. Now let me kiss you,” you shook your head again, “fine then. We can do your small steps. Let me eat you out,” biting the shell of your ear, “I’m hungry, doll.”

There was no way you could say no to that. “Oh - okay,” you gulped a huge lump of air.

Suddenly, he swept you off your feet, throwing you over his shoulder, his hand kneading your ass before smacking it, “Missed this sweet ass too.” he said, throwing you on top of the mattress. “I like this shirt on you, pup,” he smiled, his heart swelled as he felt strangely possessive of you, hovering above you, “But it had to come off.”

With a lack of finesse, his greedy hands ripped the poor clothing to shreds. He hadn’t gone so long without you. He needed to be inside you as soon as he could.

“Stevie!” You tried to chastise him.

He threw the shirt away, growling at the sight of your naked breasts, your hard pebbles, your hands coming up to cover them from his dark eyes. That won’t do, he pulled them away, pinning them beside your head. “What do you think you’re doing?” he frowned

You shuddered. Really, a beard shouldn’t make that much of a significant difference but it made him all the more intimidating. “Sorry, daddy.” You pouted. If nothing else, the D-word always worked.

He shook his head, capturing a nipple in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. He made sure to run his beard over your breast. Letting go of your twisting hand as it clenched on the back of his head. Your back arching, pushing more your body to him.

With a loud ‘pop’ he let go of your hard nub, shoving two fingers in your mouth and ordering you to suck and like he obedient doll you were - you followed.

He pulled his fingers out, snaking his hand between your legs, dipping them in your heat. Then he noticed it and frowned.

Looking to his side, a sack of flour? No, looked fluffy enough to be cotton. “What is this?” he wanted to know.

You were too far gone to even register his words but you vaguely heard him. You bit your lip, following his eyes. “Oh, that’s Mister Steebie.”

“What?”

“That’s you. I missed you and I needed a cuddle buddy. So I stuffed some cotton in a sack, dressed him in your flannel and drew your face on him.”

His 'face' was just two dots with a blue sharpie, golden hair on his head and a pink mouth. “It’s cute.” he chuckled, grabbing ‘Steebie' and putting him on the floor, “But you don’t need him. You have the real thing now,” he reminded you, trailing kisses down your body, pushing your thighs apart to make room for him and settling between them.

“I suppose I should upgrade him now. Draw the beard on. I wonder if I have a brown sharpie,” you mused, yelping when you felt his teeth grazing over your clit. “God!” you heaved, propping yourself up on your elbows you looked down at him. A few strands of his hair had fallen on his forehead, he looked ethereal. “You’re so pretty, Stevie.” Your hand caressing his face.

He leaned into it, having been touch starved for over a month. “You’re the pretty one, pup. Now, will you be good for me? Let me treat my birthday girl right?”

You nodded. Laying back down, running your fingers through his longer locks.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” he asked

“No, I followed your rules.”

“Good, I didn’t either.” Not that he had the time or space to anyway. But he wanted to save himself for you.

“Thor told me, women like a nice thick beard,” rubbing his face on your inner thighs, “he’s a bit of an oversharer. But I knew you’d like it too. Guess I was right.” He was smug about it too. He knew you inside and out. More than anybody else, maybe more than you know yourself.

He pushed your thighs apart as you squirmed above him, trying to clamp them on his head. “Now, sweetheart. I thought you promised to be good. Do I need to tie you up?”

You furiously shook your head. “No, please! I’ll be good.” Normally, you’d love to be tied up. But you needed to touch him, his face and his hair.

“I know it’s hard, pup, just try a little harder,” He tongue nudging at your entrance. His fingers spreading your lips apart, “such a pretty pussy,” he praised.

Wrapping his mouth around your clit and pushing his fingers in your pussy. He made sure to gather as much of your slick over his beard as he could, to make a mess of it.

You threw your head back, trying your best to stay still, it was too overwhelming, too good, “Stevie! Stop, stop please,” you begged, pulling on his hair.

He immediately pulled away, hovering back over you, inspecting you for any distress.

“I want to come with you inside me. Please.” you said, fluttering your lashes.

He sighed, “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Come on! It’s my birthday. You have to do as I say,” you giggled.

“As you wish,” he shook his head. He would’ve given in even if it wasn’t your birthday.

His fingers scrambling to get his dick out of his suit. Kissing your neck, sucking on your special spot, he pushed inside you. Digging his fingers in your hips, he bit your neck, “So fucking tight, doll.” He groaned, he was at the end of his rope, he couldn’t take it anymore, snapping his hips with a swift thrust he buried himself inside you.

“Stevie,” you mewled, feeling his tip pressing against your special spot. “Right there!”

Pulling his cock out and then pushing back, “Here?” he wiggled his hips, pressing his lips to your jaw.

“Yeah,” you gave a shaky reply. Already on the edge as he kept ramming in on your g-spot. “Steve, kiss me please?” You needed to feel his lips on yours, to feel his beards on your face.

Circling a hand under your waist to pull you up and closer to him, his hips setting a punishing pace, he crashed his lips on yours. Clashing your teeth together. He moaned as you pulled his bottom lip with your teeth, before kissing him again.

Letting go of his lips, just for a second to pepper kisses all over his beard and then kissing him deeply.

You clenched around his length, pulling his hair, biting the hilt to his jaw to stifle your scream. Waves of pleasure crashing over you one after another.

He came right after you, with a few more thrusts, filling you to the brim. He collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you.

He laid beside you, on his side your bodies still connected. He couldn’t have any of his spend escaping your tight cunt.

He kissed the crown of your head. “You liked your first gift?” he asked as you hummed. “Don’t worry, I got plenty more for you.” he smirked already feeling himself get hard again in your pussy.

When you were quiet for a while, so unusual for you, your fingers playing with his beard, “What’s wrong, pup?” He tilted your face up so he could see it.

“Nothing,” you shook your head. Suddenly feeling guilty for ruining your precious pictures. “They need you more than I ever will - your team and this world.”

“That’s... true. You don’t need me. You’re a strong woman, if anything I need you. But that’s a good thing, sweetheart. You want me. And that's enough for me.”

“Really?” Your lips curling up in a big grin as you nuzzled his beard, feeling awfully proud of yourself.

Steve’s heart was big enough to share him with the entire world. That he could still love you more than you could even begin to comprehend. And always make his way back to you. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

[initiala]

Oh hai.

It's not dead or abandoned! Remember how I started this for @cssns​ 2018???? Just, y'know, life happening, and also several global catastrophes. But it turns out that writer's block is really cured by procrastination, which is why I was able to finally figure out some spots I was stuck on while not packing up my apartment to move.

Please enjoy this overly delayed post-wedding fluff and smut.

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

______________

The holidays weren’t really something she paid attention to, not after her parents died. Her mother had loved any excuse to have a party and Emma had grown up with the nondenominational trappings of Christmas in their house, but the tradition had died with Snow and David when she was sixteen. She normally spent the last week of December pulling extra shifts at work, covering for people who had families and wanted the extra time off, and never had a second thought about it. The Pack had their own holidays, particularly around the solstices, but nothing compared to the warm, colorful parties of her childhood -- and frankly, nothing ever would. 

So when their short honeymoon fell over Christmas Eve and Day, Emma didn’t think anything of it. Killian made no indication that he celebrated it, and when they returned home on Boxing Day it was to a chilly apartment without any of the decorations that dotted the windows up and down their street. She turned up the heat a little while Killian took their bags back to the bedroom to be sorted out, and she double-checked the windows were locked tight while turning on a few lights in the living room.

The colorful twinkle outside meshed with the light snowfall in a way that made her heart twist painfully in her chest, a flash of her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears and a brief memory of her father cornering her mother under the mistletoe. Her thumb went to the band on her finger, a lump forming in her throat, and she remembered why she normally worked herself to the bone this time of year.

Work was a distraction from missing them.

“Emma?”

She whipped the curtains shut to put an extra layer between the cold glass and the warming room, between herself and her memories, and turned to face her husband as he came into the room. “Love, what’s wrong?” She shook her head, but his large hand engulfed her own as it went to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “Darling, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this but I can smell when you’re sad,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been home five minutes, you can talk to me.”

Fuck, she hated talking about her feelings and her parents and particularly her feelings about her parents. But she’d promised -- she’d vowed -- that she’d be more open and honest with him, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get lucky and guess what all of this was about. She hadn’t told him enough about her parents to let him put all of the pieces together. “I just… I miss my parents,” she said softly, and let him hold her as he made a sympathetic noise and murmured soothing things in her ear. “Mom really loved this time of year. She threw the best parties, one year she actually got fairies to make it snow inside and me and the other kids had a snowball fight. She loved the colors and the whole family thing and she really loved the smell of pine trees -- it kind of gave my dad a headache. But we made it work because Dad always said how it put an extra sparkle in Mom’s eye and he loved her enough to put up with it. I normally try to work a lot through this time of year, everyone wants extra time off, but I was kind of hoping this year we could have some new memories to make this time of year less sad. And it helped, it really did, but then I just saw the lights outside and the snow and it just… it hit me a little harder because I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them. So I miss my parents and I’m sorry this time of year is going to suck no matter what and--”

Killian shushed her softly and she realized she was crying as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “If I’d known… well, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t blindfold you everywhere -- well, I could, but not in the fun way --” He grinned as she swatted him on the chest. “So testy, my love. You don’t have to be sorry about missing your parents. You just need to let me know, so I can comfort you or let you sit and mourn them in peace, or drive you to distraction. And if I need to do so more this time of year, well, let it be my burden to bear. You don’t have to bear this alone, Emma, you can always rely on me.”

And didn’t that just make her get teary all over again? “How the hell do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked, burying her face in his chest.

“Because I’m magic,” he rumbled under her and she pinched his side. “And we’re too alike, you know. Now, what do you need?”

She sniffled and took a breath, taking mental stock. They really needed to unpack and get everything sorted out for laundry, but while that would keep her hands busy her mind would wander and she really didn’t want to keep thinking about the past. But she knew that leaving everything until tomorrow or the next day would bother Killian; she didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Can we bring the bags back out here and watch TV while we unpack? I know you just put them away but--”

He was already nodding, though, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, love.”

Since he’d been the one to put them away and she was being the emotional asshole, she figured it was only fair that she bring the bags back out. She had no idea how he’d done it all in one trip, not with how narrow the hall was and how much she disliked scuffing her baseboards with the wheels, and surreptitiously eyed them as she made multiple trips back and forth.

No scuffs. “I’m magic,” she mumbled in a sarcastic imitation of her husband’s accent, shaking her head.

Killian had the TV on to the classic movie channel and the unmistakable scent of chocolate lingered in the air. “Dash of cream liqueur, whipped cream, and cinnamon,” he said, handing her a mug as she sat down.

Emma smiled into it, letting the warmth of the drink and the liqueur slide into her belly. “Did I ever tell you Mom’s the reason I like this?”

“Mm, no.”

She watched as he deftly unzipped the largest bag and started sorting through it; she’d done little more than toss everything in without caring about wrinkles, and the whole thing reeked of sex and wine -- they’d had not nearly enough of both over the last few days, but apparently enough to let the scent sink in to all the fabric. A different kind of warmth settled under her skin, but she wasn’t in the mood to act on it just yet. “According to my dad, Mom drank this all the time when she was pregnant with me. Her biggest craving; not that she didn’t like it before, but it was like another level. So then it became our thing, once I was old enough to have some, just sitting together on the couch or in the kitchen or wherever, with our matching cocoa with cinnamon.”

Killian glanced over at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart swelled suddenly with reaffirmation of how much she loved him. His bangs fell over his forehead in a way some might call rakish, but when he looked at her like that -- lips quirked up in amusement at his own joke he was about to tell, unable to hide his glee at his own cleverness -- she could only call it boyish. “Sweet tooth before you were even born, eh Swan?”

Maybe not a joke then, but teasing, like they were twelve and he was pulling her tail. “I’m a wolf of taste,” she said loftily, setting her mug aside and pulling up another suitcase to go through. “Unlike some mangy curs around here.”

“Mangy cur?” Emma squeaked as she found herself pinned under him on the floor, his nose brushing against hers and heat flooding her body. His grin promised absolute filth, the hard length of his body pressed against hers deliciously, and the scent of his arousal was enough to make her dizzy. “Didn’t realize we were comparing pedigrees here, princess. Too bad you’re stuck with the mangy cur and not some stuffy purebred.”

“I happen to like the mangy cur,” she whispered, their lips close enough to tease.

“Good,” he growled. “Because he likes you too.”

She moaned into his kiss, which was far gentler than she was expecting, and he let up on her arms enough to allow her the space to embrace him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, then down his back, where she teased the patch of skin revealed by his sweater riding up. “Emma.”

He pulled back and she smiled at how he already looked wrecked. She glanced over his face, refamiliarizing herself with the little details she already had memorized but still loved looking at: the old scar on his cheek, the ginger hairs in his beard, the little freckles and the way his eyebrow seemed to jump up on its own when he got curious about something. He caught her eye with his again and one corner of his mouth ticked up, a sudden shyness in the way his eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure she was staring at him . “What?”

She shook her head, reaching down and slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, earning a surprised -- and pleased -- noise from him as she pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I just… really love you,” she said when they parted.

His cheeks reddened, but just around his cheekbones, and she loved that she knew that detail about him. If she was further back, she’d be able to see his ears turning the same color, and if she really got to him she’d be able to get his nose to match. She liked the way he could get around her, quiet and unabashedly himself, someone who couldn’t take a compliment seriously and waved off words of praise. It drove her a little crazy, but she’d made her vows to voice her feelings to him and she was going to make good on those vows.

“I love you too,” he said, his nose brushing against hers, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

The laundry could wait.

 ---------------------------------------------------------

“ There she is!” Ruby hollered, ignoring the glares from the other bar patrons.

Emma also ignored the knowing looks on both Ruby and Dorothy’s faces as she shrugged out of her coat. She knew her hair was mussed and she had beard burn on the side of her neck -- Killian had a particular fondness for this dress and the lack of coverage it provided -- and she was definitely late for their night out, but she only felt the slightest hint of guilt over that. Besides, both Ruby and Dorothy knew what it was like to be newly mated, so they could cut her a break. “Hey, thanks for saving me a seat.”

She flagged down a waitress to take her drink order and then grabbed a handful of peanuts. “So… how’s it going?” Ruby asked in a sing-song.

“Babe.” Dorothy elbowed her.

“What? She’s got sex hair and she reeks of it. If that’s her excuse, she’d better dish.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cracking open a shell. “We didn’t have sex, thank you, he just… made it hard to leave.”

“Oh I’ll bet something was hard.”

“Ruby.”

The waitress arrived with Emma’s drink and they ordered one of those mixed appetizers platters to share, as well as another round of drinks. Emma gulped half of her drink after the waitress left again before saying, “I won’t kiss and tell.”

As Ruby made a face, Dorothy reached for her own peanuts. “Some of us appreciate that.”

Emma downed the rest of her gin and tonic; she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it, and seeing as how this was a wolf bar the drinks were made to match their metabolisms, but this was the first time she was getting to hang out with her friends since her wedding and she wanted to have fun. Tipsy, ridiculous fun, with no husbands and no responsibilities. Girl time. Catch-up time.

Only, she realized as the conversation started to actually move towards catching up on each other’s lives, she just had stories about Killian.

“Okay, I forbid you to talk about your husband for thirty seconds,” Ruby said, pointing a french fry at her for emphasis. The appetizers had been replaced by entrees, and Emma rolled her eyes as she took an enormous bite of her burger. Fine, she’d just chew instead. “You have to have been doing something other than banging each other silly or going to work.”

Emma took her time with her food, drawing out Ruby’s challenge and taking some small joy in the agitated tick in her friend’s eyebrow. “Well it’s not like you don’t know what I do for work,” she said finally, reaching for the ketchup. “And we’re in a post-holiday lull, so it’s gonna be a bit before things get interesting.”

“One of us has got to get a different job,” Ruby declared, while her mate rolled her eyes indulgently.

Emma didn’t bother to respond, instead flagging down the waitress for another G & T. There was definitely a happy buzz going on under her skin and she wanted it to continue; the burger would only dull the effects before too long.

“Bitch on the prowl, ten o’clock,” Dorothy said suddenly, looking towards the door.

Emma and Ruby turned to look, with what felt like most of the bar’s patrons and staff following their lead. A woman she didn’t recognize was taking off her coat, revealing a dress that would send normal humans rushing to her side in an instant; here, it only added to the allure of her scent. She was obviously in heat, unattached, and looking to rectify the situation.

Already two men were walking towards her, jostling one another to make her acquaintance first; Emma just looked back to her tablemates with a look of resignation. “They’re not wasting any time,” she said.

“Neither is she; she must be the first one of the season,” Dorothy said, watching the situation near the door with mild interest.

“Just glad it isn’t me this time.”

“If there wasn’t any concern about like, us not being turned into a science freak show, I would absolutely watch our version of a trash dating show.”

“Babe, we have too many seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list as it is,” Ruby said.

“Correction, we don’t have enough seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list.”

Emma glanced back at the display happening on the other side of the bar, letting the sound of her friends teasing each other blend into the rest of the noise. This woman was definitely taking no prisoners, making eye contact with one of the men while her hand rested almost possessively on the arm of the other, her lips spread into a wide smile. Hell, she was charmed by this kind of display, especially when the woman demurely glanced at the second man under her lashes for a moment. Maybe Dorothy was right about a dating show… She watched as the woman laughed at something one of the men said, throwing her head back to give everyone a good look -- and smell -- at her neck, and Emma found herself dazedly wondering when she might be able to slip away back home and ravish her husband.

“Oh no, we’ve lost her.”

“Pheromones side effect, tragic really.”

She blinked back to attention. “What?”

Ruby looked annoyed, but Dorothy at least seemed sympathetic. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase, babe, it’s gonna be a while before everything settles down. The coming season doesn’t help.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Her drink had been refreshed without her notice and she downed it. “I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up about Killian and whatever.”

Ruby started to respond, but Dorothy silenced her with a look. Whatever silent argument they had, Ruby lost and she huffed as she went back to her meal. The reaction stung -- it’s not like Emma hadn’t sat through hours of Ruby pining and then gushing over her own mate, she could stand being the recipient for a while -- but Emma felt it wasn’t worth it to argue and ruin the evening by just turning it into a fight.

Eventually, they started talking again, Ruby breaking first with some pack gossip. The night never got to the raucous levels any of them might have hoped it could get to, but was overall a nice time and Emma even forgot about getting her feelings hurt. It felt good to get out of the house for a while with friends -- but when someone wolf-whistled as the woman in heat from earlier waltzed out with an entirely different man clutched possessively at her side, Emma thought it might be even better to get back home to her mate.

Even short periods of absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder.

 --------------------------------------------

As the new year rolled through to its second month, Emma and Killian quietly celebrated the one-year anniversary of their meeting, marveling at how much had changed in just a year. Killian noticed that Emma seemed to greet each day with increasing wariness, and his own awareness of the mating season coming into bloom turned into some kind of insatiable itch under his skin.

He’d never participated in mating season before meeting Emma. He’d been soured from pursuing any sort of relationship after the disastrous affair with Milah, and even when he’d been half underwater with alcohol he’d decided he’d never again get snared by any she-wolf’s trap. And to his embittered mind, mating season was just another trap, luring men into siring pups or trying to turn a one-night tryst into a long-term commitment. Even after he’d sobered up and straightened himself out, he’d still felt the sting of rejection in his phantom limb and did his best to stay occupied and aloof in spring.

Until Emma.

He’d known from the start that she was different, that chance encounter with her packmates. She had fire, and the way she’d immediately come at him on the offense had piqued his interest immediately. Then the wind had shifted and he’d immediately known what the source of the problem with her packmates had been, the full-blown scent of a bitch in heat burrowing down to awaken his most basic instincts. He’d done his best to remain a gentleman and let her walk away, as she’d clearly had no interest in acting on her own hormones, and once her scent faded on the wind he’d walked away as fast as he could without rousing anyone’s suspicion. He’d thought that was the end of it, until a chance meeting at a bar led to a delightful night of conversation and drinks…

And the most wonderful, passionate woman he’d ever had the pleasure to offer himself up to the next day.

Poor love had been so miserable when he’d come to see if his magical hangover remedy worked for her that he’d hardly reacted to the overwhelming bouquet of Emma in heat. He’d acted immediately to try and rectify the errors in her spice cabinet, mixing his potion and letting her recover. And as he tidied up the mess he’d made, it became increasingly hard (in many senses of the phrase) to ignore the fact that he was absolutely surrounded by pheromones and the obvious lingering scent of everything she’d done to relieve herself of the ache over the last several days. And when she’d emerged from her blanket nest again and stood there with only a shirt and her knickers and legs that went on for miles and giving him every last chance to run before they’d do something they’d regret?

He’d never wanted someone more in his entire life, mating season or not.

It wasn’t long after he returned home, he realized that long weekend in her bed (and her shower and her kitchen… and one particularly enjoyable occasion with her back pressed to the window and the lights in the living room turned off to keep the outside world in the dark to their activities) would never be enough for him. Liam accused him of moping, his friends thought he needed to get out and meet someone new to get Emma out of his system.

Looking up now, watching her enter the room shyly and holding out a simple padded envelope, he knew just as well now as he’d known then: he could never get her out of his system, even if he tried.

“What’s this, love?” he asked, accepting the envelope from her as she settled in the crook of his arm.

“Early valentine’s present,” she said simply.

They had a reservation at a restaurant that day, so he was a little confused as to why she didn’t want to simply wait until then. “Any particular reason why this is an early gift?”

Her scent changed, a little surge of arousal, and amusement laced her voice, “I kind of figured it was safer to give these to you in private.”

Well now he was intrigued. “Very well then, thank you and I accept.”

Reaching into the envelope, he felt photos -- a stack of actual printed, glossy photographs. He glanced down at his wife -- fuck, he’d never be over that, his wife -- and watched her chew her bottom lip nervously as he pulled the photos out. 

Each photo featured Emma in some way, posed and primping and perfect in all her glory. These weren’t amateur photos by any means, and even her hair and make-up looked like someone else had done the job -- not that Emma did poorly at her own appearance, but she wasn’t one to add such accentuation to her eyes to give them that smoky effect. Killian swallowed hard as he went through each photo, his heart thumping especially loud in his ears: Emma looking directly at the camera in some sort of modernized glamour shot; Emma from behind, shot from the waist up, looking coyly over her shoulder as she slipped a shirt -- was that one of his? -- down her arms to expose her back beneath a wave of blond curls; Emma laid out on dark satin, her hair spilled around her like a halo, wearing what was definitely one of his button-downs and nothing else from the way she gripped it closed. “Emma, how did you--” his throat felt nearly as tight as his pants as he paused at the next photo, her eyes downcast as she lay on her stomach, the curve of her breast visible in the opening of his shirt.

“I am people who know people,” she said simply.

On and on it went, all of them sensual or titillating without pushing the envelope enough to qualify as lewd, until the last one: she reclined on her side, propped up on her elbow, on a pelt that matched her own. Completely bare, her back faced the camera, her hair spilling down her shoulders as she looked to the side, not quite looking over her shoulder but enough to give the viewer a look at her demure profile in an otherwise completely shameless photograph.

“Jesus Christ, Emma…”

She rested her head against his shoulder, by all appearances merely a content wife who was pleased her husband liked her gift, rather than the mischievous seductress she truly was. Minx. “You like them?” she asked.

“Very much. And may I add, excellent call on a private viewing,” he murmured, nosing her hair. “Had anyone else even glimpsed these, I would have had to rip their throats out with my teeth.”

She hummed and he grinned as her scent flared. “The whole murderous, possessive alpha male thing shouldn’t be such a turn on,” she commented, and squeaked as he hauled her up in his lap.

Placing the photos on her lap, he tapped the last one with one finger. “This one should be blown up and professionally framed, I might hang it up in my office. Your arse is a work of art, love.”

“It is,” Emma agreed, “but wouldn’t that go against the whole ‘if anyone else saw these I’d kill them in cold blood’ thing?”

He tweaked her nose; she really was a terrible mimic of his accent. She always made him sound like a Mancunian somehow. “I didn’t say it had to be the main office, and while I admit that intimidating any potential contractors to a better profit turnover would be better, I can’t say I’d be able to get much work done with such a distraction.”

“And it being in your home office would do any better?”

“Well,” Killian said, drawling on the l’s, “for one thing, I wouldn’t have to travel far to take care of any, ah, problems that might arise from a viewing.” Emma snorted, no doubt feeling exactly the sort of problem he spoke of pressed against her bottom. “Though why would I need to look at this if I have the real thing waiting for me?”

“Who says I’ll be laying in wait for you?” she asked, poking his chest. “If our history says anything, I’m the one who pounces on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“Or sooner.”

“Or sooner,” she said. Looping her arms around his neck, she tilted her head. “You really like them?”

He opened his mouth, prepared to remind her that he’d already answered that, but then he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the nearly invisible downturn of her lips, her wide eyes flicking between his as she tried to read his expression. Killian softened, in several ways, remembering how difficult she found it to be vulnerable; he suspected the act of posing and taking the photographs had been easy -- Emma was a beautiful, confident woman and she knew it -- but now came the hard part: seeking approval. “I love them,” he told her seriously, tightening his hold around her. “A pale substitute for the real thing, but this on my desk,” he flitted through the photos to the glamor shot, “will remind me of the gorgeous woman I have waiting for me at home. And get me through the long , hard days when we don’t see one another.”

She gave him an overly patient look at where he’d emphasized his speech. He leaned down and kissed away the wrinkle between her brows, breathing her in. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone such as you, my darling, but I’m grateful every day to whatever thread of fate drew us together.”

Her breath hitched and her arms tightened around him. She shifted, tilting her head up to kiss him; the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed him, telling him without words how much she loved him and appreciated what he’d said. He felt her fingers in his hair, grazing the sides of his face and neck, her lips moving against his with a hunger he recognized well. “Let’s move these,” he rasped, doing his best not to just throw the pictures all over the floor, “before we make a mess of them.”

Killian gladly let Emma take control then, pushing him flat on his back on the couch and straddling him. “Show me what you really think,” she said, and whipped her sweater over her head, the offending garment falling almost protectively over the stack of photographs on the floor.

 ------------------------------------------------------

The dream started the way it always did: she was sixteen again and her body wasn’t cooperating as she tried to climb the height to the challenge grounds. Most of this was pulled from memory, the sounds of her mother and Regina fighting, the bitter cold, the tang of blood on the wind, but while the stones under her were covered in ice and snow, she’d been able to climb with only a little trouble. She’d been more worried about what she’d find than making sure her feet were going in the right place.

In the dream, though, it was like moving through molasses. Images came in flashes -- her mother lunging and scoring a blow on Regina’s side, Regina’s snarl and the moonlight glinting off the ceremonial silver knives, her father bleeding to death on the ground. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to scream for help, like her mouth was sewn shut.

She was helpless to stop what was happening; she always had been, and even in a dream she couldn’t change the reality that her parents had been murdered in front of her.

But for the first time she was able to get to the top, only to find Regina fighting Killian instead of Snow. He had no knife, no weapon at all, swinging wildly with his fist and kicking where he could, but Regina seemed to have the upper hand as she dodged his every move. It looked like she was completely fine with letting him tire himself out first before she had to do anything; Emma tried to scream, tried to get them to stop -- why would Killian be fighting Regina? -- but her mouth wouldn’t work.

Killian lunged and Regina dodged with ease, moving on the offense for the first time as she slammed her elbow into his back. He fell with a cry and suddenly a rifle was in her hands. A crack sounded in the frozen night and then Killian lay still on the ground.

Her body moved, freed from whatever had trapped her in place. Regina was gone, and Emma flung herself at her mate’s form. He lay sprawled on his stomach, a dark, wet patch spreading across his back in the same place where he’d been shot last fall. She packed snow against the wound, an animal cry ripping from her throat in a desperate plea for help. She turned him over, trying to see if he was conscious, but he was white as death and as cold as if he’d lain there for hours instead of moments --

Emma woke, a scream stuck in her mouth as she fought to get the blankets that were tangled around her and constricting her movements off. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tumbled to the floor; the solid impact shook off the confusion between dreams and reality, but it couldn’t get the image of Killian bleeding out in the snow out of her mind. She curled in on herself as her mind blended it with the same sight of her parents that she’d relived over and over again for more than a decade, her chest aching as she tried to stifle her sobs.

It was late, but she hadn’t gone to bed as Killian had still been at work. She’d dozed off on the couch, something she hadn’t done in a long time—in the last few months, the combination of Alice’s crystal magic and the ever-present scent and feel of their mating bond in the bedroom had helped ease both of their night terrors. Their den represented safety and security, giving them peace of mind to rest easily.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Emma took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She reached for where she’d left her phone, using the hem of her shirt to scrub her face dry with her other hand, and checked to see if there were any messages. A few warm tears leaked out still, even as she checked the time and noted that Killian had texted not long ago to let her know he was on his way home.

As if on cue, the sound of keys in the hall reached her ears, and a moment later they scratched at the lock and then the door opened. “Sorry I’m so late, darling, I—what happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder gratefully. “Bad dreams, it’s nothing.”

“Sweetling, the fear-scent hit me full in the face when I came in, it’s not nothing.”

His heartbeat under her ear soothed her, some of the lingering tension in her shoulders easing with the steady thrumming. Her arms went around him and his hold tightened, just a little, as if he could protect her from her own demons just by holding on tight.

She wished he could.

“Bad dreams,” she said again, clearing her throat after her voice came out thick. “A lot of the same, mixed up together in a shitty new brain cocktail I didn’t order.”

He knew about the recurring dream with her parents, and the newer ones from the incident in the fall, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to put together what she meant. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry, darling. Why didn’t you just go to bed?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I was waiting for you to get home and just nodded off.” Her book, forgotten until now, lay face-down on the floor, pages bunched up and wrinkled now from when it had fallen from her lap in sleep. “If I’d known you were staying that late I would have just gone to bed.”

Killian sighed. “I’m sorry. I was working on a contract and needed feedback from the overseas partner; it’s morning in Singapore so I knew I could get prompt replies. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I still feel terrible.” He kissed her again and stood, bringing her up with him. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap and you can tell me how to make it better.”

She smiled wanly. “I just need you. That’s all I need to make it better.”

Emma allowed him to lead her to the kitchen. “You have me, Swan, you know that. You’ll always have me.”

 -------------------------------------------------------

She woke slowly to the gentle, teasing press of lips against her own. There was a murmur in the back of her mind that sounded like ‘ wake up, darling ’ and she had the bewildering sensation of being in two places at once before a finger brushed against her neck and arousal surged through her body. Instantly she felt more alert, kissing Killian back with newly awakened vigor, and he groaned as she pushed him back, reversing their positions so she lay atop him. “Cheater,” she accused, only allowing them a moment to breathe before coming together again. 

He stroked her mate-mark once more and the swell of arousal almost hurt; she clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that lay between them, but Killian’s hand moved down, coaxing them apart to tease his fingers between her folds. “So wet for me,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she said, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, the warmth pulsing through her body, the sparks of pleasure with every stroke. He ducked down, pressing his lips against her neck and she whimpered at the touch, feeling like she was melting into putty in his arms. “ Tease .”

“I’m a cheater, a tease,” he murmured against her skin, punctuating each word with another kiss. “What’s next? Scoundrel ?”

She cried out as his fingers thrust home, filling her with that delicious stretch she craved. She could feel him moving his fingers inside, teasing her further, and she didn’t know how she wasn’t just soaking his hand with how turned on she was right then. With each thrust of his fingers, he seemed to lift her up and it took her far too long to realize it was a combination of his own urging and her unconscious compliance as she rose up above him. She threw one leg over his waist and felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh; Killian withdrew his fingers and she looked down to watch him rub her juices off his fingers onto his cock as he took it in hand, quickly positioning himself in place for her to sink down on top of him. "Oh fuck me," he moaned as she began to move, her lips finding his mate-mark.

His fingers dug into her hip as she rode him, skin slapping as she chased her pleasure. The combination of their teasing each other’s mate-marks was driving her nearly insane with lust -- she barely noticed when she peaked, the need for more clawing its way through her veins. Killian protested when she lifted herself off him, but he seemed to pick up on the general plan when she turned and got on her hands and knees.

She gasped, sharp and shallow as he pushed in again, her hand grabbing a fistful of blanket for purchase. He felt so much bigger this way— always had since the way he’d taken her that first time. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part,” he’d said then, and she certainly felt like an animal now as she pushed back onto him in earnest, back arching and throat rough as she keened, pleading for more.

“Greedy girl,” Killian panted through grit teeth, his hips slamming against hers as she cried out. “Drenching my cock, begging for it.”

“ You woke me up,” she retorted, gasping again as he hit a good spot. “There--do that again, fuck .” His hand found her hip again, nails stinging into her skin just enough to pull a groan out of her. Again, he snapped his hips forward, but it’s less frenzied than before, sharper, calculated, and the breath that punched out of her lungs at the next thrust felt laced with fire. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, felt her heart stutter at the way his mark stood out dark against the morning light.

She slipped against the sheet, nearly buckling, but his hand was there before she could, sliding up the length of her torso to curl his fingers around her shoulder. Too-fast, she found herself surrounded by him, his weight half-draped on top of her as he pulled her flush against him and oh, oh . Fuck tumbled out of her again as she twisted to claim a rough kiss. Distracted, his hips slowed at the contact, but she pushed back again with a roll of her hips.

The hand on her shoulder urged her down, his weight shifting off her back as he reared back and her head pressed against the mattress. The angle was just right, a keen tearing from her throat as he resumed speed, driving into her hard and fast and -- “ Fuck, Killian! ”

His hand slipped under her, between her legs, found their way to her overstimulated clit and teased, drawing circles around it and pressing--

Killian’s phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. Emma felt her orgasm slip beyond reach for the moment, her concentration broken, and she groaned in frustration. She didn’t even know what time it was, but it had to be too early for anything but an emergency. “Killian, you should see who that was,” she mumbled, her head shifting against the mattress as he pounded into her.

Her husband snarled and that sent a little thrill down her spine, reigniting what had been lost. “Whoever it is should fucking know better than to call when I’m balls deep in my wife.”

She had no idea how to articulate how absurd that was, but he moved his hand again and squeezed her breast, leaving wet streaks of her own arousal along her skin and her core clenched around him in anticipation. He exhaled sharply, another little growl escaping him, and she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt his fingers move along her skin, dancing up her back and nails scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, until they found her mate-mark once more and started tracing around it, lightly circling, pressing just enough--

She saw stars. Burst of color behind squeezed eyelids and an impossible wave of pleasure crashing through her, her legs feeling numb and buckling under her as he rode her through her orgasm until she heard a grunt signaling his own. She slid weakly down onto her stomach, her skin still tingling and her core still shuddering, dragging air into her lungs as fast as she could to try and calm her racing heart. She felt the bed shift behind her, heard Killian’s heavy breathing, then felt him settle between her legs. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she felt his nose brush the sensitive seam of her ass, and then dip lower as his tongue found her dripping, abused, and still fucking aroused cunt. “ Jesus --”

Emma tried to push herself up on her elbows, tried to army-crawl up the bed and away from her insatiable husband’s questing tongue, but he satisfied himself with only a few laps before pulling away. She twisted, flushed and glaring at the smug grin on his face. “Who’s greedy now?” she asked.

“I do love the taste of us together,” he admitted, righting himself and settling back on the pillows.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and summoned all of her strength to get up and go clean herself. Wobbly as it was, she managed the trip to the bathroom and even brought him a washcloth to clean himself up before giving her weary legs a rest and laying next to him. The heady feeling of arousal still burned inside, though more like a smoldering ember pile than the full-on inferno he’d worked her into before, but she pushed it away; she wasn’t in heat yet and her body had limits.

For now.

“So what was that for?” Emma asked.

“Do I need a reason to wake my wife and lavish her with my attentions?” She poked him in the ribs, a particularly ticklish spot, and he squirmed. “Cut it out,” Killian said, giggling. “Your smell woke me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My smell?” she asked, her voice flat. “You know, from anyone else those might be fighting words.”

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “And far be it from me to challenge you, darling. No, I believe it may be close to time, your scent has… shifted somewhat.”

Emma let her head fall back with a groan. Motherfucker. Well, it was to be expected; it’s the normal time for her to go into heat, it was just… the worst. Though, having a mate would make it exponentially easier than previous years; she had that to look forward to, at least. She just hated being completely ruled by her hormones, hated having so little control over her own body. And of course Killian would be the first to pick up on it, of course he’d know her so well that he’d pick up on even the slightest change in her scent. Idly, she wondered if he could tell because he’d smelled her in full-blown heat before, but in truth she believed he’d know any changes in her body and her scent almost before she did.

Puts the kibosh on any cutesy surprise things whenever we get around to having pups , she thought wryly.

“Judging by your enthusiastic response, you’re still unhappy about the prospect,” Killian remarked.

She sighed. “It’s not that. I love nothing more than using you as my personal sex toy, I just… hate everything else about it.”

“We could try a last-minute honeymoon,” he suggested. “We did talk about going somewhere this spring.”

“It’ll be wicked expensive, not to mention both of our bosses would kill us for leaving so last minute. And don’t even try to tell me Liam would be understanding, he’d find something to harp at you about.”

“Technically I’m my own boss.”

“Yes, but what captain leaves the helm to go fuck his wife silly for a week?”

His teeth flash in a grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m sure plenty do, particularly when the captain’s wife is as beautiful and alluring as you. And I do have minions to keep things running, you know I don’t do everything right?”

“You have to stop calling your officers ‘minions’.”

“I pay their salaries, I can call them what I like. Besides, which is less of a mouthful, Chief Operating Officer or minion?”

“Coming from the man who takes an hour to tell a five minute story.”

His grin widened. “One of the many charms you love about me.” She rolled her eyes and the bed shifted as Killian reached for his phone, which pinged a reminder that he had a missed call and a voicemail. “Though I could have reason for it, seeing as how one of them called at a most inopportune time.”

Emma worried her lip between her teeth as he listened to the message, the tinny voice reaching her ears perfectly as questions even she knew could have waited a few hours were relayed. If he was right, and it was reasonable to assume he was, then it would be easier to just combine the honeymoon and her week in heat. It was extremely annoying that there wasn’t any way to really tell when her body would go into heat, outside of paying attention to signs like any subtle changes in scent, and they couldn’t have planned this ages in advance. The thought of paying all the last minute booking fees made her skin crawl, but she also knew he wouldn’t suggest such a thing if it wasn’t feasible.

Marrying up a couple of tax brackets was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Killian tossed his phone back on the bedside table, muttering darkly to himself, and she settled against him again. “How about this,” she started, “we take today to make sure a quick getaway isn’t going to be a problem, and then go in a couple of weeks? I don’t think it’s going to happen in the next few days and we need some time to get our shit together.”

“Eloquent as always, Swan,” he said. “And the full moon is next week, so we should schedule around that as well.”

Remembering that gave her another sense of relief: for some reason, it wasn’t common for their kind to go into heat the week of the full moon. Some did, but it was extremely rare, and always led to complications with the litter. She thought it might have something to do with how her monthly shifting stopped when she’d been pregnant before, nature realizing that changing forms while pregnant wasn’t good for the mother or the fetus, but it wasn’t like there was anyone she could ask about that. Again, something else that the more scientific-minded of their community were studying, but it was difficult.

And it wasn’t like there was The Scientific Werewolf Monthly to publish any of that research.

Maybe there should be.

“Well, that settles that,” she said, her mood buoyed by the lunar calendar. “We’ll go in a couple of weeks. Plunk me on a beach somewhere that’s not Boston in winter and I’ll be set.”

Killian’s expression was a thrilling mix of joy and sin. “Then I’d better make sure it’s a private beach, because I have no plans of letting you wear anything more than a bikini the whole time we’re gone,” he said, shifting to loom over her as he spoke, the last words breathed against her lips before he caught hers up in another kiss.

 ----------------------------------------------------

The wave of pleasure that had been building inside finally crashed over her, sending ripples up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes. She sighed, sated for the time being and pushed away the latest of her spent toys, reclining back on the silk maroon sheets to watch as he took his leave from her bed. They all knew the drill, the men lurking in wait for her summons; she hated for them to linger, but she did indulge in the view as they stumbled away from her room.

For now, though, Regina was tired. That was the third one today, and it was barely noon on the first morning of her heat. She rolled her head on her neck, as much as she was able, joints cracking and muscles stretching. She wasn’t a young pup anymore, as difficult as it was to admit some days, so while being ravished three times by three different, handsome young things in one morning certainly sounded like an ideal way to spend one’s time, it was proving to take a toll on her.

She didn’t like to think too much about what that would mean.

She didn’t care for the reminders, the lines at the corners of her eyes getting a little deeper if she looked too long, the silver strands she kept carefully colored, and now her body tiring a little sooner than it had the year before.

Any slip might give rise to rumors, and rumors often lead to those same men lurking downstairs foolish ideas about power.

No, for now she would rest a bit, take lunch, and assess what else she could do to keep her hand on their leashes until just the right moment.

Her phone rang midway through lunch. Annoyed, Regina answered in her usual, clipped way. “This had better be important.”

- She’s leaving town for a week, her and that British wolf of hers. My sources say it’s probably their honeymoon, but we have to remember the season. If she comes back pupped-- -

“I can make my own conclusions, thank you Sidney,” she snapped, her mood darkening. “Keep tabs on them if you can, and the Nolans. We may have to move faster than anticipated.”

She hung up before he could agree to anything -- it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to agree. He just had to follow orders.

She sat still for a moment, staring at her plate, then moved suddenly, throwing her tablet against the wall. The news that Emma Swan, previous heir apparent to the pack she now ruled, had taken another mate after all the work she’d done to destroy that last relationship had sent her into a rage that kept her people on their toes for weeks. She didn’t need any reason to allow support of any kind for that little bitch to rise, and a newly mated pair with a fresh litter on the way would definitely give reason for people to remember and feel sympathy for the girl. To start rumors or petitions to restore her place.

To revolt.

She’d put in too much work expanding, improving, and keeping her pack in line to let the memory of the old alphas resurface.

Snarling, Regina got to her feet. Rage mixed with arousal, the need to take control of something overpowering anything else, and she pressed the intercom that would summon another one of her playthings to the bedroom.

She hoped he had stamina, though she didn’t quite care if she ended up breaking him in the end. He was easily replaced, just as all the others were.

She was in control here. Not them. Not any of the hotheads she dealt with on a regular basis.

And never, never Emma Swan.

[anchoviesinthenightsky]

Okay here’s something I had thought of from when I had only seen the trailers that’s been in my head I want to share: so for basic clarification, I thought from one of the trailers the boys would’ve been captured in like, those metal bar crates at the climax of the story, like old fashioned movies. Now to elaborate.

Luca and Alberto had been captured after being seen, as Giulia and Massimo were the only ones trying to convince the town they were good (the town believing they had been brainwashed by tricky sea monsters, like old myths) (don’t know about Luca’s parents) With their pictures taken, they are sent via them in train where they managed to escape from their cages, and jumped out of the sidecars into fields, as it had been raining; running for a while til they find and decide to hide in an old barn in their sea monster forms, and now with the adrenaline crashing, just cuddle up together and cry from relief and stress. They ended up in Switzerland, don’t know how to read or write or anyway to get back.

On the run or taken in by some farm family? Who knows, but we can agree Switzerland is gorgeous. Sorry if this is much, I just wanted to share this somewhere. It kinda sounds like a old fable a small town believes that nobody else does anymore cause of science. 🤷🏻‍♂️

AN: Okay, I didn't write everything in this prompt, but I think I got a lot of the points! I hope you like it :)

__: *✧･ﾟ:*___ >><(((・> ______ >><(((・> ____ _: *✧･ﾟ:*__

Alberto’s wrists burned as Luca untied the rope from around them. He inhaled deeply as he shook his hands to get the blood flowing. The train car stank of rotten wheat and newly caught fish.

“Thanks,” Alberto said. It was his fault they were there. His fault for dropping the umbrella in the rain. His fault that Luca had to rescue him when Ercole pointed a harpoon at him. His fault for falling off the bike. His fault Luca turned back instead of run.

The feeling of nets pressing into his scales still felt present, even though it’d been hours.

“I’m so sorry about all of this Luca,” Alberto said. He stared down at his hands. It was too difficult to look at his friend now. “I’ll get us out of this.”

“Alberto,” Luca put a hand on his shoulder, and Alberto flinched away from it. Luca moved it, letting the hand hover near him without touching. “We’ll get out of this together. It’s not just you anymore. I promise.”

Albert’s heart was in his chest, and he felt it ache. He’d been alone for so long.

When he finally looked up, Luca was sitting next to him with his knees pulled up to his chest. His cheekbones were bruised purple and there was a cut on his arm that matched Alberto’s scar. Behind Luca, Alberto noticed daylight spilling through a hole in the train car.

He nudged Luca and pointed to it.

Luca’s mouth pinched. “Do you think we’d fit through it?

“Maybe?” Alberto stood up. His feet were unsteady beneath him.

Alberto took a deep breath. He had no idea when the train would stop, and he didn’t want to be around to find out.

Hewalked over to the gap in the train car panel. The bottom half of the metal panel was completely rusted, and when Alberto kicked it, the rust crumbled away.

“Luca! Come over here, we can make the hole bigger!” Alberto called behind him. He kicked at the panel again and more light spilled through.

____

Alberto hit the ground hard and started to roll down the grassy hill. The sky spun into the ground over and over and over, until he eventually slowed down. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The clouds covered the sun, and rain poured onto him. Alberto laid, catching his breath, and taking stock. His ribs hurt, in an aching way. There was a dull throbbing in his shoulder, but he didn’t feel any sharp pains, which was a good sign. He took a slow breath, gently expanding his lungs to check how badly hurt his ribs were. As the skin expanding, he felt a sharp sting and he exhaled hard. He tested the idea of sitting up and felt like he might get sick before he even moved. That was probably less good.

“Alberto?”

Albertocould hear mud squelching as Luca crawled over to him. His face, green and bright against the grey sky, came into Alberto’s view.

“Hey Luca.” Alberto said quietly. It hurt to speak.

“You don’t look so good, Beto.” Luca said.

“Mmng,” Alberto breathed out.

“Can you sit up?”

Alberto shook his head the tiniest bit.

Luca bit his lip and looked around the valley. “I don’t think we can out in the open. They’ll see us,”

Alberto watched Luca’s face as he got more and more stressed. His thoughts felt slow. It was like he was dragging them through sand and murking the water while he did so, but what he did think of was how Luca blended into the grass well enough. And that he must stand out, purple among all the green.

“Alberto!”

“hmm?” Alberto focused on Luca.

“There’s a barn not too far from here.” Luca pointed behind him. Alberto didn’t raise his head to see where he was pointing. “I think we should go in there and dry off.”

“Okay,” Alberto said, keeping his voice quiet.

“You need to get up, Beto,” Luca held out a hand.

Alberto took it, wincing at the pain in his chest as he moved. Luca must have noticed because he slowed his movements. “That’s it. Just a bit more.”

And then Alberto was sitting. Everything spun around him as Luca pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, lean on me.” Luca said, looping an arm around Alberto’s waist to keep him standing. “It’s not too far. We’re going to be okay.”

____

The barn stank, and Alberto crinkled his nose as Luca lowered him down to the ground and leaned him against the wall. “There we go.”

Luca squatted down and wiped the last of Alberto’s scales from his face. His fingers were gentle, barely touching Alberto’s skin, as if he worried that any touch could cause him pain.

“Thanks Luca.”

“Of course.” Luca gave him a small smile. “I saw a blanket near the entrance. I’m going to go get that. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay” Alberto leaned back onto the wall. The wooden panels pressed into his back. He still couldn’t take any deep breaths without his chest hurting. He felt anxiety starting to swell with each of his shallow breathes. He had no idea where they were. No idea how to get home, and, after how the town of Portorosso had treated them, his home no longer felt safe. It was too close to all the hurt.

“It’s a little worn through in places, but it’ll do,” Luca said as he returned with the blanket. It was grey and patterned with plaid. The blanket looked like it might have once been warm, but now it was thin. The sides of it were fraying, and holes dotted the fabric.

Luca draped it over Alberto. “There, that’ll help right?”

Alberto’s foot stuck through one of the holes, but it did help.

Luca sat next to Alberto and wrapped his arms around himself. “That’ll help,” he repeated, more to himself than to Alberto.

“Luca,” Alberto said, his voice strained. He lifted a corner of the blanket. “You too.”

Luca shook his head. “It’s for you.”

Alberto kept holding up the blanket, inviting Luca in.

Luca took a deep breath and gingerly scooted under the blanket. Alberto leaned his head on Luca’s shoulder.

Luca sniffed, and Alberto looked to see a tear rolling down Luca’s face.

“We’re never going to be able to go home.” Luca said. He stared straight ahead, looking beyond the walls of the barn, and imaged the mob of people in Portorosso who’d forced them onto the cages.

Alberto placed his hand on Luca’s thigh, hoping it’d comfort him.

“Portorosso wasn’t your home,” Alberto whispered.

“But they’ll go searching for sea monsters now,” Luca replied quickly. “My whole village—they’ll have to move. What if we do manage to get back and no one is even there?”

“We can’t know that.” Alberto shook his head.

“I never should have raced.” Luca said quietly. “I never—”

“Hey,” Alberto cut him off, louder than he meant to. He coughed, and it sent pangs through this chest. “You were just trying to be a good friend.”

“No, I was a horrible friend, I—”

“No,” Alberto shook his head more vigorously, “this is not your fault.”

“But I—”

“Other people did this to us,” Alberto whispered. He looked into Luca’s eyes. They were red from crying and the skin around his eyes had turned teal and scaley. “It’s their fault.”

“But why would they do this?” Luca said. He sniffed again. “I mean, how could they hate us so much?”

“I don’t know,” Alberto replied quietly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Luca wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess.”

“I know.” Alberto scooted down so that he was lying on the ground. “We should sleep. Figure out the rest in the morning.”

“Yeah, we probably should.” Luca laid down next to him.

“Goodnight Luca.” Alberto said, curling into himself and closing his eyes.

He heard Luca shift next to him before he felt Luca’s arm wrap around his back and pull him closer. A tear fell onto his face, and then Luca’s face was near his. Breathing warmth onto his face. “Goodnight, Beto.”

[prouvaireafterdark]

Caught in the Moment

Five times Michael Sanders’ dad almost walked in on him with Alex and one time he did.

Special shoutouts to @foramomentonly and @powderseal for giving me the inspiration for a few of these scenes!

Also on AO3!

***

1.

Michael is digging through his tool box when he hears a familiar voice behind him say, “Hey, Sanders. Wanna take a look under my hood?”

He turns around to see Alex Manes standing before him in all his emo glory: a black band t-shirt tight across his chest, immaculate black denim skinny jeans hugging his thighs, and a messenger bag stuck with pins slung across his shoulder. His eyes are lined in black, like always, and he’s got a beautiful smile on his face, one of those rare ones that are becoming more common by the day. Michael would like to think he’s got something to do with that.

Michael is so disarmed by that smile, he forgets to fall into their easy flirtatious banter, and Alex notices, the twist of his lips turning a little smug.

“Oh, come on, no comeback?” Alex asks as he takes a few steps toward him until they’re standing face to face in front of the car Michael is working on. “This is supposed to be the part where you say something like ‘Why, that engine not purring like she should be?’ and then I say—“

Michael laughs and pulls him closer by the strap of his messenger bag to interrupt him with a light kiss on the lips. Alex melts into it, dragging out the kiss a little longer.

“Mm,” Alex hums, eyes still closed when they break apart. “That works too.”

Alex’s eyes flutter open and Michael smiles, a soft and giddy rush of affection swelling inside him. He leans in again to steal another kiss before he asks, “Not that I’m not very happy to see you, but what are you doing here? I thought you were busy writing music all day.”

“Not all day,” Alex says, sliding his hands between Michael’s open flannel and the ratty t-shirt he’s wearing to wrap around his waist. “Someone rear ended Greg yesterday so he had to come here to get an estimate. Thought I’d tag along and see if my favorite mechanic wants to take me for a drive later.”

“Mm, you know what?” Michael hums, desire and anticipation making his stomach swoop. “I think he does.”

“Good,” Alex smiles, eyes flicking down to Michael’s lips. “Til then, you got a minute?”

Michael swallows and nods. “I think I can pencil you in,” he murmurs before he takes Alex by the hand and leads him around to the other side of the car, out of view of anyone who could walk by.

Even under normal circumstances, Michael wouldn’t be looking to get caught kissing his boyfriend on the job, but given that his dad doesn’t even know about him and Alex, well—it’s better if they’re discreet.

He crowds Alex against the passenger side door and pulls him in for another kiss. The slow press of Alex’s lips against his own is pure heaven, drawing Michael into the moment so deep he nearly forgets he’s kissing Alex at work, in broad daylight, where anyone—including his father—could come looking for him.

Just as Michael’s starting to feel a little bold, the tip of his tongue flicking out to taste Alex’s bottom lip, Michael hears footsteps coming their way. Alex must hear them too because he gasps against Michael’s lips and shoves gently at his chest with both hands.

Michael spins around and starts rifling through the open toolbox again, trying to look busy. It’s another minute before the footsteps stop.

“Thought I might find you here,” he hears his dad say. Michael looks over his shoulder to answer him, but it’s not Michael he’s talking to. “Estimate’s all taken care of, your brother’s looking for you.”

“Guess that’s my cue then,” Alex says, pushing off from where he’d been leaning against the side of the car with an air of forced nonchalance. “See you around, Sanders.”

Michael nods, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and watches Alex leave until Sanders asks, “What are you looking for?”

“What?” Michael asks, his cheeks flushing with heat.

Sanders nods at the open toolbox.

“Oh,” he says intelligently. “Uh, the set of hex keys.”

Sanders raises a weathered eyebrow and looks pointedly at the wall behind the toolbox where a set of L-shaped hex keys hang off a nail, right in front of Michael’s fucking face.

“Ah,” he says, flushing deeper as he plucks them off the nail. “Thanks.”

Sanders grunts, but doesn’t say anything else as he reaches into his back pocket and takes out his money clip. Michael watches him thumb through the cash and take out twenty dollars.

“Why don’t you run by the Crashdown and get some lunch?” he asks, holding out the money for Michael.

“I’ve still gotta finish fixing this up,“ Michael points to the car he’s been working on.

“It’ll keep,” Sanders counters.

“Okay,” Michael shrugs, taking the money Sanders offers. “You want anything?”

“For your head to be screwed on right when you get back, but I’ll settle for a burger and fries.”

Michael laughs and shakes his head, pocketing the money. “You got it.”

2.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Michael says, watching Alex mix brownie batter with a pensive expression on his face. He’s perched on his kitchen counter next to where Alex is standing, his legs kicking lazily at the cabinets below.

“What?” Alex asks, looking up at him. There’s a smudge of cocoa powder on the tip of his nose and Michael has to swallow the urge to lean down and lick it off.

“The party tonight. It’s really not that big a deal,” Michael repeats himself.

“I know,” Alex says, voice about an octave higher than usual, and then goes back to staring at the bowl in his hands.

“Do you?” Michael asks, unconvinced. “Because you’ve been mixing that batter for almost ten minutes. I’m very impressed by your upper body strength, but I think you’ve got all the lumps by now.”

“Fuck,” Alex sighs heavily and sets the bowl back on the counter. “I’m gonna have to start again.”

“What?” Michael asks, bewildered. “Alex, no, come on.”

He reaches out for Alex’s arm and pulls him closer until he’s standing between Michael’s legs. Michael runs his hands up to his shoulders, caging Alex in a little so he can focus on him and not the fucking brownies, but Alex won’t quite meet his gaze.

“Would you look at me please?” Michael asks, moving his right hand up to Alex’s cheek.

Reluctantly, Alex turns to him, a vulnerable look in his eyes. It worries Michael a little, makes him want to wrap Alex up in a blanket and hold him tight.

“It’s just a party,” Michael says softly, stroking his thumb along Alex’s cheekbone. “Why are you freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out,” Alex denies.

Michael raises an eyebrow at him. Alex sighs in defeat.

“Okay, maybe I’m freaking out a little,” he admits.

“Can you tell me why?” Michael asks again. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“It’s Max and Isobel’s party,” Alex answers, like that explains everything.

“And?” Michael asks, not connecting the dots. “I know you’ve never really hung out hung out, but it’s not like you’ve never met them before.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t met them as your boyfriend before,” Alex replies. Hearing Alex call himself his boyfriend makes Michael’s heart feel like it’s about to burst in his chest, but he shoves down that feeling to listen to the rest of what Alex has to say. “It feels important. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“How could you possibly screw it up?” Michael asks skeptically. When Alex doesn’t answer him right away, Michael says, “See? You can’t even think of anything. Relax, they’re gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that,” Alex complains.

“Yes, I do,” Michael insists. “You wanna know how?”

“How?” Alex sighs, looking up at him with a guarded expression.

Michael grabs Alex’s hands and raises them up toward his face.

“Because I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Alex’s knuckles. They’ve said those words before, but it’s new enough that they still make Alex fucking melt, the change in his body language immediate. Michael loves to see it. “And that’s really all that fucking matters to them.”

Alex moves further into Michael’s space, pulling his hands gently out of Michael’s grip to wrap his arms around his waist and rest his forehead against his neck.

“I love you too,” he says, heartfelt and honest. It makes Michael’s heart soar.

Michael holds him tighter and cards his fingers through his silky dark hair, content to just hold him for the moment, but all too soon, Michael hears a key unlocking the front door. He sighs and manages to drop a kiss on the crown of Alex’s head before he pulls away and steps back over to the brownie batter, putting some distance between them before Michael’s dad gets the door open.

3.

Michael’s house has the shittiest insulation known to man—it’s hot as hell in the summer and cold as ice in the winter. Michael’s been complaining about it for years now, but he has to admit that sometimes it has its advantages. Like how it gives him the perfect excuse to share a blanket with Alex on a chilly autumn night while they sit on the couch and watch the best basic cable has to offer, just close enough for him to touch if he really wants.

And oh does he want—Alex came over tonight looking soft and cuddly in a dark green knit sweater and all Michael’s been thinking about since he arrived is how badly he wants to just shove Alex back against the couch cushions and crawl into his lap.

Thing is, he can’t. His dad is in the house, working on some paperwork in his bedroom, so they’re stuck sitting a platonic distance apart.

That doesn’t stop the thoughts running through Michael’s head, or the temptation buzzing under his skin to do something about them. He swears he can feel the heat coming off of Alex’s body next to him and it’s driving him crazy.

He’s resigned to suffer in silence until Alex shifts beside him, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch. Michael can see the spread of his thighs through the shape they make under the blanket and it gives him an idea.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Michael makes a move.

Without a word, he moves his hand from his own lap and rests it gently on Alex’s lower thigh under the blanket. Alex’s muscle twitches under his palm, and out of the corner of his eye Michael can see him glance his way. Michael just keeps staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on the action movie playing on the television.

He keeps the touch casual at first, his thumb rubbing softly against the denim of Alex’s jeans, but once Alex starts to relax, that’s when Michael lets his hand inch further up his leg. He bites his lip so he doesn’t smile when he hears Alex’s sudden inhale as his fingers slip down to curl possessively against his inner thigh.

“Michael,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t be a tease.”

Michael responds by sliding his hand right between Alex’s legs and turning to look at him, smile finally breaking through his unaffected mask as he takes in Alex’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Who said anything about teasing?” he asks, cupping Alex’s cock, already half-hard for him.

Alex’s gaze goes hungry as Michael starts to rub him through the fabric of his jeans and he feels him swell against his palm even more. Alex touches Michael’s arm over the blanket and leans toward him, eyes on Michael’s mouth, and, fuck, Michael wants to kiss him so badly, but he knows once he starts he won’t be able to stop.

He swerves at the last second, lips connecting with Alex’s cheek and then his earlobe before he whispers, “Eyes on the screen, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Michael can hear Alex’s throat click as he swallows and reluctantly turns to look at the television. Michael rewards him with a kiss on the cheek.

The noise blaring through their old television covers the sound of Alex’s zipper as Michael gently tugs it down. He reaches inside his jeans to get a hand on his cock, hot and hard in his grip. He pulls it out of Alex’s underwear and runs his thumb over the slit, smearing the pre-come leaking from it around the head.

Michael removes his hand from Alex’s cock for a second—much to Alex’s dismay if the small sound of protest he makes is anything to go by—to lick his palm before he brings it back under the blanket. He wraps his hand firmly around Alex’s dick and jerks him off as discreetly as he can in slow, deliberate strokes. Alex squirms under his touch, a soft moan slipping from his mouth. Michael tightens his grip on Alex’s shaft in a warning, but all that does is make him whine a little louder.

“Shh,” Michael whispers, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the side of Alex’s face, his lips warm against his heated skin. His tongue snakes out to lick the shell of Alex’s ear as he resumes his stroking, and he can’t help but smile as he hears Alex let out a shuddering breath.

Michael knows he should lean back into his own space and maintain the illusion of innocence, but he’s lured in by those sweet little sounds Alex makes in spite of himself, desperate to drink in every last one.

Alex leans further back into the couch, his eyes slipping closed as Michael peppers his neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses as quietly as he can manage.

“M-Michael,” Alex hisses suddenly, and Michael knows he’s close.

Before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea, Michael dives under the blanket and takes Alex’s cock into his mouth. Alex’s response is almost immediate, his hand disappearing under the blanket to fist Michael’s curls as his hips twitch with the urge to force his cock deeper into Michael’s mouth.

Michael only has to suck on him for another few seconds before Alex is whimpering low in his throat and coming in thick, hot pulses across Michael’s tongue. Michael swallows down everything he has to give, not spilling a drop.

He feels air on his face and looks up to see Alex looking down at him, his dick still in Michael’s mouth. Michael lets the tip of it press into the side of his cheek, making the skin bulge with the shape of him, and Michael’s own cock throbs just thinking about the picture he must make right now.

Alex seems similarly affected as he reaches up to feel his cock through Michael’s cheek with the tips of his fingers. He presses down on it, and tightens his grip on Michael’s curls as he fucks his softening cock a little deeper into Michael’s mouth, just to watch him take it. Michael relishes the slide of it across his tongue, drunk on the way his body makes space for him as the tip of Alex’s cock teases the back of his throat.

Michael hums happily as he pulls off of him, pressing a kiss to the head before he sits up.

Alex is pulling him into a kiss by the fingers he’s still got trapped in Michael’s curls when his dad’s cheesy ACDC ringtone sounds off down the hall. They spring apart, hearts hammering in their chests as they draw the blanket up to their chins and settle deeper into the couch.

His dad’s bedroom door down the hall creaks open a minute later. Sanders walks into the living room with his leather jacket in hand and heads straight toward the hook by the front door to grab his car keys.

“Where you going?” Michael asks, the taste of Alex still heavy on his tongue.

“Arturo needs a tow,” he answers, sliding his leather jacket on. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Without another word, Sanders slips out the front door.

They sit perfectly still until they hear his truck start and drive away, but the second they’re sure he’s gone, Alex is scrambling into Michael’s lap, dragging him in for a deep, heady kiss.

“That was so hot,” he murmurs against Michael’s lips, “and so fucking stupid. Can’t believe you went down on me on your fucking couch while your dad was home, what the fuck, Michael?”

“This is a nice blanket,” Michael defends himself, fingers tightening on Alex’s hips. “Couldn’t have you making a mess all over it.”

In answer, Alex bites down hard on Michael’s bottom lip.

“I’ll show you a mess,” he pants as he reaches for Michael’s belt.

4.

“You really take me to all the nicest places,” Alex quips as Michael manhandles him into his lap where he’s sitting in the drivers seat of a shiny red sports car in the parking lot of his dad’s auto shop.

Michael laughs as he shuts the door behind him and reclines the seat as far back as it’ll go. Alex follows him down, his hands coming to rest on the seat behind Michael’s head.

“You don’t recognize the car, do you,” Michael says, settling his hands on Alex’s thighs.

“Should I?” Alex asks.

Michael’s answering smile clearly says that he should.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Alex sighs, tilting his head to the side. “Whose car is it?”

Michael points behind Alex at the rearview mirror—well, more specifically, at the douche-y set of fuzzy black and white mirror dice hanging from it.

“No fucking way,” Alex deadpans when he turns his head to see it.

“Happy Four Months, baby,” Michael says in a cheery voice.

“You want to fuck me in Kyle Valenti’s car?” he asks, looking down at him with wonder and disbelief on his face.

“I want to fuck you in Kyle Valenti’s car,” Michael confirms, drinking in Alex’s reaction with a wicked smile.

When Michael noticed it sitting in the lot this morning—red, shiny, and shaped like a penis—awaiting some bodywork after what appears to have been a minor accident, it just felt like destiny. He’d immediately sent Alex a text to tell him they had plans and wanted him ready when he picked him up for their date tonight.

Alex stares at him for a long few seconds, shaking his head with a delighted laugh.

“I love you,” he says, and pulls him into a rough kiss. Michael returns it eagerly, his palms sliding up the back of Alex’s shirt as he pulls him down so they’re lying chest to chest.

“So is that a yes?” Michael leans away to ask once Alex lets him up for air.

“It’s a fuck yes,” Alex answers, grinding his hips forward into Michael’s lap.

They trade biting kisses that make Michael’s lips tingle until they’re both too hard and desperate to ignore the need thrumming through them any longer.

Michael tosses his jacket and shirt into the passengers seat before helping Alex with his jeans and underwear—it’s a bit of a struggle, but with a little teamwork they make it happen. Michael shimmies his own jeans down his thighs until his bare ass is on the driver’s seat. Alex perches on top of him, thighs spread wide as the seat will allow as Michael reaches into his jacket pocket for the lube and condoms he brought with him.

He squeezes some onto his fingers and presses against Alex’s hole, finding him already wet and open. It’s not a revelation—Alex sent him the hottest fucking picture he’s ever seen of his fingers in his own ass about an hour ago when Michael was on his way to pick him up—but feeling him loose and ready for him sends a spike of heat through him all the same.

Michael slips two fingers inside him, the soft, slippery heat of his hole making his cock pulse in anticipation. Alex groans when he slides another finger inside him almost immediately, the prep he’s already had making the stretch easy.

“Don’t need it,” Alex huffs, reaching between his legs to grab Michael’s wrist.

“I know,” Michael says, watching the way Alex bites his lip as he spreads his fingers inside him with ravenous eyes. “I just like touching you here.”

Michael curls his fingers against Alex’s prostate and Alex keens, his hips twitching where he holds them suspended over Michael’s lap. A shining pearl of pre-come drips from Alex’s cock and Michael catches it on his finger before he brings it to his mouth for a taste.

“Please, Michael,” Alex whines, fucking himself down on Michael’s fingers. “I already edged myself getting ready for you earlier, I need you in me now.”

Michael takes pity on him and withdraws from his body. Alex rolls a condom on him with shaking fingers before Michael slicks his own cock and holds it steady for him to sink down on. Alex moans at the sudden fullness, his blunt fingernails digging into Michael’s chest.

“Yeah?” Michael asks, taking in the blissed out expression on Alex’s face. “You like that dick?”

“Yeah,” Alex nods, eyes slipping closed as he starts to roll his hips. “fuck, yeah, I do.”

“Feels good in you, huh?” Michael keeps running his mouth as Alex speeds up, soft whimpers leaving his mouth with every slide of his cock inside him. “This what you needed?”

Alex opens his mouth to answer, but his response turns into a moan as Michael reaches between them to get a hand around Alex’s cock so he can fuck his fist as he rides him. Alex rocks his hips in short, fast thrusts that have Michael’s cock rubbing right where he needs it.

All Michael knows is the scorching, wet heat of Alex’s hole tight around him, his soft, needy gasps filling the air between them. It’s enough to make his head spin, and the fact that he has Alex bouncing on his cock here, in Kyle Valenti’s most prized possession, only makes it hotter.

Michael tugs him forward so they’re breathing the same air again, one hand in Alex’s soft dark hair to guide him into a kiss. His other arm stays secure around Alex’s lower back, holding tight as his hips buck up into him. Alex gasps against his lips, and grinds his hips harder into his lap.

Michael plants his feet against the floor and shoves his hips up off the seat, driving his cock into Alex as deep as it’ll go. Alex gasps again, breaking the kiss, and Michael does it again, and again, and again, until Alex is a whimpering mess above him, collapsing against his chest. Alex buries his face in Michael’s neck, moaning weakly in his ear as Michael keeps fucking up into him, spearing him open on his cock.

“Want you to remember this,” Michael pants, in the middle of sucking a bruise high on Alex’s neck. “When he peels out of the school parking lot like a fucking tool, want you to remember that he’s sitting right where I made you come.”

A shudder runs through Alex at the words, his hole fluttering around his cock. Michael bites down on his shoulder to keep from shouting as he comes into the condom, and the second his teeth sink into Alex’s skin he feels him jerk in his grip, spurting hot against his bare stomach.

The car is filled with the sound of labored breathing as they both come down, Michael running his clean hand up and down Alex’s back.

“I don’t know how I’m ever not supposed to think about this,” Alex muses moments later, and Michael laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

The sudden sound of metal clashing against metal startles them both.

“What was that?” Alex whispers as he freezes in Michael’s arms.

Michael looks out the back window to see his dad throwing scrap metal onto a heap all the way across the yard. Panic strikes through him immediately, but he takes in the distance between them and knows, logically, that there’s no way he could see or hear them from where he is right now, especially with Valenti’s tinted windows.

“It’s my dad,” he answers, panic making way for frustration. All he wanted was to spend his night celebrating being with Alex for four whole months by defiling his high school bully’s car—was some privacy too much to hope for? “Fuck, why the fuck is he always around?”

“Shh,” Alex shushes him, and then whispers, “Maybe doing this at his place of employment wasn’t the best idea.”

“False,” Michael replies. “This was an excellent idea, just—stay still,” he insists, drawing his arms tighter around Alex’s back after he starts shifting nervously in his lap. “He can’t see us from over there so let’s not give him a reason to come any closer.”

Alex stops moving, but his body stays tense as they wait out Michael’s dad. Michael makes himself comfortable and nuzzles his face into Alex’s neck.

“You think he’s gone?” Alex whispers when they haven’t heard anything for a few minutes.

“I don’t know, lemme check,” he answers, pushing up to peek out the window.

The coast, as far as he can tell, is clear.

“Okay, he’s gone,” Michael announces.

“Thank god,” Alex sighs, the tension releasing from his frame. He quickly pulls away from Michael’s arms to sit up and reach for his shirt where he abandoned it on the passenger seat.

Michael can’t help but feel a pang of hurt at how fast Alex puts some distance between them, but given the close call they just had he can’t say he blames him either.

“Hey, you okay?” Michael asks, concern edging into his voice.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and he smiles so Michael knows he means it. “I just really wanna get my clothes on.”

“Fair,” Michael agrees.

Alex opens the door and climbs out to get the rest of his clothes on. Michael tugs his jeans back up his hips and puts the seat where it’s supposed to be. He pulls his own shirt and jacket on before he exits the car, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it as he watches Alex finish getting dressed.

When Alex is fully clothed, Michael reaches for him and the way Alex happily leans against him has that tight feeling in Michael’s chest releasing.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs into his collar. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Good,” Michael smiles, pleased he was able to make tonight special for him. “Me too, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“Just, um…” Alex starts, shifting back to look up at him. “Next time you want to fuck me in a car, let’s make it yours, okay? Preferably somewhere far, far away from your dad.”

Michael laughs and leans in to drop a quick kiss against his lips. “Yeah, I think I can make that happen.”

5.

Michael moans, his head thrown back against his pillow. He looks down the length of his chest to watch Alex’s head bobbing between his thighs, his mouth warm and so fucking wet around his cock.

“Alex,” he whimpers, fingers slipping under the collar of Alex’s band t-shirt as he lightly grips the back of his neck.

Alex looks up at him as he takes him deeper, hazel irises all but swallowed up by his pupils, cheeks flushed, his bangs damp with sweat. The soft, slick sounds he’s making as he sucks his cock are obscene and Michael’s head is swimming with it, liquid heat rushing beneath his skin. Michael bites his bottom lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, but he can’t stop the hurt little whimpers from leaving his mouth.

“Alex,” he says again, a little more urgently, fingers flexing at the back of his neck. His orgasm is so close he can taste it and even just the thought of coming down Alex’s throat is enough to get him there.

He feels it tightening in his gut, he’s seconds from the finish line, but then he hears it—the front door opening and closing heavily against its frame. Michael glances frantically at the clock on his nightstand, finding the time much later than he thought.

“Michael?” he hears his dad call from somewhere down the hall. “You home?”

“Shit,” Michael curses, shoving at Alex’s shoulders.

Alex releases him immediately, sitting up and running the back of his hand across his mouth, a panicked look in his eye. Michael quickly pulls his jeans back up his thighs and starts looking for his shirt.

“You said your dad wasn’t coming home until six,” Alex hisses throwing it at him after he finds it shoved between the bed and the wall.

Michael points at the clock on his nightstand that reads 6:17 as he tugs his shirt over his head.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs harshly, his heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

He shoves a pillow over his lap and grabs his Calc textbook where it lay abandoned on the floor after they gave up their study session approximately thirty minutes after Alex had the truly brilliant idea to use a reward system based on sexual favors for all his right answers.

Alex scrambles to do the same, bracing his back against the wall at the other end of the bed and drawing his knees up to his chest with his notebook.

“Michael?” he hears his dad call again.

“In here!” he calls, flipping to a random page. The door to his bedroom opens just as he says, “Right, so, what is a function?”

His old man leans against the door frame, taking in the scene in front of him. His room’s a bit of a mess, but that’s not new—Michael just hopes his lips don’t look as kiss-bitten as they feel.

“Hey, Dad,” Michael says preemptively, “what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Sanders,” Alex waves from behind his notebook.

“Alex,” Sanders greets him with a nod before he gives Michael a pointed look. “Thought you were supposed to be getting dinner started.”

“Oh, right,” Michael says. “Sorry, we just got caught up with math, lost track of time. We’ve got a big test tomorrow.”

Sanders’ eye looks down at the book he’s holding and then back up to Michael’s face.

“Well, sorry to break up your study group, but we’ve got dinner to handle and then I need your help with something,” Sanders says.

“But—“ Michael protests, looking at Alex.

“It’s okay, I should get going soon anyway,” Alex cuts him off.

When Michael doesn’t say anything, Sanders shrugs.

“Dinner’ll be ready in an hour,” he announces before he turns around and walks down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Michael’s bedroom door wide open.

Michael lets out a frustrated huff and gets up to close it, pressing his back against the wood once the door finally clicks shut.

“Oh my god,” Alex whispers, running his fingers through his hair. “That was too close.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael says pitifully, digging the heel of his palm against his erection, which miraculously hasn’t flagged much at all.

Alex gives him a sympathetic look before he gets up off his bed and walks over to him. Michael’s eyes slip closed as Alex presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, his hands settling on Michael’s hips. “Poor baby,” he coos, and in anyone else’s mouth it would be condescending as hell, but it somehow just makes Michael harder.

“Alex,” Michael begs, sliding his hand down the front of his jeans to wrap around his dick, still wet with Alex’s saliva. “Please don’t leave me like this.”

Alex looks down between their bodies to watch his hand, his own fingers tightening on Michael’s hips. Emboldened, Michael takes his cock out and starts to stroke it.

“Please,” he asks again, thumb swiping through the pre-come welling up at the tip.

Michael swallows a disappointed whine when Alex shakes his head as their eyes meet once again.

“I’m not sucking your dick with your dad in the next room. We’ve already had a few close calls and I am not tempting fate,” he explains, but then he’s leaning in to whisper in his ear with a voice low and smooth like honey, “but if you drive me home now, I’ll see what I can do on the way.”

Heat spikes through Michael as he feels his knees grow weak, cock so hard it aches.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, Manes,” he groans softly.

“Little deaths only,” Alex jokes, and Michael can’t believe he’s fallen in love with such a goddamn nerd.

+1

“Michael.”

“What?” Michael asks, shifting his side further against the back of his couch as he admires Alex’s profile.

“What are you doing?” Alex asks without looking up from his book. Michael can’t help but notice he hasn’t turned a page in a while.

“Nothin’,” Michael answers innocently.

Alex takes a deep breath before he says, “We’re supposed to be doing our homework.”

“I know,” Michael says. It’s why they’re here, in Michael’s living room instead of his bedroom. Alex insisted it would help them avoid temptation so they could finish their work, but Michael’s sure he doesn’t need to remind him that this couch historically hasn’t exactly been a sex-free zone. Michael certainly hasn’t forgotten. “I already finished mine.”

“Okay, well, I haven’t finished mine and you’re distracting me,” Alex complains.

“I’m not even doing anything!” Michael argues, and, really, he thinks he deserves a medal for the restraint he’s shown so far. With his mind no longer occupied by his physics homework, he’s dying to move across the couch and kiss Alex’s neck.

“You keep staring at me,” Alex says, finally meeting his gaze. Michael sees heat there behind the annoyance and a slow, satisfied grin spreads across his face.

“And that’s distracting you?” he asks, letting his hand fall from where it was supporting his head to extend along the back of the couch, far enough that he can brush his fingertips along Alex’s shoulder.

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna have to do something about it,” Alex says, and the tone of his voice has Michael’s belly warming with desire and anticipation.

“Oh yeah?” Michael asks, his eyes flicking down to Alex’s mouth. “What am I in for?”

Alex pounces on him then, tossing his book aside to dig his fingers into Michael’s sensitive sides, right where he’s most ticklish, and Michael yelps in surprise.

“Ah! No, no, no, stop! Alex!” Michael shrieks and giggles as he tries to squirm away from him.

They roll off the couch in their struggle, Michael winding up on top. He uses the opportunity to grab Alex’s wrists and pin his arms down on the carpet by his head.

“There,” Michael announces triumphantly. “I win.”

“If this is what losing feels like,” Alex pants, shifting his hips beneath him, “I’m happy to do it more often.”

They stare at each other, chests still heaving from their laughter and exertion. Michael isn’t sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows Alex’s lips are on his.

Michael teases Alex’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and Alex makes a soft noise against his mouth, giving him an opening to deepen the kiss. Michael’s whole world narrows to the warm press of Alex’s mouth on his, the gentle struggle he puts up against the hold Michael has on his wrists in his desire to touch him.

Michael’s so lost in the feel of him that he doesn’t even notice the front door has opened until he hears his father’s gruff voice.

“Gentlemen,” he greets them as he steps inside the house.

Alex freezes like ice beneath him, but Michael springs away from him like he’s been burned, stumbling backward onto his ass in the process. His face feels like it’s on fire, his heart hammering and sinking in his chest all at once.

Sanders raises an eyebrow at him, something like a smile playing at his lips as he hangs his keys up on the hook by the door. It’s not the reaction Michael expects, but when his brain catches up with him he decides to roll with it.

“Uh, hi, Dad,” Michael starts hesitantly. “How… was work?”

Sanders grunts noncommittally as he steps further into the house, closing the door behind him. “Fine,” he answers, kicking his boots off by the door. “Did you get the chicken marinating like I asked?”

“No,” Michael cringes. “I forgot.”

Sanders sighs like that was the answer he expected, but he’s still a little disappointed about it. Instead of giving him shit for it, he shrugs and says, “Shouldn’t make too much difference anyway.” Then, he glances to where Alex is sitting on the floor, still looking a little shell-shocked, and asks, “Should be plenty if you want to stick around for dinner, Alex.”

It takes a second for Alex to realize Sanders spoke to him.

“Oh,” Alex says, surprise clear on his face. “Um, I don’t know if…” he starts, looking to Michael for some kind of direction, but he’s as lost as Alex is. When Michael thought of all the ways his dad might react if this moment ever came, he’d never considered this.

Sanders looks between the two of them and makes a noise that sounds like a laugh before he says, “Give a holler when you figure it out,” and disappears into the kitchen.

Alone again, Michael crosses the carpet to sit closer to Alex.

“Did my dad just walk in on me with my tongue down your throat and then ask if you want to stay for dinner?” he asks, some small part of him wondering if he’d actually just hallucinated the whole thing. It’s so different from the worst-case scenario he’d constructed in his head, he almost can’t accept it as reality.

“I think… he did, yeah,” Alex says, his expression unreadable.

“What are you thinking?” Michael asks, reaching for his hand. Alex takes it, threading their fingers together as he pulls it into his lap.

“Honestly?” he says after a moment. “That I should go, but… I don’t really want to leave.”

“Then don’t leave,” Michael says. At Alex’s hesitation, Michael adds, “Look, I’ll—I’ll go talk to him. Make sure it’s really okay.”

“Okay,” Alex sighs, bracing himself for the other shoe to drop.

When Michael enters the kitchen with slow, hesitant steps, he finds his dad bent over at the waist as he reaches into the refrigerator. He pulls out a package of chicken breasts and drops it on the counter next to his cutting board before he starts looking for a knife.

He looks so normal, so unaffected by what just happened. It’s encouraging as much as it is unsettling. Michael can’t help but wonder if it’s an act.

“Are you mad?” Michael asks suddenly, giving voice to the fear in his head.

Sanders looks up at him, his one eye squinting in confusion.

“Do I look mad?” he asks.

“Well… no,” Michael says, studying his face. Michael’s sure as hell seen him angry before and this isn’t it. Before he can stop himself he asks, “Why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be?” he asks, reaching into a drawer for a knife. He slices the plastic on the package of chicken with it.

“I don’t know,” Michael shrugs. “Alex always thought you would be if you found out.”

He doesn’t add that he’s thought it too, that he’s wondered if he’d discover one day that the love he’s found here under Sanders’ roof really does have a condition.

Sanders’ answering laugh is jarring, pulling him back into the present.

“I may have been born at night, son, but it wasn’t last night,” he tells him. “You think I don’t know what goes on in my own house?”

Michael flushes at that. “You never said anything.”

“Figured you’d talk to me when you were ready,” Sanders explains, as if this secret he and Alex have been holding on to is just no big deal.

And maybe it is no big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it’s also the biggest thing Michael has ever felt, and as relieved as he is that Sanders isn’t angry with him he just doesn’t get how he can be so nonplussed about it.

When Michael doesn’t say anything, Sanders puts the knife down on the counter and turns to really look at him.

“Look, kid,” Sanders sighs, sensing Michael’s train of thought, “does he make you happy?”

Michael blinks at him. “Yeah.”

“Does he treat you right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Are you being safe?”

“Dad,” he says, flushing hotter.

“Then what is there to be angry about?” Sanders asks, like it’s really that simple.

Michael is struck with the sudden urge to cry. He doesn’t, but it’s a close thing.

“Now,” Sanders says, turning back to his chicken, “am I making dinner for two or for three?”

In the end, Michael doesn’t even need to think about it.

“Three.”

[nico-demons]

what once were stars

1200 words of contemplative Destiel 

Read on AO3 

General Audiences, no warnings apply

The night is dark but for one lancing ray of bright silvery light beaming through the window, reflected from the sun off the pure white surface of the moon and directly in Castiel’s eyes in one of those miraculous alignments of cosmic geometry.

It pulls him out of an ocean of nothing, darkness, eternity; false death. He gasps for air, turns, presses himself into the familiar warmth of the shape next to him in the bed. Lips on skin on soul the color of nautical twilight. Tangled legs. Dark hair ruffled with dreams. Pillows holding the scent of lavender soap and sea salt.

The sky, in the window, and the gentle rise and fall of waves on a shore behind a door and a room and a door.

He slips out of bed, maybe not as graceful as he once was but no less careful not to disturb the tenuous and precious peace and steps barefoot over weathered wood and a thin woven carpet the colors of the dawn. The door creaks. A little sign hung by a nail on its front side bumps gently with its open and close.

Grass fades into selenic sand fades into sea fades into sky. And in the sky, stars, stretching into eternity, dappling the crests of waves. One continuous celestial painting, him and the sand between his toes and the oceanic breeze in his hair and the sleeping borrowed house behind him and the watching ether.

He’s spent so much of the last twelve years in cities and windowless rooms that his human brain doesn’t immediately recall the last time he saw the stars from this side of the heavens. He knows, though, that he didn’t see it like this— complete, all the pieces clicking together, twinkling lights aligning themselves into constellations.

Looking through the eyes of an angel is like looking at that Seurat painting with the long French name he saw once in a museum in Chicago, and seeing every individual dot, without realizing the meaning of the painting as a whole—not seeing the park, or the ladies in too many layers of fabric in the sun that you just sweat looking at, or the kids, or the anatomically incorrect cat in the foreground. Just dots. Molecules. Pieces of a whole; a whole in pieces.

But now, human, his mind doesn’t perceive irrelevant minutiae, fill up with noise before the symphony comes together. And so, in his relative blindness, it’s more beautiful than it’s ever been.

He does not see God in any of it; he understands now that art is not defined solely by its creator.

“Wishing you were back up there?” He hadn’t heard Dean’s approach. He’s standing just to Cas’s right now, a little uneasy maybe, still learning how to uncoil himself after lifetimes of adapting to ever-present danger, a constant need to spring.

“No. Never.”

Dean crosses his arms, glances at him sidelong. He looks so much healthier these days, Cas notices. He’s been eating a little better, drinking a little less.

“Really? Even on a night like this?”

“Especially on a night like this.” His fingers brush Dean’s elbow. As if in answer, Dean uncrosses his arms to wrap one around him and pull him closer. Because they do that now. Just touch. And when they do, the world doesn’t shift again to wrench them apart.

“Do you know what stars are, Dean?”

“If you say some shit like ‘the dead watching over us,’ you got another thing coming.”

“No. They’re giant flaming balls of gas.”

“So, like Sam.” Dean flashes one of his patented shit-eating kid grins.

“Dean. ”

“Sorry.” He tries to school his expression. Cas feels himself mirroring the upward quirk of his lips.

“What I’m trying to say is… well, they’re not souls. They didn’t really mean anything until humans looked upon them and saw stories within them. Constellations… weren’t really there until humans put them there. I couldn’t see them. Before.”

“But the stars don’t mean anything.”

“But doesn’t it make life that much better to believe that they do?”

Dean takes in a breath.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” he says, after a moment.

“I think it’s an amazing thing about humanity. Your— our — capacity to love anything. Horror movies. Spiky plants. Giant flaming balls of gas trillions of miles away. Each other.”

“Huh. I never really thought about it that way.”

“Why would you? You’ve never known anything else.”

“Well, I was a demon for a little while. But that… mostly just made me tired. At this point, I—” Dean frowns. “I barely remember it, actually.”

“Yes I… suppose I’m adjusting to millions more years of not being human.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That’s… weird. I didn’t think I had to tell you not to talk about that.”

“This vessel, however, has aged very slowly over the course of the past twelve years, so physically I’m only the equivalent of about forty–”

“You’re making it weirder, shut up.”

Cas grins. He tugs Dean down with him as he sits down in the sand.

His left hand digs into the beach. It’s the soft kind of sand that feels nice running between his fingers.

Dean mumbles something about sand in his pants.

“If I’d been given a choice,” Cas says, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and turning his eyes back up to the sky, “I’d have chosen this again. I’d have chosen... being able to appreciate… all of this.” He sweeps his hand over the landscape, the ocean, the sky. “I’d choose this… feeling that I get, being able to watch Jack and Claire grow into their own, being friends with Sam and Eileen and Jody and Donna and all the others, and… being with you.” He doesn’t say he suspects this is why he’d started to lose his grace in the first place, that all the things he’d started to feel over the course of however many years pushed out his grace like his body just couldn’t contain them both at once.

It’s a working theory. A conversation for another time, maybe.

“You say the cheesiest shit sometimes, Cas, you know that? What is this, a Netflix romance for teenage girls?” Dean says, but he’s smiling, and Cas can practically feel him holding back something probably even cheesier.

“I seem to recall that you really liked—” Dean cuts his sentence short with a kiss.

“Shh. The universe doesn’t need to know.” He’s got one hand on the back of Cas’s neck, fingers in his hair, holding them together, foreheads touching.

His gaze intensifies, then. “I’m glad you’re… I’m glad you’re okay with this. You know I don’t care whether you’re human or angel or whatever, as long as you’re here. My life is better with you in it.”

“Dean Winchester, you say the cheesiest shit.”

“Asshole.” Then, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.” I love you I love you I love you I love you— it swells up in his chest, a kind of grace of its own. “I love loving you.”

When they come up for air Cas can still make out the smattering of freckles dusting Dean’s cheekbones in hardly more than moonlight.

Constellations.

[endless-whump]

Simon/Oliver: Rescued

CW: torture aftermath, dissoci@tion, mild self harm mention (brought on by panic) suicidal behavior mention, references to creepy and sadistic whumper, box boy whump,

Masterlist

----

“How long did they have him like that?”

The voices were quiet but they were so loud, too loud. Everything was too loud, the fabric of the blanket and the voices and the sound of the house’s heater. It was all just noise.

“I don’t know...I think it’s safe to assume it was a while, though.”

“It was a while.”  Another voice confirmed quietly.  “He was only this bad when they kept him alone for more than a week.”

“You’ll stay like this until you’re begging me to touch you,”

Oliver scratched at his arms, rocking slightly. Even with all the lights dimmed, everything was too bright. Too loud. He could feel the ghost of fingers trailing across his skin, all so unwanted and yet needed, needed to the point he felt like he was dying without it.

He needed it, he needed it, he needed it. Nobody wanted to touch him because they thought he was scared.

He was, but he needed this, and everyone refused to see that.

Simon was supposed to see that. Simon knew Oliver needed touch, but for some reason he was holding back.  

Simon had touched him, had held him when they came back for him. But after that, nothing. Silence. He hadn’t even spoken a word directly to Oliver since they got back.

He dug his nails harder until his skin, wanting to disappear. Every little thing was just noise and noise and noiseand-

Oliver flinched at the feeling of a hand on his, then melted into it. The hand pried his away from his arm, murmuring something about not wanting him to hurt himself.  It was all just noise to him.

As quick as the touch arrived, it was gone. It felt like he’d been burned, nerves alight with the pure sensation of someone else’s skin against him. It hurt so bad, but he wanted it. Craved it.

He didn’t dare chase the hand, though. No, he learned not to do that that hard way. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when they first came back, but what he did remember was the cold, solid hit from the baton when he’d tried to reach out and touch the man, desperate for something other than the complete lack of sensory input happening.

Someone kneeled in front of him, and Oliver recognized it as Sandy.  She smiled, moving slowly so as to not startle him.

“What are you doing?”  Someone behind her asked.

“He looked like he was in pain when he talked, I’m checking for damage.  Oliver, is it ok if I touch you?”

Oliver nodded slowly, eyes still unfocused.  He wanted her to touch him so bad, but also wanted her far, far away from him.  Better to let her choose for him, it was easier like that.  He wasn’t made to make decisions.

Gentle fingers pressed against the side of his neck, and he had to refrain from pulling away at the soft pain.  Sandy seemed to notice his discomfort, frowning and feeling along his neck a little softer.

“I think he might have damaged his vocal chords, and maybe even his windpipe. There’s bruising that’s faded, and he’s got some swelling.”

There was silence after that, as if there was something unspoken they all knew but refused to admit. Simon was the one to break the silence with what they were all thinking.

“From screaming, probably.” He said quietly, crossing his arms. Oliver wanted to be held by those familiar arms so badly. “Cedr- he..he choked Oliver a lot, before. I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened, he was gone for over a week.”

“Was there ever significant damage during initial captivity that would make him more vulnerable to throat injuries?” Sandy asked, her hands leaving Oliver’s neck. She leaned back but didn’t quite move away yet, observing him.

“Nothing that ever needed emergency attention but..I’m guessing it could’ve caused lasting damage. He’s... got some issues from it. Neurological ones, at least.”

The look in the woman’s eyes was an angry kind of grief Oliver vaguely recognized, one of restrained fury and pity.

“I see. Anything in particular?”

Oliver could see Simon from here, leaning against the doorframe. His face was dark, expression pained but distant, which Oliver hated.

“Memory issues.” He murmured. “Granted some of that is probably just the facility fucking up his head, but he’s got problems..retaining things, sometimes. Forgets things a lot.”

Sandy pressed her lips together, nodding. “Part of that might just be trauma. I’d monitor it alongside the suicidal behavior, but I don’t have any concerns about it pertaining to anything underlying right now. It might just have to improve with time.”

“We don’t have time,he doesn’t have time!”  Simon snapped, making Oliver flinch where he sat curled up on the couch.  “They’ve already taken so much fucking time from him. What if we can never get it back, huh? At what point is he gonna be just another washed up rescue that can’t be fixed?  What then?”

“Come on, Simon, don't say that.  He-”

“No!”  He yelled, turning away.  To leave.  “This is myfault, and I can’t even help fix it. He’s better off with people who can actually help him, not me.  All I do is put him in danger and keep him going in circles inside his head with his conditioning.  I can’t solve this anymore.”

“S,Simon.”  Oliver called weakly, forcing himself to focus.  He had to pull himself out of the fog inside his mind, the thing keeping him tethered down.  It was heavy, suffocating, burning. But he could push through it for this. Simon froze but didn’t turn around, hands clenched into fists.

Oliver pushed the blanket aside, standing shakily.  Sandy moved to stop him but Mia held out a hand, eyeing him warily.

“Let him go,” She murmured sadly.  “They need to work this out.  This was going to happen eventually.”

It hurt, but Oliver ignored it as he stumbled forward.  He set a hand on Simons shoulder, only earning a flinch, the other moving away.  Oliver whimpered, moving to follow as Simon turned a corner and disappeared down the hall

“Simon!” Oliver called out, following him. He braced himself against the wall, wincing with the effort it took to stay standing.

“Stay away from me, Oliver.” Simon warned lowly, still walking away. “I’m nothing but a danger to you, and we both know that. It’s better for us both if we just try to learn how to live without each other.”

The statement hit Oliver like a punch, icy terror running through his veins. He was being left, abandoned, he wasn’t wanted anymore. This was what Cedric was talking about. He was too broken for anyone, and people always came to the conclusion things were better off without him

“S,Simon, Simon please.” Oliver begged, stumbling after him down the hallway. “Don’t leave, Simon please don’t leave.”  

He couldn’t lose him. Simon was the one person he had left that he’d thought would always be by his side, no matter what.  He didn’t know what he did wrong or how to fix it, maybe he wasn’t good enough or-

Simon spun around abruptly, startling Oliver a little as he stopped in his tracks. He watched the tears start, the flash of anger and hatred he knew wasn’t directed at him filling Simon’s eyes.

“I, I hurt you, Oliver!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “I dragged you down the fucking stairs and, and I was..I was willing to.. I just- I failed you!” Simon insisted, shaking his head as tears streamed down his face. “I-“

Oliver took the step foreword, flinging his arms around Simon to hug him tightly. It was a terrifying step, one full of doubt in himself and fear and uncertainty, but under it all was a layer of trust. Trust he needed to bring back to the surface.

The touch burned but he wanted it so bad, it was its own kind of loud that drowned out everything else.  It was something he could latch onto and focus on.  There was a hesitation, Simon tense, before arms wrapped around him in turn, and all the noise seemed to disappear.

It was quiet, now

Oliver sobbed against Simon’s chest, clinging to him as if his life depended on it. He was so scared and part of him knew this was wrong and dangerous but he didn’t care. He just wanted Simon. He just wanted his family.

He didn’t want Cedric to be able to take that from him. He’d taken a lot of things from Oliver, but he refused to let Simon be one of them.

“I don’t care!” Oliver wailed, throat burning from the pain. “I, I, I don’t c,care. I forgive you, Simon, p,please don’t go.”

He was being lowered, hugged close to Simon’s chest as they both slumped to the ground. Simon made everything so quiet again, Oliver thought to himself.

“I’m so sorry, Ollie.” Simon sobbed, rocking and holding the other tightly. “I, I’m so sorry, I thought I lost you, a,and it was my fault.”

“No.” Oliver insisted, shaking his head.  “It's, it’s not your fault.  C,Cedric broke you l,like he broke me.  If it's not..if its not my fault, it's not yours either.”

Simon cried into Oliver's hair, embracing him.  “W,why, why would you forgive me, Ollie.  I, I hurt you, and I could still hurt you- I don’t deserveit!”

Oliver looked up, skin burning with the touch as he reached up to hold Simon’s face, looking over him.  Tears ran down his tan skin, dark eyes full of guilt and grief and hatred. The soft, dim light of the hallway illuminated the faint freckles dotting in an odd pattern along his nose and cheekbone, and Oliver traced it idly.

“You do.”  He choked out, staring deep into those eyes.  “Because..because you’re my family, and I love you.  I trust you.”

Simon looked stunned for a moment before he let out a noise that half sounded like a sob and half like a chuckle, kissing the top of Oliver’s curls.

“I love you too, Ollie.”  He murmured, closing his eyes.  “I know you trust me, which is half the problem.  I need to be able to trust myself again.  Then I can let you trust me.”

Oliver nodded, letting his head be guided back to Simon’s chest.  He took a shuddering breath, relaxing as the tingling under his skin from the touch calmed. They could work through this. They could build that trust again, for both of them.  

----

Taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @spiffythespook@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @deluxewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @briars7 @albino-whumpee @thatsthewhump

[random-imagines-blog]

Feral Roots {M Shadows One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3387 Summary: The Full Moon is coming up, and the leader of your wolf pack needs some stress relief. Notes: Smut, Breeding kink.

The full moon was only three days away, and all of the pack were beginning to get antsy. Tension was brewing beneath the surface, and even a hint of sarcasm was enough to send the men biting at each others necks. Your own body felt like it was starting to betray you, giving into urges that were not all that convenient. It didn’t help that the Alpha of the pack, M, had his dark eyes on you most of the time these days. It was those eyes that made you feel detached from your own will, and want to submit fully to his. However, you didn’t like to give in too easily. He liked a challenge, and you enjoyed giving him one.

You were one of the young women who worked mostly on cooking duty. Roasting big pieces of meat, and adding in some vegetables because you were all still partly human, took up a big portion of the day. Wolves needed their protein - especially with the stressful change coming up. You had a full pig roasting on a spit, and you were making sure that it was being turned properly. “What’s cookin, good lookin?” One of the main pack came over to you, the smell tempting his nostrils.

“Don’t you know a pig when you see one, Syn?” You asked the long haired man. He snorted with laughter and took a seat on the grass to really take in the view. “You never come out here while we’re cooking, what’s up?”

“Shads is in a mood,” He rolled his eyes. “You know what he’s like this time around. He needs to get fucking laid. Why don’t you go help him out, you are his favorite.”

“Cooking duty,” You said, smiling slightly at being called the favorite. It gave you certain advantages - like you could get away with more things. As a woman in the pack, you were pretty respected. You could carry on the line. You protected. You took care of everyone. But you still liked to get up to some mischief at times. “Why don’t you give it a try? You’re rather pretty yourself with those cheekbones. Most of them women here envy you.”

You normally wouldn’t have been able to get away with saying something like that.

Syn, or Brian as was his true name, glared at you, then went back to looking at the meat. You could almost see the drool coming out of his mouth. “It’s going to be another couple of hours,” You told him. “I mean, if you’re willing to help out with peeling the potatoes, I can make sure that you get a prime piece.”

“I’m in,” He said. You got him situated with a bucket of potatoes and a knife to peel them with, then went back to your post of turning meat. It was the slow roast that helped the meat taste so good - perfectly juicy, just the way that the werewolves liked it.

-

Being part of a pack meant living in a very communal sort of place. It was more like a trailer park than anything else that you  could describe, just inside a large privately-owned forest. There was a rather large house on the property, which the strongest of the pack shared, while the rest lived in rather luxurious trailers dotted around the land. It helped you all to feel closer to nature. And it made it easier for the nights when you were doomed to shift.

This meant that all of you ate together.

Picnic tables were strewn around, some with umbrellas to stay in the shade, but most without. The strongest of the pack, the main five, sat together at the biggest one, and their plates were often piled high. Syn seemed to be relishing this meal more than usual, probably because he had a hand in making it. You sat with some of the other women at a shaded table, your plate still full of food but not nearly as much as the men’s. You ate what you needed and left what you didn’t for the others, such as the kids who were running around playing after eating. People were talking, it was a wonderful day until...

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” M yelled, throwing his plate on the ground, half eaten chunks of food flying across the grass.

“M!” You shouted, getting to your feet. The whole pack went quiet, staring at the large man who had stood up and was glaring at Zacky, who was one of his best friends. You left the picnic table behind to go to his, and pick up the plate which had surprisingly not shattered. “Go and take a shower and cool off,” You said, looking up at him, setting the plate on the table.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do-” M started, but you growled at him before he could call you a name.

“You’re scaring the pups,” You said, motioning your head to one of the younger kids who ran to hide behind his mom at the yelling. Tempers may fly but swearing wasn’t something that happened around the young ones. “Now go inside while I clean your mess up.”

“Fine,” M said, slamming his hand on top of the table, sending all of the cutlery flying up into the air. He stepped out from the picnic table and stormed towards the house, clearly in a bad mood. Were this a cartoon, you’d be seeing steam coming from his ears, or a black swirl atop his head.

“Now why did you have to go and antagonize him like that?” You snapped at the raven-haired man.

“What, I’m not allowed to speak?” Zacky asked, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface.

“You knew what you said was going to get a reaction,” Syn chimed in, wiping his mouth with his napkin as if the tantrum hadn’t happened. “It’s your own fault, dumbass.”

“Let’s go take a swim, cool you down,” Johnny said, getting onto his feet, pulling the dark haired man towards the lake that was in the forest that you all often used for bathing and exercise. You got back down to the ground and started to pick up the bits of food so you could properly dispose of it in the compost, shaking your head and muttering about what idiots men were.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after him,” Brooks said, bending down to help you out.

“You’re right, it should be Zacky cleaning this,” You sighed, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand once everything was back on the table. “But we all  know he won’t lift a finger.”

“You should go see M,” Syn said, back to eating the meat off the bone. “He’s pissed.”

“Well now I am too. I hate when you guys scare the pups. Seriously, it’s a hard time for everyone right now. No need to act like children.”

“I hate to say it but he has a good reason to be mad this time,” Syn told you, making your curiosity peak.

“I don’t care if he gets mad or not, he has to keep his temper in front of the kids,” You said, not backing down. Syn put up his hands in innocence, throwing in the towel on the conversation. “I am going to go check on him though, and make sure that he’s alright.”

You didn’t miss the sexual motion that Syn made to Brooks, but you decided to say nothing about it this time. The last thing that pack needed was another argument during dinner. You just gave him the finger, then walked up to the house, slipping in through the back door. Other than M, it should be empty.

You followed the sounds of grunting to the built-in gym. Most of the pack just used the woods - strong branches for pull-ups, balance training, logs for strength etc - but M seemed to like punching bags over bark. He was working up a sweat, clad only in his shorts, hands not wrapped or anything, going to town on the bag.

“Do you want me to get you a picture of Zacky’s face? I have one on my dartboard,” You joked, coming up behind and held the bag steady. He kept hitting it, but his eyes averted to you and he was a little more careful. “You should at least put something on your hands, you’re going to make them raw.”

One good punch sent the bag out of your hands and it flew a dozen feet and landed on the mats. “He’s an asshole.”

“I know - but why in particular today, hmm?” You took an ice pack out of the freezer that was above a fridge that held energy drinks and water bottles, and lightly pressed it onto M’s knuckles. The discarded bag could wait.

“He says that it’s about time that you get bred,” M said, anger coming through in his voice. You were a bit surprised by how defensive he had gotten over that topic. You bit down on your lower lip in thought as you nursed M’s hand, attempting to stop the swelling before it started.

“I mean, he has a point,” You said, gingerly. “I would love to have a pup or two of my own by now. And you’re the reason that I don’t, M. I know we have our thing going on but you gotta drop me as a favorite eventually and let me find a mate.”

“Don’t you fucking start,” M said, tearing his hand away from you. “I’m not going to let you go and be some stupid mutt’s mate. You’re too good for everyone here.”

“As true as that is,” You started, attempting to lighten the mood, “-that’s my fate here. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner I can get on with it. And I think the only reason you’re mad is because Zacky wants to be the one to do it.”

“He’ll never have you, y/n. We both know that you could never love him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone else in the pack who could be good to me. I deserve a mate, M.”

“And you never stopped to fucking consider me, did you?” M said, his voice going softer than it had before. You squeezed your hand around the ice pack in an attempt to keep you grounded. You never had this conversation with him before although you had always hoped... He never gave any sort of indication that he wanted you for anything other than sex.

“You’re just feeling the full moon coming, that’s what is making you say that,” You said, your voice going just as soft as his had. You tossed the pack onto the table, then approached the muscular man, putting your cold hands on his chest. He hissed slightly at the sensation but didn’t back away. “But if that’s how you really feel, we’ll talk about it after, okay?”

“It’s not the moon fever,” He insisted, grabbing you roughly around your waist before you could depart. “I may be jealous because of what that shithead said, but you’re both right. You need a mate and it’s time that you’re bred.”

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

“I’m saying that I want you as my mate, for the rest of my life, and I want to put my baby in your stomach.”

“You can’t take that back, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Matt said, smirking, his bad mood seemingly to have dissipated. Roughly, he dragged you to bench where he often lifted weights, got you onto your knees and bent you over it. His hand went through your hair, then grabbed it and held it at the base of your neck. “I can smell you,” He said, sighing happily.

And it was probably true. He had very keen senses and from the moment he hinted at wanting to be your mate, you had felt yourself becoming aroused. He lifted up the skirt of your dress, resting it on your back, and pulled your panties down to be around your knees. The cool air conditioning hit your skin and caused goosebumps up and down your thighs.

“Are you going to keep it slow or are you going to make me scream?” You asked, smiling though he couldn’t see your face. It was pressed against the bench, cheek down. He pulled at your hair harder, causing your head to jerk up.

You don’t know when he had the time to push his sweatpants down and get onto his own knees, but he had - and he started to thrust into you roughly from behind. His one hand was still tangled up in your hair while the other was holding your dress onto your back, keeping you steady. Your mouth opened unwillingly at the sheer force and suddenness of it all, but it certainly wasn’t to complain. You moaned loud enough to feel the bench rumble beneath you. He kept pushing your head up so that he could hear you louder. He loved the sounds that you made. He craved them. He yanked your arms behind your back for more leverage, went quicker and quicker - and then began to slow down. This wasn’t supposed to be just some quick fuck. Five minutes isn’t enough for stress release.

You took in deep breaths of air as he slowed, all of the jostling around had made all of your breath leave your lungs. He let go of your hair so you rested back down against the cool bench. Beadlets of sweat were already resting on top of the leather from your forehead.  He left you for a moment, and you felt bare. Empty. Cold. But when he came back after only thirty seconds, he had a jump rope and started to tie it around your wrists. You trusted him entirely. You were still in euphoria from being asked to be his mate. That combined with the knowledge that he was going to give you a child made you entirely pliable in his hands.

He grabbed hold of your shoulders and entered himself again, making you cry out. There was never any foreplay with M. It was a lucky thing that you were always aroused while around him. He lightly slapped your cheek, then shoved his index and middle fingers into your mouth. You started to suck on them immediately, knowing what he wanted. You relaxed against him, feeling safe, feeling loved.

“Oh my God,”  You cried out, raising your ass as high as it could go.

“Yes,” M hissed. “You’re mine. I’m going to breed you like the bitch you are.”

After another couple minutes of rough thrusting on the bench, he pulled out again, and helped you up to your feet, holding onto your binded wrists as if they were handcuffs. He paraded - yes, paraded - you in front of the windows and over to the sofa. You weren’t ashamed at all. Nudity was perfectly normal among the pack, since it was a natural way of being. You were nude when you transformed into a wolf, and nude when you came back. It was rarely considered to be a sexual thing, though it felt like it now, with the way that M was holding onto you. The way that he threw you down onto the couch. He didn’t go straight back into you, but rather, rubbed your ass and took in the sight of your pussy on display. He spanked each cheek, then grabbed them roughly.

You were on your stomach once again, a position that you were finding yourself in quite a bit today. M spread your legs then went back in with a satisfied groan. You were whimpering into the couch cushions as he entered you at a slight angle, riding you hard. He lowered himself, his weight on you, his hand covering your mouth making it a bit harder for you to breathe. He liked that. He enjoyed the struggle. It was rough, it was crushing. It was enough to take you out of your head.

M was groaning and moaning, as his face was turning red from the exertion. He wanted to make sure to give you the best and the strongest seed. He slid off, the sweat between your bodies turning it into a slip and slide, and flipped you around so you were on your back. Your hands were still tied up behind you and it was extremely uncomfortable, but the strain just added more to the experience. You gasped as you saw M’s face looming over you, his body between your spread legs. Goddamn, he was so fucking beautiful.

There was no doubt about the fact that there would be evidence on your body of this for days to come. His fingertips pressed into your neck, the binding on your wrists causing chafing. You might not be able to cross your legs for a few days with how hard he was going on you. But oh, how blissful it was in this moment.

“Cum in me, M, give me a baby,” You moaned, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. Or even over his muscles. The sheen of sweat over his muscles gave him an otherworldly glow. There was a reason why he was the Alpha and why everyone put their complete trust in him. He had a silent power hidden behind those eyes that were staring into yours right now. This wasn’t just a rough fuck, though he was squeezing your neck tighter than before.

Your head was hanging off of the side of the sofa as he continued to plunge in and then pull out. You saw love and respect in his eyes. You were his mate now - the bond was formed, and it would be cemented once his sperm was inside of you.

“Take it, make our baby strong,” M said, throwing his hand back. He let go of your throat, which brought color back to your vision, to play with your clit as he got closer to his climax. As your own came, overpowering you with white waves from head to toe, M’s hit him. He shuddered, releasing himself inside of you with a beastial growl worthy of a bear rather than a wolf.

You struggled to get your breath back, laying limp against the sofa. You would have to disinfect it before the rest of the guys came in, but th sex was worth it. Your chest was heaving when M slowly pulled out, taking his time to make sure that his cum didn’t seep out of you. “Do you feel better now?” You asked, bringing your head up onto the couch to be a little more comfortable. Your eyes caught onto the sight of his cock, still mostly stiff but starting to soften. He was still so big, it was no wonder why you were so sore and unable to move. “Enough stress release?”

“I meant what I said,” M said, finally moving and helped you adjust so your whole body was on the couch, and untied your hands. He knew modesty wasn’t an issue, but he draped a throw blanket over top of you. “I want you to be my mate.”

You snuggled into the couch, taking your arms out from beneath the blanket to hold his hand. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

M chuckled, looking away from you to the windows, seeing the cleaning going on outside. It was an after dinner ritual. “Both.”

“Silly man,” You shook your head. “Go get something to eat. You’re going to need your strength back after that.”

“Taking care of me already?” M asked, getting to his feet.

“Uhh - I’ve been doing it for ages, thanks for noticing.”

“That’s my girl.”

[izcana]

Tommy and the Newt Pt. 4

Sorry, this chapter came a bit later than usual! I was thinking about the plotline again and I've realised that I might have neglected to plan out a storyline when I started writing this...but to be fair, I figured that it would be fine since I'm mostly going along with Beauty and the Beast's timeline. Well, apparently, it's harder than it looks to combine the films and animation with a whole different fandom and to add the appropriate character substitutions and all of that (I won't bore you with the details).

A piece of advice for all of you writers who want to write fairytale AUs – don't start planning when you're in the middle of a piece. Frankly, I think it must be annoying for the readers (which in this case, is you guys – I assume you're annoyed, at least, I would be) and it was very irresponsible of me to do so. You may think it'll be easy since you're going with a fairytale AU , but it's not. It wasn't for me, and it won't be for many other people (though you're lucky if it's easy for you :). Seriously, trust me; it's so much easier if you get your act together and make a plan before you start something, and that applies to most situations as well. Life long lesson right here, guys...

***

The boy (I recall the old man called him Thomas?)'s mouth gaped, though he did not gasp. He understood. How could anyone not gasp at the monstrosity that was him?

"The-The r-rose," the boy - Thomas - stammered, seemingly losing his voice. "It's my fault. I asked for it." The liquid amber eyes glanced defiantly at him and his heart leapt to his throat.

For the first time, Newt finally got a sharp glimpse of the boy. He had feminine features: warm, honey eyes that sparkled with mischief; long, fanning eyelashes that curved onto the flushed apples of his cheekbones; exquisite, milky skin dotted with the most fragile of beauty marks; tousled, chocolate brown hair; perfect, plump, cupid brow lips that wobbled – it was tempting to bite into the roseate swell of the juicy flesh; the inquisitive fire of his stance, the ridged edges of his collarbones gleaming as he knelt, glancing at Newt with little fear.

Never had someone been so elegant as to wax poetry about them, but Thomas merited it. He was an exquisite, delicate beauty, indeed.

"If-If I stayed here instead of Papa, would you let him go?" Thomas pleaded, his golden eyes enlarging more. An iridescent tear slipped out of his fluttering lids. "Please?"

"Tom, no!" The old man screeched, his voice resounding in the dungeon. "I am old whereas you still have your whole life left."

Thomas ignored him. "Yes," Newt agreed easily, fixing his frozen face into the usual mask of hostility and indifference. The questioning doe-like eyes peered at Newt again from under his eyelashes, and although Newt knew he could not read my eloquence, he felt as if Thomas was staring into his very soul, unveiled for all to see. The deep, penetrating eyes from the eyes on fire lit a fuse in him, but it was getting out of hand. Newt was no longer in control of that fire.

Vaguely, behind him, he was aware of Minho waving one of his candles on the ledge. "That boy could be the one!" He whispered to Gally, who grunted in response.

It was not only Newt who heard it, though, as Thomas turned his eyes to the shelf as well. Minho went still, but he would find out anyway. "What-What was that?" Thomas asked regardless.

Newt scowled, my facial muscles relaxing into their now-usual stance. He yanked the door of the cell roughly, pulling the man out by his shirt. "Get in."

Thomas' lower lip quivered even more, and he looked like he was about to cry. "But...You didn't let me say goodbye," Thomas murmured mechanically. "Are you really that heartless?" He asked, rhetorically, and Newt felt myself shatter even more at the pure sorrow in his voice.

He groaned. "1 minute. Once this door closes, it will not open again." He returned the man, dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. "1 minute," Newt repeated again.

As void of emotion and care as Newt now was, he turned around to give the son and father pair some privacy. They would not be seeing each other in a long time.

"He could be the one," Minho whispered again into the darkness, masked from the pair by the chatters of reassurances and tears. "You have to hope, Newt."

He frowned at Minho. "It would never work," Newt grunted, but left it at that.

One minute was up. "Time is up," Newt growled, pulling the man by his shirt again.

"No, Tom, you can't go!" He yelled desperately, clutching at the bars. "I won't let you. I'll stay, instead."

Thomas' eyes welled with tears. "B-Bye, Papa," he stuttered, and before Newt could blink, he stuck out his foot and landed the man directly onto his shin. "I'm sorry!" He added, locking the dungeon door on himself.

The heartbreaking (even for him) wails of both son and father echoed in the castle.

–––––––––––––––––––––

Thomas glanced to his cell door tearily, blinking back more. Now was not the time to cry. He could do that once the beast has withdrawn.

"Come out," the beast, who had just reaped away his father out snarled, tugging on the door needlessly hard. "Now."

"I thought 'once this door closes, it will not open again'?" Thomas groused, simply incapable of stopping himself. It was presumably going to get him a sentence here and the Beast would change his mind about permitting Thomas out, but hey, what's in the past is in the past...

"Do you want to stay here, then?" The beast, whose name Thomas still hadn't learnt, asked coarsely.

Thomas swallowed his (already wounded) pride. "No."

"Then, come on," the beast said, hauling Thomas up to his feet with a rigid pull. Thomas stumbled up ungracefully, his ineptitude quickly catching up with himself. Before he knew it, he was tripping over his own cloak, scrambling to get up onto his hands and knees. Thomas thought he heard a chortle from somewhere above him, but it must have been tiredness catching up to him, again. The only other person here was Beast and he was definitely not the one who chuckled.

"What should I call you?" Thomas asked once he got up.

The beast didn't bother turning around from the stone foyers. "Why should I tell you?" He (Thomas could tell it was a he) demanded gruffly.

"So, ya know, I have something to call you that's not 'the Beast' or 'Master of This Castle'?" Thomas retorted, trying to blink back his tears that were suddenly racing in at the reminder that he was trapped here. Permanently. "You must not like the first one..." he murmured thoughtfully, levelling his eyes on the Beast's posterior.

"Call me Newt," the Beast – Newt, Thomas corrected himself – mumbled, his voice sinking another octave. "Not that we'll be talking much," he added hastily. Never mind, then...

"Gee, that's a nice attitude," Thomas muttered, groaning at his situation.

"Shut up," Newt deadpanned, giving him a fierce look with his glowing yellow eyes.

Thomas gulped. "Shutting up, now..." He might not be the smartest Shank around, but he wanted to live beyond 16, thank you very much.

"Here is your room," Newt answered stiffly. "You are to stay here. Do not go to the West Wing."

"What's in the West Wing?" Thomas demanded, biting down on his tongue as soon as he opened his mouth.

"None of your business," Newt uttered. He decided not to reply.

******

Once Thomas got to his room, he immediately crumpled onto the bed, not taking note of his surroundings. "Why?" He wailed. "Why me?"

"Honey, I'm sorry," a mellow voice drifted.

Thomas startled. "Who's there?" He didn't see any people. Who had spoken?

"It is I, Teresa," the same voice said again. "The wardrobe," Teresa, apparently, added, groaned disdainfully.

Thomas snapped his head towards the large closet in the corner of the room. "You talk?" He said, his mouth open wide. Though, considering the events of today, he shouldn't really be surprised that of course, there was a talking closet in his room.

"Many of us do," Teresa said, or more alike to singing. Her voice had a harmonic quality to it as if whispered from the depths of the ocean but risen from the tides.

Thomas' knees buckled from underneath him, and he fell onto the carpet. "W-Wha –––"

What was going on? Where was he? There was something about a beast? A Newt? A talking piece of furniture? I-I c-can't...breathe!

"Breathe, sweetheart," someone was whispering, their voice vociferous in the foggy bleakness of Thomas' mind. "How old are you?"

Thomas tilted his head in bewilderment when he heard the inquisition, but he answered it, nonetheless. "I-I'm...16."

"You're doing great, Darling," the same voice replied, and Thomas breathing started to become distinct. "What's your full title?"

"Thomas...Thomas Edison," Thomas panted, his heart palpitating, clutching at his head.

"Very good..." Thomas could feel his vision returning and that was the last thing he remembered before stumbling to the bed and collapsing.

–––––––––––––––––––––

The Beast himself, meanwhile, was walking to the West Wing. The one he told the boy not to go to.

"Newt, just think about it!" Minho's voice, let loose, was grumbling.

"For once, I agree with this Slinthead," Gally called, jabbing his "thumbs" at Minho. "He might be the one."

"Hey!" Minho's voice cut through the silence. "Who are you calling a 'Slinthead', you egoistic Shuck-face?" Both of his candles were waving around all over the place, and it was giving Newt a migraine. Minho was always energetic and turbulent, and that (seemingly) hadn't evolved.

"Shut up, both of you!" Newt's shout rumbled through the entire wing. Both fell deathly silent right away. "I wish to be alone. Please leave."

Both obeyed, but Minho not before casting a sad look behind him at his best friend. "Consider it, Newt. He might be the one."

To be honest, Newt had thought of it (a lot) but he knew it could not happen. Why would the adorable little boy want anything to do with him, a hideous beast? Perhaps, Thomas even had a significant other at home that he had to leave behind because of Newt. Someone as beautiful as Thomas would certainly have suitors lined up around the block.

*****

"Show me the boy," Newt commanded.

The mirror obeyed, as always, and he found himself facing at a brunette boy whose puffy, red-rimmed amber eyes were staring listlessly into the ceiling while Teresa tried her best to comfort him, but Newt could tell it just wasn't enough. "Honey, he's really not that bad," she was saying. "Newt's a great person, honestly, it's just that he –––"

"Kidnapped me and took me away from my only family left?" Thomas spat out. Newt recoiled.

Of course. Why would someone as perfect as Tommy love...a beast?

***

I hope you can tell I spent a lot of time trying to make this special...I spent so much time on Grammarly for this, lol. I'm not sure if I should have stuck with my old schedule, but here's the new one:

Chapter 5: Saturday 28/11/2020 Chapter 6: Monday 30/11/2020 Chapter 7: Wednesday 2/12/2020 Chapter 8: Saturday 5/12/2020 Chapter 9: Monday 7/12/2020 Chapter 10/Epilogue: Wednesday 9/12/2020

If everything goes according to plan...Well, let's just say it means I can start some new fics soon and you guys can start reading the finished story sooner rather than later...

Thanks for sticking around on this hazardous journey!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX| Part X

[starryhedgehog]

tell me a story

In which Lucas Lallemant is in love with the stars.

- - 

Lucas Lallemant has always been fascinated by the unknown.  By the pure knowledge, and space, and just the thrum of excitement by the way his mind likes to fade away and hurt when he thinks too much about existence and purpose and how everything started.

He remembers hanging up little glow in the dark stars on his bedroom ceiling as a little kid, lying down on his bed and pointing up at each little dot, a huge smile stretching up his lips.  “That’s Ursa Minor, and Andromeda, and …”

He remembers his fascination for the stars and despite the inconsistencies and skepticism, he falls in love with both astronomy and astrology, searching through his mom’s newspapers for clippings of daily horoscope and searching up internet articles about the position of the stars.

He compares the knowledge and he compares the idea of predicting the future, and he feels that he finds a place where he can belong.

So when Eliott invites him over and suddenly Lucas finds himself standing on Eliott’s balcony and staring up at the sky, he thinks he could actually melt.

Lucas’ eyes are so wide, and all the knowledge comes back.  The constellations, and the planets, and then the position of the stars, rising and falling signs, the outline of the moon and oh, it’s waning tonight.

“You do this often?” Eliott startles him out of his trance, and when Lucas turns to look, Eliott’s lips are curved into a smile and the look in his eyes is so intense and warm, and special.

“No,” Lucas says truthfully, eyes taking a far off look.  “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

Lucas swallows.  “Busy, I guess.”

Eliott senses the lie, seems to always be able to tell when Lucas lies, but he just shrugs and nudges Lucas’ shoulder.  “I come out here because it’s hard to sleep.  So I like to look at the stars, you know?”  Eliott’s smile grows wistful.  “Makes me feel like I belong.  A little.”

“You fall in love with everything,” Lucas smiles, turning his gaze from the sky to his hands.  “Is there something you don’t like?”

Eliott snorts.  “Mushrooms.  And cleaning.”

Lucas laughs.  He turns his gaze back up to the stars, and before he knows it, he’s blurting out the words that are gathering in his mind and begging to be let out.  “That’s Orion.  See,” he reaches out and points to the small constellation in the sky, “he’s got a club and a shield.”

Eliott’s eyes dance, and the light of the moon illuminates his cheekbones and the warmth in his eyes, and he’s fucking gorgeous.  “Where?”  He holds out his hand, pointing somewhere.  “Here?”

Lucas shakes his head, stifling laughter.  He gently moves Eliott’s hand and has him point somewhere off to the right.  “There.”

“What’s its story?”

“Hm?”

“The story,” Eliott presses.  “Constellations have stories.  I bet you know it.”

Lucas feels himself blush.  Because he does.  “He’s a hunter, liked to brag a lot.  He bragged so much, Gaia got mad --”

“The earth goddess?”

“--yes, and she made this scorpion go after him.”

“So he died?”

“No.  Well, yes, but not like that.  Then Apollo comes in, you know, Artemis’ brother, and tells her to shoot him because it’s an enemy.  And she does, but she finds out it’s Orion, who’s like her friend.”

“So this constellation is like, what, a memoir?”

Lucas tilts his head.  “Yeah, actually.”

He shivers, tucking his hands in his pockets.  “I thought you of all people would know the constellations.”

Eliott shrugs, amused.  “Why’s that?”

“You’re like this, artist type.”

Eliott bursts into laughter.  “And?”

Lucas is about to respond but shivers again.  “Fuck.  It’s freezing.”

“Stay here.”

Lucas furrows his eyebrows, watches as Eliott disappears through the sliding glass door, and then vanishes from sight.  

Lucas turns back to the sky, watching the lights flicker and pulse, and he thinks that despite everything, he’s a little glad that they’re still there.  Stars are constant, Lucas thinks, and he needs that.  Needs something to ground him.

“You look lost in thought,” Eliott remarks when he finally comes back, the glass door sliding open.

Lucas immediately feels warmth engulf him, and he turns to see Eliott wrapping a comforter over his shoulders, making sure it’s all around Lucas’ body.

“You just randomly had this lying around?”

“No,” Eliott says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “I just pulled it from my bed.  I’ll put it back later.”

Lucas snorts.  “You what?  You do realize there’s something called a blanket?  Which is why you don’t have to do this?”

Eliott nudges him in the ribs, but Lucas doesn’t feel it at all because the duvets around him are so warm and big.  

“Tell me another story,” Eliott says, staring at Lucas.

“Okay.”  Lucas thinks about it for a while, sees the constellation Andromeda, and feels his heart start to burst with knowledge.  He remembers hearing these stories from his mom, remembers reading them late at night when he was supposed to be asleep, and feels incredibly thankful that he hasn’t forgotten them.  “Andromeda’s supposed to be Cassiopeia’s daughter.  Cassiopeia thought she was the most beautiful woman, and Zeus got really angry because he thought the sea nymphs he made were the most beautiful.”

“Of course he did,” Eliott says, voice warm.

“So he made Cetus, this sea monster, and had it terrorize the oceans.  Cassiopeia was going to sacrifice Andromeda by chaining her to a rock, but Perseus, who killed Medusa, saved her by turning Cetus to stone.  Then they married.”

Lucas turns to look at Eliott, and his heart stops.  Eliott isn’t even looking at the stars.  He’s gazing at Lucas, eyes warm, and Lucas thinks that Eliott’s eyes are so intense, and he blushes.  “What?”

“Hm?”

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”  Lucas squeezes the duvets around him tighter.  “It’s weird, isn’t it?  That I know so much about them?”

“No,” Eliott says quickly.  “You just lit up when you were talking about them.”

“It’s weird,” Lucas says again, face red.  “You should’ve told me to shut up.”

“Why would I?  It’s beautiful.”

Lucas feels his heart stop.  “Beautiful?”

“You’re in love with the stars, Lucas.  There’s this wonder written all over your face, and it’s beautiful.”

Lucas stares at Eliott for a while.  He feels himself staring at Eliott with that same wonder, feels his heart bursting and a smile tugging at his lips.

Eliott shivers.

“What the fuck, why aren’t you wearing a jacket or anything?” Lucas snaps out of his trance, eyes narrowing.  “You went to go get me a huge comforter, and you didn’t even get yourself anything?”

Eliott shrugs.  “We could share.”

“Of course we’re sharing, you’re not freezing to death.”  He shifts closer to Eliott, wrapping the duvets around Eliott’s shoulders.

And then he freezes.  He’s just now realizing how close he is to Eliott, feels the brush of Eliott’s arm against his, feels the chill of his skin, feels so impossibly warm and thinks he might burn up.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says.  “Great.”

“You look flustered.”

Lucas blushes.  He looks up at Eliott and feels his heart do a little flip because Eliott’s smirking at him, and fuck, Eliott knows.

“No.”

Eliott raises an eyebrow, still smirking.  “Okay.”

Lucas thinks that’s it, that Eliott’s just going to drop it, but then Eliott’s moving closer to Lucas, and he can feel Eliott’s chest behind him and oh shit, Eliott’s resting his head on Lucas’ shoulder.

“I’m cold,” Eliott says, and his breath fawns against Lucas’ ear.

“Then get yourself a fucking jacket,” Lucas retorts, face red.

Eliott’s so close that Lucas can feel his laughter, and Lucas really has to resist the urge to melt right into Eliott.

“Want to tell me another story?” Eliott asks innocently.

“No,” Lucas says.  “You’re just going to stare at me and not even pay attention.”

Eliott pouts.  “Is that a bad thing?”

Lucas gives him a deadpan stare.

“Okay, fine.  How about I tell you a story?”

Lucas feels himself snort.  “Okay.”

Eliott pulls away from Lucas, shuffles forward so that they’re both standing at the edge of the balcony, staring out at the night sky.

“Once there was this raccoon,” Eliott begins after a while, “and he met this hedgehog.”

Lucas feels his breath catch in his throat.

“This raccoon was really sad because he didn’t know anyone, but when he saw the hedgehog, it was like everything was going to be okay again.  This hedgehog was always talking about the stars and constellations, and the raccoon liked to listen to the stories but he also really liked looking at the hedgehog instead.  Because the hedgehog is really, really beautiful but doesn’t realize it.”  Eliott’s voice drops, and he turns to look at Lucas, eyes careful.  “And the raccoon wants to know if maybe this hedgehog might like him back.”

Lucas looks up at Eliott with wide eyes.  “I think the raccoon knows the answer to that already,” he whispers.

Eliott smiles, then bites his lip.  “And what’s that answer?”

Lucas feels his heart swelling, thinks he could just about collapse from happiness.  “I think the raccoon’s more important to him than any constellation.”

The smile that spreads across Eliott’s lips is so bright, so unbelievably happy, and Lucas feels himself gravitating closer to Eliott.

Eliott kisses him, kisses him in the nighttime with the moonlight and the stars in the sky, and when he pulls away, his eyes are warm and happy, and so, so bright.

Lucas can feel his fingers brushing against Eliott’s, and he grabs Eliott’s hand, interlacing their fingers.  “You’re freezing.”

“So are you.”

“I want to hear another story,” Lucas whispers, resting his head against Eliott’s shoulder.  “Yours are better than mine.”

Eliott wraps an arm around Lucas, and with the duvet and this new warmth, Lucas thinks that he wants to stay out here forever.

“Okay.  But only if you pay attention.”

“No promises.”

Eliott laughs, and he presses another kiss to Lucas’ lips.

Lucas thinks he hasn’t been happier.

[keeroo92]

An Accidental Discovery

Hey, everyone! Here’s another entry for the Kinktober prompts, this one’s for Biting. Decided to go in a direction other than vampires, since there’s a blood prompt coming up anyway. Featuring V x Reader.

Word count - 1,040

________

Soft shadows danced across the walls to quiet music only the denizens of darkness heard. Discarded clothing speckled the carpeted floor, leather and cotton and denim hastily torn away to reveal new territories. The icy air chilled your bare skin, but the blankets were warm and so was the man underneath you.

Your hand stroked the section you couldn’t wrap your lips around. Strands of hair tickled at your nose, but you’d expected that. Smooth, heated flesh slid across your tongue, bumping against your throat deeper than you thought possible. Long fingers tangled in your hair, coaxing you to the perfect angle for his pleasure. Decadent and sinful moans slipped from his parted lips and sent flames to gather in your belly.

“Ah- what was that?”

You pulled back with a soft plop and a sheepish smile. It was the first time you’d tried this; your jaw was tired and your arms ached from leaning over him. The magazine didn’t mention any of that, just what to do with your tongue.

“S- sorry!”

For days, you’d been practicing on lollipops and popsicles. The swirling wasn’t too difficult, but keeping the rhythm still challenged you. He didn’t fit in your mouth the way the sugary treats did, and he certainly didn’t taste like them.

He tasted better.

Inked arms shifted as V sat up to look you in the eye. His pale cheeks were flushed, a glassy look in his normally bright eyes. The way his mouth hung open made you swell with pride; you must’ve done at least part of it right.

“Did you just bite me?” he asked.

Your hand left his length to fidget with the soft sheets as you sat back. “Not on purpose… should I stop? Did you… you know, like it?”

The poet answered by pulling you closer for a deep kiss. Did he taste himself on your lips? Did he mind? By the way his tongue kept darting past your mouth, it wasn’t a problem. You couldn’t help but grin at the idea and broke away to cough through the laughter.

“I enjoyed it thoroughly,” he murmured.

Another surge of pride flooded you at his words. All you wanted was to make him feel good, and to know you succeeded was a thrilling elixir despite the nerves. What other new ideas might he enjoy? The article listed off so many!

“So, you liked it when I used my teeth?”

He hummed and stroked your ribs, trailing the pads of his fingers over the tender area with a soft smile. “I did, oddly enough.”

You returned his grin and pushed him back into the pillows. The tattoos under your hands whipped across his skin, proof of his excitement he was helpless to conceal as you leaned down to plant a row of kisses on his collarbone. Without warning, you took hold and suckled, adding your own marking to his patterned flesh.

The thrilled gasp he rewarded you with only added fuel to the inferno and you added another mark. Lithe fingers roamed across your spine as you decorated his chest with your own designs, soothing kisses and licks making their way lower and lower. With a downright mischievous grin, you nipped at his hipbones, carefully sinking your teeth in just enough to have him panting.

By the time your lips reached his slick head, he was a mess of purpling bruises and angry welts. You paused to meet his wild eyes, shoving aside the heady arousal that left you aching with a need you barely understood.

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” you said, then dipped down to take him in your mouth once more with a quiet hum.

His answering groan was all the response you needed, and you hollowed your cheeks as you drew back. Your palm joined in at his base, stroking in time with the movement of your neck as the magazine explained. A few investigative licks and you found the perfect spot to press your tongue, right against what you thought was a vein.

Muttered praise and curses spilled from the ebony-haired man beneath you. His hips arced to meet your mouth and his fingers fisted your hair. He had to be close, that’s what it meant when it got tight like that, right? How incredible would it be to have him finish from using your mouth alone?

The idea coupled with the slurping noises electrified you. Your free hand flew to your aching core and struggled to match the pace of your bobbing, rubbing haphazard circles in a desperate attempt to gain friction. Mewling whimpers snuck past your tongue as you brought yourself to the brink.

“I’m c- close!” the poet gasped. “Just a little- bit--!”

With a final hum, you narrowed your jaw just enough to scrape your teeth against him. V released the sexiest sound you’d ever heard as he lifted his hips and tugged you down on his cock, pulses of salty warmth coating your tongue. You latched on and followed his stuttering motions, careful not to let a single drop escape.

By the time he went still, your tongue tingled under his seed and your jaw was howling in protest. The ache between your legs still demanded its own satisfaction, but it was enough to revel in the look of stunned bliss on the poet’s face. Your trembling arms lifted you from his spent cock and you swallowed, licking your lips as you dragged your tired body to lie at his side.

“That… was amazing.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, slightly embarrassed for eliciting such a reaction. His tangy flavor lingered on your taste buds as you curled around him and bashfully hid your face in his chest. Beads of sweat dotted his heavily marked flesh, another sign of your success. Dark lashes fluttered against your cheekbones as you closed your eyes and relaxed, mind already seeking the escape of rest.

“But now it’s my turn.”

Your eyes shot open as he shifted, extricating himself from your grasp. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he might want to follow your example, but in the next few minutes you surrendered to his will as he tried a few new ideas of his own.

[ineffableyellow-blog]

Blue to Gold

(Tony and Stephen are husbands and live in the tower together, that’s all you gotta know prior to reading. Okay have fun!)

Tony woke up to the realization that his bed was cold and empty where it should not have been. More specifically, it was empty where it should be occupying one Stephen Strange, but all Tony could feel was the dip in his pillow and the chill folds of their sheets. He groaned in attempts to call him back, but was only met with a breathy chuckle from the heavy weight on far side of the bed. From the far side of Tony.

“Sorry babe, did I wake you?” 

“Come back t’ bed.” Tony murmured through a mouth full blanket. His throat was raw and felt like cotton. “I’m lonely.” Again, only a small snicker. No actual Stephen at his side.

“I’ll be right there, I promise. Just give me a minute.” Stephen said, sounding like he was smiling, but there was a mismatch in his voice. His voice was light weight, but it shook. Like he was straining himself to lift said weight.

Tony was not one to be left hanging, especially when it came to Stephen. If something was wrong he was on it and quick to try anything that helped to fix the problem.

“Stephen,” Tony said, hefting himself off the bed. “What’s wrong?” He asked, blinking away the fuzziness in his vision. 

“Everything’s fine Tony, go back to bed.” Stephen urged, his voice sounding smaller than it did before.

“No no no, don’t give me that. What’s wrong babe?” Tony was persistent, pushing himself away from his spot and finding his way next to Stephen.

It wasn’t too late in the night, but the room had a dark glow to it. The sun was barely poking through the horizon. There was maybe a dot of yellow the size of a pearl. It left everything in their room to be coated in a shade of pale blue or pastel grey. It felt still, like there was no room for the sun to move up any further, and they were stuck in darkness. 

A silence fell comfortably between the two as they drank in the early start to the morning. Tony glanced around his room, trying to make sense of the many shapes that blurred themselves into blue, until everything finally sharpened and smoothed out enough that he could properly see Stephen.

There was never a day where Tony wasn’t amazed by his husband, but it hurt to see him sometimes. The slope of his gashed nose that connected to split lips, strands of gray hairs that covered constellations of blood and purple scabs, the sharp angle of a wine colored bruise that swelled along the base of his jawline, his cheekbone that curved along the bubble of a keloid scar. Stephen was undoubtedly gorgeous, but he looked to be in pain all the time and Tony was helpless to do anything about it. It was torture, he wanted nothing but to be the mender to his wounds.

“Is everything okay Stephen?” Tony asked one more time, thinking maybe he would explain, all he got though was the lingering of Stephen’s eye’s. Tony was quick to follow his gaze and found that Stephen was glued to the tremor in his hands. 

Veins that popped a streak blue coursed through the quaking in his fingers and the shuttering of his palms. His hands were more cuts and bruises than actual skin and they looked as if they were made out of straw, it always made Tony’s blood run cold. 

“Do you remember when I told you about the time I went through one of the worst depressive episodes in my life Tony?” Stephen laughed breathlessly, his skin noticeably paling until his skin was just a grayish-blue on top of white. “I hate it...”

“Hey now,” Tony whispered, encasing his hands around Stephen’s. He could feel the juddering of his husband’s palm transfer to his own skin; it was enough to make Tony’s heart swell in the back of his throat. To feel the buzz of what drained Stephen’s happiness in the past was a feeling unlike any other. He was stuck, he didn’t know the right words to bring him out of this. “Stephen… You… You know you can tell me right? That this won’t change the way I think right? You can tell me...” Tony’s grip tightened, trying his best to pull Stephen’s focus out of wherever it was trailing. 

“Jesus- of… Of course I know that, it’s just…” Stephen swallowed thickly, as if holding back something. “It’s so difficult to remember that sometimes.”

“Stephen.” Tony gasped, not sure where to go with that. Stephen had squeezed his eyes shut and let out a heavy sigh. 

“I know, I know. It’s just… To look down and remember the most painful point in my life… To remember a time where… Nothing mattered anymore. I didn’t even care if I died the next day... It… It was horrifying.” Stephen had said so coolly and so calmly Tony didn’t even recognize the tear rolling down his cheek until it fell in between their hands.  

“Stephen,” Tony repeated, hoping that the sound of his name would ground him from whatever trance he was falling into himself. He wanted nothing more than to just float away from it all, but he can’t. He has to be here, especially for Stephen. He can’t lose him, not again. “That is so far in the past, Stephen, you can leave that all behind. I know it’s going to be hard, but that’s okay. I will be right here with you every step of the way.” 

“Tony, I-... I don’t want to be like that again. I don’t know if I can.” Stephen was barely audible, it wasn’t just his hands shaking anymore.

“You won’t! Not on my watch. I promise… You… You can let go now Stephen. This doesn’t have to control you.” Tony reassured. His chest felt like sparklers going off all at once, he wanted to let Stephen know with all there was to give that he would be okay. He needed Stephen to know all of that. Tony will always be there to help him fight through his darkest thoughts, they don’t have to take hold. 

He does not have to fight through a day of darkness all by himself. 

“I will always be here for you.”

Stephen inhaled sharply to try and keep from breaking, but Tony must have struck a chord because he had collapsed in his arms shortly after. His entire body wracked with sobs and his arms tight around Tony’s shoulders. As if either of them would crumble if Stephen let go. Tony, after the initial shock, just wrapped his arms around Stephen’s waist and allowed the air to become breathable again. Until the quiet wasn’t so full anymore. 

It was a while before Stephen had pulled himself away from Tony with a shuddering breath, his hands traveling down until they were both interlaced with his husbands.

“Sorry.” Stephen murmured, his face hollow white and speckled with red.  

“Don’t apologize.” Tony took one of his hands away and instead wiped away a trailing tear with his thumb. He traced along the shell of his ear, the angle of his jaw and landed at the base of his chin, pushing his head up so his eyes could meet Tony’s. “I love you Stephen, so much more than you can possibly know.”

“I love you too.” Stephen more mouthed the words than actually said it, knowing that any use of his voice might strike up another sob.

“The world gives you too much to hold sometimes, but I will always be there to held carry it along.” Tony said.

And while he thought it was pretty damned eloquent, Stephen didn’t seem to think so.

“Jesus fuck that was corny.” Stephen rolled his eyes, failing terribly at biting down a smile. The snort wasn’t too appreciated either. However, he seemed different. Like a switch had been flipped and he was slowly lightening up. 

“Oh… My god, I just practically recited fucking poetry for you and you laugh?” Tony mocked offense, but was happy to see Stephen springing back to himself. The tremors in his hands were still there and the color in his skin still had a few more shades to layer back, but he seemed lighter. Like a weight had been pulled off. “Now can you please come back to bed? I’m tired as hell and I did not expect to wake up before noon.”

“Oh jeez, I’m so sorry, I must be such an inconvenience.” Stephen rolled his eyes, but pushed himself off the edge of the bed and was quick to take back his spot. All with an unyielding smile. Tony quickly jumped back into his spot as well, barely leaving any room for time to pass by as he clung himself onto Stephen.

“I really do love you though Stephen.”

“I love you too, Tony.” Stephen actually said this time. His hand tracing along the edges of Tony’s Arc Reactor. “I love you too.”

The sun was halfway over the horizon now, leaving the room to brighten with a mellow shade of pink and yellow. Dark blue fading into a glowing gold.  

Alrighty, maybe I got a little carried away with it at the end and it turned out supremely cheesy, but meh. What’cha gonna do? Anyway. Thank you so much @strangelyiron, literally one of the coolest writers I know. Their writing is has actually inspired a lot of the IronStrange things I’ve written in the past and I really think you should check them out if you haven’t because a writer that inspires is a super freaking awesome writer and they deserve all the love! So go give it to them! Alrighty, that’s all i have to say. Sorry for keepin’ ya. Bye bye, have a good day y’all. 

[kenzieam]

Druid - Chapter Eight

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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Thank you, my lovelies, for your kind words and support XOXO

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Catch up here

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LEV

Stitch continues, shining a small penlight in my eyes and asking me a variety of questions. What’s my name? What date is it? What’s the names of the two scary blond bikers standing sentry over me? He seems relieved by my answers.

Gently, he cups my face, his fingertips pressing underneath my jawbone while his thumbs start to probe my cheekbones.

“Does this hurt?” He asks quietly, watching my face for a reaction.

I’m about to say no when he touches a certain spot closer to my eye and sudden pain flares in my face. I wasn’t expecting it, and my flinch is as much in surprise as it is soreness, but Stitch frowns and Thor and Steve shift their weight from foot to foot.  

“I know it hurts, but hold still, please.” He murmurs, leaning closer. His fingers concentrate on the painful spot, his exploration much more exact and while I can tell he’s trying very hard to be gentle, now that he’s awoken those nerves again, they’re upset and screeching in indignation. I manage not to flinch again, but my jaw is tensed, my fingers knotted in the bedspread.

“Stitch, is it broken?” Steve asks quietly.

Stitch pauses before shaking his head. He’s about to continue when James appears at the door, and if Nat and Sable hadn’t scrambled out of his way, he probably would have just bowled them over. He approaches me, eyes locked on my face; he’s flushed, seems agitated, as if wherever he went or whoever he went to talk to strained his nerves even further than before.  

Stich shuffles sideways, still crouching, to give him room and James drops onto his knees in front of me.

“How are you, doll?” He reaches up to cup my face but hesitates. Stitch answers for me because I’m temporarily speechless by the depth of emotion in James’ eyes.

“No sign of concussion. Pupils are reacting normally. She’s painful in the lower orbital rim but I don’t believe it’s broken. She’s going to have a black eye for sure, and maybe a bruised cheek, but I think swelling will be minimal. Keep ice close by if it does though.” He smiles encouragingly at me before turning to stare directly at James. He doesn’t speak but he must ask a question with his eyes because James turns his head to face him and nods once; a sharp motion, his expression cold.  

Stitch stands with a grunt.  “It’s not necessary, but if you’re worried Prez, you can wake Levi up in a few hours and check her pupil response again; I’ll leave the penlight.”  

That seems to be the cue for everyone to leave and Thor and Steve step closer, bending over and pressing brief kisses to the top of my head. Sable and Nat dart forward and give me quick squeezes before retreating, their men behind them. Stitch pulls a small vial out of his bag but James shakes his head at him and he puts it back.

“You can have some acetaminophen and ibuprofen for the pain but make sure you eat something. Come find me if you need help.” He backs out of the room and James shuts the door behind him. He turns, about to speak when someone knocks.  

James opens the door to a prospect standing outside and snatches the backpack he’s proffering. He nods in thanks and slams the door again, locking it this time.  

I watch him approach the bed, he seems cautious, almost tentative and I wonder what’s going on in his head. He drops my backpack, the bag I packed in anticipation of staying here with him for a few days, beside me on the bed.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He startles slightly, as if realizing that he’s not hiding whatever’s bothering him as well as he thought he was. “I just can’t...” he breaks off, flexing his fists. “You got hurt, right in my goddamn clubhouse-”

I sense his impending spiral downwards and stand, moving directly in front of him. He tries to flinch away and I grab his stubbly jaw, forcing him to look at me.  

“That was not your fault.” I reply, trying to will him to believe me through the strength in my voice. “You can’t control everything that happens. He was down-state, right? So that’s his President’s fault, his mistake.”

Something flashes in James’ eyes, hurt and torment and something darker, reminding me that he just killed for me. That, surprisingly, doesn’t bother me, what bothers me is how little the knowledge actually troubles me. I realize I trust this man completely; that although he currently has another man’s, a dead man’s, blood dotted on his face, I know he would never hurt me; would in fact kill for me, in a heartbeat. The disparity between these two parts of him should scare me, but they don’t; if anything, I feel safer.  

He sags slightly, as if the weight on his shoulders is temporarily too much to bare. “You should have a shower,” he murmurs quietly. “Wash that fucker off you.”

I nod, and turn towards the bathroom. I glance over my shoulder at him and he’s still watching me.  

“Join me?” I ask quietly.

Desire and relief flare in his soulful eyes and he nods, a lazy grin pulling at his lips.

I reach into the shower and start the water, then turn back to James. He’s leaning against the doorframe a few feet away, watching me. There’s an easiness, a languidness in his powerful body that belies the tension still visible in his eyes. Holding his gaze, I pull my shirt over my head and drop it beside me. His nostrils flare as he spots my delicate lace bra and his fists squeeze together.

Next, I unbutton my jeans and start to shimmy them down slowly. He swallows hard, eyes flicking up from staring at my legs to meet my eyes before dropping again and I’m instantly warmed by the heat I see in his gaze.  

I hear him groan faintly when I unsnap my bra, and it drags into a low, animal sound when I pull down my underwear and kick them towards him.  

“Are you coming?” I purr, fully meaning the double-entendre as I pull the door shut behind me.

As I hoped, my words have the desired effect, and James hasn’t even fully removed his clothes before he’s barreling in behind me. Luckily, the shower is larger than normal, and I’m not immediately crushed against the wall. His powerful body shelters me from the water as his arms wrap around me and he’s almost violent with the force he captures my mouth with, a startling contrast to the tremble I feel in his lips.  

He pulls away with effort, his pupils blown nearly black. I try to tug him close again but he tosses his head out of my grip and reaches past me, snagging a bottle on the nearby shelf. There’s a plea in his eyes when he looks at me again and I understand.

He needs this now. He needs to care for me, reassure himself that I’m truly okay. I close my eyes and relax as his massive hands touch me, caress me as he massages the body wash into my skin, scouring away Lurch’s stain. This is heaven, drawing out my tension and worries; I feel so safe, so cherished under his touch.  

After a time, he lets me return the massage, scrub the blood from his face and knead the tightness from his muscles. His hands curl at my neck as the water pounds down onto us and I drop my head back with a moan. He crowds against me suddenly, mouth capturing mine with hungry intensity. My head spins under the ferocity of his attack and I almost whimper as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. His arms band around me, his body presses against me and I feel him hot and hard against my lower belly. I claw him closer still and we’re almost frantic in our lust. I push my hips against his, inviting him to push inside me but he grunts in refusal, increasing the fervor of his mouth on mine instead.  

I haven’t made out with this level of intensity or fever since my early hormone-ridden high school years with my first real boyfriend, when we were enthusiastic but didn’t have a clue how to move past second base. If it wasn’t for James holding me so close, so tightly against him as his arms slid and curled across my body, I’d collapse in a heap at his feet. Then, his hands are grabbing my ass and lifting me, slamming my back against the shower wall. I wrap my legs around his lean hips, whimpering with desperation, squirming against his straining cock.  

So close; he’s almost there, his cockhead rubbing hard in my soaked folds. I rut frantically against him, feeling like I’m going to die if he doesn’t push inside me, fill me with his rigid shaft; then nearly scream with frustration when he pulls away, letting my feet drop to the floor.  

He’s panting, eyes blown with lust, breath rasping through his parted lips. “Not here.” He growls, tugging at my hand, dragging me from the shower behind him. We barely scrub a towel over our dripping bodies before he’s yanking me to the bed, throwing me onto it with a bestial snarl. Crawling up my body, he captures my mouth again, stealing what’s left of my rational mind, my legs falling open in greedy anticipation.                                                            

He knees my thighs even further apart, then fills me with one trembling push, his entire body shuddering as he groans low and deep in his chest.  

“Fuck,” he moans, a wrecked, broken sound. “You feel even better than I remember.”

He’s completely overwhelmed by being inside me, teetering on the edge of exploding and I’d be preening with pride if I wasn’t also fighting not to erupt myself. My thighs are shaking around his lean hips and small, hitching moans leave James’ lips as I contract involuntarily around him, drawing him deeper inside. He’s splitting me in half and the sensations are mind-blowing. How have I existed for the last year without this perfection otherwise known as James’ cock?

Finally, with some semblance of control, he starts to move; small, soft thrusts at first, sliding and gliding with the perfect amount of sweet friction. Shivers of bliss rocket up my spine and he feels me contracting around him, hissing as he fights for control of his traitorous body, a body that obviously is ready to shatter into a million pieces, ready to pulse and spill deep inside me.  

He moves stronger now, each snap of his hips precise and powerful, thrusting deep and brushing all the sensitive places inside me. I’m riding a razor’s edge right now, ready to plunge into the abyss.

“Fuck, yeah,” His rough growl is like a flick directly on my clit. “Come all over my cock, baby. Scream for me.”

His dirty words are the spark that lights my fire and I explode, not caring how loud I’m screaming his name and he fucks me through it, slamming his hips against me, growling savagely against my throats as I squeeze him like a vice.  

“Goddamn, babydoll.” He groans, hooking his arm beneath my thigh to lift my leg over his shoulder. This new angle lets him in even deeper and my second climax is building almost frighteningly fast. James is slamming into me so hard the headboard is banging against the wall but it only seems to fuel him. There will be no question after tonight who I belong to; the whole clubhouse can probably hear us but even more, there’s no way to survive this primal, eternal mating of souls without my being permanently marked by this man, by his sweat, semen and very being imprinting on me like a brand, forever stamping me as his, and him as mine.  

His orgasm is almost violent, his roar savage as he explodes and I feel him pulse and throb inside me, spilling his seed in thick hot spurts and I follow with a muffled scream.  

“Fuck, Levi!” he cries, throwing his head back as he hips shudder against mine. Then he’s collapsing onto of me, absolutely spent by the power and violence of his release, panting in the crook of my neck. I’m equally as wasted, gasping for breath and our bodies continue to shiver with aftershocks, James’ still twitching inside me with each shudder. Our skin is sweat-slicked, the air around us thick with the mingled musk of our love-making and I’m almost purring with satisfaction.            

He rolls off me with a groan, pulling me tight to his heaving body, banding his arms around me and nuzzling his face into my throat. He’s almost desperate with his need to cling to me, to hold me close and I feel a flicker of guilt. The last time we were together like this, another primal, soul-shaking encounter, I pushed him away almost immediately after, disappeared for a year. He’s scared I’m going to do it again.  

If only I could muster the energy to tell him the truth; the only place I want to be right now is right here, buried in his arms, gathering my strength just so that I can move to straddle him again, impale myself on his glorious cock and feel the bliss of his release inside me again, see the awe in his gaze and feel the reverence in his touch when I come apart above him, letting him see how deeply he affects me, how tightly I’m bound to him.  

I hum, snuggling as close as I can, inhaling his calming masculine scent. I’m languid with satiation, more content then I think I’ve ever been and I feel the same from James, now that he’s realizing I’m not planning on running again.  

He cups my chin, tilting my face to capture my lips and the tenuous control I’d been gaining back laying here, the ability to simply move again is stolen a second time by the power behind his kiss, the emotion driving it. I’m instantly, painfully alive again in his arms, my hips seeking his, brushing against his rapidly hardening cock.  

Gripping my hip, he sinks inside me with a groan, rolling so he’s on top of me, our lips still connected. His kiss is questing and hungry, caressing and claiming and when his tongue grazes mine I shiver beneath him, drawing an appreciative groan from deep in his chest.  

He pulls away, and I’m about to whimper with the loss when he looks into my eyes, the almost supernatural blue deep and bottomless. His hand cups my face as his hips lazily thrust against me and he smiles; a languorous grin that lights up his whole face. I’ve never seen him this peaceful and elated before.  

I smile back, and it’s like I’ve lit up his entire world.  

“I love you, Levka.” He murmurs, his voice low.          

I jolt, speechless at his confession. He’s watching me, beginning to tense when I don’t immediately reply. I can’t form the words right now, not that I don’t feel something incredibly powerful, I do; but I’ve never been able to say those words... to anyone.  

“James, I-” Fuck it. I reach up, cupping the back of his head and pull him down towards me. Our lips connect and I throw the full weight of my emotions into my kiss, begging him to hear my heart when my mouth can’t yet answer. He shudders against me, moaning, clawing closer as he senses and understands what I’m trying to convey. He starts to move, thrusting slowly into me, and I feel his answering passion, a desire and emotion thick and heavy, sweet and wonderful, wrapping me tightly in his warmth and safety.  

My orgasm is gradual to build under his slow movements and his eyes bore into mine, studying every subtle nuance and flicker of what I’m feeling, seeming to draw from my mounting passion.  

“Baby,” he groans, lips parted. He strains, spine arching as he drives inside me, filling me completely and it throws me over the edge, plunging me into a breathless climax, pleasure crashing over me in waves, would drag me under if not for the anchor of James around me.  

He groans, following me with a strangled growl, hips pressing to mine as he pulses and throbs. A bone-deep satisfaction washes over me, a feeling I can only describe as rightness, total perfection. I’ve never been the type to wax poetic before, certainly not while in bed with someone, but it’s overwhelming. How I missed this before, not recognized my body’s response to James, I’ll never understand. How I managed to ignore his draw for years during school and while I was with Thor, I’ll probably never be able to explain.

I’ve been standing in front of my life, my reason for life, for years, and never opened my eyes to it... until now.  

I wake later to James’ gentle touch, his rough hand tenderly caressing my side. I crowd into his space and he welcomes me, capturing my mouth as his hands continue their exploration. He rolls suddenly and I see the command in his eyes. I’ve never been one to give up too much control in bed, but part of me wants to be dominated by him right now, to let him manhandle me. His grip is tight on my hips as he guides me to straddle him, holds himself steady so I can slide down onto his straining length.  

His groan makes me shiver, the flash of lust in his eyes kryptonite to my soul.  

“Fuck, yeah.” He grunts, flexing upwards into me and rocking my hips mercilessly against him. “Ride me, fuck-” he filthy words are drowned out by his guttural groan and I throw everything I have into obeying his command, not caring if the entire damn clubhouse can hear us right now. Let them know that Cannon has claimed his woman, that she fills him with the same level of animalistic passion he does her.  

He half-sits up, head falling back and eyes rolling closed when his release hits and the hot pulses of his seed deep inside me throw me into dizzying climax, my vision greying at the edges. For long moments, I can only exist, let the sensations crash over me, drag me along and then James is pulling me back down, tucking me against his chest. I’m too sated to move, too spent to even speak and fall asleep with James’ warmth around me, his lips pressing a tender kiss to my shoulder.  

Light pierces my bubble and I open my eyes slowly, reluctantly. I squint, realizing its daylight out and the sun is peering through a gap in the curtains of the room.  

“Good morning, baby.” James’ voice is hoarse, a sexy rasp. We’re facing each other, laying on our sides and James is gazing at me. As I focus on him, he reaches over and trails his fingertips along my jaw.

“Good morning,” I croak, throat sore from all the screaming I’ve done lately. He looks like he’s been awake for a while. “What are you doing?” I murmur around a yawn.  

His smile is soft. “Watching you.”        

I hum in response, eyes fluttering closed.

“I can’t believe you’re mine.” He whispers.  

A warmth fills me. “I am.” I open my eyes, tears making him blurry. “And you’re mine.” The words hit me and roll past my tongue, sweet as honey. “I love you too, James.”

His eyes flash, widening with surprise and happiness. His answering kiss is possessive and greedy, stealing my breath and making my head swim. Pulling away, he rests his forehead to mine and exhales, sounding like he’s releasing a heavy weight.  

“You have no idea,” his voice hitches for a moment. “How long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

I’m genuinely curious. “How long?”

I feel him grin against me. “Since middle school, no. Since third grade. You transferred to the school and walked into Mrs. Abernathy’s class and I leaned over and whispered to Steve, ‘that’s the girl I’m going to marry’.      

“Stalker.” I tease, brushing a kiss to his stubbly jaw. “You never said anything. We went to school together for years, we shared classes, and you never spoke to me. Why not? Why me?”

He tips his head back, looking at me for a moment as if I’m joking. “You have no idea, do you? How beautiful you are.” His gaze is serious as a heart attack as he continues to speak, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, inside and out.” He smiles, “it’s your laugh, your smile... have you never noticed? When you laugh? How people just stop and stare at you?”  

I shrug, I honestly didn’t. “Still haven’t told me why you never talked to me.”

Now it’s James’ turn to shrug. “You were this beautiful girl from the good side of town, I was a poor kid living with my mom and step-dad on the wrong side of the tracks. I spent all my time at the club, slaving over engines, washing bikes. I never had the time or the money to ask you out, to take you anywhere fancy.”

“I never wanted fancy.”  

“You deserved more than I could give you.”

“And now?”

“I don’t care if I deserve you anymore, I want you.”

I fall silent, processing this and James watches me, thumb still stroking gentle circles on my cheek.  

“You know, I broke Steve’s nose over you once.”

I bark a surprised laugh. “What?”

He grins sheepishly. “Senior year. You had study hall; Steve and I were skipping, smoking out in the parking lot at his truck. You were sitting outside on that bench, remember the one? Under that big maple with the drooping branches?”

I do and nod, that was one of my favorite places to sit outside. “It was easy to hide there and watch you.” At his surprised inhale, I continue. “You didn’t think you were the only one paying attention, did you?”

“You...?”

“I had feelings for you too, James. But you were this cool kid with a motorcycle, best friends with the school jock; you’d never have looked at the goody two-shoes bookworm... or so I thought.”

James exhales, shaking his head at our mutual stupidity. After a long pause he continues. “I was watching you, not knowing you were watching me back.” Heat flushes his cheeks. “And Steve finally just says ‘Go talk to her!’ and I was like, ‘no fucking way’. So, he said ‘fine, I will’ and started walking towards you.”

I jolt in realization. “That’s why you punched him! I wondered what the hell was going on.”

James is laughing and shaking his head. “Yeah, punk deserved that broken nose.”

I can’t help my giggles as James draws me close, chuckling with me. Steve walked around for weeks with two black eyes; now I know why.  

“Poor Steve.” I tease mournfully.

“Poor Steve, my ass.” James grumbles.  

“I’m going to have to start correcting myself now,” I murmur, drifting back into a happy haze.

“’Bout what?” James murmurs, lips caressing my forehead.  

My tongue is loose, and god knows what will pour out before my brain gets a chance to weigh in. “Since I’m yours now... I should start calling you by your club name. Cannon. And I need one too...” I trail off into a yawn.

“Don’t.” James replies, tucking me closer. “I like hearing you call me James.”

“No one else does.”  

“I know. Just you. You’re the only one, I like the way you say it.”

“But around the club-”

“Around the club, call me Cannon. But please, use my name when we’re alone.”

I snuggle closer, burying my face into James’ throat, so close all I can smell is him, he’s all around me. “James,” I whisper, lips brushing his pulse point. “James. James. James.”

He groans, a shudder running through his body and burrows his face deeper in my hair.  

I’m about to take this farther, purr his name while I sit up to straddle him again, croon and murmur his name like a benediction as I take him back inside me, but faint noises from downstairs reach our ears just as my traitorous stomach starts rumbling, breaking the moment. James growls, darkened eyes flashing before he sits up, pecks my lips then says. “Come shower with me then we’ll go downstairs. The prospects always make a hangover breakfast after parties like that.”

“Hangover breakfast?”

“Yeah, you know, greasy and fried. Hungry yet?”

I bite my bottom lip suggestively and squirm away, letting him draw his own conclusions. He reads me perfectly and surges into the bathroom behind me, growling, body hard with lust.

He takes me in the shower, pushing inside me with a groan as my legs wrap around his waist, pressing me against the wall. Our eyes lock and hold as he thrusts inside me and I cup his face with my hands, studying every subtle flash in his beautiful eyes, I purr his name like I wanted to and he shudders against me, dropping his head back with a wrecked groan, murmuring ‘again, baby,’ in a strained voice. He slams into me hard, chasing his own release as I climax around him, chanting his name, fueling his increasingly desperate movements, then he’s groaning in the crook of my neck as he comes too, giving me one last tender kiss before setting my feet back on the floor.  

I borrow one of his hoodies and pull it over my shirt, then follow James a little nervously down the stairs. He’s holding my hand tightly, pulling me gently along and I take a deep breath as we enter the dining area. Too many heads pop up to look at us, but many are still hurting from last night and drop back down quickly. James guides me to a large table near the back, where Steve, Nat, Thor and Sable sit, various plates scattered in front of them.  

“Good morning.” Steve greets, a sly tone in his voice. He side-eyes Thor and shares a grin with him.

“Sleep well?” Thor asks innocently, batting his eyelashes, slurping some OJ through his straw noisily. His eyes flick to Steve and they both look ready to explode.

“Get fucked, both of you.” James retorts and they started howling with laughter, their women rolling their eyes.  

“Children.” Nat condemns, shaking her head as I sit. James sits beside me, scooting his chair closer so our thighs are touching. “Good morning, Levi.” She smiles.  

I smile at both women, cheeks warm. “Good morning.”

[jeagerism]

You're Everything (p.p.)

Author : @dej_okay

Word Count : 2.4k +

Warnings : like two swear words, fluffff, like 2% angst, cute peter when isn't he cute though

Author's Note :  Thank you to some of my biggest inspirations @hufflepuffholland @babyparker and @parkerroos and @sam-a-holland and @rileywrites-parker

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Tags : @tiny-friggin-human

Day One

Peter Parker was on top of the world.

The smile framing his baby face hadn't left all day.

And it was because of her.

How had he managed to score a date with her, of all people. Her. She made him so happy, and she didn't even try.

Peter was awkward, so awkward he had trouble answering questions in class. What made him so appealing to her? However, it wasn't a shock that she'd caught his eye.

She was everything.

The perfect girl. She was smart, and independent. She never took anybody's shit. And she was beautiful. He loved her eyes. Her eyes reminded him of every thing right in this world. Of every thing good, and just.

She was everything. Everything.

"Parker?"

She was there, beside him, that smile cheesing straight at him. She was there. So close that he could tilt his head and smell the strawberry shampoo in her hair. Oh god, he thought, she's actually here.

He smiled, shy, a tight lipped one, trying to control that overwhelming feeling of happiness inside of him. And oh gosh, she's here.

-

Day Twenty-four

Here they were again. Together, crisp, cool air of autumn blowing through the cracked window in her living room. The warm material of her leg seeping through her leggings and over to his own leg, warming his whole body.

How did he tell her how much he loved this?

"Peter!"

He grinned, and glanced down, her hand gripping his arm, eyes trained on the television, the scene happening in front of her obviously an entertaining one.

God, you're pretty.

His hand reached down, biting his lip, fingers reaching for the unoccupied hand that was clenching his forearm tighter, itching to feel her palm against his.

The edge of his fingertips skimmed hers, and her gaze snapped down, then up to his.

"Were you...were you trying to hold my hand?" She smiled, clearly amused.

His eyes widened, like a deer caught in headlights. "What? N-No! I was reaching for the, uh - popcorn!" Her amused glare gestured to the empty popcorn bowl. He felt his cheeks begin to burn, his face resembling that of a burnt tomato.

"You're cute", she mumbled. What should he do? Should he lay down? Pray? Scream? He looked distressed, like he couldn't decide what to think.

He felt her slide the palm of her hand over his, fingers crossed between his own. He smiled, a big, dorky, boyish smile.

Peter obliterated.

Day Thirty-Nine

He hadn't kissed his everything yet.

Peter thinks that it's partially his fault, because of how nervous and giddy he got around her, he forgot to kiss the lips he'd been waiting to kiss.

He could kiss her now.

As she was hovered over a couple text books, hair pushed out of her face. One of his punny tee shirts sagging on her figure because of how much taller he was than her.

She's so cute.

Peter thought about kissing her all the time. But he never took the risk.

So that's what he did.

He sat up, feet nearly drowned out by sweatpants his aunt had bought way too big padding across the floor, over to her place on his carpeted floor. She looked up at him with an angelic smile right as he bent down, grabbed her face, and pulled her lips to hers.

She was shocked, he could tell. He could tell her eyes were still open wide, and she wasn't kissing him back. Oh god, he thought. Did I move too fast? But then her lips started moving against his, her hands combing into his hair, clinging onto him.

He smiled into the kiss, and when they both pulled away, he heard her speak.

"Wow."

He chuckled, and pressed a few more kisses to her lips. "Yeah", he agreed, "Wow."

His everything was wow.

Day Fourty-Four

She was his light.

He thinks he realised this on their third date.

She was glowing, cheekbones swelling with happiness, eyes shining with him in their irises, that smile staring back at him, the feeling of her with him making him feel like the best thing, the only thing that mattered.

She was the only thing that mattered.

"Have I told you recently how painfully beautiful you are?" She flushed at his words.

"No", she spoke, soft voice coming into the loudness around them, "care to remind me?"

He pulled her closer, a boost of confidence shooting through his veins. "You're..." He strugged to find the right words to describe her, to describe his everything.

"You're the sun", he murmured, "you're the universe. My own personal little ray of sunshine."

She reached for the mug of hot cocoa on the diner table, wanting the sweet drink to hide her even sweeter smile.

That smile made everything worth it.

-

Day Sixty-Three

He lived for her.

He was positive he was one of the strongest teenagers in the world, and nothing could bring him to his knees like she could.

Everything was perfect.

She was perfect.

Peter looked forward to the kisses on the cheek he would get every morning, followed by her timid voice speaking out a small, "Good morning, Peter." He got used to afternoons spent at the cafe on 31st drinking hot chocolate and watching the way the wind flushed her cheeks for her.

He got used to her.

She was truly becoming everything.

He never went a day without seeing her, without seeing one of the only things that kept him whole. With his happiness, with his everything.

When he started disappearing during school and cancelling their dates, he knew she was hurt. And god, it broke him. He didn't like seeing her upset, it was his job to cheer her up, to make her smile shine bright everyday.

She was headstrong, though, and Peter knew she would end up confronting him.

So when she did, he wasn't really surprised.

Why didn't he just tell her? As she stood there, a look of pure hurt framing her features, he was lost in thought. He trusted her, he trusted her with his life. So why not trust her with his biggest secret?

"-and it really sucks, Parker, because I really like yo-"

"I'm Spider-Man."

That made her go silent, eyes widening. "What?" She seemed to think it over before she spoke again. "Why wouldn't you tell me?" That made Peter chuckle.

"Because I...I never planned on you. I already put everyone I love in danger if they know, I wouldn't...I didn't want you to be taken away from me." He glanced down, a humourless chuckle falling from his lips.

"And after all the broken bones and bruised fists, tussles with bad guys wrecking havoc on the world, who would've thought that my hardest fight would be you?" The feeling of hands grasping his made a smile dance on his lips.

"Peter...I know, okay? But pushing me away isn't going to do anything, it's just going to make me want you more." She gave him a small grin. "It's not going to do anything to lessen my adoration for you."

She was everything.

Day Ninety-Nine

Without her, he was nothing.

Peter Parker had been searching for ways to tell her, tell his sunshine, his darling, his everything, that he loved her. Peter had never said the "L Word" to anyone. But then again he had never felt this strongly for anyone else.

"Be careful", she mumbled, watching as he pressed the emblem on the middle of his chest to make the spandex material to fit his build.

"I always am."

"False. That is a lie, Parker."

"Well...I always come back to you, don't I?"

He saw her chest rise and fall with a sigh. "I worry about you."

"As you should", he joked, "concern is expected when your beloved and courageous so puts himself in danger." He knew that did nothing to get rid of her worry, and he grabbed her hand in a soothing gesture.

"Hey", he called softly, comfortingly, "I'll be careful, okay? I promise." He left a quick kiss on her knuckles before he let their hands disconnect, and he shot her a wink and his infamous dazzling grin, before he pulled the mask over his head, and swung away from the brick building.

As Peter worked his arms in the air, the familiar sound of webshooters in his ears, he wondered how he'd tell her. Would he make a big grand gesture? Would he whisper it in her ear when he saw her in the halls the next morning?

What would he do?

How was he going to express his love to his everything?

Day One Hundred

His everything was in front of him.

Now was his chance.

"Ow!", he winced, hands shooting uo to grasp her own, that were dabbing disinfectant onto the scrapes and cuts dotting his chest. "That hurt."

She confessed a sorry from her sweet lips, eyes wide with concern. "Maybe if you were careful like you promised", she chided, and she meant it in a teasing way, but their was warning behind her words.

"Yeah, yeah", he said.

"I'm serious, Peter. What if one day you don't come back?" She swallowed, and let out a shaky breath. "I'm always so scared that one day you won't come back. A-And I'm gonna have to find out on the news that you're just...gone, and then I wouldn't know what to do, or...I wouldn't be able to live-"

"I love you", he rushed out. She paused, lips parted, shaping around a word she was interrupted in saying.

His shoulders raised in a half hearted shrug, and he smiled. How could he not fall in love with the one person that made Peter Parker feel like Peter Parker? "Duh", he mumbled jokingly.

"Why?"

He frowned, not liking the way she was staring at him like he'd made the biggest mistake in the world. Maybe I did, he thought, maybe she's going to destroy me. But he wouldn't want to be destroyed by anyone else, now would he?

"Because you're you. You're Y/N. You can't whistle, or multi-task. You peel the crust off of the side of the sandwich you take the first bite out of, but you eat the rest of the crust just fine. You like the smell of rain. You watch Supernatural like it's a lifestyle-"

"It is a lifestyle-"

"You're you, Y/N, and I fell in love with you!" Peter's chest was heaving, the word vomit he just suffered taking a toll on him. "I love you." She looked down at her sock clad feet, and when she looked back up, he saw everything.

She didn't need to say anything for him to tell that she felt the same.

Maybe she's going to destroy me, he thought again, maybe she's going to destroy me in the best way.

His everything loved him back.

Day One Hundred and Twenty-Six

How had he managed to have everything?

He loved the way the lights in the gym, blue and gold and white, reflected off her skin, off of the dress she wore, the dress she looked so beautiful in, so everything.

He loved the way she smiled at him from across the room, the chatter of students and the boom of music from speakers nothing compared to his heart beating when he saw her.

He loved her.

Fuck, he loved her so much.

He admired her as she laughed at something Michelle said, ears catching the change of a fast paced song with absolutely no way in deciphering the lyrics to a slow one, calming and soft.

And he was off, walking across the gym to her, looking at her, starstruck. "Mind if I steal her away for a minute?" Michelle raised her hands, dismissing it as she turned to grab more punch, which was most likely spiked.

Peter took her hand, and tugged her with him, to the middle of the floor. "May I have this dance?" She giggled, and he was estatic that he was the cause.

"I can't dance!"

"Well neither can I." A lie. Peter had begged Aunt May to teach him how to dance, since he'd forgotten since the last homecoming dance. At least he'd get to enjoy this one.

"Peter", she whined. He smiled, and placed both hands on her waist, lifting her slightly, laughing at the squeal that left her, and setting her down on his feet. He guided one of her hands to his shoulder, and the other he held in his own.

Peter began to sway back and forth, and a content sigh left him. "I love you", she confessed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She kept her eyes on him, fingers digging gently into the material of his suit.

"I love you." Her nose crinkled.

"You never say 'I love you too'", she said, "why?"

He paused before answering. "Saying 'I love you too' makes it seem like I only love you when you love me. And I don't, I love you all the time."

"Take me away", she blurted.

Peter Parker was happy to do that. He took her back to the very top of the building, where the stars almost shined brighter than her smile, but not quite. He guided her near the edge, where they looked down at the entire town, on top of the world.

His hands were shaking, reaching back into his pocket to pull out a little velvet box. "Y-Y/N?" He sank down to one knee, and god, she had finally brought him down to his knees for good.

She turned, and backed up a little, and he felt his heart jump, greatful that there was a rail to hold her up. "Peter?" She let out a breath.

"I-I'm not proposing, not yet at least, Mr. Stark only pays me n-nine bucks an hour, b-but-", he wet his lips, and closed his eyes, "this is a promise ring...a-and I'm not good at speaches, so...I uh..." He took the ring out, the small ruby resting on it, that flinted snd flirted with their eyes, something for his everything.

He held his hand out, and waited.

She reached her own shaking limb out, and allowed him to slide the jewelry onto her finger. She laughed, that laugh lifting a weight off of his chest.

How had he managed to have everything?

How had he managed to have her everything?

God, he loved her.

[maireep]

Still Breathing

More than Alive: 

VLD zombie apocalypse au by @maireep​ and @somethingmorecreative1​

Part 1 / Part 2

keith and lance band together, as the only two mildly sane people they’ve met so far and slowly create a strong bond that leaves all of their plans with loose ends as they try to survive and thrive together.

pairing: klance rating: unrated

iii. 

Lance was starting to regret staying.

Keith was socially awkward, quiet, and argumentative. He was too stubborn, too thick-headed, didn’t get jokes and was solely focused on necessity - like surviving. He got it! He really did! He wanted to hunt too, and rest and find fresh water but hell, it would’ve been better without having to ride a solid three hours on his sore unaccustomed ass because his cowboy partner wanted to cover more ground. Even Artax, easily , was on Keith’s side - simply adoring all the riding to combat her nearly endless supply of energy. Keith would call her a “colt” almost adoringly, but Lance was more than a little bitter about it.

He wasn’t regretting staying for conventional reasons.

Mostly, it was because Keith was too much. He was too easy to joke with, too easy to make fun of, too easy to stare at. Lance had too many instances where he had caught himself staring at Keith’s lips and idly thinking of how long ago he had last been kissed. But on the other hand, Keith was too much. He was solemn, static and hard to read. Every time Lance began to clue in on his behavior, there’d be another shift that would throw their already rocky friendship spiraling off some cliff. It was like he was locking Lance out.

He had barely known the guy for a week, but it was already starting to bother him. They had agreed to circle up back north, after Keith had saved him from that creepy prowler. There had been little in his life that had scared him worse than the undead that sprawled the country, but that man had been something else entirely. If Keith hadn’t been there…

Lance shivered, and was glad he could blame it on the cold air.

They had returned to the cabin after more supply runs into the small expansions of towns and farms dotting off of Route 1. Artax grazed on patches of green a few feet from the clearing. Between the trees, he could see Keith stack wood bundles on the porch before moving the sealed off door to carry them inside.Lance  shrugged his jacket completely off, placing it by his shoes. To keep up against the roaming hoards, they took turns between work and keeping watch during the days. He almost wished for the comfy warm seat of the semi instead of the laid out bedrolls on the cabin floor as he stepped out of his ripped jeans and bundled it along with his discarded shirt.

The rocks were slippery when he stepped into the river, feeling fish jolt past his calves as he waded further into the water. Sure his skin crawled with the slimy scales against his legs, but the cool slow-moving water felt heavenly against his sticky skin.

The ride had been particularly stifling during the afternoon, and the humidity rose still as the evening turned from bronze to dark. Keith had been half-teaching him, half-smugly commenting him on his riding, especially when he had handed Lance Artax’s lead and took off to check the perimeter of clearings they had came upon. Lance hadn’t really been the best rider on his father’s ranch, on their dopey old Phillip. He had been squat and slow, and Artax was like a living Maserati. He didn’t want to ask Keith, for fear of that devilishly handsome smirk, but Artax was clearly a Thoroughbred - miles upon miles away from the stable pony his father kept.

He hunkered down into the water, cupping it up to his shoulders and running his cool hands through the back of his neck and jaw. The entire length of his body ached from the day and his breach into relaxation stalled, feeling the slick of the water against his stomach and catch on hairs he would’ve otherwise razored away the second they had appeared. He wondered if it was too late to wiggle out of the stream and grab his travel razor and some body wash from his pack without flashing Keith on the way.

Grumbling, he sank further into the water until he submerged his head. The soft rush of water against his cheeks felt like the creek down the acre of the ranch, past the small swing his father had hung for his mother and just around the clearing they had made in his elementary years for an ecosystem project. Just like the creek, the slime of scales rolled against his ankle and he breached the water, sputtering. Water ran down his face, pushing his hair, the longest it had been in a while, into his face. He swiped it back and turned back to the rocky bank. Making sure to shake his hand off, he searched through the pockets of his jacket before grasping onto his iPhone. He placed it on the biggest boulder, in the sunlight before shuffling his downloaded music.

Bebe Rexha echoed against the crevices of the rock, with soft piano and the twang of guitars to support the soft lyrics. For all the couple thousand songs downloaded to the sturdy phone, he hadn’t listened to this particular song in a while. It was one of his more odd choices, the kind that would’ve made his roommate Nyma wrinkle her nose when he placed his phone on the iPhone dock. She was always critical about his music, something about his utter lack for appreciation of trap music. Hed always reply with scathingly mainstreamed trap songs that he liked, just to make her nose wrinkle in distaste. He sunk into the water, letting it raise around his ears. He missed her. He missed their shitty RA, he missed the kid in his Earth Science class who smelled of weed or the barista at the corner café who spelled his name wrong consistently. He missed whatever horrid person dropped gum on his hair at the club, he missed his hideous husk of a Psychology professor and her shit grading curves and more importantly he missed Hunk. He missed Hunk and he missed his family.

Footfalls and then a plop. He turned to see Keith sit on the boulder a bit away, leaning over to tug off his camel boots without even untying the red laces. He hid his face momentarily to blink before Keith spoke up.

“Is this Florida Georgia Line?”

Lance looked up, eyebrows knit, “What?” Keith looked up from his boots, blinking, “This song. Florida Georgia Line? I could recognize Kelley and Hubbard in my sleep.”

“Uh…” Lance turned to his phone, squinting at the screen, “I guess so? It’s by Bebe Rexha, just featuring them.” The tops of his cheekbones felt numb, the corners of his mouth peaking gently. Keith was utterly a cowboy, even so much as recognizing country singers in some dance pop love song.

Keith hummed but said nothing else, stacking his boots beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance watched as Keith tugged his plaid shirt over his head. He wore a worn blank tank underneath, highlighting the swell of biceps and the stark line where his tan skin met contrasting pale white. Lance could’ve drown himself, just slip backwards into the flow of the stream and let it carry his otherwise naked body to the depths. Instead he sunk down, engulfing himself in the water and trying to shake the idea of Keith’s fuckin’ farmers’ tan out of his head. It didn’t help his starved body deemed it woefully attractive.

Later, when Keith had retreated back to camp to cook whatever harvest he had caught for them that evening, Lance dried off and redressed. The heat was subsiding, and he had first shift on watch duty, picking the last meat off his skewer and watching Artax doze in her patch of grass. Keith sat on the ground, turned in with his Stetson covering his face. They hadn’t spoken too much since nights ago, when Lance had killed his first man and they had inexplicably tied themselves to one another. Every time Lance tried, Keith would shuffle away after a few comments.

He was getting used to it.

Lance stood up, careful to not trip over Keith’s legs as he stepped outside and gradually led Artax to the small porch. She whinnied softly, and mouthed at his hair with her lips as he tied her lead to the cabin. She settled in immediately, but snorted almost unhappily when he turned away.

“Alright girl.” He smiled, rolling his eyes as he went back to her. Quietly he placed his palms onto the banister of the cabin and hauled himself onto it. The wood banister was rough, leaving him to wiggle for a better position as he leaned against Artax’s flank. She tossed her mane, the long blank tendrils smacking his face and catching in his mouth.

“Bleh!” He spat out, “Artax!”

She whinnied back, practically in the same tone. Her hair had dragged his chapstick from his lips to his chin, and he pawed at his chin with his jacket sleeve. The taste of hair and grass was in his mouth and he frowned.

“Aw hun,” He cooed, reaching back to comb his fingers through her hair, “I never feel the same when my hair is dirty too. Lemme get those tangles for you.”

Slowly he picked at Artax’s hair, leaning against her flank and methodically plaiting her mane in tiny braids. Lance wasn’t sure if it was what she was looking for, but she didn’t complain, and he was glad for it. She slowly dozed, and it reminded him so much of braiding his mother’s or sisters’ hair, he started to relax too.

In the distance, there were howls, groans and rustling. A hundred feet shuffled onward, the sound reverberating for miles around in the silent dark. The night came and went before he even slept a wink, listening to the echoes braced against Artax. He didn’t think Keith slept either.

He knew what Keith was going to say even before he said it.

They’d be together for a week and a half when Keith looked to him with those imploring eyes. Lance agreed, he already knew he agreed. Their rations were dwindling, their fresh water was low and the cars on the interstate near them were picked dry by either them or prowlers.

They had to go into D.C. The towns were running dry, and farmsteads were entirely encompassed by the moving hordes of rotters. It was almost migrational, like packs of birds flying north for the winter. Lance had begun to vaguely wonder if there was a pattern to it, as summer was starting to tighten its grip.

He sat on the porch of the cabin, with the rough wood sticking through his jeans as Keith suited Artax up with their bedrolls and his packs. Lance had tucked away his iPhone before anything else. On top of the food and water they needed, he needed a new battery for his solar charger, maybe a new razor and some deodorant. He was a young man sure, and it was the apocalypse yes, but hell he still wanted to smell good. He couldn’t have it like Keith, who happened to smell like a woodsy musky Old Spice expo, even if he was covered in blood and guts and rotting flesh.

He rubbed his forehead and looked up at Keith as he approached.

“Ready?” Keith tipped his Stetson back, framing out the sun and looking down at him in the shade. His black hair was stuck to his forehead from the heat, and his earrings gleamed in the afternoon light.

Absentmindedly, Lance rolled his thumb and forefinger over one of his own earrings and stood. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Keith snorted, and hauled himself onto Artax. Lance followed, less gracefully and more or less fumbling on Keith’s shoulders to keep himself upright as he sat in the saddle behind him. The inner muscles of his thighs were beginning to steel up, but still ached furiously from their rides - as if he had just twerked in a club for 48 hours or did hot pilates with Nyma again. He shuffled forward, pressing his hips to Keith’s behind but keeping space between his chest and Keith’s back.

Keith stirred Artax out of the clearing, toward the overpass onto the freeway. They cleared the line of trees quickly as Artax broke into a trot, climbing the slope up the shoulder of the road onto the concrete. The sun stood fiery in the sky, mid east and glaring onto the back of his neck like it was angry at him for skipping on his face routine or something. He melted backward, making even more space between his body and Keith’s.

“It’s hot.” He complained, placing his palms on Artax’s haunches to keep him upright.

He could practically feel Keith roll his eyes, “You haven’t been to Texas then.”

Lance pouted, sliding his gaze to the side as they rode on. He rolled his sleeves over his forearms, glad he stuffed his jacket into his pack earlier. His guitar case was annoyingly sticking against his back. “I don’t think I’d ever want to be.”

And the most odd thing happened.

Keith laughed. It was low, but more than an chuckle. His shoulders shook, the Stetson tilting back as the musical low laughter came from him. Lance stared.

“Ain’t that right,” Keith snorted, “Shit’s a hellhole.”

Lance leaned in, “Yeah? I feel like you’d be the type to have some state pride.”

Keith’s hat moved with the shake of his head. He kicked Artax onward, weaving her between forgotten cars Lance had practically memorized the position of by now. “I feel like you get to have pride in your state if it has pride in you. Sure I grew up wrangling Mustangs but a gay son of a disgraced alcoholic G.I. and an absent mother ain’t really Texas-pride.”

This time the odd thing was all on him. He openly choked on his own spit, going rigid behind Keith on Artax. His stomach had simultaneously turned into jelly and erupted into fire. Lance was an idiot. Was his gay radar that wrong? That obtuse? Here he was thinking this cowboy was easily the straightest person he’d ever met, maybe just some Southern kid who thought pierced earrings were more of a modern thing instead of what they really thought, and -

He wanted to slap his forehead. Yeah they were partners now, each others’ family at this point but just because Keith was gay didn’t mean he had a chance. Lance pulled at his collar, choked some semblance of a hum and let the conversation fall.

Gradually they left the interstate behind for inner towns. The lines of suburbs were desolate, ravaged by fire and panic. Houses stood half-burned through or bolted up with boards and nails. Through the back suburbs, they trotted slowly around to the city center. Among the middle was a square town park, with gazebo, in front of the City Hall. Walkers milled around in scattered groups, and with no sign of runners or their crawling counterparts, they quietly took the sidewalk around the perimeter due North.

Lance watched a small girl in a tattered t-shirt bump into the General Store door repeatedly, sickness rolling in a coil in his stomach.

He turned away as they passed on, keeping his eyes down to the saddle.

By the next town, the walkers were thicker. They had to utterly pass the town completely, giving it a wide berth. The inner city was crawling with bodies, swarmed with hordes and clumps of runners like little pesky flies. Flies that could kill you in instants. Keith said nothing but Lance could feel the tension in his back, as Artax cantered nervously until Keith tugged her around. They kept silent, and Lance pulled out his handgun to load rounds into it.

After the inner city had passed, there were only throughs of walkers along the roads. Instead of engaging, they rode hard and fast past them into the suburbs. Artax was fast enough to barely alerting the walkers until they were long gone. In that moment, he was glad to have stayed with Keith and Artax. If he was alone, he would’ve surely been downed in the inner city and… God knows what.

The suburbs for this town were spaced out, with lawns that sprawled in small hills and lined with bushes. A few walkers milled in the treeline behind the houses, groaning endlessly like a constant hum. Lance kept the safety on on his handgun but settled it in his lap between their bodies.

At the end of the block, Artax stopped.

Keith grunted, kicking his heel lightly, “Artax?”

A line of panic rolled up his spine, and he grabbed onto the back of Keith’s plaid shirt with one hand, the thumb of his other hand pressed hard on the safety of the gun.

“What is it?” Lance croaked, pushing closer to Keith subconsciously.

Keith stilled, frozen like Artax as she raised her head, ears pricked to the house at the end of the block.

Finally Keith spoke, ruff and low, but enough to set the hair on the back of his neck on end, “There’s someone in the window.”

[fy-soukoku]

97. Shin soukoku plz

*ugly sobbing* I enjoyed writing this so, so much. Thank you for sending this. (And pretend Atsushi has an iphone because I’m too tired to edit that all out. Chuuya probably spoiled his son or something.)

Atsushi has an interesting way of viewing the world, as Akutagawa has discovered.

For somebody treated so cruelly in early life, he managed to keep a pretty positive attitude about everything. He appreciates all of the beautiful things in life, which Akutagawa discovers when pictures of graffiti-spackled walls and sunshine kissed lakes begin to appear on his phone. They’re thumbnails, snapshots of the life that Atsushi leads when they are not together.

There’s one of Dazai napping, the sunlight melting over his cheekbones. There is another of Kunikida, eyes cast down over his notebook, eyelashes brushing his cheeks, blonde ponytail falling loose over one shoulder. Another one of Kyouka next to Atsushi, the two clutching crepes with smiles so wide that they probably hurt for weeks afterwards.

Atsushi has a lot of photos. A lot of good photos.

And while Akutagawa appreciates the weretiger’s enthusiasm for the more aesthetically pleasing things in life, he does not appreciate him trying to sneak pictures while on a mission.

Akutagawa will be studying the landscape, or examining a fallen opponent for a hint, and the gleam of Atsushi’s phone will appear in the corner of his eye. He will always whip around, and grab the phone. He’s faster than Atsushi outside of battle, and it shows as he shoves the phone in his pocket.

“Hey!” Atsushi grumbles, and Akutagawa almost breaks because the little furrow in his brow and the dip of his lips into a pout is too adorable to deny.

“Stop trying to take pictures of me, and maybe I’ll stop taking it.” Akutagawa says, not breaking the somber expression painted on his features.

“Sorry, okay?” Atsushi sighed. “I just thought you looked nice, and I wanted a photo to remember it.”

Akutagawa feels his cheeks flare slightly at the implication. They’ve been tip-toeing around whatever this… thing was for weeks now, ever since a rushed confession while a fight took a turn for the worst. They hadn’t talked about it since then, but Akutagawa finds himself watching the dimples in Atsushi’s cheeks and the way his stupid asymmetrical hair frames his face so perfectly.

“You just have to ask, you know.” Akutagawa surprises himself with the words that spill out. He tucks a strand of black hair behind his ear, trying to hide the swell of colour dotting his cheeks.

Atsushi is smiling, he knows without looking. Probably just a little bit teasing, but still innocent and adorable in that all-too-familiar way. His left cheeks probably has the beginnings of a dimple, his eyes a pretty glint. Akutagawa has no need for a camera when every part of Atsushi has been burned into his mind permanently. He imagines that fifty years from now he will still remember the lines on his pale palms and the exact shape his eyes take in laughter.

“Well…” Atsushi draws the letters out, lingering on the only syllable for an impressive amount of time. “Can I take a picture of you.”

Akutagawa watches him from the side. Atsushi’s cheeks are dusted with pink, the moon making his hair glow silver, making him look downright angelic. It almost hurts his heart. His palm is held out, waiting for his phone to be relinquished.

“Just one.” Akutagawa muttered as Atsushi held the device up, a little smirk on his lips.

“Sounds good.” Atsushi grinned. Akutagawa looked at out the landscape again, too embarrassed to keep eye contact with the flash that echoed over the enclosed area.

Atsushi is delighted. His eyes twinkle as he slides  open his lockscreen to examine the photo. “You don’t look very happy.” He notes.

“You only got one take.” Akutagawa reminds him, scowling. What, his face wasn’t good enough for Atsushi’s superior photography skills?

“No,” Akutagawa blinks as he sees the rosy hue on Atsushi’s cheeks, clouding his mind with the way it melted against his pale skin. “It’s fine.”

Atsushi smiles up at him, shyly, but with just enough courage that it sends his heart pounding.

Stop that. He reminds his chest.

“You’re so cute when you pout like that.”

Akutagawa blinked. “I’m pouting?”

“In the picture.” Atsushi let out a soft exhale. “I’m going to make it my lockscreen.”

Akutagawa flushes, feeling the heat crawl up his high collar and wrapping around his ears with curling, mocking fingers.

But he can’t find it within himself to dislike being the first thing Atsushi sees in the morning as he checks his phone.