#starts gnawing holes in the wall and then slides inside and is never heard from again outside of the occasional late night scuttle

[oldmanyaoi-jpeg]

[eyes bloodshot, shaking so hard im producing an audible hum] I will not write a 20k word fanfic about a halfway-closet interest of mine, because there is nothing wrong with me. I am regular, and so normal that it hurts.

[thewritewolf]

In Due Time Chapter 30: Purrince

Chat Noir rushes to help Ladybug, who is fighting alone against an akuma and sentimonster team up.

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

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Read on Ao3

Adrien woke to many voices talking all around him, each of them vying to be heard over the others. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he happened to glance over at the other side of the bed and in his tired state of mind had to work to remember why he was disappointed to see that it was empty like usual.

Then it all came back - the movies, the snow, Marinette - and it was like he’d been dunked in cold water. An apt analogy, he thought as he shivered against the cold of the room.

Which is when he finally started paying attention to the voices fluttering around him, voices that he now recognized as belonging to the kwami.

“You’ve got-”

“-by herself-”

“-anything like this-”

Adrien held up his hands to quiet down the swarm of kwami. “Woah, woah. One at a time.” His eyes landed on Mullo first. “What’s happening?”

“We were talking with Tikki-”

“And Marinette rose from her slumber!” Longg cut in.

“Right, then she woke up and we ran off, but she saw something on her… her…” Mullo rubbed their forehead.

“Her phone,” Sass supplied, a concerned frown on his face. “Ssshe had ssseen a troubling omen upon the device.”

“Yes! That is what is the worst part!” Wayzz zoomed in front of Adrien’s face, panic in his voice. “Not long before that, I sensed the activation of Duusu’s miraculous, and I know Tikki felt it too!”

Another miraculous at play? It had been ages since the peacock had been used. Did Hawkmoth have a new accomplice? According to his Guardian training, it was the perfect compliment to the Butterfly miraculous, letting whoever Hawkmoth had brought into this fight attack them with impunity. Just like with the butterfly miraculous.

Clamping down on the fear and worry that threatened to sink into his heart, Adrien slipped into serious mode. His face was set in determination as he turned to the kwamis.

“Marinette went to go fight, didn’t she?”

Wordless nods answered him.

Adrien cursed under his breath and leaped out of bed. “Of course she did. Being willing to jump in front of danger to protect people is half the reason I chose her in the first place. Plagg, claws out!”

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Ladybug remembered all the times she’d watched a closely matched akuma battle, whether it was in person or through videos on the Cat Chat. Even when she knew that he was going to win, she never liked seeing them. Imagining the pain he must be feeling whenever he gets a solid hit landed on him, or when his attacks just bounce off the villain of the day… it always drove a spike through her heart. Even more so when he was on his own.

But she no longer needed to imagine that sort of pain, because now she was living through it.

Although calling this a close akuma battle would be very generous. It was a two versus one beat down that Ladybug was only barely managing to keep fighting. What she needed to do was buy time for her to summon her Lucky Charm, but right now just staying on her feet and keeping ahead of her enemies was taking all her focus.

The pole she’d snagged with her yoyo was melted by a crackling beam of purple energy. Without an anchor to swing from, suddenly she was falling instead of flying. She hit the ground hard, sliding along the frozen roads for a few seconds before a parked car stopped her momentum. While she tried to recover, a shadow fell over her - the akumatized villain of the day with their cybernetic-looking body. Then the gigantic fabric wolf loomed over him, his maw of sewing needles wide open.

“The likelihood of you outrunning us approaches zero, Designate Ladybug,” the akuma, Shockwave, said in a mechanically even tone. “My partner approaches his maximum capacity for violence. Any further and I will be unable to contain his fury.” He held out a hand. “Submit your miraculous to me and survive.”

Ladybug focused on her earrings and glared at the akuma. “I will never give up.”

“So be it.”

Just as the cybernetic akuma tried to make a grab for her, Ladybug imagined a void inside her, envisioned the power flowing from her earrings and filling that massive space. Just as the akuma was about to make contact with her, she grabbed his wrist and let all the power flow out in one big pulse.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but strong roots bursting out from underneath the snow covered pavement of Paris hadn’t exactly been her vision. The roots snared the akuma, holding him in place at the same time that they pulled down the black velvet wolf into the ground, paws deep.

“ERROR THIS TACTIC WAS NOT ACCOUNTED FOR!” The akuma yelled in anger as Ladybug scrambled to get some distance. A fist that crackled with purple energy was pointed toward her, too close to dodge…

...Only for dodging to be made unnecessary as Chat Noir landed on his head and pushed him to the ground.

“And here I was, worried that you’d gotten in over your head, little witch.” His tone was teasing, but there was fear lurking in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll always be my purrince charming, come to save the day.”

Chat snickered at her pun, but the sounds of snapping roots cut their conversation short. She looked past Chat to see the wolf snaring and gnawing at the plants. It wouldn’t be held for much longer.

“Quick - best guess as to where this guy’s akuma is hidden?” Chat backflipped off of the cyborg akuma to pin him down with his baton.

“I’m going to guess… this!” Ladybug took the red visor off from over his eyes and broke them in her hands.

Just as she hoped, the black butterfly pulled itself out from inside. No sooner had she cleansed it than the sounds of the last few vines snapping reached her ears.

“That,” Chat said, nodding toward the thrashing wolf, “isn’t a person, right?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”

“Good.” He pushed the newly de-akumatized man toward her and propelled himself backwards with his extending baton. “Cataclysm!”

His claws ripped the seam of the wolf, exposing the fluffy stuffing within. Green and black electricity danced across its body, and seemed to confuse it. It thrashed against buildings and ran in circles, narrowly missing stepping on Chat, before finally bounding away from them.

Chat huffed and nodded toward the trail of stuffing. “C’mon, I get the feeling we’ll need to follow it, even if all we do is keep people from getting squished.”

Once she’d caught up to him with her swings, she asked mid-run, “Is that another of your gut feelings?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “Where do you think it might be heading?”

Ladybug frowned as she looked around. It was a section of the city that held a few mansions for the particularly well-to-do.

“Maybe its going back to whoever made it?”

Chat raised an eyebrow. “With the exception of stumbling across you, I’ve never been that lucky.”

Ladybug smiled. “Thanks, chaton. I- Wait. Do you see that?”

There was a hole in the ground within the fence of a mansion that they couldn’t see very well by the streetlights alone. In contrast to the other mansions, it was almost completely dark outside.

Chat frowned. “Something about this seems… familiar.” He shook his head and began climbing down the hole. “Come on.”

After a few minutes, they reached the bottom. They arrived just in time to see the wolf, now almost completely out of stuffing, turn into a mess of purple goo before vanishing entirely. There were claw and teeth marks etched into a concrete wall.

Chat glanced at her. She nodded.

His claws were engulfed in the black energy of his cataclysm before being scrapped along the concrete wall. It crumbled to dust before blowing away. A mass of white pushed past the two of them and it took her a moment to realize that it was a whole host of faintly glowing butterflies.

She looked down into the room that had been exposed.

Looking back up at them, hate and rage and a hint of fear in his eyes, was none other than Hawkmoth.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Three

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Shopping Episode, Mental Health Stigma, Molly’s Not Okay, Essek Isn’t Either But He Sure Can Pretend

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The bed was the single most comfortable place Mollymauk had been in his entire life.

His entire memory consisted of about a month or two or three of running amok in between: sleeping in the dirt, fighting or running for his short fraction of a life, and passing out in the dirt again. Rinse and repeat until he was here, in a bed that was actually worth more than a few silver pieces a night, and he was certain that he never wanted to leave. The warmth of the blankets and the comfort of the mattress and the pillow under his head granted the deepest sleep he knew of.

He was clean. His back didn’t hurt. There were no screaming monstrosity trying to eat him. Life just might be a thing worth living, Mollymauk realized. Up until now, it had just felt like an exceedingly cruel joke.

The clattering downstairs was a bit less glorious. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to block out the sound. This was his home now. Forever. Warm and soft and safe, always. Luxury was the only way to live.

Except he did have to piss. And there was a hunger gnawing at his stomach. The prison hadn’t granted him much in the way of meals, nor had Essek offered one last night, which was yet another strike against his hosting ability. And so began Mollymauk’s valiant effort to convince himself that getting out of bed meant relieving all the aches and insistences of his body.

Once he’d eaten, he could simply return to bed, Molly reminded himself, and that was the final burst of motivation he needed to let his hooves touch the floor.

Clean, folded clothes were set just inside the door. He’d slept through it being opened, apparently, something that would have gotten him killed out in the wilds of Xhorhas. Perhaps that was what hedonism meant, self-indulgence to the point of destruction.

Worth it, he snickered, pulling his clothes on before wandering out into the corridor. A trip to the bathroom later, he was sliding down the stair’s rail and to the first floor, following the scent of a slightly-burned something to the kitchen.

Essek was wearing an apron. The material was stiff, like a gift given and never worn, and the straps were tied in a knot that would be a pain to undo later. Still, Molly leaned in the doorframe, smiling to himself at the sight of the respectable Shadowhand grimacing over a pan of sausages.

“Staring at ‘em won’t get you far,” Mollymauk informed him, enjoying the stiffness that jerked into Essek’s back. It eased a moment later, and he had to admit he was impressed by the man’s poise as he turned around to give a perfectly polite smile.

“I hope you’ve rested well,” Essek greeted. He waved to the pan, saying, “I’ve only just started cooking.”

Mollymauk scanned the rest of the kitchen. There was only the one pan on the stove. Only sausages were in the aforementioned pan. No bread or eggs or porridge or anything at all to go with it, traditional breakfasts be damned. “Do you just have that, or…?” He let the question trail out.

Essek frowned at the pan. “I had some groceries sent over, so I need to look through those to determine what would go best with this.”

“Probably should have started with that. Meat cooks fast, and it’ll be cold by the time anything else is ready.” Molly trotted into the kitchen, making a beeline for what was probably the pantry, hanging off one door as he swung it open. He grabbed a loaf of bread, searching for the knife drawer as he chirped, “This will do! Do you want butter, jelly? Do you have those, actually, before I go too far.”

“Butter, yes,” Essek said, watching him with a furrowed brow. Molly hummed as he found the toaster, clamping each slice between metal bars and lighting another flame at the stove to toast them. “And, I am sure they brought preserves of some kind.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Perhaps it wasn’t the three course breakfast in bed he would have liked, but the way his stomach was growling, the room-temperature bread alone was looking pretty delicious.

Something took the toaster’s handle from his grasp. Molly blinked in surprise as he watched it continue to turn without his grip, held aloft by an —

“Invisible servant,” Essek explained. “You should sit down. You’re my guest, don’t trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“If you insist,” Molly shrugged. The table was already set, and he had no qualms with falling into a chair to tip it back against the wall and watch Essek work. He was a meticulous fellow. As out of his element as he seemed, fumbling around breakfast plans and overlooking a guest’s needs, there was something very precise in the man’s every detail. The way he moved, drifting rather than walking. Long fingers, clever fingers. A spellcaster’s hands, something in his brain told him, though he didn’t know where it came from. Molly wouldn’t be surprised if Essek were timing things exactly before removing the pan from the stove, the toaster from the flame.

As elaborate as the display was, breakfast itself was comicall plain. Toast and sausages, served upon gilded plates over a pristine tablecloth, water poured into crystal glasses. Mollymauk couldn’t help but lean deep to one side just to check if Essek’s butt was seated fully in his chair, and he felt some disappointment to find that it was.

“I apologize for the simplicity of the meal,” Essek started.

Mollymauk rolled his eyes. “Quit apologizing. I’m still enjoying the bedrest afterglow and the sound of feigned guilt will ruin it.”

“Feigned guilt —”

“Or just shame for your performance?” Molly suggested. “I get the picture. All of this,” he waved to the room they sat in, “is a stage. To impress and entertain, and to follow the script. And you, my friend, are the fulltime actor now that I’m here. One person is always in the audience. And I don’t mean any criticism by that — well, maybe some, but I am a hypocrite. For some reason, I greatly respect the art of entertainment, so at the very least I’m not looking down on you.” He smiled.

Essek’s expression didn’t change, but there was something colder in the glint of his eyes. “You have quite the… active imagination,” he commented, perfectly polite as the script demanded.

“Thank you,” Molly grinned, all teeth.

Essek insisted he didn’t help wash the dishes, and for a blissful moment Mollymauk truly believed he would just spend the rest of the day in that lovely, lovely bed. Instead he heard, “Well, we should be heading out, now. We’ll get your measurements done first and then you can spend a few hours at the spa, if you would like.”

Spa was a word as sweet as bed. Mollymauk had his boots laced in a heartbeat. He looked up to Essek, just in time to be treated to the sight of the elf floating over a pair of fine dress shoes, his long mantle hiding them from view. A moment later, when he moved away, the shoes had vanished from the floor.

Molly sputtered. Essek gave him a Look, a furrowed both and a thin frown as Mollymauk wheezed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, it’s nothing,” he breathed. “How many of the fine folk here absorb their shoes each morning, or is it just a quirky thing you do?”

Essek opened his mouth. Sharp teeth, Molly noted, approvingly. He closed his mouth, drew in a deep breath, and sighed before drifting for the door. “It’s polite to arrive at your appointments a few minutes early,” he said, smoothly ignoring Mollymauk. “We should leave now to ensure that.”

“Sure, sure,” Molly smiled, sauntering after him.

The streets of the city were disorientingly dark. His brain insisted it was morning, and that they should be strolling through the pale light of the eastern sun. He remembered first seeing that eerie cloud during his journey, hanging in the distance and feeling like an ill omen from so far away. The road to his life, to filling the hole in his chest, sat under a curtain of black.

Now he knew it to just be thanks to the drow’s sensitive eyes. Essek’s were nearly pale as the moon, the softest lavender with no visible pupils.

As he stared, Essek’s ear twitched. His head turned faintly to the side, a glance through the corner of his eye finding Mollymauk’s. “What is it?” Essek asked, facing him completely.

“Oh, nothing,” Molly said. As sincere as the comment would be, strangers didn’t often appreciate his compliments, or took them the wrong way. Molly appreciated different things about the body — the way the merchant’s knuckles jutted out, and the fingers narrowed in between each joint, the lopsided quality to a bartender’s smile and his crooked teeth, or the eerie, nearly-snowblind quality to this dark elf’s eyes. Eerie wasn’t bad. Eerie was captivating, lured him in, left him incapable of looking away. Yet very few people would hear his words how he intended them.

Even with the deflection, Essek kept staring at him. Mollymauk only smiled politely and took hold of his own tail to twine it between his fingers.

They passed large, elaborate properties, many guarded or gated or both. Even once they left the residential area, it was clear they were in the upper class portion of the city. Every last person was dressed nearly as elaborately as Essek. They stared openly, too, and that pointed to being the audacious sort, which Mollymauk wouldn’t entirely mind if it weren’t so rude. He only shook his hair back and started whistling a jolly tune, letting his hooves clack on the pavement in time with the song.

Essek snorted once, what was possibly a laugh. Molly had to grin, counting that a considerable victory.

They hailed a carriage passing on the streets, letting it carry them the rest of the way. Their destination was a sight that made Molly’s tail twist with excitement: a single story building with glass windows displaying suits and dresses and jewelry and an entire array of gorgeous things to wear. Some were far too classy for his liking, but there were enough bold patterns to make him salivate.

They passed through glass doors, a small bell chining overhead. “If any of these are to your liking, you can tell Brirr,” Essek said, gesturing around the shop. “She’s quite talented at matching up your desire with something that will still look respectable.”

“You’re not gonna get respectable from me,” Mollymauk murmured, as he admired a set of earrings. One was a star, a golden stud matched with a dangling silver moon. There were ear cuffs, meant for elves but perhaps he could make them fit the shorter tiefling ears — there had to be variations, after all.

The browsing was interrupted by the seamstress’ arrival. Seamstress Brirr was a bugbear woman, her broad paws doing surprisingly delicate work as she took Mollymauk’s measurements and chatted him up. She questioned his style preference, and his answers seemed to make her eyes gleam. “As loud as you can get while still looking beautiful,” Mollymauk insisted. “Clashing patterns are fine, I can make them work.”

“I’m sure you can,” she rumbled, baring her teeth in a fanged smile. It would feel threatening if Molly couldn’t see his own delight mirrored back at him.

It took far less time than expected. She ushered them out, promising to send word as his outfits were completed, and taking a hefty bag of coin from Essek.

Mollymauk’s ears tilted back. “I didn’t realize how much that was going to cost you,” he started.

Essek waved it off. “The Mighty Nein are heroes of the Dynasty. The least I can do is provide clothes for their friend. We can find more basic wear around the other shops. And — this is yours.”

He passed a small box to Mollymauk, whose eyebrows crept upward as he examined it. Brirr’s name was written onto it in glittering gold ink.

The earrings were inside, the golden star and hanging silver moon. Mollymauk went still as he stared at them, stunned into quiet.

“... If you didn’t want them, I’m sure we could exchange them,” Essek started, when the silence stretched too long.

“ Nope. ” Mollymauk plucked the stud out, fumbling with his ear. “These are mine now, no takebacks.” He swallowed, and then smiled up at Essek. “Thank you. And, be a dear, would you? I can’t do this without a mirror.”

Essek paused before reaching, hesitantly, for the piercing. He was almost too delicate as he tugged Molly’s earlobe, feeding the point through and letting Mollymauk press the back into place. The same was repeated for the other piece, a comfortable weight swinging off his ear. His tail flicked back and forth in unison.

A steady warmth welled up in his chest. He just might like Essek.

Darting from store to store was a process. Essek was silent as Molly browsed, and offered stilted, neutral commentary when asked for opinions. There was something absolutely delightful about dynasty fashion, and that was that with the number of elves with blue and purple skintones, there were more viable options for him than Mollymauk had ever encountered in his brief life.

It was with bags weighing his arms that they at last turned for the promised event: the spa. “This,” Mollymauk breathed, “is shaping up to be the best day of my life. Now, that wasn’t very hard to top, but I think you’re allowed to be proud of yourself.”

Essek let out a soft breath that Molly was starting to recognize as a laugh of sorts. “I’m… honored,” he said. There was a pause before he added, “You haven’t asked many questions.”

“Should I be?” Molly asked mildly, and then smirked. “Oh! There’s one.”

The humor seemed to be lost on his host, as he only said without missing a beat, “It must have been a harrowing journey to get here. It’s well known that the lands outside our cities are dangerous. And you claim that you came all this way, with no memory of the Nein you are pursuing, because of a note?”

“That’s right,” Molly nodded.

“And yet you haven’t tried to find out who they are.”

The words hung in the air a moment longer than they should have. Mollymauk’s gaze shifted away, a low hum sounding in his throat. Tieflings could purr, did so when they were calm and relaxed. A deeper rumble was reserved for the purpose of relax ing, soothing bristling nerves, and now his chest vibrated with that deeper sound. “It’s about the journey, not the destination,” Molly said. “But sure, I’ll bite. How about you tell me their names?”

Essek paused. “Well,” he said. “First, there is Caleb.”

A sensation of heat flashed over Mollymauk’s skin, like a hand drifted too close to a flame.

“There is Beauregard. Expositor Beauregard.”

A mixed sensation — the need to laugh and to snarl in the same moment.

“There is… Jester. Who very much lives up to her name.”

The snarl faded, just a smile, pure fondness and the want to laugh and to make laugh.

“There is Nott.”

An unnamed emotion. Suspicion, and appreciation. The respect for a good grift and the understanding he may be the next mark.

“And there is Fjord. He is typically well-spoken.” A note of derision entered Essek’s voice.

It was familiar to Mollymauk, comfortable and warm.

“And there is Caduceus. He is unusual, but has a keen eye.”

That one, Mollymauk felt nothing. He blinked, silenced by the sudden twisting in his chest. The hole bored just to the right of his heart was suddenly squirming, uncomfortable. This was why he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, there is one more,” Essek murmured. “She was gone for a long while. Yasha.”

It ached. He was nearly breathless from it, heat behind his eyes and a sudden yawning want, his skin felt cold, the air around him empty when there should be something filling up the space behind him, guarding his back, holding his heart. Delicate and dangerous as belladonna.

Yasha. Yasha. His heart, his heart was gone, that was the hole in his chest, hollowed out and, “Empty.”

The word was what caught Essek’s attention. Or, not the word, but the inflection behind it. It was the dullest he’d heard Mollymauk’s voice, and the sound was nothing short of alien.

“Empty,” he said again, but it shook this time. And then he gasped and clutched at himself, wheezing on a breath and stammering out, “Empty. Empty. E-empty, empty, empty.”

“Mollymauk —” Essek halted. The streets weren’t crowded, but those passing by had already been staring. Now they watched as the tiefling hugged himself and babbled, wide-eyed. The bags he’d been carrying slumped to the ground as he started to sink, until Essek moved forward to catch his weight.

Arms flung around him. He tensed, heart skipping with a brief panic before he realized Molly wasn’t attacking him, but clinging. He was shoving his face into his chest and muffling each empty into his clothes.

People were staring. A hot flush burned Essek’s skin as he burned magic far stronger than he should have to get the bags to lift themselves and travel along as he struggled to untangle Mollymauk’s grasp.

He sucked in a sharp breath, shutting off his own panic. Essek tipped Mollymauk’s chin up, forcing the tiefling’s wild eyes to lock with his own. “ Mollymauk ,” he crooned, enchantment lacing his voice. “ You’re okay. Just follow me and everything will be okay. I promise that you’re safe with me.”

The tiefling had been able to shake this magic before, but perhaps thanks to his scrambled mind, Molly’s eyes glazed over. The panicked breaths evened out. The hand still fisted in his clothes relaxed. Essek took it, leading him without resistance through the streets.

Enchantment was a dangerous school of magic. Few people appreciated having their minds toyed with, emotions changed, reasoning blurred. But this was necessary, Essek told himself. Mollymauk had been having some kind of a fit in the middle of the streets.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen such a thing. Soldiers often collapsed into wails or tears or labored breaths. He himself had experienced these fits before. Stress weighing on the brain, he knew, all fairly common in his occupation but not to be witnessed. Not to be displayed.

He tugged Mollymauk along to a public park, to find a secluded spot to sit him down. A bench was framed by brambles, dark blooms resting among thorns. Mollymauk sat, stilted and doll-like, to stare blankly Essek’s way. He wasn’t charmed, just convinced of the truth Essek had told him: as long as he were here, as long as Mollymauk followed him, there would be no troubles.

Essek braced himself as he dropped his hold on the spell.

The light returned to Mollymauk’s eyes. There was a beat before he stiffened, and then leaped to his feet, pulling away from Essek. His lip curled, a snarl on his face as he bit out, “Do not — N'bb sph oep jlqh hnal.” A hiss of infernal rose from Molly’s throat, the hair at the back of Essek’s neck standing on end.

He raised his hands. “I apologize,” he said, and Mollymauk silenced to just glower and pant. “I apologize,” he repeated. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

The moment stretched out, the air thick between them. Molly’s tail twisted and lashed, and Essek’s ears pinned low. He saw the tiefling’s throat bob as he swallowed and puffed out a breath.

“Fine,” he said, short and harsh. None of Mollymauk’s jovial attitude remained, not in his posture nor his voice. “But do not do it again. This is why I don’t ask questions.”

“I understand,” Essek murmured. Calm and rational, that was what he needed.

He watched as Molly calmed himself. It was a visible process, grasping his tail by the base and sliding up to its spaded tip, like smoothing wrinkles from a garment. The tension dropped from his shoulders, he shook his head and swept his hair back into place.

“Okay,” Molly said. “I forgive you. But you had better get me to that spa now, or I’m rescinding my forgiveness.”

“Generous of you,” Essek gave a thin smile, one that didn’t betray his relief. He started forward again, saying, “Right this way, Mister Tealeaf.”

After a moment, he heard the clopping of hooves following. “As you command, Mister Thelyss,” Mollymauk called. It was pleasant to hear the smile in his voice.

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 3 - Home

Part 1

The hole-in-the-wall bar they were walking toward practically radiated the obnoxious mixture of cigarette smoke, fried foods and sexual desperation. It was about all the Winchesters could hope for save for the stale motel room smell that had virtually become a second perfume, but still, it was definitely not the most pleasant smell. Hopefully some food and a good game of pool would distract Bobbie from it.

“Ah, smells good,” Dean said, inhaling as his eyes darted immediately to the pool table.

Of course he liked the smell in here. Bobbie could go for a plate of French fries, but as for the rest of it she was pretty sure she could do without.

There were bars. There were hunter’s bars. There were places in between. This one was without a doubt a hunter’s gathering place. The only reason they knew? All eyes turned toward them. For better or for worse, they were famous despite wanting everyone to leave them alone.

Sam shivered at the feel of all eyes on him. “I hate this.”

“Me too, Sammy,” she replied, making her way over to the pretty blonde bartender. “Let’s just get some food and play a game. Ignore them.”

After placing an order for a giant plate of greasy, cheesy and bacon-y fries, some artery-clogging onion rings and a starter of three beers, they all headed over to the picturesque pool table and decided on a friendly, sibling tournament of eight ball. “Who against who first?” Dean asked.

Sam and Dean wanted to go first, which was the better for Bobbie because the gnawing in her stomach said fries were needed immediately. She actually hadn’t eaten since yesterday, late afternoon, so it was a miracle she hadn’t eaten one of her brothers alive or driven them insane in the ensuing hours. “What do I get if I win?” Dean asked.

Rolling his eyes, Sam pocketed the seven ball and promised Dean a bottle of cheap whiskey if he did win. Their sister sat back and smiled at them bickering while she inhaled some onion rings and fries like the hungriest anteater that ever walked the planet. “You leave any for us?” Sam asked, arms raised in disbelief, defeated after losing. She could see the determination in his eyes. He was going to practice pool so he could show Dean up one of these days. Dean was such a cocky bastard when it came to pool.

“Some. I was really hungry…sorry.”

“You are not.”

“This is true.”

Before Bobbie could walk toward the pool table, another bar patron grabbed her ass. In the blink of an eye, she spun around, smacked him and followed quickly with a kick to the balls. “Do not touch me again or I’ll cut it off.” More than the fair share of men had tried to make a move on Bobbie before. It didn’t matter if her brothers were there or not. But no matter what she always left them wishing they’d never set eyes on her.

Snickering, Dean threw her a pool cue. “Dad always told me to take care of you, keep on eye on you. I told him you didn’t need it.” He liked being right.

“Really?” Sam asked. “Dad said that?” If there was one person that didn’t need protecting in his family, Bobbie was it. Her and Dean were the strongest people he’d ever known, even more so than their father because of all the things they’d had to deal with in his absence.

It didn’t come as a surprise to her. Boys tended to run in both of her parents’ families; Bobbie was an anomaly. John was not a ‘girls father,’ he was meant for boys. “I’ll make sure to tell him that I need no help when it comes to defending myself from men. That shit’s easy. Occasionally I’ll need help with a werewolf though, only if there’s more than one, so in that case you boys can jump in front of them for me,” she said. Despite her statement, she would willingly throw herself into a den of werewolves if it would save the boys she loved.

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll need help there either,” Sam replied.

He was probably right, but Dean interrupted her train of thought. “So what do I get if I win?”

“You get to hit on the bartender by yourself instead of having to compete with me.”

“No!”

“Why not, baby brother?” She laughed.

“Because I can get the bartender’s number with or without you there.”

“Okay, then I’m going to go ask her now. Be right back,” she said, feigning walking away. Having a bisexual sister must’ve been a big pain in the ass for him, but honestly she felt like she kept him on his toes – made him raise his game instead of getting complacent. Either brother could rely on their looks to bed a lady for the night, but she was never one to let that slide.

“Alright screw you, you’re on.”

“And if I win, I get the bottle of booze that Sammy’s buying you.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

-

It felt nice to finally feel settled. She still had to unpack all of her things and all of the kids’ things, but Jenny had been feeling suffocated in the old place. No matter when she walked in or whom she was with, she couldn’t breathe there anymore. It had been time for a change. As she stood at the counter, chopping celery and carrots for some soup they’d hopefully have for dinner the following night, she stared up into the clear night sky. The stars were out tonight and she felt at peace for the first time in a while. “Mommy, are you going to come up and tuck me in?”

Jenny pulled her gaze away from the stars and looked down toward where she was cutting her vegetables. “Be right up!” She called. As she turned to head up the stairs the lights flickered again. She was definitely glad to be out of her old home but this one definitely had its issues. She really needed to fix these lights.

When she rounded the corner into Sari’s room, she saw her normally brave little girl cowering in fear, pastel colored blankets held closely to her chin with her knees almost digging into her chest. “Sari, what’s wrong?”

All she did was stare at the closet. Jenny couldn’t figure it out. Sari was usually so fearless, and now all of a sudden this closet was freaking her out. It didn’t make any sense. To placate her, Jenny opened the closet and stood inside in an attempt to show her daughter that there was nothing to fear here. Her unease with the whole thing was probably a result of moving, things changing at such a crucial point in her life. But Sari was a good kid and it would all pass soon enough. Until then, Jenny would assure her there were no monsters in her closet.

With a kiss on her head, Jenny pulled the blankets up and around Sari. “I don’t like this house,” the little girl whispered.

Jenny sighed and repeated that there was nothing to be afraid of, but still, just for good measure, she put a chair in front of the closet door. “See? Now nothing can get out of there.”

Sari smiled timidly, ashamed that she was so afraid of something she couldn’t even see. She thanked her mother before lying down completely and pulling up the covers to keep away the cold.

They were finally down for the night. Sari was only hesitant to fall asleep because of the supposed monsters in her closet, but Ritchie was a whole other story. That boy was just full of boundless energy – something Jenny hoped would mellow out over the years. She was getting too tired for this.

Although she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, she went back downstairs instead, making sure to be careful of the creaky steps, lest they make noise and undo all her hard work to start unpacking some more boxes instead. It was nearly impossible to get it done during the day because no matter when she decided to start in on the unboxing, her kids would undoubtedly need something and interrupt her.

Speaking of interrupting, she could swear there was a scratching coming from the basement. All she wanted to due was unpack one of these boxes without being distracted. The scratching was soft and a bit random, but it was definitely there. “What is wrong with this place?” She asked aloud.

Curiosity got the better of her. Probably wasn’t the best. That whole ‘curiosity killed the cat’ phrase had to mean something, but it was probably nothing. Maybe a boiler failure that would of course eat into the savings she had put aside for a family vacation, but nothing more.

With a flashlight in hand, Jenny headed down the steps, ensuring with each step that the wood wouldn’t crumble beneath her feet. That’s the only reason this house had been affordable for her. It needed a lot of work. The switch on the wall didn’t work – of course – so she headed toward the bottom of the steps and pulled on the string near the light bulb. “Lovely.” That didn’t work either.

Jenny had never been a fan of the dark. Not since she was a little girl, but this was her fresh start, which meant changes were in store – both for her family and for her as a woman and mother. The flashlight scanned around the room, falling on small spots of water damage, a couple of cobwebs and a few boxes with water stains of their own.

When she bent down to see what was inside, she thanked God the damage hadn’t gotten to the contents of the box. It looked like old family pictures and VHS tapes. Maybe she would be able to get in touch with whomever these belonged to. It would be a shame if they lost their family’s memories.

Pulling out one of the pictures, she saw a clean-shaven man with a chiseled face, a young blonde woman, and three beautiful kids – one girl with light brown hair like Sari and two boys with matching hair and big, cheesy smiles. She turned over the photograph and saw faded writing on the back, but she could make it out:

John, Mary, Bobbie, Dean and Sam Winchester.

-

Upstairs, Sari awoke when she heard a scratch on the wooden floors of her bedroom. Her mother had promised to get a carpet eventually because she didn’t like the cold feeling of the wood under her feet, but she hadn’t been able to get it yet.

Sari pulled the covers closer to her eyes, fearing what might be there when she glanced toward the closet, but when the shadow of the chair skidded against the wall she snapped to attention.

With the chair across the room and the doors free to open, the little girl sat frozen in fear and watched as the doors opened by themselves. There was nothing there. It was just change, right? She didn’t like it and that’s why she was so nervous in this new place. That had to be the reason.

Seconds later she realized that she was right to have concerns about this house. A nearly invisible figure – almost human – stood before her, flames licking at its heels before sprouting upward. Before the flames could engulf the entire being, Sari was screaming at the top of her lungs.

-

Whiskey was great, even the crappy stuff was fairly smooth and had a delicious kick that could knock someone out for the night. Dean’s whiskey had been particularly tasty, because why not, she’d screwed her brother out of it, but Bobbie did end up with a bit of a headache the next morning. For the most part she was a beer drinker; she definitely wasn’t used to whiskey.

��Serves you right for stealing my whiskey,” Dean said when he noticed her rubbing at her head.

Like any loving big sister would, she flipped him the finger and swallowed two headache pills dry. “Totally worth it,” she snickered. “And I didn’t steal. I won fair and square because I am the pool queen.” Turning her head toward the rickety table, she saw Sam already wide awake and staring intently at their clunky laptop. “What’s wrong?”

“I think we have a case.”

“Where?” Dean asked. He never wondered where it was. It didn’t matter. Just as long as he had something to distract himself from the barrage of old memories.

“Home.”

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark  @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13​

[benjikarofsky]

Mixed Emotions || Para

WHO: Benji Karofsky (@benjikarofsky) and Franco Del Rio (@southsidefranco). Mentions Topher Pierce (@topherxpierce​).

WHERE: Franco’s Trailer

WHEN: 25th March 2019

NOTES: A pissed off Benji finally breaks the Krav Maga moral code and goes to kick Franco’s ass. Franco, ever the manipulator, changes plans a bit. 

TRIGGERS: Smut Warning (sectioned off with: ‘~*~*~*~*~’ for skippability **kinks listed at the beginning of smut section**); slight violence; vague drug mention

BOLD: Benji

ITALIC: Franco

WORD COUNT: 2592

Franco couldn't understand how one minute he could be scared of his own shadow and the next picking fights with whatever person took the bait. He knew, deep down, it was the side effect of the drugs. When it was starting to work it's way out of his system, he became agitated and irritable and he liked winding people up. 

He'd just finished tidying up, the only other thing keeping him preoccupied as he didn't want to go out much any more and he'd just kicked back on his bed, picking up his phone and debating whether to text Dare and see where he was at.

If Benji was in his right mind, he would've hated that he let Franco get under his skin like this, but at this point, the rational side of him had run for cover and only his ugly temper remained. He knew Krav Maga was supposed to be used solely in self-defense, but after being poked and prodded for days, none of that mattered anymore. If Franco wanted to see a bite, Benji was gonna give it to him. 

"Franco!" Benji yelled, rushing into the trailer and into Franc's room. Seeing him on the bed, he pushed the man off with all his might and slammed him against the nearest wall, pinning him there with his forearm. "Really wanna do this?" he growled, his body weight keeping Franc pressed to the wall. "Your pretty face is finally starting to heal."

Franco had not actually expected Benji to come but, when he heard the front door slam open he knew it had to be him. He embraced for the impact but, when Benji pulled him off the bed and slammed him into the wall his eyes widened, mainly from surprise. The boy may have been small but he was strong.  

He tilted head upwards, "Little boy knows how to play big man games huh" he breathed out, "Go ahead, do what you want. I ain't scared of you Benji.... Believe me when I say that, twinkle douche"

"Shut. Up." Benji demanded through gritted teeth. He pinned Franco tighter to the wall and stared him in the eye, his face displaying that this wasn't a bluff. "If I start punching you, I'm not gonna stop," he boomed, "One last chance before I put you back in the hospital: promise me that you won't tell another soul. Not about us. Not about Topher. None of it." He accented his last sentence by moving his forearm to Franco's neck, although he didn't press down.

Franco wanted to laugh but then he felt Benji's forearm slip to his throat and he knew, the boy wasn't bluffing and Franco was not in a fit state to fight again. He flexed his neck, "What are you so ashamed off?" he breathed out, "All men have urges and desires, yet you act like a little shit over one man". He looked down at Benji's arm, "Push down if you want, you'll only be giving me a good time".

Benji balled up his free hand and slammed it against the wall next to Franco's face. "I love him!"  he barked, "I love him, and if I can't have him, I at least want him as a friend. And if you keep running your stupid mouth, I won't even have that!" He bit his lip and leaned forward, pushing Franco as tight to the wall as possible. "Do not make me do this," he growled, his forearm just above Franco's throat.

Franco jumped slightly when he heard the fist slammed into the wall, that was close to his face and that would have hurt like a bitch. He gulped, his eyes never leaving Benji's forearm, "Then realise that it's never going to fucking happen" he spat, "He's straight for christ's sake! Get over yourself". He closed his eyes and continued, "Like I said buddy, that arm is promising me a good time right now".

"Shut up!" Benji yelled, pushing his forearm into Franco's throat. "Just shut up! Shut! Up!"

Franco felt the arm dig into his throat and he took a deep breath, "Get the fuck off me" he breathed and, bringing his hands up to Benji's chest and pushing as hard as he could, hoping to knock Benji over.

When Franco pushed him, Benji let go and placed his forearm back on Franco's chest. He had far too much leverage for Franc's push to hurt him, but it did bring him to his senses just a bit. "Awe what happened?" Benji taunted, moving his face in front of Franco's to intimidate him further. "Choking's not so fun now, is it?"

~*~*~*~*~

Kink warning: Angry sex, domination, name-calling, biting/marking, hair pulling; ‘blink-and-you’ll-miss-it’ versions of the following: slut-shaming, spanking, begging, orgasm denial, and blood mention.

Franco smirked, bringing his eyes to meet Benji's, "Choking's more fun when you do it sexually" and he brought his hands up to Benji's face, leaning forwards and slamming his lips into Benji's.

Benji kissed Franco back for a moment before pushing Franc back into the wall. "You little slut," he spat. In one movement, he grabbed Franco by the shirt and threw him onto the bed. "Is this what you want? Huh, slut?" he asked, climbing on top of Franc and biting his neck.

Franco smirked up at Benji from where he lay on the bed, "Damn right it's what I want" he retorted, "Aint thought about nothing else since the first time and you can't deny you didn't enjoy it" he finished as Benji bit his neck, "Marking me huh? Real charming"

"Shut up," Benji demanded. He forced Franco backwards and kissed him voraciously. After a while, he pulled back just enough to bark: "Pants off. Now," before kissing the man again.

Franco smirked once more, "Fucking make me... Give me something to shut up about" he growled. He'd never had full on angry sex before but he was enjoying it. He moved his hand down to his trousers, undoing them as he kissed Benji back, arching his hips slightly to slide them down as far as he could push them.

"I'll fucking make you alright," he growled, grabbing Franco by his hair. He smashed their lips together and snaked his other hand between them to tear Franco's underwear off of him. He spit on his hand and started to finger Franco open, still forcing their lips together with his other hand.

Franco groaned hard as he felt Benji's finger enter him. Mixed with the hair pulling his own cock was hardening, "Fuck" he breathed in between kisses, "Such a good kisser" he moaned, trying to bite down on Benji's lip as they made out.

When Franc bit his lip, Benji pulled Franc away from him by his hair and gave him a smirk. "Bad boy," he chided, giving the man's ass a hard smack. "Don't be a greedy little whore. " He smacked again. "I do the biting. Got it?" He smacked Franco a third time, then went back to fingering him, slipping in a second finger and scissoring the two.

Francos eyes fluttered as he was scolded, this was hotter then he's imagined. He jumped with every spank, the pain becoming pleasure as it shot straight to his cock. He nodded at the question, his breathing ragged, "Fuck" he breathed as Benji started scissoring him, "Fucking show me who's boss".

"You already know," he growled, finally letting go of Franco's hair. He forced the man's head into his hand and gnawed at his neck, leaving large hickeys. With his other hand, he made quick work of unzipping his jeans, getting a condom out of his back pocket, and slipping it on before shoving Franc's legs up towards his stomach. Slowly, he teased his cock around the edge of Franc's hole. 

"This what you want?" he questioned, smirk evident in his voice.

Franco pushed his own back into the mattress, giving more access to his neck. He felt Benji lined up against his hole, and his body craved it. He bit his lip and groaned, "Yeah I want it" he bit out, "Hard" he added.

Benji lined himself up with Franco’s hole, shoving himself inside in one deep thrust. He grabbed the man’s wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands on the bed above his head. “You weren’t gonna get a choice,” he groaned, gnawing at Franco’s jawline as he started to slam in and out of him.

Franco gasped as Benji slammed into him. He'd wanted this so bad since the other night, and everytime he was slammed he groaned in pleasure, his fists balling above his head, "Fuck" he breathed, "Is that the best you got" he panted out.

Benji took one hand off Franco’s wrists and shoved Franco’s legs further into his chest, grabbing Franco by his hair and using it as leverage to deepen his thrusts. “So fucking greedy,” he scolded, kissing him.

Franco felt euphoric. He liked to be dominated in the bedroom, liked to be told what to do and this was a dream. Who cared that Benji was younger then him, he wanted this too bad. He tries to free his arms, wanting to touch Benji but he couldn't, "Fuck, fuck me babe" he panted

Benji let go of Franco's hair and gave his ass a hard slap before snaking his hand between the two of them and grabbing Franco's cock, pumping it to the rhythm of his thrusts. He licked down Franco's jawline, then stopped his hand, bringing it up and giving Franc a smirk. "If you wanna cum, you have to beg," he whispered, his thrusts never slowing down.

Franco bit down hard on his lip, feeling blood trickle into his mouth from the cut on his lip. He was panting hard and desperate for Benji to touch him again, "Please" he said quietly, "Please let me cum". He almost felt ashamed to beg so kept his voice quiet

Benji gave Franco's cock a few strokes, then let go. "Gotta beg harder than that," he taunted, his hips still thrusting. "Beg me like a good boy, Franco."

Franco groaned when Benji let go once again and he huffed slightly, he had never had to beg before. "Let me come" he said, more if a demand, "Just fucking let me come" this time more if a growl to his voice.

"Awe. Getting upset?" Benji asked. He grabbed Franco's hair so that his mouth was right next to the man's ear. "All you have to do is beg," he purred, his hips still moving. "I'm not the one taking orders, and you know that."

Franco gasped as Benji grabbed his hair once again but the words in his ear were driving him crazy. He bit his lip again before he caved, "Please. Please let me come" he begged, his voice louder then the first time he asked but still not at a raised voice.

"Mmm. Good boy," Benji hummed, letting go of Franco's hair and stroking his cock. "Cum for me, Franco," he whispered, liking a stripe down the man's ear. "Cum for me before I change my mind."

Franco rocked himself willing himself to cum but it wasn't until the words in his ear were whispered, he came all over Benji's hand, his breathing deep and ragged his body shaking from the come down of both the sex and the drugs

Benji moved his hand back to Franco's wrists, using both hands to keep the man pinned as he thrust deep inside him. He let his head fall and bit down on Franco's shoulder, giving one last hard thrust as he came.

Franco found himself gasping again as Benji slammed into him one final time and bit down on his shoulder, "Always come back for me" he breathed out, trying to free his hands, Benji was way too strong for his size.

Benji let go of Franco and pulled out of him, rolling off of him and onto the bed. "You asshole," he murmured, his anger finally rushing out of him. He tucked himself back into his jeans and lazily tossed the condom. "Never do that again."

~*~*~*~*~

Franco laughed, rolling into his side and watching Benji, "Come on dude" he said, reaching a hand across onto his stomach, "So much sexual frustration, must have felt good getting it out".

Benji rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Not what I meant. Just... stop pushing my buttons and agree to what I asked. I don't like seeing red like that. I could've really hurt you," he admitted.

Franco nodded, "Not g0nna lie, you are much stronger then you seem". He sighed and gulped,  "Was it good for you?"

"...It was," Benji admitted, crossing his arms. "But it's not happening again. What I did was shitty, but... taking advantage of my emotions is just as shitty."

"Why not?" He asked, "Topher isn't going to happen Benji, but this can. Why not let me be that person you say ‘jump’ to and I say 'how high?'."

At the mention of Topher, Benji crossed his arms tighter and bit his lip, his mind flashing back to what Franco had said earlier. He knew it was true--the two of them were never going to happen and he needed to get over it--but that didn't prevent the sting. 

"...Promise me that you won't tell anyone how I feel about Topher. And that you won't tell anyone else about our hook up," he stressed, trying to change the subject.

Franco shook his head, "I wouldn't have said anything anyway. I'm not in the habit of outing people". He sighed, "This doesn't have to be commitment Benji, just someone you can work out your aggression on. You gotta admit that was good".

"...Fine," Benji eventually replied. "Strictly on my terms, and it's only temporary." He sighed. "...Just until I... get over him..."

Franco scoffed, "What terms do you propose" he asked, lightly moving his hand on Benji's stomach.

Benji shivered at the movement, but kept his arms crossed. He wanted to be closed off; he knew no amount of hook-ups would help him get over Toph. 

"...You keep this between us. No telling anyone else. ...And we never hook-up in my apartment. Toph has a key. ...And when I call this off, it's off. But you still can't tell anyone it happened."

Franco laughed again, “Sounds like you want me to be your dirty little secret” he said, his hand continuing to trail on Benji’s skin, “I mean, after a performance like that one, I’m down but if we continue to hook up here, Dare might find out”.

Benji turned his head away from Franco and tried to ignore how good Franco touching him felt; he couldn't believe he was doing this. He took a breath to compose himself, then turned back to face him. "...We'll... find somewhere else if we have to. Just... not my apartment."

Franco nodded and sighed, "Benji, I'm all for being 'used' on your terms if it helps you get over Topher. I know that kid and I know he is straight and I'm sorry about that". He sighed and sat up, "I'm sorry I wound you up but, for appearances sake, I'm going to keep doing it. If we suddenly become friends, people will know something is up".

Benji bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, too focused on already regretting this decision to realize Franco's 'plan' didn't hold water--besides Topher, who would have noticed or cared anyway? "...Fine. Whatever. ...But I'm not using you. You're the one who suggested this. Don't make me feel like more of an asshole than I already do."

[sidespromptblog]

Deceit’s Hunger: Part 12

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, and Eleven.  Deceit could feel himself wilting under Patton’s intimidating stare, he’s only about an inch shorter than him and yet Patton seems to own that height in every way that he fears. As of yet, the moral side hasn’t even said anything, but just the way that his hands remain on his shoulders and just the way that he continues to stare at him. He feels like he needs to make himself smaller, he feels that like a field mouse he needs to scurry away and hide in some hole until the danger has passed.

Except he can’t do that, Patton’s grip is something that he feels frozen in, he feels almost like a kitten that’s being held up by the scruff of its neck by its parents. Or maybe a hawk that’s come to kill and devour him, given what happened last time he and Patton were alone together.

His chest feels like its burning, how long had he been holding his breath again? Why was his vision so misty?

“Deceit.” Patton began, and the side in question felt his like his knees had turned to jello, and not the good kind, not the kind that he felt when Thomas talked to his crush. But the kind that could be felt when facing something or someone that made him fear for his life, by all accounts Patton seemed to be harmless but Deceit knew...he knew Patton, and how terrifying he could really be if he wanted to.

“Deceit listen, I..look I said some things in the kitchen, and I didn’t know. I..I didn’t know…” That Roman and Logan would react this way. Was clearly left unsaid, but it was obvious enough to Deceit, he could see right through the moral side, he could see right through his apology without even having to look at him with his snake eyes.

So attempted to squirm a little in the other’s grip, his room wasn’t too far away, Patton would stop him from sinking out but if he could distract him or in the very least break his hold on him, then perhaps he could get enough of a headstart to make it to his room.

And never leave there again.

He shook the thought away now wasn’t the time for thoughts like that, as he squirmed again in Patton’s grip testing to see just how hard to he was going to try and keep him there. Maybe he could accept the apology and just be on his way, would his mouth even get the words out though? It felt like his lips were sewn shut, like the words he needed to get out where all a garbled mess in the back of his throat.

His back thumped against the wall, and that’s when he felt it.

His lungs were crushing him, why? Why? Why? Why? He was trapped now. Cornered like he had been in the kitchen. There was no escape, was there? He was standing before him, he was blocking his path. Why? Why? Why? Deceit was being bad, he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Why? Why couldn’t he just..why couldn’t he just live with the others and be happy. Like Virgil. He had never done this Virgil. So why was he so different? Why was he the one that needed to be terrified, to be hurt, and to be starved before everyone else was happy?

Why?

A strangled whimper left Deceit’s lips as his vision started to tunnel, and just like that he was sinking down in the spiral of his own thoughts, with his back sliding against the wall before he landed on the floor with a gentle but sudden thump.

Patton jerked his hands away from Deceit at the sound that left the deceitful side’s lips, his plan had been simple really. Apologize to Deceit, and make up everything that had happened to him so that Deceit and all of the others could truly know how sorry he was. This..this was not apart of the plan, Deceit sitting with his back against the wall, and his arms curled up around his head like a barrier was NOT apart of the plan.

No...he hadn’t meant to hurt him again, he had just wanted to apologize!

“Deceit…” He attempted to reach forward towards the huddled up side.

Just to watch as Deceit flinched back from him, a crushing sensation of pain descended upon his heart. He never wanted anybody to get hurt, he never wanted...this.

There was a painful lump in his throat as he caught just the tiniest glimpse of Deceit’s snake eyes through the gape in his arms, he wasn’t looking at anything… It was like he was seeing nothing and yet everything all at once and really Patton had no idea to help him. How was he supposed to help with something that he had caused? How was he supposed to help heal someone that he had wounded?

Kneeling down on the carpeted floor Patton didn’t attempt to touch Deceit again, he had no doubt that doing so would only cause more harm than good either way. Eventually the kneeling hurt his knees, so he ended up sitting right in front of the deceitful side a pained but sorrowful expression on his face.

“Deceit…” He began, his fingers itched to touch the other, to lay his hand on the other’s shoulder in a comforting fashion and to let him know that he was safe. However, he had to accept that doing so wouldn’t help, that this time..this time he couldn’t just could hug away other people’s issues. With some things, just talking could help, even if it would take a while.

“Deceit, you..you did nothing wrong kiddo…” He tried again, clearing his throat as his voice cracked a little, he needed to carry on regardless of how many times his voice tried to give out. “What I said...what I did to you wasn’t right. No matter the reasons I did it, even if I was trying to protect the others..you..you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to be threatened and to be hurt by me under the threat of violence. You..you deserved to be treated with kindness, and I..I am so sorry kiddo. I am so sorry.”

The tears that Patton had tried to keep at bay finally spilled over, and a thick wet hiccup left him as he tilted his head down. His messy brown hair flopped in his face as he clasped his hand down over his face, and even as he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs in a rushed and hurried manner. Patton didn’t move.

Whatever happened, would happen because he deserved it.

The moment that Logan had told him Virgil shoved himself away from the table and ran up the stairs. He didn’t want to believe it and for just about half a second he didn’t, that was until he realized...it made sense.

God it made sense, Deceit has shown absolutely no fear when being taken care of Logan, and he had happily eaten the food that Roman had made for him. Deceit even talked about the dark sides without an issue, it was only..it was only when Patton was brought up in the conversation that Deceit had reacted.

How could I have been so stupid? I brought it up without even thinking!

Guilt gnawed at his insides with a vicious integrity as he climbed the steps of the stairs, it felt like a climb up Mount Everest as his lungs were heaving. Of course, Deceit didn’t tell him, let alone Logan until now. Patton was..Patton had been the one person who had treated him nicely in his ‘villain days’, but now…

Now, look at him.

The nasty thought bubbled up out of nowhere and it took a surprising amount of effort to push it away as he made it to the top step. Not now, Deceit needed to know, Virgil needed to let him know.

The path to Deceit’s room was one that he had memorized, from endless nights of going to check up on the deceitful side in order to make sure that he was still alive and breathing. Of just sitting in that cushioned seat and watching him until his own eyes dropped with exhaustion. This time, this time the path was blocked by a familiar set of figures.

Almost immediately Virgil felt the eyeshadow under his eyes grow darker and darker, the burning hot sensation of rage felt scorching under his skin, as he opened his mouth, a snarl of words coming out. Anger bubbled inside of his stomach like an acidic mixture of poisons until he finally let it all out in one enraged shout. His voice was booming, and it certainly could be heard down the hall as well as downstairs. But he could care less, as his dark eyes locked onto the bunched up figure of Deceit on the floor.

“What have you done to him?!”

Tagged:

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[redsdesktop]

AU-ctober: Day 2

Masterlist

Warnings: Blood, violence, mild swearing.

Pairings: Fiver x Gavin ( Story for my own indulgence, sorry not sorry. )

AU: Bloodborne

Notes: Here's the inspiration for Fiver's monster nature. Warnings, there is blood, violence, and monster shrieking.

The Grand Cathedral was intimidating, even in its decaying state it still loomed in all its former glory. Dead ivy clung to the walls like skeletal fingers clawing at the decrepit stone bricks. Every was a dull, dreary color, no longer a symbol of hope or healing. However, it seemed the residents of Yharnam seemed to avoid the place entire, for good reason. Gavin stood before the large doors, heavy with ancient wood and banded with thick iron. It had been some time since he'd came here, the last time he had, he nearly lost his life. He bore the scars across his body, an obvious one across his face was a constant reminder of the beast inside. He had barely escaped with his life last time, but this time he was prepared. His white gloved hand, stained with old blood, gripped the handle of his threaded cane.

With his other hand, he shoved the cathedral's door open, with ease they slowly creaked open, as if warning Gavin to turn back now. He couldn't, he already left once, he couldn't do it again. He had been one of the Healing Church's hunters, before everything fell to shambles. He wasn't a very good one in a sense that he didn't particularly follow the strict rules, but he excelled enough in his hunting skills that the Church allowed his stubborn and caustic ways. He had left when he got into a particularly bad fight with one of the vicars who always tried to keep him in line, who was always cleaning up his messes with calm and without complaint. It had been annoying at the time, they had barely interacted, the vicar had been like a ghost hiding in his shadow, rarely seen, but always making sure whatever Gavin did was tidied up afterwards.

At first, Gavin hadn't noticed, but when he'd finally been confronted by the vicar, he began to realize tiny details that clicked into place. All because the Vicar had warned him to stop partaking in the old blood, Gavin had resisted at first, but as soon as he began to notice the Vicars mysteriously disappearing and replaced by beasts, he began to realize that the old blood was starting to change them. By then, it was already too late, when he had ran to the Cathedral to face the ghostly vicar, he had witnessed a gruesome display, the man he once knew was no longer. It was only when Gavin no longer had something, that he knew how much he'd taken it for granted. The care and silent concern the vicar had shown him, gone in an instant and it left a gnawing hole in his chest and a weight on his shoulders. Tonight he would rectify that.

He stepped into the grand hall, the pews had been decimated, rotting away and covered in dust, deep gouges lined the floors from countless battles. At the other end of the hall lay a familiar alter, the candles burning for all eternity as if the lingering hope that something would save them from their sins. Gavin was no Old One, but he was intent on saving one person, the only one he bothered to give a shit about in this hellhole. However, there was no sight of his intended target, but he knew he was here, lurking somewhere in the shadows behind the pillars, waiting for the right moment to strike. Gavin began to stride almost arrogantly forward, his White Church garb flowing freely about him, though it was no longer pristine as it once had been. Then again, Gavin hadn't been the tidiest of hunters, it had only been recently that he found out that the vicar had been the one cleaning and replacing his clothes whenever they were ruined.

Gray-blue eyes flicker side to side, peering out from under the hood of his hunter's mantle in attempts to spy into the darkness that stayed along the walls of the church. However, the shadows offered him no mercy, keeping their contents concealed, leaving Gavin with a coiling tension in his rugged muscles. With each step, he was growing more and more annoyed until he finally stopped before the alter, looking down at the long forgot offerings placed there. He turned around and lifted his arms up like an offering himself before calling out to the grand and empty cathedral.

"Alright, asshole, come out come out, where ever you are!"

That seemed to provoke the response he desired as he heard movement sliding across the stone floor, the scrap of claws as they drug over the filthy surface. The shadows peeled back reluctantly, slowly unveiling the monstrous beast it had previously held. The moonlight spilled forth from the shattered windows that rest near the roof, making the long, wispy silver fur almost otherworldly as it swayed gently with each motion. Long limbs with wickedly long and clawed fingers, skin scaled over them as they weren't completely covered in the wispy fur. An elongated neck stretching out from slightly hunched shoulders, holding a animistic canine head. A pair of gnarled antlers sprouted forth from the back of its skull, like a horrid mantle that would make him even more of a monstrosity. The absence of lips made those multitude of thing, needle like teeth bared permanently to the world, perfect for shredding through tender flesh, something Gavin was all too familiar with.

The tattered remains of a bloodied hood draped over the beast's face, blinding it from the world that had forsaken it. The remnants of the Vicar who had been blinded by the old blood, by the ways of the Church and now was suffering his just punishment as a mindless beast. Despite the lack of sight, the vicar knew exactly where he was, head turned towards Gavin before its jaw gaped to let out a unholy shriek as if proof of his fall from grace. Gavin wasn't intimidated, not this time, he came prepared for this battle. He lowered his arms, but keeping his threaded cane before him at the ready. The ground shook, knocking crumbled brinks from the walls loose and dust fell from the rafters. When that Elongated hand slammed down towards him, Gavin deftly dodged to the right with proven skill of his ranking. He'd honed his skills by fighting other great beasts, readying himself for this moment.

As The Vicar recoiled, Gavin lashed out with his cane, which stretched out like a whip, lashing one of the beast's haunches several times before the Vicar could retaliate. As long as he stayed behind the Vicar, he would be, for the most part, safe. Well, as safe as one could be while fighting a gigantic and brutally quick monster. Claws raked over the stone floor, sending sparks dazzling into the air, which Gavin narrowly avoided by rolling out of the way. His mind emptied, allowing himself to fall into the instincts of his blood, calling him, controlling his movements, but he would not let it take him, not when the Vicar needed him. It was his turn to help the Vicar and he would not fail, not again.

When the beast snapped his jaws forward, Gavin slid across the ruined floor, this was his moment, he would end this quickly unlike last time. He whipped his can, letting the metal bladed chain lash over the beast's muzzle, curling around those dangerous jaws, the blades digging in deep to keep the whip in place. Immediately, the Vicar raised his head and Gavin yanked the chain, dragging himself up to straddle the Vicar's muzzle, a dangerous place to be. It was all for a single motive, he would risk his life for this as he was uncertain if this would work or not. His free hand jerked out, gloved fingers digging into the tattered cloth that draped over the beast's head and yanked, ripping it from the Vicar's face.

Wild eyes of golden dusted jade eyes flared to life, staring up at Gavin and that moment was all the hunter needed. Tossing the cloth away, he reached up to his neck, pulling the silver chain that coiled around his neck from the depths of his White Church garb, he held it up, the engraved golden ring dangling from the end of it, catching the candle light and the Vicar's attention. The sands of time seemed to trickle to a standstill as the Vicar was enthralled by the jewelry dangling before him, almost as if pacified. Gavin was already giving a cocky grin of triumph before the moment was ruined by the beast shaking his head violently, tossing Gavin off its face and crashing across the cathedral floor. The wind was knocked out of him as he tumbled across the once elegantly carved floor, momentarily dazed.

It was a miracle that Gavin wasn't gored on the spot, such a mistake would've landed him certain death. Surprised by the lack of pain and death, he pushed himself up into a sit, turning his annoyed steel blue eyes towards the Vicar. The beast was convulsing, thrashing about wildly as if fighting the violent pain that wracked its body. Gangly limbs twisted awkwardly, the lean body writhed over the floor as a beast possessed. The sickening pops of joints and the splatter of blood staining the floors and walls as the body contorted into a grotesque display that Gavin could only sit there and watch with absolute horror. Gavin didn't know how long the cracking and popping lasted but when it finally ended, Gavin felt like he was going to lose the very little lunch he had, but he couldn't, not when a long lost sight before him was within his grasp.

Slowly, Gavin pushed himself up to his feet, stumbling quickly over to the lone figure that lay panting on the ground. Pale skin was stained in blood, the tattered remains of the Vicar's uniform clung to the lean form of the vicar. Gavin fell to his knees beside the other male, his gloved hands immediately reaching out for the figure he thought he'd never see again, drawing the Vicar up roughly until his lips clashed against those firm pastel pink ones. There was nothing soft or gentle about the kiss, it was desperate and rough, but not unrequited in the slightest. The Vicar reached up, fingers burying themselves into Gavin's dark hair, clinging to him like a god damn miracle. Gavin unleashed all those pent up feelings into the kiss, he was never good with words, he spoke better with actions and right now he was a mix of desperation, fear, longing, and anger.

Finally, Gavin tore himself away from the Vicar, gasping for breath in a raspy manner. The Vicar yanked at his hair, tempting to finally devour the hunter like he always craved but could not. Gavin curled his lip a little in stubbornness, which only received a harsh nip of punishment against his lower lip.

"Don't you ever fuckin' think you can leave me like that again, Fiver."

[the-pontiac-bandit]

“I thought I lost you” kisses please and thanks

“I thought I lost you” kisses: The breath is knocked out of both of them with the force that they collide with. Hands grip the back of t-shirts and palms are pressed up and under shirts, holding them close, feeling the warmth of their skin. Palms are pressed to cheeks, thumbs swiping away tears until their mouths collide messily, the world seeming to disappear around them.

It hasn’t been long since he’s seen her, not really. A few hours, at most. Less than a day. But it feels like it’s been years, millennia, epochs. Jake’s not even really sure what an epoch is. She’d know, and she’d lecture him for an hour about dinosaurs and some extinct plants and some third thing he’s never even heard of because it’s been dead for so long (and he just asked about freakin’ epochs). But instead of a lecture, all he’s got on the other end of the phone is Rosa’s voice, calling for backup as it cracks. He wants to call it static, a bad connection, but he knows better.

Chaos is whirling around him. It was supposed to be a normal day. A boring day, even. He was supposed to pick up his wife, get Rae from his mom’s, and listen to Amy make stupid noises at their daughter from the backseat as he drives them all home. He’d go ten under the whole way, his foot hovering, twitching over the break. He’s never quite gotten used to driving with everything holding him together in the backseat of a metal death trap (it’s the safest car they could afford - a silver crossover with the best safety rating in its class - whatever that means - but he’s still not convinced). They’d whine about the lack of sleep as they order takeout, and Amy would elbow him about the lo mein noodles that found their way onto his shirt while he slurped them. He’d say it was all just to make Rae giggle from her spot on the floor, watching them on her stomach with eyes as wide as dinner plates and a single tooth poking through her gum, but they’d both know he had no idea the noodles were there until she pointed them out. They’d go to bed early (they never make it to Property Brothers anymore), and wake up three hours later when Rae cried, and he’d go pick her up and rock her, already knowing in the back of his head that she was ready for a feeding and he’d need to get Amy.

Rosa’s voice cuts through his reverie, repeating his name more and more frantically through the speaker on his phone. He’s collapsed into a chair in the break room, his whole world crashing to a grinding halt, but around him, chaos is whirling. Charles is screaming, his voice drifting into the falsetto he reserves for road trip Streisand solos, and Jake’s pretty sure he’s saying something, shouting instructions, but all he can hear is a loud ringing and the pitch of Charles’ screeching.

And then Gina is slapping him on the cheek.

The sensation stings, sends his head sideways into his shoulder as his teeth clack together over his tongue. But the pain cuts through the panic, and all of a sudden, he can think again. Hitchcock is shoving a bullet-proof vest in his face, a surprising look of sympathy on his face. It registers somewhere in the back of Jake’s head that Hitchcock’s awareness of the situation, his leap into action, is just another part of this day going horribly, terribly, ridiculously wrong.

The front part of his mind, though, is suddenly, horribly analytical. He’s on autopilot, checking his gun in his holster for ammo, buckling the vest over his shoulders as he jogs downstairs to the waiting van. Charles is already there, with Holt and some beat cops. Jake should know their names, knows that Amy would. He’s sure they received a Christmas card from them last month, that a picture of their daughter in a Santa hat on a bench in Prospect Park is hung from their fridge or in a stack on their counter, but he couldn’t even pull out their names (see, this is why he needs her).

And then they’re sprinting down a street in a vaguely familiar neighborhood, and they’re following a dark, shiny track along the pavement. Jake knows what it is, knows they all know, but he’s doing his best not to think about it. The area’s been cleared of pedestrians - they’re on the border of the Seven-Eight, and they must have gotten there first. He knows Rosa’s smart, would have radioed for anyone in the area as soon as she got off the phone with them, and in that moment, a rush of gratitude for Rosa’s rationality, for the Seven-Eight’s closer precinct, for whatever patrol cops sped down, sirens blaring, spreads through him, warming his extremities so he can feel his feet pounding against the pavement as he follows a widening trail of blood around a corner into a dark, unfamiliar alley.

And Rosa’s dark head of hair, matted with sweat and blood, is whipping around. There’s a cut on her cheek, dripping blood down her face and off her chin onto the back of a man in tattered flannel, pinned to the ground with one arm held up behind his back under Rosa’s knee. Jake recognizes the hold, knows that if the man moves even half an inch his shoulder will pop out of socket, tearing tendons and ligaments in the process.

But he doesn’t have time to wonder how she fought someone into that position with rips in her leather jacket and holes in her jeans where her knees hit the pavement, doesn’t have time to marvel at the feral look on her face or the contrast it makes with the cold calculation in her eyes.

He’s too busy spinning in circles, growing ever more frantic. There are only two people in this alley - more counting the members of the Nine-Nine rounding the corner behind him - and the trail of blood ends a few feet from Rosa’s boots.

He knows whose blood it is, knows he’d recognize it, even if Rosa’s voice crackling through his speakerphone hadn’t briefed him in a whisper about gunshots and broken ribs and probable pneumothoraxes and telling him that she’d turned on location tracking but they’d better come quick. He’s seen it a billion times - from paper cuts and scrapes and an incident with a knife while she was trying to chop cilantro and one particularly scary moment in a delivery room. (He knows if she were still here - tries not to think about where she is now - she’d tell him he was being ridiculous. She’d laugh and poke him with one of her weird elbows and point out that all healthy human blood looks the same. And then all he can hear is healthy over and over again because they were healthy and they were happy and they started the morning with no holes in anyone’s chests).

And then Charles is shaking him, and Holt is cuffing the man in flannel and leading him to a squad car and he can’t hear anything but Charles’ grip on his shoulders means he can’t sprint back out of the alley, can’t try to keep tracking the trail that had led him in, can’t find her, and he’s losing ground in his mind, can feel the terror clouding his thoughts and taking over his headspace.

And then words start to cut through the fog. 911. Ambulance. Brooklyn Methodist.

And then he gets it. All at once. She’s not here. And then he’s crying, collapsed against the wall of the bodega blocking off one side of the alley. And then Charles’ arm is around him, and Rosa’s grabbing his hand (No Touching apparently long abandoned) and leading him to a squad car. He notices she limps a bit, treating her left leg with care as she lets him slide across the backseat.

And then they’re moving, and he can hear Rosa telling Charles the whole story. A drug bust gone wrong, with backup. Three subdued criminals, cuffed in the back room of a McDonald’s down the street, and then a fourth with a gun, and a bang and Amy’s going down, and Jake can see it all more vividly than he’d ever care to admit. Rosa half-dragging Amy out the door, down the street, the shooter knocked out for a few seconds by the butt of Rosa’s gun. An alley, where Rosa can put Amy down, call for backup, and crouch, springing to subdue him as he sprints around the corner after them, following the obvious track of blood falling out of Jake’s wife. A street fight, one that used the bloody knife Rosa is clutching with one hand, her gun dropped at some point in the skirmish, that ended with Rosa sitting on the shooter and trying to stem the blood flowing out of a spot just below Amy’s right shoulder.

And then the Seven-Eight had arrived, had taken the cuffed dealers back to their precinct for the Nine-Nine to pick up later, and had called an ambulance, had taken his wife to the emergency room.

And then they’re spilling out of the squad car, and Rosa keeps a hand on his shoulder. He’s not sure if she needs the support, or if she’s holding him back, preventing him from sprinting in and shouting at the receptionist. He’s not particularly concerned about which one it is.

Charles does the talking. And then they’re in a room. Amy’s in surgery - should be out soon. Her lung collapsed, and she lost a lot of blood. They’re saying she’ll be fine, but he’s not sure he believes them. Slowly, though, he can feel himself calming down. He can feel the pieces of his heart putting themselves back together, reassembling inside him. Holt arrives, waits with him while Rosa leaves to call his mom.

The knowledge that Rae is fine, that she’s napping and giggly and crawling and gnawing on a red crayon, is strangely reassuring. It grounds him. It makes the time pass faster. He finds his voice again, manages to tell Charles about the first time she babbled dadadada, while Rosa’s cheek gets stitched up in the next room. Charles has heard the story a billion times, but he listens again. He seems to know how much Jake needs to tell it (and it’s not like Charles has ever objected to hearing a story about Jake as a dad).

Before he knows it, a man in scrubs is coming in, is telling him that they’re “both fine”. The plural is confusing for a second, but then he hears Amy’s name, hears that she’s waking up, and he’s finding feeling in his legs to follow the nurse, previously unnoticed behind the surgeon’s left shoulder.

Amy’s surrounded by wires and machines, at least three of them beeping rhythmically, more than he remembers from previous hospital visits, from when Charles got shot in the butt or when Amy’s brother had his appendix out last year. But all he can focus on is Amy’s loopy smile, drowsy and a bit goofy but alive.

He’s falling into the bed, is collapsing on top of her, careful somehow of the tubes that entangle her. His arms are finding their way around her neck, cradling the back of her head, where her tangled hair finds its way between his fingers, while he sobs dryly into her shoulder. No tears will come (he’s sure they’ll make an appearance later, when she’s asleep, under the glow of the fluorescent hospital lights in the early hours of the morning), but his breath is ragged against her good shoulder while her fingers, trailing heart monitors and IV needles, dig into his shirt (he’s not sure when the bulletproof vest came off, not sure where he left it, but he doesn’t particularly care).

She’s shaking a little bit, laughing and crying and repeating she’s here and she’s okay and a billion other reassurances on loop and he’s hearing them but not really hearing them and then he’s pulling his face out of her shoulder so his lips can find hers and swallow her words.

His kiss is furious against her lips, and she returns the passion, communicating a million emotions with all the words they can’t quite seem to find. He’s moving his hands possessively, reveling in the life beneath his fingers and laughing into her kiss at the freezing fingers curling his hair.

And then his hands, roaming their way slowly down her sides, get tangled in a tuft of wires, wires that he’s accidentally yanking off before he can register that he should stop moving and detangle.

One of the machines at his back switches from a quick, rhythmic whoosh to a blaring siren, and Amy detatches, leans her forehead against his to laugh gently at his frenzied relief. Her breath warms the tip of his nose, and he’s never felt anything better. But then a nurse is tapping his shoulder.

“If you could move for just a moment, Detective Peralta, I need to reattach the fetal monitor—“

Jake’s breath hitches as he turns to his wife. “Fet—fet—fetal monitor?”

Amy’s eyes light up with excitement and playful laughter at the confusion in every line of his face.

“I’ve got some news, Peralta,” she whispers, with a giggle that turns into a cough.

“Are we—are you—fetal—when—“ he’s babbling as his wife slowly regains her breath. He knows the words coming out aren’t making sense, and Amy’s smiling, clearly enjoying the total shock on her husband’s face as he processes the information.

“Yeah. Guess my mom’ll get that second grandkid she’s started hinting about.” One of Amy’s hands has drifted towards her mostly-flat stomach, her almost-radiant happiness nearly blinding her husband as his jaw drops to the floor.

“Did you—when did—in the ER? Surgery?”

Amy immediately knows what he’s asking, knows him so well she knew what he’d ask before he even found his voice to start. “Nine weeks along. I’ve known since Monday, when I started craving peanut butter on pickles again. I wanted to wait until I was sure to tell you, but they confirmed it on the way to the OR before I had time to buy a pregnancy test.”

“I’m—a baby—Monday—pickles—“

“Don’t worry - he’s an idiot, but he’ll be fine as soon as he recovers,” Amy smiles at the nurse, fiddling with wires around her abdomen. And then there’s that whoosh again, and Jake knows that sound, now that he’s looking for it.

So he leans in for a kiss, more careful now, slower and sweeter. “I thought I lost you,” he whispers against her lips when she comes up for air.

“You aren’t getting rid of me that easy,” is her only response, as she recaptures his lips and one of his hands drifts down to find hers over the electrodes monitoring their baby’s swiftly beating heart.

[peacekeeper-xiv]

Of Nightmares and Gifts

Lloire’s face was impassive as he knelt down and scrapped a few of the scales from the creature’s wings. He’d been examining them a few hours now, watching them to discern their behaviors, their habits. What they ate, what they did when provoked or attacked. There were plenty of similarities to their cousins in Amdapor but without a sample to take Soren, he couldn’t be sure. With the sample collected he lifted his head and scanned the area around him. None of the others seemed keen to come near him now and as he stared out towards the horizon he couldn’t help but feel as though something important had happened and he was somehow missing it. With a shake of his head, the Hyur took another sample, one for himself. Soren would test it alchemically, but he wanted to have a few samples on hand for possible rituals that might employ the powdered scales from their wings.

Another look cast out to the horizon. How much time had he spent out here? The lands of Gyr Abania had almost been him home, his grave, his obsession. Now, now he hated to even be here. Between his many failures, the torments of the Shade, and his ultimately been unhelpful in the freeing of Ala Mhigo, he simply wanted to be away.

“So go home…”

Not yet. The substances he’d taken were dangerous. He needed to lock them away in his office before he did anything else. Still, something gnawed at the inside of his stomach and he couldn’t place what it was. A look over his shoulder in the direction of the Reach.

“You’re imagining things Peace…”

He closed his eyes and felt the familiar swirl of aether as it wrapped around him easily at his command. To think, a year ago he was still frightened of his power. Scared that the world would burn down around him if he lost control. Now he had even woven a healing spell or two. How time changed things.

The spell set him down in the Shroud a moment later. As always he took a steadying breath and slowly opened his eyes to the new surroundings. The smells were always the first thing he noticed. The Shroud smelled of earth, of life. He felt those earlier worries wash away as he returned to the land he’d been born to. A year ago, even this place had been different to him. He wondered to himself how different his life would have been if he’d never walked into the Quicksand that day. If he’d not paid attention to a small chirping bluebird. He’d maybe never have met Ikara, Soren might have died after their first fight, he himself might have been taken by Balorma again. For that matter, he might have been used in the war.

Shaking off the ‘what ifs’ he started towards the manor, boots sinking into the soft soil in stark contrast to the rocky dust-ridden roads around the Reach. As had become the norm, no one was around the manor. He walked through the halls undisturbed until he reached his office. Stepping inside he looked over at the desk and the piles of paperwork that waited for him. Most of it was side jobs. He’d not done any work with the Blades in quite some time but there were still plenty of recipes to fill out and other contracts to sign for his work with the Goldsmith’s guild. For a moment he thought to sit down and get the work out of the way but a small memory played in his mind and he smiled, deciding the work could wait.

“To think, I was still with Unity then… Filling out orders for miss Giovanni. You’d come and sit on my desk and try as I might, you wouldn’t let me finish. Now I’ve free reign to do so and I can’t bring myself to do it.” He shook his head ruefully with a small laugh. “What ever is wrong with you Peace?”

He made his way to the wall of books that hide the section behind it and found the right tome to trigger the device. The sound of clanking gears and chains came to life as the bookshelf slide open, revealing the passage to the back. He took the two samples inside with him and walked over to the shelves that held his various potions and ritual ingredients. He’d just set them down on the shelf when a chill ran down his spine.

“I’ll not be kept here forever.”

Pupils dilated in fear and he felt his heart jump to his throat. It was impossible! The seal should last much longer than this! He spun around, expecting to see his mirror image. The panic in his chest dropped off as soon as his eyes touched the soft blue and silver hues of his shield.

“Oh thank Nymeia…”

Was his mind playing tricks on him? All the thoughts about the war and his time out there, out east… had they been too strong? He walked over to the shield and knelt down. Closing his eyes he took a steadying breath and opened them again, adjusting his vision to see the aether. A relieved sigh left the Hyur as he saw the spell was still in place and still strong. Blinking his eyes rapidly to shift them back to normal sight he frowned at himself.

“Keep it together…”

A single touch. A brushing against more than a deliberate grab. An accident.

“You thought ‘I’ was the reason the world would crumble around you?” That sinister laugh came as the visions began to swarm his mind. “Fool! I’m the only thing that’s kept them away all these years!”

Lloire staggered into the wall, gasping in pain as the images began to crash down around him one after the other.

He stood on the island, knee deep in the water. Their last stand. They thought they could hide here, regroup. But no, she’d found them. The waters washed up against him, red with the blood of so many fallen. They’d gone too far. They created something they couldn’t control and when they failed to bring it back under their sway, they’d set it loose in Eorzea. He looked up at those cold, empty eyes. Born a person, made into a weapon, but now… Now she might as well be an elder primal.

Anger boiled within him as he looked up at what had once been his sister and his hands gripped tightly around the bloodstained beret he held. This had been their last stand and now he was alone. He drew his knife with his other hand. He’d sworn not to turn back to this, but what did a promise mean when everyone you cared for was gone? His slit his wrist open, drawing on the power there as his own crimson mixed with the stains on the cloth in his fist. Power radiated from him in waves but he was still a candle against an inferno. Cold, lifeless, red limbrals blinked as she rose her hand. His spell ignited. Everything he had poured into the attack. The Seven hells, made manifest, all directed at one person. Bahamut would have been proud.

The fires raged for several ticks before they died away. Still she lived. A terrible burn covered half of her body and still she did not blink. A single, small spark emanated from her palm. “I’m bored.” It was the last thing he saw as the world turned red.

 “If you hadn’t cast me out… if you hadn’t hid me away… You’d have stopped her. You’d have saved them. You’re a fool.”

 The scene shifted again. An different moment. Garleans poured into the city states. Ala Mhigo had been a ruse. They’d let the Alliance destroy their own troops in the attempt, even let them have their small victory. But the cost. The cost for that small win was a complete loss. The nations of the Alliance had lost too many. They had not had time to recover. Even Zenos’ death had been a single point in the master plan of the Emperor. Eorzea was falling. The next legion to descend on them took no prisoners. They took no chances.

He ran and ran until his legs felt ready to break. Until his lungs burned as though he were breathing fire. The Beds, such a peaceful serene place, were now a battlefield. An explosion to his right sent him crashing into a wall. There had been a garden here before. Now there was a canon and a dead man. Lloire pushed the corpse to the side and shifted the canon to where the last shell had come from. He set the wick to burn and took off running again. He had no way of knowing if the canon found it’s mark but there were no more explosions right near him before he reached their home.

Home. That’s what the house had become. Panic gripped his heart as he rushed inside. “Elia!” He screamed! “Celena!” He shouldered the door open and rushed inside but only made it two steps in before he fell to his knees with a strangled cry. The far wall was riddle with holes. Hundreds of them. All around him were the corpses of Garlean soldiers. Dozens of them dead, burned with holy light. But in the end, there had been too many. She’d died trying to protect their daughter. Tears stung at his eyes as he looked down on Elia huddled over Celena, both lying motionless in front of him. A terrible scream left him and he could hear the sounds of boots stomping up the cobbled steps at the sound. “This way! I heard one of the savages!”

They died. Then the next died. More and more flames. Shot out as soldiers poured into the home. The protection spells didn’t last though and a bullet tore through him. Then another. Those men died as well, but more were coming. He was going to die here. He knew it. Crawling over to their bodies, Lloire wrapped his arms around his family, his eyes tightening as the pain in his breast grew worse. A single kiss to both their heads and then the ring of another shot before the blackness took him.

 “We would have made it in time. We wouldn’t have let them down… Again. You’re nothing without me. You need to accept that. You –need- me!”

“Never!”

Lloire fell back away from the shield, back in his own thoughts, his own mind. A shaky breath left the Hyur and he staggered to his feet, glaring down at the shield that housed the shade. He tore his eyes away from it and staggered out of the hidden room. He clicked the book back in place and the shelf closed again, hiding away those dangerous things. A whispered spell to reset the enchantments and he walked quietly to his desk and leaned against it. “Never…”

<Bang, bang, bang!>

He jumped before realizing someone was knocking at his door. He wiped away the wetness from his eyes and went to answer it. Claudetta stood in the hallway with a small letter in her hand. The woman was one of the retainers he kept in his employ, but she rarely if ever came to him at the manor. “Mister Peace? I’m sorry sir, but there’s a delivery at your home and they are refusing to leave it with anyone but you yourself.” The Hyur nodded, still fighting off the visions but nodded his thanks and paid Claudetta her venture coins. “Thank you…” She nodded and turned to head off but stopped and looked back at him. “It’s a pretty big package sir… all the way from the Reach.” With that she made her way down the hall and out of the manor.

Lloire blinked.

“The Reach? What the hell did Helene send?” Setting the nightmares aside, Lloire grabbed his things and started for his house.

[jawllines]

please do a part 2 of alpha harry & y/n in heat!!!! Pleeaasssseeeee

oKAY HERE SHE IS, THE HIGHLY REQUESTED PART 2! AGAIN FAIR WARNING THIS HAS A/O/B DYNAMICS!! IF YOU ARENT INTO THAT AND IT’S NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA THEN THIS IS NOT THE BLURB FOR YOU

part 1

Y/N is much too eager for all of this, she knows, and she wonders if it’s only increased ten fold because it’s Harry and she’s always had a small crush on him, or if it’s just this whole omega thing. All she knows for sure is that she’s still insanely wet, after about five minutes of him rubbing her in the car and fucking her with his fingers was she ready to go again, and that he smelled so fucking good. So, so, so good, she just wanted to bury herself in his throat and stay there forever. 

She trips over her own feet trying to get inside, the door swinging open and slamming into the wall besides it. Harry chuckles from behind her as she tries getting her shoes off quickly. Y/N just wants to get naked and wants him to take her and do whatever it is her body needs so damn bad. Starting on the button of her pants, but Harry’s thick, ring decorated fingers cover hers, “Shh, shh, slow down, Pet,” he murmurs, and his voice is nice, gentle but deep, and she can feel it vibrating in her bones and sticking to her insides like honey, “Lemme take care of you, yeah? I’ll make you feel good…would you like that?” 

Y/N says a pitiful, “Uh-huh” in an all too reedy voice as Harry’s hands slip beneath her thighs, hiking her up against the wall and she immediately throws her arms around his shoulders. From there he starts moving her deeper into her house – she presumes he’s trying to find her bedroom, and she would help him if not for being so preoccupied with rubbing her nose against the junction of his shoulder and neck. Harry keeps a steady hand at her back, his thumb stroking at her shoulder blade, “There we go, Poppet, jus’ calm down for me. Don’ want to take this too fast or I could risk hurting you, n’ that’s out of the question.” His voice is so nice…she noticed it before all this, but even more so now than ever, “G’na get you all nice and warm and comfortable,” he promises, “Then I’ll hold you down by your hips,” he draws her a little closer to him, “And stuff you full.” 

A whine crawls from her throat and her thighs tighten around him, because that’s all she wants. To be full of him, to smell like him inside and out, to be his, god all she wants is to be his, his, his, and it’s driving her batty. “Please,” she whimpers, a hand digging at the back of his shirt, tugging it up some, “Want this off, want you now, need you now.” 

“I know baby, I know,” he stops at the bed and it’s then she realizes that he finally found her room,  bending down to lie her across it. Y/N doesn’t know how he’s so calm – from what she does remember of class is that an Alpha goes crazy for an omega in heat, but Harry is tentative and careful, kneeing himself up on the bed and leaning down to place a kiss at the corner of her mouth as his hands work on the button of her pants. 

What Y/N doesn’t know or see is the inner turmoil inside of Harry right now. The caring part of him who has always had a small crush for the beta at the bakery just wants to make sure she’s okay, and safe, and feeling good, full and satisfied. The more instinctive part of him wants to hold this pretty little omega down and tear her to pieces – bite a mark into her neck, squeeze bruises into her hips, make her fall apart around him before he pops his knot right inside of her. Wants to make her smell so much like him no other alpha would dare even look at her twice in a non platonic way.

It’s a lot and it’s hard…it’s so hard, and he’s so hard, his bulge fighting against his zipper and his hands are trembling as he pulls her pants and panties off of her. He needs to take this slow – a first heat is a very delicate thing, her body changing in more ways than one, and as much as she feels ready to be plowed into, that doesn’t mean she technically is – but he also has a pressing feeling to take care of her…he needed to take care of her, whether that be instinct or his own feelings, he couldn’t quite differentiate between the two right now and he didn’t care to. Not when she smelled so good and she was dripping so much for him. 

“So ready for me,” he whispers, taking the hem of her shirt in between his fingers and pulling it upwards, helping her take it off, before reaching around and plucking at her bra until it comes undone. Harry doesn’t waste time before he draws the soft peak of her breast into his mouth, lulling his tongue around her nipple and Y/N lets out a loud, wanton moan her legs stretching out and her body pressing itself up into her. Her skin is hot – the warmth she’s emanating is near feverish, and its taking every ounce of self restraint not to take her right there, instead slinking down her body. Stopping to blow a short raspberry into her tummy, and she laughs around a moan, hands twisted in the sheets beside her, “G’na let me taste you?” 

Y/N’s hips fight against Harry’s hands but Harry is so strong, she realizes, so sturdy, and calm, and it only adds to the slick dripping from her and the way her heart hammers. The sound of her blood rushing everywhere roaring through her ears, little bursts of fire prickling up her skin, and inside she craved, and needed, and wanted nothing but Harry. She needed him inside of her – she doesn’t even care how lewd she sounds when she pleads for him, “Please, please, I need – I need you to …” 

“I know what you need, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the innermost part of her thigh, “Need my big cock in one of your pretty, greedy holes.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side and biting at the skin he’s closest to, sucking a mark deep unto it. Y/N’s nodding, low in her belly is a pit of fire just burning and it won’t take a lot to get her off. She just hopes that once it happens that’ll be the end of this…of this personal hell where it feels like all she can do is want and want and want. 

Though she’s not even able to fully revel in the fact Harry’s got his tongue on her most intimate of places (like she’s fantasized about plenty of times), because just one stroke of his tongue against her tore her in two. Her thighs fought against his shoulders, her back lifted from the mattress, and she couldn’t tell if she was trying to get closer to Harry’s tongue or get away from it. She was so sensitive everywhere, and she’s only slightly embarrassed it took so little, but then again she really can’t find it in her mind to care. Y/N feels better for a moment, but the match is caressed and starting up again inside her. 

“More, more, more,” she repeats it, panting and tears glistening in her eyes, pulsating when three of his fingers slip inside of her easy and his thumb lulls around the swollen bud of her clit. 

Harry was on his last thread, truly, because she’s making this really fucking difficult. He really thinks he could’ve came right there – just one lick into her and she fell apart for him? And she’d tasted so sweet…so heady and intoxicating it made his head swim. Heats were known for stroking the Alpha’s ego but this was more than he could ever describe. He’s dealt with many omegas in heat but never one that made him tremble the way he was now. The sweat building at the back of his neck, the way he must gnaw on his bottom lip, and he’s getting that want, want, wanting feeling he gets when he’s in his rut which is not good. Probably the furthest thing from good. 

So after she cums around his fingers and he licks her clean, Harry finally draws back and pulls off his clothes with clammy hands. His cock bobs upward and the head is drooling a sticky, thick line of precum. He has to fit a hand around himself and give a squeeze just to take some of the edge off, but Y/N is mewling at him and pouting because he’s taking too long. 

“Need ya t’a move for me, baby,” he tells her, placing a gentle hand on her hip, “C’mon, hands n’ knees.” As much as Harry wants to see her pretty face all fucked out and wrecked, he knows for a fact he himself wouldn’t be able to handle it. He wants to at least give her a proper dicking before his knot swells. 

Though this elicits a sadder sounding noise from Y/N, as he scoots up behind her, “Wha’s wrong, Pet?” He asks her, stroking the heated skin of her back, following the ridges and bumps of her spine with the tip of his fingers.

“Can’t see you,” she answers sadly, sounding so far gone, though it’s muffled by her arm, and it makes his heart grow three sizes too big for his chest. Harry scouts out his shirt among the mess of blankets (she had many on her bed), bundling it up and moving it so it’s in front of her face. He’d never tried this before, granted it was supposed to be something that worked for bonded pairs and he’d never been bonded before, but it works nonetheless. Y/N nestles her face into it, breathing in deep, and her fingers bunch the shirt up in her hands to hold it still. 

Harry tries to gather his bearings as he takes hold of himself, positioning right in front of her hole that was currently clenching around nothing, dripping and ready for him. The bulbous head catches at the entrance and Y/N cries out, moving to press back into him, but the dominant, instinctive part of him won’t allow it. His hands clap down onto her sides, squeezing tightly and her moans are muffled in his shirt now but still so honeyed to his ears. 

He slides himself inside of her, bit by bit until he gets about halfway and sees she’s holding up well, so he sinks the rest in one go. All caution is all but thrown to the wind then, as he’s surrounded in her warm, wet, walls and she’s relaxing around his cock like it’s all she could’ve ever wanted or asked for. He bends himself over so he’s pressed against her back, and he slides one hand around so he can hold her up by her chest. It makes her squeak the cutest noise he thinks he’s ever heard, as his hips start steadily fucking into her like he knows they both need. 

The hand on her chest squeezes around her breast, while he takes her ear in between his teeth, nibbling and biting at the lobe while he fucks her hard, not giving her time to make any other sound but punched, bopped out little noises every time he buries himself deep. His other hand is palm flat to her lower belly, digging his fingers in slightly. “S’fucking good,” he rumbles, releasing her ear with a small gasp, “So fucking good, so good for me, g’na knot you soon, baby, don’ worry.” 

A pleased noise leaves her, and god it resonates deep within his bones, adding to the white hot fire inside his body. He’s way closer than he wants to be right now, but really how could he help it when she smells so fucking good? When he burrows his face into her throat all he wants to do is bite down, make her his forever, make her just smell overwhelmingly of him, and she’s submissively tilting her head to the side so that he can. 

He can’t…he knows he can’t just bite her and bond them, especially when this is her first heat, and he isn’t her proper Alpha…just a stand in…but god it doesn’t stop the idea of it pulling him even further to his peak. So he flips her over so he can see her face (she’s so soft, and fucked out, with blown eyes and a lip bitten raw and swollen, it’s surely a sight he wants to have tattooed behind his eyelids) he starts talking again – needs to, for him and for her, “No wonder you’re an omega,” he starts, voice low and right beside her ear and she shivers, “Always wondered why I wanted to fuck my cute little beta at the bakery and it never made any sense but now it does…now you do…you’re mine, fuck you’re mine.” 

Y/N cries out and her body is drawn taut as a bow as yet another orgasm washes over her, and Harry’s knot swells at the base before slipping inside of her as his own release crashes into him in tsunami like tides, and he groans loudly. His eyes flutter as he grits his teeth together, stopping himself from biting into her neck. 

He slumps into her, panting with his face pressed against her soft bosom, and wants the roaring in his ears settles to a dull murmur he hears a sniffle. It makes him pop his head up, to see Y/N has tears staining her cheeks and panic over comes him, “Hey, hey, hey, wha’s the matter? Did I hurt you? Are you hurting?” Eyes darting along her body, he searches for any visible things that would cause her to cry.

Before he could start really panicking however, or being angry with himself for hurting her, Y/N shakes her head quick, pressing the heel of her palm to one eye, “It just feels so good,” she tells him, before a sweet smile – the same one that greets him every time he walks into the bakery – pulls at her mouth, despite her watery eyes, “Thank you so much, you feel so good, n’ I like you so much.” 

Harry can’t help himself then, as he bends down and smears their lips together in a kiss that sizzles underneath his skin. Her mouth his soft, warm, and pouty; nice to press into with his own as he empties out inside of her. When he parts from her, he lays his forehead against hers and noses at her nose with the tip of his own until she giggles, “I like you too.” 

“Does this mean I’m yours now?” Y/N asks him, and it makes Harry grin as he nods. 

Little did she know, that she’s been Harry’s ever since he first walked into the bakery, where a cute beta worked behind the counter. 

[techno-sorcerer]

Adjusting to the Dark: Chapter 2 Waking Up

Story Summary:  After recovering from an attack, Kaiba attempts to return to work. The problem: it was a vampire attack, and he didn’t recover so much as turn. Meanwhile, demons lurk ready to strike and take Kaiba Corp at the first sign of weakness

Chapter Summary:  Kaiba attempts to rationalize and deal with the situation in front of him. Unfortunately, he came to some wrong conclusions. As his plan to get home veers off course, a helpful- if ominous- stranger appears.

Words: 6,241

Chapter Content Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore and death at the start (as in very start hence the placement of the read more), general discussions of death throughout, referenced canonical suicide (Gozaburo’s)

Note: A detail was added to the last scene of chapter 1 (at the end of its first paragraph). I probably had thought I would include it at the start of this chapter but it really belonged there.

Second Note: I updated this chapter since something got fleshed out in my head while writing a later chapter that I then realized would be best to address it first here. I’ve added several paragraphs during Kaiba’s first encounter with Arnold the security guard.

Links to Previous Chapter: tumblr, ao3. ; Link to this chapter on ao3

Kaiba stared at the corpse in front of him and took a step backwards. His lip trembled and his hand shook at the scene.

The corpse looked outward with its head rolled to the side revealing a tight ring of red on the neck and two pairs of holes in its center. Its legs folded unnaturally as if somebody had picked up a doll and dropped it, and Kaiba realized a moment later that the analogy might be apt. Around the corpse was a small puddle of piss, the man’s bladder finally giving up just before death. A hiss of air escaped the corpse’s lips, but Kaiba heard no breathing after that. It was probably just gas leaving the corpse. Kaiba leaned forward and poked the body, hoping his senses were lying. It was warm, but it didn’t respond at all. It was actually dead.

Tearing his eyes away, Kaiba hoped to find something to explain the situation, but instead there was another two bodies tossed to the side and a garbage truck idling behind him. A dumpster stood beside him with its lid open and horrendous smells wafting out. A trash bag lay scattered next to one of the other bodies.

What had happened here? What even had the power to do this?

The only thought that came to mind that wasn’t straight out of a myth was the boy who attacked him.  While Kaiba didn’t pretend that he was particularly strong, he wasn’t weak either, yet trying to move the boy had been like fighting with a statue. Glancing at the holes on the corpse’s neck, he remembered feeling pinpricks on his own neck after the boy had pushed him up against the wall, and how his body had lost all of its energy afterwards. The memory of the pain moved his hand, and he found his fingers sliding over his own neck. A shiver went down Kaiba’s spine.

However, he didn’t feel any holes.

He remembered the pain. There should be something.  Maybe it was shallow? He pushed his fingers harder across his skin, hoping to find anything to support the memory. Even a slight throb would do.

There was nothing.

He stared at the deep holes on corpse’s neck, and practically pinched his own neck in frustration. What was going on?

Kaiba then glanced at his left hand. He had seen red welts appear across the back of his hand when the boy had squeezed it, but now it looked pristine if a bit pale. He opened and closed it as if to confirm that it was real, that it was his. It was.

Maybe the memory was fake? No. He wouldn’t voluntarily go near a pile of garbage, let alone lay under one. Something had to have at least incapacitated him and probably knocked him out. Maybe the memory was exaggerated?

As if the scene in front of him wasn’t. Why was he alive while these people were slaughtered? If the boy had qualms with anyone, it was him.

Kaiba stared at the body in front of him for a while before he shook his head. This was spinning his brain in circles and not accomplishing anything. He closed his eyes and blocked out the dizzying questions surrounding how he got here. He needed to focus on what he was going to do next. As his first priority, he had to get back to Kaiba Corp and from there home to Mokuba.  Mostly he wanted to see Mokuba. There was no particular reason for it. His brother was probably just as healthy, happy, and safe as he had been when he went to school that morning, and his brother would have no idea of what he just went through. But, it was Mokuba that kept his will strong during the vivid nightmare, and it was Mokuba that he needed to see. Everything else would be planned around that.

So, he probably wouldn’t spend much time at the corporate headquarters. His original reason for going to the office was to read some productivity and labor reports, and he could just as easily bring them home with him. He supposed cleaning himself up in the bathroom would also be reasonable, since he wouldn’t want his brother seeing him in this sorry state. He would also need to change into spare clothes to replace his current outfit, which was both waterlogged and stained. The less reason his brother had to worry the better.

Having established the best way to get home to Mokuba both quickly and presentably, Kaiba realized that he would have to report the murder. He frowned; he wasn’t sure how long that would take.

However, it did need to get done. Not only would waiting too long be suspicious, but the victims deserved it. They had done nothing wrong. Hell, they had been doing their jobs when they were attacked. Jobs he would have previously dismissed as unimportant and trivial but somebody had to do them, and now somebody was dead for it.

Kaiba opened his eyes and glanced around for hints to his location. Now that he wasn’t panicking over the gore, he could see that he was in the lowest basement level of a parking garage. There were no cars except the still running garbage truck, though Kaiba mused it was making enough noise for the whole garage. It practically made his ears ring. However, the only way out was past the offending sound, so he started his march out, stepping over a scattering of broken glass by the open driver’s door.

The garage was probably the one behind the Kaiba Corp Tower, since Kaiba doubted his attacker would try to drag his body very far. Or, at least he hoped he wouldn’t have to walk far in the open with everyone able to see- and smell- that he had just taken a trash bath.

He left the worst of the stench behind him as he ascended the ramp, so he pushed some gunk off his face and ventured a shallow breath in. He still stunk of course; it would take a change of clothes and several showers to get the last traces of garbage off his skin. But, he also smelled other things. The asphalt. Leftover gasoline fumes. Even a faint trace of body odor from the long gone visitors. Other than the garbage people, there probably hadn’t been anybody here for the past hour, not even people working a late shift. While it was nice to finally smell something other than rot, a part of Kaiba worried about how quickly he accepted the information. He knew that simply sniffing shouldn't have told him that, but he couldn’t convince himself otherwise.

Not too long after starting to walk, Kaiba reached an alcove with an elevator, and he practically melted with relief upon seeing the Kaiba Corp Tower lobby listed on the directory. He jammed the up button several times before finally ascending to the first floor.

Despite having walked through the floor many times on the way to his office, everything was new. Familiar details from the gurgle of the fountain to the pulse of the fluorescent lights felt more intense, but new details also emerged. He had never before gotten a whiff of the cleaning solution from the floor, nor had he ever noticed the air vents particular hiss. He hadn’t heard the particular squeak of rubber soled shoes, probably belonging to a security guard, against the tile floor, nor had he heard the slight hush of the guard breathing. Finally, he certainly had never heard soft thumping tuh-thub followed the security guard’s footsteps.

Blinking, Kaiba recognized it as a fuller, fleshier version of the sound which had captivated him while he was in the dumpster. Without the hunger gnawing at his nerves, no urgent need welled up inside him, but it was still alluring. He kept listening as he walked towards the company elevator that would carry him to his office.

The elevator dinged to acknowledge his request. The footsteps turned towards his direction, and then the rhythmic tuh-thub quickened. “Hey! Are you supposed to be here?”

Kaiba turned towards the guard, a buff man staring at him with wide eyes. A quick flare of Kaiba’s nostrils revealed the man to be healthy, albeit a bit nervous, and unsure of exactly why it seemed relevant, he tucked the information away for later. Moreover, Kaiba’s eyes locked onto the source of the thumping- or at least what his ears claimed was the source- inside the man’s chest. But, it was impossible. To think that he could actually be hearing… that was ridiculous. To even entertain the notion…

“Answer the question.”

Kaiba refocused his attention and forced himself to fill his lungs with air. “Of course I’m supposed to be here; I own the building. Now, let me get to my office.”

It was almost amusing to watch the realization dawn on the guard’s face, but instead of turning away the man reached for the walkie talkie on his vest. “I have somebody claiming to be Seto Kaiba. It might actually be him, but I’d like somebody from the office to come down and confirm.  He seems a bit worse for wear.”

“Is it really that hard to believe it's me?”

The man gave a small laugh. “Looking like that? A little. But, I mostly don’t want to declare you found without checking in. I haven’t been here long enough to make that kind of call.”

Found? The word gave Kaiba a pause. Slowly words fell out of his mouth. “How long was I gone?”

The thumping quickened again, and the man shifted his weight. It was always hard for employees to deliver bad news. “You were officially declared missing three days ago.”

Kaiba felt the floor drop out from under him. Three days. At least, to give them time to officially declare it. So, make it four. Mokuba had been waiting for four days, unsure of when or if he would come home. Isono was there of course, which helped things marginally, but it didn’t mean that Mokuba wouldn’t worry. It certainly didn’t mean he was safe. What if somebody tried to take advantage of the situation? What if the police had given up on him and insisted that Mokuba go back to the orphanage? There was only so much Isono could do especially because their agreement only went so far.

The agreement was, of course, that Isono was technically Kaiba’s and Mokuba’s legal guardian. After he had taken the company from Gozaburo and after his adopted father’s suicide, the government had decided that Kaiba needed someone to look after him. Kaiba disagreed; he’d seen what could happen if he gave someone that much power over him, and he had just barely gotten out of that situation. There was no way he’d submit himself like that again. Plus, even if- and Kaiba considered this a big if- the person involved didn’t abuse their position, Kaiba also knew parents were unreliable; he had already walked three of them to the grave. The first time, his relatives for whatever good they were had taken everything and left him to the orphanage.

There was also the issue of company bylaws. Gozaburo Kaiba was a man obsessed with legacy, and since Kaiba Corp was the pinnacle of that legacy, it was one he had kept close his chest with plans to do so even in death. At the company’s founding back when Gozaburo had still been young, he had inserted into the corporation’s founding document that CEO must themselves be a Kaiba. While this had been partly a way to secure his position in life, Seto Kaiba knew very well the man’s obsession with finding a perfect heir of his choosing, one that could act as his proxy come death. The man’s quest had dominated five years of Seto’s life.

So, adoption was not an option. It would break the legal ties that bound him to Gozaburo and more importantly Gozaburo’s name. Perhaps in good times, it could have been argued that with the inheritance already won the ties no longer mattered, but times were never good. There was always someone ready to argue the other case.

Unfortunately, he had at the time only been just shy of fifteen, and adoption or not, the state demanded a legal guardian. Chikuzen Oza, the scheming lawyer of the Big Five, would have had some difficulty arguing against the government to let him stay parentless. To achieve that and allow him to continue to protect his brother Mokuba would have been impossible. Trusting Chikuzen to not attempt to take the heir to Kaiba Corp for himself? Now that was laughable. Chikuzen, however, was no Gozaburo, and alerting the other four businessmen was enough for their mutual distrust to take care of the rest.

So, the honor had to go to someone and most importantly someone Kaiba trusted. Someone close enough that the government would accept the thin charade, but that wouldn’t attempt to use or, even more broadly, control him. That narrowed the list of candidates down to two: Kisara and Isono. Kisara was herself a tempting option, but while there was a chance that either of them would attempt to actually parent him, at least with Isono, a healthy dose of professional fear would ward him off. While Kisara seemed to fear many things as a head of security must, Kaiba knew better to think that he would ever be one of them.

But, because Isono respected the agreement, Isono’s guardianship was only a technicality and a flimsy one at that. It had given his lawyers enough to work with, but an extended disappearance and increased scrutiny could upset that balance. For that matter, getting sent to the orphanage- despite being Kaiba’s greatest fear for five years- was the least of the worries now. Mokuba would be the sole heir to Kaiba Corporation, and while he had been stepping up to help recently and would have Kisara and Isono to help him, he wasn’t ready for that yet. The economics of it, management practices, how to foster research and development, Mokuba could figure those out in time, but the internal politics would eat him alive.

“If you don’t mind me asking, but what happened?”  Kaiba shot him a glare. “That’s cool.”

Eventually an older man emerged from a doorway at the end of the hall; another wobblier tuh-thub followed the new pair of footsteps. Kaiba recognized him as someone who often worked with Kisara but couldn’t exactly place the man’s name. The older man nodded at the guard. “Thank you, Arnold. That is him. You may leave.” Arnold nodded back and gave Kaiba an uneasy side-eye before leaving.

Kaiba decided to ignore the guard and turned his attention to the older man. “Where’s Kisara?”

“Simply at home, sir. She had been spearheading the search for you, but eventually even she needs to sleep. Would you like me to call her in?”

“No,” Kaiba rolled his lips in disappointment. “There was just something I was going to ask her to do. You could probably do it just as well.” The older man composed himself, ready for orders. “I woke up by the dumpster in lower level parking garage next to three dead garbage collectors. This needs to be reported to the police, and we should start our own internal investigation of the incident as well. I will be heading upstairs to pick up some things from the office before heading home to be with family.” He realized that the situation would likely be more complicated than that, but sometimes simply saying things with enough authority made them true.

“Sir… If what you say is true, then it may be best if you waited down here until the police arrived. They will likely want an official statement. We can have Arnold pick up your things for you.”

“Of course.” Kaiba still pursed his lips. This might take longer than anticipated. “All I need are a couple of reports that should have been left on my desk and a spare school uniform in the lower left hand drawer of my desk.”

The older man gestured towards Arnold and repeated the instructions before handing him a key and sending him off. Then the man turned back to Kaiba. “I know you may not want to discuss this, but as the senior member of security in the building, it is my job. Are you ok?”

“I’m covered in trash, what do you think?” The older man seemed unimpressed with this answer. “Fine, yeste- Monday night I was attacked on my way back to the office. My attacker easily overpowered me and knocked me out. Maybe he thought I was dead and tried to dispose of my body because the next time I woke up, I was at the bottom of the dumpster. The time after that I woke up surrounded by dead bodies.” As he spoke the authoritative veneer slid off his voice, and he began to tremble. “What if he’s trying to torture me? We need to do our own investigation on this. I need to get home as soon as possible.”

The older man reached up to touch him but decided against it when he pulled away. He rarely wanted anyone to touch him, least of all now. The man seemed saddened by this. “Don’t worry. We will be conducting a thorough investigation parallel to the police’s. You will probably be able to go home as soon as you issue the statement. Another thing I have to ask is what happened to your hand?”

Kaiba cautiously started to lift up his left hand, remembering that he had checked it for marks before, but the man shook his head and gestured towards his right hand. Lifting that one up, Kaiba noticed a web of dark red blood across his knuckles and the back of his hand. Without thinking he pulled it up to his nose and sniffed, but he immediately recoiled at the smell of something sour in addition to the trashy haze. Kaiba suddenly became aware of the absurdity of the action and turned way from the man’s gaze. “I must have cut it while in the dumpster.”

The older man then excused himself to call the police station, leaving Kaiba with his thoughts for a moment. He hated it. Not being left alone, that was fine. It was all the noises, smells, and lights that made a quiet moment loud. It was the choice between focusing on things which shouldn’t be there or letting himself remember the garbage collector’s face. Kaiba curled inward and crossed his arms.

Eventually the older man returned, and Kaiba decided to correct a mistake. “I’m not sure I have your name.”

“Jun Liu, sir”

That rang a bell. “Kisara recruited you on a trip to Beijing, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaiba considered things for a moment then noted, “I will notify Kisara of your performance today. You have done well.”

Not even half a minute after Arnold came down with the bag of clothes and reports, two people and two pairs of tuh-thub walked into the lobby and headed straight towards Kaiba. One was a round woman with her hair pulled back under a scarf with a stiff step, while trailing behind her was a short man who walked like he was trying not to dance to the song in his head. Like Arnold they both smelled healthy and fit though in a softer way. As they approached the woman reached into her jacket and pulled a badge out. “Hello, I’m Detective Wasseem, and this is Detective Ito. The crime scene is cordoned off and being processed by the officers, so we would now like to speak with you.” Detective Wasseem explained, twirling the badge in her hand before putting it away. “You must be Mr. Liu, who I talked with over the phone, and you must be Seto Kaiba.”

She reached out to shake both of their hands, nose crinkling when she reached towards Kaiba. He reluctantly grabbed her hand. Her warm hand stiffened upon contact and her tuh-thub jumped for a moment, before she released her grip.

“Kaiba is fine.” His first name always made him feel young, and while he may be younger than Jun Liu, he had the senior position at the company. “It's a good thing you could come out here. This is important.”

“Yeah,” Detective Ito laughed. “You got quite a horror show going down there.” He sounded almost irreverent, but Kaiba’s nose detected a trace of unease. Understandable, considering they just saw the bodies. Detective Ito let out another laugh. “In fact, you’re not that pleasant of a sight either.”

“Probably not that pleasant of a smell too, so it would be best for all of us if we got this over with as soon as possible.”

“You can say that again.” Detective Ito leaned forward and smiled, but upon not receiving a response from Kaiba, his expression dropped. “So, Mr. Liu mentioned you getting attacked. Could you expand on that? What did the attacker look like? Did they have any weapons?”

Kaiba shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I was dragged into an alley on the way back to work. When I could see who it was, it looked like one of my classmates Yugi Mutou, who has a very distinctive look. Short with spiked hair and blonde bangs. But, the attacker was also very different. His skin was darker. His hair was more sculpted but his bangs were wild. He didn’t act like Yugi either.  Yugi has a reputation for letting people walk over him, and he doesn’t have much to back up what spine he does have. Not like this.”

“Yes, your file mentions that you had gotten into a disagreement with Yugi Mutou and his grandfather over…” Detective Wasseem pulled out a small notebook from within her blazer. “Over a rare necklace. Yugi Mutou spent that night in the hospital with his grandfather, who was injured at one of your facilities. Were the incidents related?”

“My file?” The information was correct. He had transported Sugoroku Mutou to a virtual gaming center owned by Kaiba Corp. There, they each bet a copy of the White Dragon Necklace on a game of augmented reality chess, where they each took the place of the king.

Unfortunately for Sugoroku Mutou, the realism of the game, especially the death of the bishops, peons, and knights, shook the old man, and he played a poor game. After achieving check mate, the program ended with the losing player being attacked by the threatening piece. It was holographic and ultimately harmless, but it gave the old man enough of a scare to pass out. Yugi and his gaggle of friends had escorted the man to the hospital, though not before Yugi had attempted to get the necklace back, a challenge Kisara quickly dealt with herself.

“Your missing person file.” Detective Ito gave a reassuring smile. “It says that your brother and your assistant Isono had insisted the department investigate your disappearance because she suspected foul play. We are merely trying to tie in what you're saying to what’s there.”

“Moreover,” Detective Wasseem immediately cut in. “The file had eliminated Yugi Mutou and his family as suspects, since there are witnesses placing them at the hospital for the entire night that you went missing. Are you sure you want to say the attacker looked like him?”

Kaiba titled his head. “‘The file mentioned’, ‘the file had eliminated’. It doesn’t sound like you two were officially on the investigation, so you don’t seem to be in a position to tell me what I want to say, particularly because I was the one who contacted you about this, not the other way around.” Detective Wasseem leaned away at the remarks but kept a stern expression on her face, while Detective Ito sent his partner a questioning glance. “Moreover, I specifically emphasized that my attacker resembled Yugi in some ways, but was definitely not him. So, whatever Yugi was doing that night is actually irrelevant.

“The incidents were, however, related. Along with some occult nonsense, my attacker mentioned Sugoroku going to the hospital. Not sure how he knew about it, but he did. In fact we had a scuffle over the necklace, and it broke. Not too long after that, the boy disposed of me.”

Looking back, Kaiba mused that he probably should have left the new acquisition with Kisara and the other necklaces, but he had been so excited to finally have it that his judgment had lapsed. Then again, he had not known at the time that he would be attacked and thrown in a dumpster. Life was unpredictable and harsh; he’d learned that young. Still, he had wanted so badly to own the complete set. In a way, he now had a complete set of three, but it wasn’t the same.

“What kind of occult nonsense? It might help us track him down,” Detective Ito offered.

“Bullshit about demons and darkness mostly. The way he talked, it sounded like he thought I was possessed or something.”

Detective Wasseem looked like she was trying not to roll her eyes. “And, how did the boy dispose of you? Did he have any weapons?”

“He was just strong. I could barely do anything to stop him.” Kaiba’s hand wandered up to his neck. “It gets a little blurry, but I remember him pushing me against the wall and then pricks on my neck, though I don’t feel anything there now, so….” He didn’t want to sound weak, but he didn’t want to sound like a liar, especially with Detective Wasseem already suspicious. He left it at a shrug. “I blacked out not too long afterwards. Next I woke up, and I was buried in the dumpster unable to move because of the smell. After that, I woke up outside it with the bodies around me.”

“Could we see your neck?”

Kaiba moved his hand away.  He looked expectantly at the detectives and then at Jun Liu, who had stepped to the side.

“I don’t see anything.” Detective Waseem chided, tapping her finger against the notebook.

Detective Ito shrugged. “Not being hurt usually is a good thing.” His voice wavered a bit, and the emphasis dropped on the ‘usually’. “It should be a good thing that it didn’t happen.”

Kaiba let out a sigh and looked down. He remembered it. He remembered being pinned against the wall. He remembered the pain at his neck, and he certainly remembered how everything went numb and weak afterwards. And, whether or not that happened, he still ended up in a dumpster for three or four days, and he still woke up surrounded by corpses. His hand slowly and gracelessly fell to his side.

“There is a stain on your collar, sir,” Jun Liu spoke, startling everyone. He’d been so quiet he almost blended into the background. It was only his breathing and tuh-thub that reminded Kaiba he was still there, and focusing on the detectives, Kaiba had tuned those out. However captivating the noises were, they were still so much softer than talking.

“There are plenty of stains on my clothes. I assume this one is different.”

“It looks like it could be dried blood, sir.”

Kaiba’s mouth went into an ‘o’. Maybe it did happen. Unfortunately, before he could further process this new information, Detective Wasseem cut in, “While we are on the topic, what about the blood on your hand. How did that get there?”

Kaiba hesitated then shrugged. “Must have cut myself on something in the dumpster.”

“Are you aware that one of the garbage truck’s windows was shattered? By the looks of it, whoever attacked those people, busted the window in order to get to the driver. Most of the glass was on the driver's seat, and the seat belt was even ripped apart rather than unbuckled.”

“What does that ha-” Kaiba was in the middle of snapping back, when he saw his hand again. The web of red across his hand was formed of a number of little streaks, exactly what one would expect if shards of glass had fallen across it. He touched his fingers with his left hand. It felt normal, unharmed. He looked back at Detective Wasseem, who glared at him incredulously, while Detective Ito for once did not attempt to offer any hope. The evidence did seem fairly damning.

But, it also was completely ridiculous. “First, you would think my hand would still be hurting if I punched through the window of a truck, and it doesn’t hurt at all. Second, I don’t think I’m physically capable of ripping apart a seat belt, even if- if- I wanted to. Third, what do you think I did? Hop into a dumpster, wait four days, abandoning my brother and my company in the process, only to jump out and murder some garbage collectors I’ve never met before. Oh, and then walk up here to report it. Do you realize what you’re saying?”

Detective Ito responded. “We aren’t saying we know exactly what happened, but a number of details are suspicious, your hand among them. The bodies were still warm; they couldn’t have been there that long. Chances are you were there when they were murdered, and unless we check the tapes and find that someone left the garage not too long before you woke up, then you are by default the only suspect. You are right that things don’t entirely add up in any case, but you see why we have to check.”

“Or, you could realize that your only suspect is sheet white, hasn’t eaten any solid food in four days, and still smells like the deepest pits of hell,” A mysterious voice announced, causing Kaiba to almost jump out of his skin. “I’ve seen corpses that looked more alive.”

It took a moment Kaiba’s eyes to find the source of the voice, which turned out to be a dark skinned man in a suit with a white turban wrapped loosely around his head. But, something was wrong, deeply wrong. After a second, Kaiba realized that he wasn’t hearing anything from the man, not any footsteps, not a breath, and certainly not a tuh-thub. Taking a quick sniff, he realized that there were no new scents either. He could see the man and hear the man speak, but otherwise it was like he wasn’t there. With that Kaiba started to realize just how quickly he came to expect those senses, even as he tried to deny and ignore them.

Maybe this was proof that he wasn’t actually hearing- Kaiba loathed to acknowledge it with a name- heartbeats. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be hearing or smelling these things. He was just out of it after being missing. In a dumpster. For four days. The stranger in front of him was normal.

The thought provided some comfort but didn’t stop the alarms going off in his head.

However, as Kaiba stared, wide eyed at the man, the two detectives were already talking. “Well, I can’t say whether I was expecting to see you here. You tend to work nights, but no one could find you around. Shannon said she hadn’t seen you around the department the past few days. Yet, somehow you always manage to show up.” Detective Wasseem almost spat the words out.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on something, but I appear where I am needed.”

The statement made Detective Ito laugh. “Of course you do. That’s why you have your finger in every pie in the department. And, you mention corpses looking more alive. I’ve never seen a corpse that sarcastic. And, for somebody who hasn’t eaten or drunk for four days, he seems fairly alert. Again, not saying he did it, but it is fairly odd, don’t you think.”

“Odd, perhaps. However, life contains many odd things, most of which we never know the rhyme or reason for. It doesn’t mean there isn’t any, though. The shock of waking up to that scene may have fed him some adrenaline. He may be pushing forward on willpower alone. He may be ignoring all the warning signs his body is sending him. We would never know just looking. Asking him may work, but there is a chance that even he does not know himself.” The strange man looked directly at him.

Kaiba blinked. They were talking about him, weren’t they? He curled his lip back in distaste. “I’m… no, I’m not entirely fine.” He continued staring at the stranger. “You haven’t introduced yourself.”

“Sorry for my rudeness.” The stranger gave a professional smile and bobbed his head. “I’m Detective Shadi. I was spearheading the investigation into your disappearance, and as such, I should have gotten here earlier. As said, there is important business I have to keep track of, and your sudden reappearance was quite the surprise.”

“It’s not like you were that much later than these bozos,” Kaiba snorted. Detective Shadi’s presence or lack thereof may be off putting, but he could still be useful. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into them.”

Detective Wasseem rolled her eyes. “If there is any sense in the Domino Police Department, it certainly wouldn’t come from Shadi. He transferred in half a year ago and has had the captain under his thumb ever since. He doesn’t have a partner and gets whatever cases fit his fancy. I’m not sure it even matters if he makes progress on them. Plus, whatever important business he’s talking about wasn’t with the department, and he hadn’t even put in leave. I don’t doubt the captain will somehow manage to ignore this, like everything else he does, but if you don’t want to look suspicious, he’s not the guy you want on your side.”

Detective Shadi seemed unfazed by the disparagement. “Maybe not me, but reason might convince you. If you leave him tonight, it's not like he can go anywhere. Not only is he the richest person in the city, but his face has also been plastered all over the news after his disappearance. If he wanted to avoid notice, he’d have to crawl back into a dumpster and even then eventually he’d have to feed. Let him go. You can get a warrant later.”

“Maybe,” Detective Wasseem said. “But, there’s still the issue of his health. ‘Not entirely fine’ is a long ways off from the condition we would expect someone with his story to be in. He should check into the hospital on the way home. It would be good to have a professional opinion on his condition.” She pressed her lips together and glanced at the ground. “You are right that he is a bit pale, and when we shook hands, he felt cool to the touch. He should probably get that checked out.”

Detective Shadi opened his mouth and then closed it before putting his finger tips together, glancing upward, and muttering something quick. He then looked directly at Kaiba. “Well, it seems like… a reasonable enough request.”

“And a necessary one for both the detectives here and myself,” Kaiba conceded. On one level, he felt physically fine. Better in fact than he had before the incident, which was a confusing and scary thought.  What if Detective Shadi was right and he was ignoring something?  There were of course signs. The sounds and smells that shouldn’t exist. The paleness and apparently coolness of his skin. The blood on his collar and across his fingers. What if he got home only to collapse on the floor? Kaiba wasn’t even sure why he was alive; the prospect of this all catching up to him didn’t sound far fetched.

“That would be satisfactory then.” Detective Wasseem did not sound or smell satisfied, but she put both her pen and her notepad away.

“I guess we’ll go back to examining dead bodies and pondering the depravity of human nature. Though, considering your clothes are covered in evidence, it would be great if you dropped them off at evidence. Later of course.” And, with that Detective Ito went back to lighthearted laughs and reassuring smiles. The two then turned to leave.

Kaiba turned towards Detective Shadi. “Are you going to be leaving as well?”

“There is something I would like to discuss with you before you leave, but if you have other business to attend to first, I can wait.”

Kaiba raised an eyebrow. “Surely, then, this can wait until another day.”

“No.”

“So, you think this is more important than a murder investigation?” Kaiba almost laughed.

Detective Shadi did not even blink at the question. “The investigation pertains to lives already lost due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control. What I come with now is a warning about what we can control and the lives, both yours and of those around you, that may be at stake.”

Well, if that wasn’t ominous. Though, perhaps Detective Shadi had some information on the boy who attacked him. While Detective Shadi was odd, he also seemed reasonable and competent, and Kaiba decided to hear him out. “I can’t imagine the scene I woke up to being an accident, but since you’re willing to wait, I have to first clean up. I’m not sure I can stand another moment smelling like this.”

Notes: As in the last chapter, one thing I’m doing with this work is having a lot of fun with limited perspectives, where no one has a complete idea of what is going on. Except maybe Shadi, but even Shadi has blind spots. Needless to say it was fun to write.

Bonus points if you can guess what Shadi was keeping an eye on. 

Also, I spent more time sifting through for typos this time, but there’s still a chance (probablilty sadly close to 1) that some made it through.

Thank you to @holybikinisbatman for helping me come up with names for Jun Liu and Detective Wasseem (her first name is Maram).

Fun facts: Jun Liu used to be in the military and Arnold does cross fit. 

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Mayor Summey

Featuring Mayor R. Keith Summey

One night I decided to go to a town hall meeting. Not because I was in to politics or trying to better my neighborhood or something like that, but out of sheer boredom. And maybe I could pick up some horny ass daddies there. Sitting in the crowd, I saw plenty of desperate husbands who needed some kind of ass on the side but I was immediately enthralled by the mayor as he came in.

His name was Keith Summey and to my surprise, he wasn't all dressed up in a suit and tie. Just a light blue button up shirt and khakis, but he carried himself well. I even noticed he wasn't wearing any socks with his loafers which I thought was cute. He was a striking older man, more wide than tall, I guessed him to be around 5'8" or so. He had a light completion with wavy gray to silver hair and a reddish nose.

I watched him pressing the flesh sorta speak from across the room. Funny and courteous, he seemed to bow slightly as he spoke to the constituents, leaning in to let them know he was focused on their needs. 

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll look right into it personally." he assured a woman fussing about increased traffic in her neighborhood.  

Even though I had nothing to complain about, I wanted to get an up close view and shake his hand to fuel my fantasies. When he got closer to me he was nearly knocked down by a disheveled man racing through with a handful of papers. The man had a look of anger as he described his personal chaos to Mayor Summey, gesturing at some documents in his hand.  

"Let's see if we can do something about it." said the mayor in a husky baritone.  

Mayor Summey was there to take care of everything. He anticipated constituents' needs. He was still smiling and nodding, looking very relaxed as he got all the man's information before continuing on to me.

"Good to see you young man." He said as he gently but firmly shook my hand with his right hand while patting me on the shoulder with his left. He had a stronger grip than I'd imagined.  

"Same to you." I replied rather clumsily.

Now that he was right next to me the impact of just how hot this guy was had hit me. I temporarily lost my ability to speak as all of the blood in my brain had traveled south. My gaze was drawn to his neck, just inside his shirt collar. I imagined gently running my fingers down the trail of wiry gray hairs I saw. I studied the hair on his wrists, leading from under his shirt cuffs across the back of strong, masculine hands as he shook my hand. Even his scent was sexy. An old-fashioned cologne I couldn't quite place, mixed with his natural musky, manly scent both soothed and exhilarated me. I inhaled slowly trying to make the moment last. He tilted his face up to me and paused. I wondered if he was reading my thoughts as he smiled, catching me again with those beautiful blue eyes. Still smiling, he gave my hand an extra squeeze. I wanted to grab him and stick my tongue down his throat.  

"Easy, boy," I thought to myself.

As he turned to go I realized I'd stopped breathing. I exhaled slowly watching his retreat, remembering his gorgeous, piercing eyes and warm smile. What had seemed like just a cute, older guy making a speech and answering questions turned out to be a seriously hot daddy for which I was developing a major hard-on for. Watching him head off to the other side of the room, I sighed as my cell went off. As I answered my call, I watched Mayor Summey interacted with the crowd. Then I realized that all I was doing was fantasizing about him being naked. How much of that fur, if any, spread across the rest of him? Did being short of stature and heavy mean he had a small dick or was he one of "nature's surprises" like I'd met once or twice? I really wanted a chance to find answers to these questions, but knew it wasn't likely to happen.

I decided to use the bathroom and head home. After finishing up I began the walk back to my car when I saw Mayor Summey at the other end of a crowded corridor. Slowing, as we approached each other, we exchanged pleasantries.  

"Good to see you again." he said as we came up to each other.  

"Oh, yes it is." I said.

It was clear he was on his way somewhere, so I stepped back against one wall to let him by and it turned into to a moment I'd never forget. Not only did he fail to avoid brushing against me as he squeezed past, but he made a point of slowing down and actually pushing his ass into me as he slid by. There was a relaxed feeling to his butt muscles against my crotch. I immediately went hard. After he slid past me he looked over his shoulder and smiled. This wasn't one of his professional "have a nice day" smiles. No. There was a distinct twinkle in his eye. He continued down the corridor leaving me standing there staring after him.  

"If need anything, I'll be in my office on the third floor." he said without looking back.  

"Ahh... OK," I replied with a dazed grin. I continued down the corridor, trying to smooth out the bulge he'd left in my pants. Did Mayor Summey invited me to his office just now, I thought. Nah. But what if he did. I had to find out. So a few minutes later, I was lightly tapping on his door. The door opened it to find those sexy blue eyes looking at me has he flashed that warm smile again.

"Everything alright, young man?" he asked in a  business like tone.  

"Yes, fine. Thank you." I replied.

He stepped back, allowing me to enter, then did a quick check up and down the hall. While stepping in he closed and locked the door in a single motion. Then suddenly he embraced me, sharing a long passionate kiss. We began frantically pulling off our clothes. I didn't know if he was eager or just didn't have much time to fuck before continuing on with his mayoral duties, but he wasn't waiting for any conversation. I certainly didn't mind.

As his shirt came off, I saw that he wasn't as hairy as I thought but still like what I saw. His forearms were particularly hairy leading to those masculine hands I'd admired earlier. I followed his chest hair down his stomach, getting darker and thicker until it ended in a black bush above his rising cock. This time I wanted to be the one to offer service so I quickly dropped to my knees and took his dick in my hands. His uncut rod had a thickness that filled my mouth nicely has I slid my lips over it and took it in down to its base. He exhaled slowly as he stood there, his hands on my shoulders. I could smell that old fashioned cologne again along with his natural musk. My tongue worked his fully erect shaft as I moved slowly up and down. I pulled up again to enjoy a good look at his knob. I exposed the rest of its head, sliding back his foreskin and licked around the tip.

I pushed him toward a chair and he sat down. He leaned back and spread his legs wide allowing me better access. I held his foreskin back, again working my tongue around his dickhead. My other hand was feeling the hair on his balls, thinking about what his load might taste like. I took his dick in my hands, stroking up and down as I worked my tongue to down under his nuts. I gnawed gently here and there, slowing the pace of my stroking on his dick. He moaned a bit, then after a delicious minute or two he sudden exhaled, "No!"  

Whatever he wanted next, I was going to do my best to please him; not that I didn't have ideas of my own. Earlier in the day I'd fantasized about what it'd be like to be fucked or fuck him. One of those fantasies was about to be realized as I got up and kneeled on the adjacent couch. I leaned forward laying my forehead on my folded arms, tipping my ass up a bit. I could hear him working up some spit in his mouth before he set his moisten tip against my hole and paused: this was the moment I wanted to last forever. Keith leaned in without shoving, just keeping his dick pressed against my hole before it final edged in.

He heard me gasp so he pulled back a bit. Then he leaned forward without pulling out, but enough to let off the pressure. He slid back in, going only a bit deeper than before. Keeping it all rather shallow, Keith began to slowly fuck me. He worked it back and forth, in and out as my tight ass adjusted to his thick dick. For an heavyset man, he sure knew how to fuck. Raising up against the back of the couch, I pushed ass back and down on his dick until his bush was pressed flat against my ass.  

"Yes." he moaned as I reached back to pull me against him, making sure I was all of the way in.

I looked back to see the mayor was now firmly buried in my ass. Out and back, making the slowest of rhythms as he I leaned forward to kiss me. We held a kiss as he worked my ass, now moving a bit quicker. Every so often I would squeeze his dick with my ass muscles as I rocked left and right, spreading my legs a bit wider. Keith continued to pick up the pace as his fucking worked up to a solid rhythm.

"Yes." he moaned as I reached back to pull me against him, making sure I was all of the way in.

I looked back to see the mayor was now firmly buried in my ass. Out and back, making the slowest of rhythms as he I leaned forward to kiss me.  We held a kiss as he worked my ass, now moving a bit quicker. Every so often I would squeeze his dick with my ass muscles as I rocked left and right, spreading my legs a bit wider. Keith continued to pick up the pace as his fucking worked up to a solid rhythm.

"I'm getting very close," he said, making it clear that if we didn't change course soon he was going to shoot his load.

It was only another three or four strokes before he slammed up against me and held himself there with his dick in me as deep as it could get.  

"I'm cumming!" he gasped as his cock began to throb, pumping his load into my ass.  

I could feel the cum leaking out of my ass as he slowly pulled out and stepped back. After resting a moment, both cleaned up and started dressing. Keith smiled, never saying a word as he watched me dress. Before I left, he handed me a card with his personal cell number, then I silently exited his office. That night after masturbating, I slowly drifted off to sleep and dreamt of my handsome mayor.