#whats got me now is the hinge mouth jaw thing and the... palms(?) being different colors than the rest of the arm

[dailypokemoncrochet]

I have been working on this Duraludon for what seems like forever (more than one day), and I am worrying that maybe I've gone through all the "easy" to crochet designs already and now everything is going to take me an absurd amount of time (more than one day)

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 1 (6-13): Truth serum | Damian Wayne Protection Squad™ | Best friends to lovers

Note: Rushed. I'm sure it's still the 13th somewhere.

Warnings: kidnapping, nonconsensual drugging, needles.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick wakes to the taste of blood on his tongue.

Thankfully, after slowly moving his tongue around, it's just because he bit the inside of his cheek sometime between when he was knocked out and when he woke up. His head pounds like a war-drum with his heart as he tries to get ahold of his situation. Without opening his eyes, he assess his arms are restrained behind his back and he's sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair. His legs are also tied to the chair, keeping him from running.

The suit he wears feels suffocating, proof that—once again—him wearing Batman's cowl isn't some sort of sick joke. However, his shoulders are a bit lighter suggesting his cape has been taken. Not that he'll mourn it.

His cowl is on. He silently curses himself for not checking that first. It would be the first thing Bruce checked.

He always prioritized the identity. The mission. Secrecy before safety, Gotham before everything else. Not injuries, not friends, not family, partners-

Dick's eyes fly open, reminding him of the real thing he should have checked for first.

"Robin," he gasps out loud, looking wildly around the room and tugging on the ropes holding his back to the chair.

The room is dark and small, the walls made of cinder bricks that have water mold where it connects to the cement floor. In front of him is a metal table with a black, palm sized box placed on top. Dick ignores that for now and looks to his side, only relaxing when he finds Damian to his right, tied similarly to another chair with his chin to his chest. Only unconscious, Dick notes as he watches his stomach rise and fall.

However, anxiety flutters in his gut when he sees there's a dried trail of blood running down the side of his head.

"Robin," he tries again, knowing at the back of his head that Bruce would be telling him to be quiet. Check for cameras. Look for an escape route. Don't let them know you're awake until you have a plan-

Dick shakes his head. Damian could have a concussion, and that takes priority. Dick could have one as well, considering how badly his head hurts, but Damian is only ten years old and Dick knows better than anyone the lingering effects injuries could have when you're a child.

He presses his feet to the ground and pushes, attempting to slide closer to his protege. He does nothing more than jolt in place. There's not enough leverage.

However, it seems the sound of the metal scraping against the ground is enough to wake up the boy. He comes to with a small groan and a pain laced crease between his brow.

"Robin," Dick repeats a third time. He can do nothing but sit as Damian blinks slowly behind his mask; his shoulders tensing as he too notices the restraints.

Damian opens his mouth, but before any words could leave there's a loud clang. The door in front of Dick and Damian, on the other side of the table, swings open.

In walks three men; two are unfamiliar, but the third Dick recognizes from the case files he and Damian got from Gordon about a week ago. Jonas Gibbs. Known arms dealer and smuggler. He's made his moves in Gotham these past few weeks, getting the police and public nervous about shootings with illegal guns. Batman and Robin had finally pinned down the date, time, and location of his next shipment and intended to take him down then, but he was smart and had hired help from various mercenaries that Dick could confidently bet used to be in the military before they were dishonorably discharged.

The way they moved, worked, and attacked was too strategic and planned. It was only a matter of time before one got a lucky hit on Damian; a blow with the butt of their rifle across the kid's forehead. The barrel of the rifle pointed down at Damian's unconscious body was all it took for Dick to raise his hands in surrender.

And now they're here, in some damp old room. Tied to chairs. A table placed in front of them with a mysterious box set on top of it.

"Perfect timing," Gibbs says, grinning. The two other men, clearly mercs, stand on either side of him as he drags up a chair and sits on the other side of the table. "I was almost afraid we'd have to dump water to get you up."

"What do you want?" Dick growls. He must want something. He hasn't taken off the cowl… or at least he hasn't tried to get through the various traps to pull it off. It means he must need something that an identity reveal wouldn't give him.

"I'm glad you asked, Batman," Gibbs says, a grin spreading on his face. He looks to one of his goons and they immediately pull a small camera out from a bag they had around their shoulder. He points it at Dick.

Dick gets a bad feeling about all of this.

"I want you to tell your real name for the camera."

Dick glares. "Are you serious?"

"Very. One of my men has second degree burns thanks to that cowl of yours electrifying him. So, I decided I'll let you go without any more harm. You tell me your names, and I'll let you go. Won't even show the video to anyone. Well," he smirkes, "unless you get in my way."

Dick clenches his jaw. Besides him, Damian mumbles something.

"I'm going to give you to the count of three," Gibbs says, unphased. "Otherwise it will get unpleasant."

His eyes drift to the black box, signifying it's mysterious importance. Dick doesn't let it scare him. He's not going to let this low life criminal blackmail him... put him and his family in danger. He'll take whatever will be thrown at him until he can work out a way to escape.

Gibbs counts down, and he reaches zero uninterrupted.

"Well," Gibbs says, unsurprised. "The hard way then. Gag him."

The grunts move like clockwork, and before Dick knows it his face is being grabbed and held in place while the other shoves a rag into his mouth and wraps a layer of tape around his face to hold it there.

"Batman..." he hears Damian mumble as the grunts back up. He sounds out of it. In pain. Dick can only hope that the hit he took to his head isn't too serious.

Gibbs retakes his attention, however, when he reaches forward and presses a hatch on the side of the black box, flicking it open on spring-loaded hinges. What's inside makes Dick's stomach drop. A needle and a glass vial filled with a yellow tinted liquid lays neatly inside. One of the grunts lifts the needle and the vial to begin filling it up.

"Do you know what this is?" Gibbs asks as the liquid fills the syringe. "I've yet to test it on anyone, but word is from the man I bought it from... It forces the truth out of you." The grunts finishes filling the syringe and flicks the bubbles. "Truth serum."

Dick has no doubt that the serum will work. He only wonders why he's threatening with it while he's gagged.

When the grunt walks around the table to Damian, he doesn't wonder anymore.

He can only tug on his restraints as the grunt grabs Damian's arm to aim the needle. Damian, for his effort, attempts to pull away, but the weakness of his head injury and his restraints do nothing to stop the needle from entering the inside of his elbow.

"You could have done this the easy way, Batman," Gibbs says. Dick watches as the syringe is pressed down, pushing the liquid into Damian's body. "I never like getting children involved."

Damian squeezes his jaw shut and turns his head away from the needle in his arm. It only takes a moment before the grunt pulls the empty syringe out before returning to standing besides his leader. A bead of blood appears where the needle left Damian's skin, but the boy doesn't move.

The air feels solid. Dick can hardly breathe as he tries to conceal his panic. He wants nothing more than to get out of these restraints and punch Gibbs and his men into next year, but he can't reach anything useful to do so. All he can do is watch Damian sit stock still as drugs spread through his veins.

A minute passes as Gibbs sits there in smug silence. Then, when a few more moments pass, he speaks.

"Robin," he says. Damian flinches, but doesn't look his way. His jaw still clenched. The goon with the camera points it right at Damian. "Why don't we start with something easy? What's your favorite animal?"

Damian curls his fingers behind his back and keeps his jaw grinding shut.

"Tight lipped huh?" Gibbs chuckles. He doesn't look surprised. Or worried. "Don't worry, I was assured that once it's fully in your system, it will hurt more to say nothing. What's your favorite animal, Robin?"

Damian says nothing, but he looks ridged. Tense.

"You look uncomfortable, Robin. Do you feel it in your head? I promise it will get better when you stop resisting. Let's try something different while we wait. Are you from Gotham?"

Damian's knuckles must be white under his gloves.

"How about your favorite color? Is it blue?"

Damian breathes a shaky breath through his nose, and Dick's heart breaks. He works harder to find a weakness in his restraints.

"My, your resilience is admirable. Were you trained on this?" Gibbs asks. Damian remains stubborn, but Gibbs still doesn't look worried. "Who were you trained by?"

"The best," Damian whimpers, cutting himself off with a growl and shutting his jaw. Gibbs smiles.

"What's your favorite animal?"

Damian shakes his head, a frustrated cry caught in his throat.

This continues, Gibbs finding victory in the one slip and pressing with everything he's got. Dick doesn't know how long Damian can last like this, and he doesn't want to find out. With every passing second, Dick knows it's only a matter of time before Damian's lips loosen. No amount of training can beat a good concussion and drugs designed to make your lips loose.

"What grade are you? Do you have any friends?"

After each question, Dick can see more and more discomfort in Damian's position. He's beginning to fidget and whimper and Dick's... Dick's had enough.

"What's your favorite color, Robin?"

"Green," Damian says with strangled gasp, sounding horrified with himself.

Gibbs smirks like a predator, knowing he's finally won.

"What's your real name?"

Yeah. Dick's had enough. With a hard tug, the ropes around his wrists finally snap against where he's been rubbing at them with his gauntlets. Gibbs and his men can barely react before Dick's upon them, cutting away the rest of the ropes with a batarang from his belt. He makes quick work of them in their shock, knocking them out and leaving them on the floor in unconscious piles.

He almost bends to put cable ties on their arms and legs, but he hears a tight whimper behind him. The moment after, he's rushing over to Damian to undo the ropes.

"Are you okay?" Dick asks, cutting through the bonds.

Damian shakes his head. Dick almost kicks himself.

"It's okay," he quickly says. "No one can hear. Let it out."

He's almost afraid Damian will force himself to remain silent, but to his relief and heartache, Damian opens his mouth and lets out a heaving sob. "It hurts- it hurts-"

Dick finally undoes the ropes, then he pulls his kid in close to his chest. "Get it out," he soothes, rubbing Damian's back.

"Dogs-" Damian starts, dissolving into quick rambling breaths. Every question he had been asked begins to be answered. Dick holds him close and lets him get it out with his tears. Silently, he sends a message to Gordon to pick up Gibbs and his men, then he messages Alfred to get the med-bay and lab ready. Soon enough, Damian is silent except for pain laced gasps, he holds tight to Dick's chest as Dick lifts him up and stuffs the vial with extra serum into his belt.

"I got you," he says as Damian continues to cry all the way to the batmobile. "I got you."

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

hi! hope you're having a great day. just dropping in to say I absolutely love your writings.

prompt request: 15 from 300 followers appreciation post.

have a great day. absolutely love your work <3

Thank you so much anon. Ngl since the moment I put out this list, I had been most excited to write this one out and I don't know how this one turned out.

Just petty things

Dialogue prompt- 15. You couldn't handle me even if I came with instructions | Fluff ( ig) | ENEMIES TO LOVERS |

"oh yeah, watch me malfoy " harry sneered taking the bottle of expensive champagne and pouring it down the drain with draco watching him with horror Struck upon his face

" oh, oops. Hope the bottle doesn't empties- oh wait- it already is empty " harry shook the bottle over draco's face in mockery

" you moron. It was fine champagne imported from France. Do you even know how much it costed ?" draco sneered at harry grabbing his wrists harshly

" what you gonna do about it? Ruin my food ? No wait, you actually already did that " Harry raised his eyebrows grinning viciously

Draco scowled at harry angrily before he jerked away Harry's hand's away.

" ruin my food one more time and I'll throw you out " harry threatened

Draco clenched his jaw angrily murdering harry inside his head..

" you wait and watch " draco challenged harry before he storming back to his room.

" oh yeah. I am sure I can handle you " harry yelled.

Draco turned around dramatically, his face red from all the anger " you couldn't handle me even if I came with instructions " he yelled and slammed his bedroom door shut.

Harry too stormed away in his room slamming the door after him, angrily. Bless those door hinges.

Despite the rivarly dying out ages ago and the reconciliation followed after that, they still annoyed the living death out of each other with petty fights almost everyday. Originally the apartment is Harry's but after Blaise had came to live with him, it partially became his until the moment Blaise wanted to settle down and move in with his girlfriend. So being the nice flatmate he was he got harry an anonymous partner who by claims had been extremely nice, organised, clean and a great friend. Of course Blaise didn't mention " also your childhood enemy " or he necessarily didn't. Either way it didn't work out of course but since the rent act started stirring up in the public, it became Incredibly hard for draco to find another apartment and now here they were, 2 months in living together, messing each other's daily life and petty fighting.

" I'm telling you Blaise, he drive's me nuts " harry groaned as he pointed at Draco.

" oh I drive you nuts, excuse me, you drained my entire fucking bottle of champagne, of course I'll drive you nuts " draco narrowed his eyes at harry.

" you Drained his bottle of champagne ?" Blaise asked harry with an amused reaction sitting on the centre couch.

" well- he- he cut all my avocados, scooped out the insides of it and left the seed and not only that, he added Scotch to my lasagna " harry accusing-ly pointed his finger at draco.

" you did that ?" Blaise laughed looking at Draco

" Blaiseee " harry sternly voiced

" oh, no you're Right. Of course, you shouldn't had done that no matter how good it actually was,you shouldn't had. You know he loves avocados " Blaise nodded.

" but-"

" no really draco. I mean it. He's very serious about his food, even when I lived with him " Blaise added

" I need him out of here " harry added

" what ? You can't do that-"

" I can, if you're forgetting this apartment is originally mine " harry interjected draco.

" okay, whoa whoa, calm down. Nobody's getting thrown out alright. Just take a deep breath and we'll talk about this- well your differences alright "

" you know it's all your fault. You should've never bought a flatmate without asking me "

" me? I thought I was helping you out " Blaise defended himself

" well clearly not " harry shook his eyes head with wide eyes, crossing his arms over his front.

Blaise huffed a breath gulping down the rest of his coffee and turned to draco.

" you want to move out ?"

" what- no. I mean yes I don't want to live with him but I don't want move out " draco replied furrowing his eyebrows.

" see, Harry, he doesn't want to move out-"

" he's doesn't want to live with me Blaise. Clearly we're on the same side " harry faked a smile at draco.

Blaise looked up at the ceiling in annoyance before he got up from the couch to make his point " do you both realise you're adult's. Because it seems otherwise. I'm tired of listening to your petty fights and the pranks and the revenge. Why can't you two just like normal civil people? I thought you both had reconciled "

" look I know it's hard for both of you but you guys are the most incredible flatmates I've ever had alright and I know you two are better than this. So please, just please starting acting like you're actually 22 and if you can't be around each other then just- just ignore another alright. Don't talk " Blaise raised his eyebrows waiting for a reply before harry did

" I can work with not talking " harry mumbled.

" I'm good at ignoring " draco mumbled too.

" see, now that's the spirit. Now I have to go,I have a lunch with Sophie's parents, can I trust the two of you to not get involved into another fight ?" Blaise asked with raised eyebrows.

" good " he huffed when neither replied and took his jacket and decided to walk out with harry and draco following after him.

" just " he breathed " be nice to each other alright. You don't even have to talk "

" we can handle ourselves. We're not kids " draco rolled his eyes

Blaise opened his mouth to say something but shut it right off and gave draco a firm smile and left, with almost zero hope that it worked out.

Well it only worked partially. They ignored each other of course but still couldn't bear the thought of the other, which was somehow a progress and Blaise was rather proud because for the first time in 2 months they didn't wanted to kill each other.

Or so he thought thing's were better until a week later when Draco found harry making out with someone on the couch in the living room. Well he was decent enough not to shout till the date left.

" I sleep on that couch sometimes " draco disgustingly said as a shiver ran down his spine.

" well that's your problem. You have perfect bedroom for sleeping " harry rolled his eyes opening the water bottle and drinking from it..

" I don't care, the couch is off limits " draco snapped

"you don't tell me what is off limits and what's not-"

" i sure can. This is as much as of an apartment as much as its your " draco threw at harry.

" well this is my house, I can kiss anyone I want, wherever I want and whenever I want and you cannot boss me " harry Snapped back stepping closer to draco to make his glaring more threatening.

Draco flared as he stepped closer " you can not "

" yes I can " harry titled his head

" you cannot " draco widened his eyes

" what you gonna do about it ?" Harry egged him on.

Draco breathed sharply before he stepped back throwing his hands in the air " I can't believe you. You think this, everything is yours. Why am I be surprised though, it has Always been yours , hasn't it. Oh I'm harry potter, the world is all mine, I am praised everywhere I go with posters still upon the wall with my huge fanbase and everybody gushing over me. I'm so great, I'm brilliant. Maybe I should get a pedestal to stand on, oh wait I already built myself one " draco shouted

Harry crushed the bottle in his hand before he jerked forward grabbing draco by his collar " you- fucking- asshole. You take that back "

" oh I'm sorry did that hurt you? I won't take it back, you wanna punch me for that " draco asked raised his eyebrows, his hands steady by his sides

" you do not fucking know anything about my life. I'm giving you a warning to shut up-"

" or what? You're gonna punch me, as if you have the guts " draco sneered

" don't tempt me malfoy-"

" oh, I am scared. Save it potter. You can never punch me " draco narrowed his eyes at harry

Harry heaved heavily as he grabbed onto draco's collar tighter but didn't make a move to actually punch him, though his anger was getting out of control.

" you know what, you were better before I got you out of prison. Should've left you there to die " harry didn't mean to say it out loud but he did and it took him exactly a second to realise what had he done and regret immediately flooded in him as he saw draco's lip twitch and the look of pain crossing his features.

" you're right. You should've left me there to die " draco Snapped before he jerked away from harry easily as he had loosened his grip and stormed out of the apartment taking his coat with him.

Harry huffed in annoyance, rubbing his hand over his face, swearing in himself and kicking the chair nearby in guilt and anger.

Despite living in the same apartment, harry didn't see draco at all for at least a week or more until harry was returning very late from work and wanted to silently sneak in after having thought the entire way back home how to makeup to draco when he realised he didn't had to when he saw draco sitting in the balcony with all the door's open..

" you could've at least shut the door. The entrie apartment will be cold now " harry cautiously said as he approached draco and Stood by the door.

Draco sniffed Before he mumbled a soft Apology and within a second harry realised something was wrong and went into the balcony where draco was now standing.

" hey, you alright ?" Harry asked as he carefully placed his palm over Harry's shoulder

" yeah- just something at work " draco mumbled turning away from harry.

" hey hey hey, it's alright, you can talk to me if you want"

" yeah like you'd want to listen " draco scoffed dabbing his face with a tissue.

" of couse I will. Why wouldn't I ?" Harry asked frowning.

" why would you ?" Draco questioned back

" well- i- because I do care and there shouldn't be a reason why not to " harry raised his shoulder before dropping again.

Draco looked at him for a moment before he looked away, chewing the insides of his cheeks.

" you don't have to. I understand. I just want you to know I'm here " harry said softly tilting his head so he knew Draco saw him through the corner of his eyes.

Harry Stood with him for a few minutes in silence until he understood that perhaps he wanted to be alone and decided to step back inside.

" I lied "

" what do you mean you lied ?" Harry asked as he turned around and stood next to draco again with his hands on the railings, watching him..

" I lied about what upset me. It's not my work. It's my parents " draco side glancing at harry.

" oh " harry Only replied

" they sent me a letter that they took down my name from the final will. So I'm well not going to get the manor "

" so you were crying because you don't get the manor ?" Harry pursed his lips to control the little laugh wanting to escape his lips.

Draco shook his head, in " I can't believe I even tried " and he stepped off the balcony to go back inside

" I'm kidding, obviously " harry stopped him, holding out his wrist from going.

" just trying to lighten your mood " harry shrugged. Draco looked at him nonchalantly for a moment before breathing out and standing next to harry again.

"so they took your name off the will ? What else ?" Harry asked as he leaned on the railing watching draco.

" it's-" he breathed " it's not about the manor or any other thing. I stopped caring about that a long time ago, it's just, after all this time I thought they'd accept me. And-" he bit the inside of his lip, closing his eyes " they still don't "

Harry's gaze softened and he spoke up " they probably never will and you'll have to live with it even if it's hard "

" I know but it's just- their acceptance matters the most to me even if I don't say it out loud but It hurts sometimes knowing that I can't stop caring. First they abandoned me, then disowned me from the joint account at gringotts, sold the cottage house under my name and the last thing I had left- they took my name off that. It's like they're doing everything possible to make it believable that I- I just- never existed , like simply erasing it " draco's eyes sparkled with tears and harry watched as draco tore down his walls unknowingly and only then harry approached a simple physical touch of holding his hand over the railing.

" your existence is with you draco. They're all just papers. Your life or your name or anything about you isn't decided by a piece of paper. Hell I'm the hottest bisexual in Britain by the witch weekly and I can bet my ass that I've seen hotter but it's just a paper "

Draco chuckled and harry gave him a smile.

" I know it upsets you and I understand what losing a family is like but you can always create your own family " harry contagiously smiled

" I'm gay potter " draco rolled his eyes with a smile.

" not the actual reproduced family. I mean your friends, they can be your family. It's time you choose your family, who doesn't take away a manor from you "

Draco smiled softly " but it still hurts"

Harry stepped closer to him looking him in the eye " it always will, but one day you're going to look at the whole thing and be like I still have a family and much better one infact"

" you really think so ?" Draco asked

" I know so " harry whispered smiling.

They stared at each other long enough until they realised how close they had been standing in that small balcony and harry cleared his throat to break the moment of unusual staring.

" you wanna stay out here for a while. I'll grab the blankets?" He asked

Draco opened his mouth to deny but instead he nodded with a smile and harry quickly went in to fetch the blankets and pillows with something to eat and joined draco back in the balcony..

" wait, you just came back from work, aren't you tired ?" Draco finally asked

Harry shook his head shrugging " I'm good " and they settled into the area with his back supported on the glass, sitting close enough..

" you're not always an asshole then " draco teased as they opened the packet of chips and sipped some butter beer..

Harry chuckled " well yeah " and he took some chips from the packet.

After moments of eating in silence draco finally turned to harry again and mumbled a small thanks.

" you don't have to thank me" harry replied looking back at Draco and keeping his gaze still at him.

" listen I'm sorry about the other day. I was just angry and you sort of boiled me a little and it just-"

" it's alright. I forgive you " draco gave harry a tender side smile and harry smiled back equally tender.

" can I kiss you ?" Draco asked after having stared at each other long enough to know that kissing was what was left.

" do you really want to ?" Harry asked looking at Draco's lips wanting to do the same.

" yes " draco mumbled as he leaned closer to harry.

" this changes everything draco" harry whispered when they were Only an inch apart, breathing in small breaths..

" I know. I want to " draco mumbled..

Harry bought his hands to draco's face, stroking his cheeks " are you absolutely sure ? I don't want you to regret this next morning "

" will you ?" Draco asked looking in Harry's eyes as a confirmation.

" I won't " harry replied as his heart beat More loudly.

" I won't either " draco mumbled and before Harry could've further asked anything else, he kissed him over the lips, sweet and slow at first then escalating to it becoming a need, leaving them both panting.

" you really are sure ?" Harry panted as they separated for air..

Draco rolled his eyes straddling harry, cupping his face " you ask me one more time and I'll make you question your entire life harry" and he kissed harry again tugging at his hair as harry encircled his arms around Draco's Waist pulling him closer, leaning his head upwards to kiss him more thoroughly..

And they remained there as Long as the night was still young, kissing each other, panting each other's breath, fighting for air, for Dominance and moaning. Just there, in the moment.

I understand I didn't necessarily made harry and draco already having feelings for each other but it seemed nice for a change to go with their flow.

(I don't know if literally anyone notices but my writing style varies a lot, personally not liking recently what I've been writing tho )

300 followers appreciation dialogue Prompt requests open

Angst prompt requests open

[loviatars]

The Highwayman

pairing: astarion x female npc (reader, not the mc!) warnings: vague references to abuse and torture that will become less vague in future parts rating: teen for the above reasons, for now <3 word count: 1,388 notes: so i think this’ll be my first astarion mini-series, as this’ll definitely have another part (and hopefully soon)! i just wanted to toy around with what might happen to astarion should the mc sell him out to the monster hunter... part two. ao3.

You are scared to touch him. You think he will cry out in pain.

He might be warm, you continue to think. Like skin. Or cold from the night seeping between the bars of the cage. His doublet looks frayed and unloved. The man is hungry behind the eyes, but also afraid. But also angry.

“You,” he spits, “who are you? Where am I?”

With troubling speed, the man hurls himself against the side of the cage. The metal rattles and shakes under his pale hands but they do not budge. You watch, wide-eyed and horrified as he grits his teeth against an unseen pain.

You’re stunned to silence, slack-jawed with fear. With a grunt and a mournful sound, the man behind bars slumps down away from them. His palms are singed red, you notice. Whatever the cage is made of is poisoning him.

“Outside the Dying Gull,” you whisper. The man driving the covered wagon didn’t look too friendly, you’d rather he not know you’re speaking to his travelling companion. Or captive. “It’s an inn on the highway, about a week’s hard ride from Baldur’s Gate.”

The man sounds flat, pressing his injured palm to his forehead and being careful not to touch the bars with the back of his neck.

“Well,” he sighs, “I’ve heard far worse news in the past three days. That just leaves who you are.”

“Just the barmaid,” you admit. After a pause, you continue, “If you don’t mind, can I ask a question now?”

“Were I in your position, I may have a few,” the man says. He’s still slumped over, you’re beginning to worry. His hand now covers his eyes, like they hurt. However, his tone is oddly sarcastic for his apparent exhaustion. “By all means, ask.”

“What’s happened to you? Why’s that man got another man locked up in the back of his wagon?” once you’ve opened your mouth you can’t quite stop. The man huffs, either in amusement or annoyance.

“That is two questions, in fact. So now you’ll have to pick just the one,” he says.

“I answered two,” you reply. But you’re inclined to take pity. “Fine, the second one.”

“I am in the company of a very incompetant bounty hunter,” the pale man begins, “who has wrongfully determined my identity to be that of a criminal.”

“Oh,” you tilt your head to the side. Looking into the cage, you see two red eyes swimming in the centre of his pale face when his hand moves. “A criminal might just say that. Are you lyin’ to me?”

“Of course a real criminal would lie, but I am not one in the least,” he insists. He seems to gain a little energy defending his morality, either that or he’s a capable performer. The man sits up until he’s moved away from the bars at his back. “Whatever that Gur says, I am not who he thinks I am.”

You say nothing for a moment, peering through the dark at those deep-red eyes. You decide that he’s lying. But to his credit, he’s a man in a cage. And you find something other than pity welling up in your chest once more.

His anger seems mostly gone now that he knows it was misdirected. The creature looks tired and gaunt, hungry and in pain. Your heart lurches.

“One more question?” you ask. He heaves a sigh.

“Very well, what was it?” he starts, “Right, what in the world has happened to me, well--”

“No,” you stop him. “Not that one, I don’t really want to force you to make up more lies. I just want to know your name. Can you tell me that?”

He seems stricken for a second. And only then does it occur to you that he’s begun to peer back. It’s what sways you to find him innocent, you decide. He looks at you, stares at you and tries to decide if you’ll be the third person to hurt him in as many days.

“Astarion,” he says. “My name is Astarion.”

“Good to meet you, Astarion,” you say. He seems troubled by your good-natured smile, not the least bit comforted by it. But it’s better than a grimace or a look of fear, he seems to reconcile.

Especially when you put your hands on the cage. Then, it appears as if hope’s caught in his eye. The bars don’t burn you, you notice. And you frown. But only for a moment, only as you’re thinking. 

“This won’t be easy to open,” you say. You bring your knuckles down on the metal, eliciting a hollow sound. “Were the whole thing pure silver, it’d buckle under its own weight. But it’s platin’ somethin’ sturdier--”

“And how do you know that?” Astarion asks. You look down at him, your eyes are no longer sizing him up. 

They’ve decided he is neither predator nor prey, as he has with you.

“Da was a goldsmith, he worked with all sorts of precious metals,” you explain. “Means I can identify ‘em, but I’ve not the strength to rip the door straight from its hinges.”

“And I’ve been starved for days,” he confesses, “so I’m far too weak to be of any help.”

The look of empathy on your face is unprecedented. It seems to make Astarion uncomfortable, so you stop it. You turn instead to the door that’s locked tight. A cruel, rusted padlock bolts it shut.”

“Could nick the keys off ‘im,” you muse. You’re not watching the stranger’s face, but it’s more expressive now that it’s been since you tugged the curtain covering the cage aside.

“You would do that for me?” he asks. “You believe me, you would free me?”

“Please,” you huff, “you’re bein’ treated cruelly. And I’ve no reason to trust the man who’s keepin’ you hostage, either. I won’t aid him.”

“Good to know that there’re still a handful of decent souls to be found,” he says, “even if I’ve only noticed a dearth of them.”

“But I don’t believe you in the slightest,” you add. Astarion squeezes his eyes shut.

“I swear to you that I am innocent, what more--” he starts, you cut him off with an unexpected smile.

“I know you’re innocent, I’m choosin’ to believe that. But I also know you’re far from honest,” you say. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Then we have an understanding,” he says. He sounds relieved and you nod.

“I’ll need the key, but I can steal it. Once you’re out, I’ll take you to the barn behind the inn. There’s cattle there,” you tell him. But Astarion bristles with feigned disgust.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he snaps. 

You try your best not to roll your eyes. Lying, it seems, comes too naturally to him. With the plan laid out before you, you drop the padlock.

“I’m not stupid, Astarion. And you’re a poor liar,” is all you say. And it’s all that he does, too.

When you move to tug the curtain back over the cage, however, Astarion sits up. Panic is back in his eyes, you dislike the sight.

“No. Don’t, please,” he says. He holds his hands out, perilously close to the silver that burns him so badly. “I-- I haven’t seen outside in days. Leave it.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinkin’,” you say. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, try to stay out of sight of any passers-by.”

You make a point to tug the curtain a little further back, giving Astarion a view of the Gull after dark. He watches you turn away.

The inn glows, light spilling out of its square windows. The Gur inside is still boasting, drinking himself into a stupor that he’ll have to sleep off eventually. But whether he’ll do it here is what worries you, what pushes you back inside and in search of the key that fits the padlock.

As you walk, you can hear the awful voice rising above the din. Part of you wonders if the vampire in the cage is lying to you about everything, for he is a liar at heart. Another knows that either way, what’s being done to him is evil. You pause before you open the door.

It’s time again to commit theft, which calls for a different arrangement of the face.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Finally

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4290

Warnings: Smutty filthy goodness. Dirty talk galore. Probably the most realistic smut I’ve ever written? 

A/N: The result of many conversations about true-to-life porn (women can’t always orgasm! lube is a good thing! etc.) as well as an exchange with @mskathywriteswords​ about pre-sex communication with men vs. women and what a difference it makes. 

“Slow down,” he whispered, running his thumb over the swollen curve of my lower lip. “No rush.” 

“Waited long enough,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the quiver in my voice. 

He leaned back in for another deep, sweet, languorous kiss, fingers cupping my jaw ever so gently. 

Maybe the waiting had been part of the problem. I wanted him, holy fucking shit did I want him, but that week of waiting had built the anticipation until I wasn’t sure how the reality of it could possibly measure up. Now that we were face-to-face on Sam’s bed, nowhere to be, nothing to do, I was so nervous I was shaking. 

This whole thing started on Donna’s squeaky-ass pullout couch, with Dean sleeping on the floor about three feet away. The case had lasted for a week. It had been an entire fucking week of breathless kisses in stolen moments, poorly-timed interruptions, and the sort of frustration that led to me blushing scarlet and Sam adjusting himself discreetly before we dealt with whatever had interrupted us. It had been an entire week before we could get to a real bed, behind a locked door. 

I’d been head over heels for Sam for about three fucking years before that, too, but he didn’t exactly know that. 

Sam rolled onto his back, strong arms wrapped around me so that I went with him, and I braced myself clumsily, trying not to put all of my weight on him. My head was spinning as I kissed him again, sucking gently on his lower lip. Part of me wanted to kiss him for hours. I was still so fascinated by the simple slide of his tongue against mine, the way it felt when he smiled against my mouth… it was all new, still, and I wanted to kiss him in every possible way. 

There was heat all down my front where we were pressed together, almost too hot, especially where my hips slotted neatly against his. I rocked against him slightly and I felt the low sound he made more than I heard it. A little lightning bolt of want zinged down my belly. When I did it again, twisting and rolling against him, I could feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans, and his breath hitched audibly. 

I sat back on my heels, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the side. I could feel the weight of Sam’s stare, but I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. We’d parted ways long enough to shower, when we got home, before I knocked on Sam’s door; I’d changed into my one and only “fancy” bra, knowing that this would happen, and my nipples were tingling, pressing hard and obvious against the thin black lace. 

“Gorgeous,” he said softly. I smiled in spite of my self-consciousness. 

I tugged at the hem of his shirt, rucking it up, and said, “Your turn.” 

He sat up slightly to pull his shirt off and then settled back down against the pillows, his hands on my hips, thumbs stroking back and forth gently as I stared down at him: chiseled abs, sculpted chest, muscles rippling everywhere. My stomach flipped and squirmed, and I ducked down to kiss him again before I could think too hard about the contrast between our bodies. 

His hands. Jesus, I’d imagined those hands on me so many times. He was touching me like he couldn’t get enough, hands roaming my body, warm and strong and so incredibly gentle. I’d seen what those hands were capable of. I knew how much damage he could do. Still, I’d never felt so safe as I did with his fingers sliding down the side of my neck, thumb caressing my pulse. His other hand rubbed circles at the small of my back, grazed up and down the slope of my spine, splayed out between my shoulder blades, and the warm wide span of it left fizzy heat everywhere he touched. 

He dragged his palm down the curve of my shoulder, taking my bra strap with it, and his mouth traveled the same path his hand had followed: hinge of my jaw, down the side of my neck, tongue flickering over my pulse point, lush soft open-mouthed kisses to the curve between my neck and my shoulder, and then back up until his lips met mine again. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked softly, between quick pecks to one corner of my mouth and then the other, and he tucked his fingers under the clasp of my bra. 

“Yeah.” 

He unhooked it deftly and then rolled us over without warning, so that I was on my back, to slide the straps down my arms and toss it to the side. 

“Smooth,” I said, and he let out a self-deprecating sort of chuckle. 

Sam pulled away and sat back, hands on my ribs as he looked me over. I felt myself flush under the heat of his gaze. It was intense, being pinned down like that, like hazel high-beams; I stared back, a deer in the headlights, wondering what he was seeing. There was dark, smoldering need thrumming under the familiar sweet affection in his smile. It was fucking intoxicating. 

He shifted his weight forward, muscles rolling in his shoulders as he settled at my side. He propped himself up on one elbow, one leg hooked over my thigh, his free hand flat on my breastbone, holding me in place. I curled my fingers around his wrist, not grabbing, just touching, as I turned my head to look at him. He was too close, all soft-focus and golden in the dim glow of the lamp light; I gave up on looking and kissed him instead, our mouths brushing lazily. 

Sam ran his hand down the center of my chest and then back up, cupping the curve of my breast and running his thumb back and forth over my nipple until the skin started to pebble. Then he trailed his fingers down my side, so light it tickled, before tracing the soft skin just above the waistband of my jeans. He ran just one fingertip from my hip, inward to the little roll of flesh over the button of my jeans, and then back, light and hypnotic. 

“Can I take these off?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly, and Sam popped the button one-handed and drew the zipper down. He scooted back, looking down at me with this dark, intense expression as he started to tug my jeans and panties down my thighs. I lifted my hips to help. The denim got tangled around one ankle, and I kicked awkwardly until my foot almost connected with Sam’s face. I winced, but he just shot me a wry smile and got me untangled. 

I felt so fucking exposed, lying there with my legs sprawled open, completely bare, and I fought the urge to hide. Sam just looked for a moment, openly admiring me, before settling back down along my side. 

“Wanna touch you,” he murmured. I was too dazed and overwhelmed to answer in words, but I nodded shakily. 

He kissed my neck, first, slow and gentle, with one big hand wrapped around my hip. He mouthed at my pulse, pressed slow open kisses up and down my neck, taking his time until I started to relax and melt into his touch again. Then he dragged his hand down the outside of my thigh and up the inside, palming my legs open, making me shiver. 

The first touch was barely a graze, two fingers brushing up my lips and then down again, teasing gently at my entrance before sliding up my center.

“Tell me what you need?” he whispered. I was so distracted by his fingertips, stroking feather-light over my clit, that it took me a second to process the question. 

“Hmm?” 

“Tell me what you like,” Sam said, soft and low, lips brushing my ear. “What feels good. How to get you off.” I could hear the smile in his voice.  

I took a deep shaky breath. “Oh. Um. It’s not - I don’t… I don’t think anyone’s just asked me that before.” 

“You okay?” Sam asked, and his hand slipped away, resting gently on my thigh instead. He pulled back to look at me with those big puppy eyes, forehead creased with concern. 

I made a face, rolling my eyes at myself, and looked at the ceiling as I made myself spit it out: “I usually can’t, the first time with somebody? And when I say usually I mean always. Like, it’s not… I don’t mind, it still feels good, it’s just… it’s not you. It’s just. It’s a thing. I need to get comfortable, before I can - y’know. Shut me up any time, really.” 

Sam kissed me instead, soft and sweet, mouthing along my jaw and then up to my temple. “Okay.” 

“O... kay?” I stammered. It wasn’t the response I had expected. I’d expected protests, dismissals, that I know I can be the exception attitude I’d gotten on the rare occasion I’d warned previous partners. Usually it was easier just to fake it.

“Thanks for telling me. Not easy for you to talk about this stuff, huh?” 

“No, I - sorry. Too fuckin’ awkward at the communication thing.” 

“I still want to touch you, if that’s okay,” Sam said, and I could hear the smile and the heat in his voice. He nipped my earlobe and then trailed kisses down the side of my neck, nosing into the spot where he knew I was ticklish and making me giggle, before asking, “Can I?” 

“Jesus. Yeah. Please.” 

“Not like this is gonna be the only time we get to do this,” Sam whispered, and I was grinning at that when he slipped two perfect fingers into me, twisting up and making me squirm. “Better not be the only time we do this. Too many things I want to do with you.” 

“Yeah?” I asked breathlessly. His fingers felt just as good as I’d always imagined, curling gently in and then out again, circling my clit with light, teasing pressure. He kissed me, open-mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding into my mouth at the same time his fingers thrust into me again, fucking my mouth and my cunt at the same lazy, luxurious pace. 

By the time he pulled back, I’d almost forgotten about the question. He didn’t go far; I could still feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. 

“Yeah,” he said firmly. “Now I’ve got you naked I’m not letting you go. We’re not leaving this bed any time soon.” 

Sam shifted, ducking his head to swirl his tongue over one of my nipples. I hummed happily, arching up into his mouth as he rubbed my clit, playing with me, rubbing up and down, then circling, experimenting. 

He kept talking as he kissed his way down my body, and his voice was a low rumbling buzz that sank into my skin: “So beautiful. Wanna take my time and -” He mouthed at the join of my ribs. “- learn every inch of you. Kiss every inch of you, just -” He nibbled the soft skin just under my belly button. “- spend hours touching you, watching the faces you make -” He nipped the spot just above my hipbone, working the skin between his teeth until I hissed at the pleasure-pain. “- teasing. Playing with you. Seeing what it takes to make you beg.” 

The filthy words pressed to my skin were already making me dizzy when he licked a stripe up my center, warm slick tongue parting my lips, before he slid his fingers into me again and licked between them. 

“‘S this okay?” he whispered, and his tone was completely different now, soft, like he worried he was crossing a line. 

I let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah. Don’t - don’t stop - yeah. The talking is okay, too. Just for the record.” 

I tilted my head to look down at him, trying to do it in a way that didn’t immediately give me ten chins, and found him staring right back at me: eyes dark, mouth half an inch from my cunt, fingers scissoring me open, so gorgeous it hurt to look at him for too long. 

“Tell me what feels good,” he said. His voice was steely; it was an order, this time. I shivered. 

He started slow, tongue fluttering and flicking over my clit, tasting and teasing. For a moment I was stuck on the usual whispers of self-consciousness, awkwardness, what do I do with my hands, what if - 

“Hey,” Sam said, kissing my inner thigh, looking up at me with a smile again. “You’re thinking instead of talking to me.” 

I laughed, hiding my face with my hands, and Sam took the opportunity to drag a sucking, slurping, open-mouthed kiss up and over my clit. My laugh broke off on a sharp inhale, and I tilted my hips up, silently asking for more. 

“Yeah?” he asked, and did it again. 

I ran one hand through his hair, petting idly at the silky strands, until Sam hummed approvingly and grabbed my other hand as well, putting it firmly on the back of his head before ducking down for another of those filthy swirling kisses. 

“That - that feels… yeah,” I managed, heat curling up through my belly. I almost managed to stop thinking, melting back and rocking up against the slick pressure of Sam’s tongue. 

His fingers were still working me open, slow and easy, friction going wet and slippery as I started to relax. He curled and crooked them, pressing them up against some sensitive spot inside me that I’d never been able to reach with my own fingers, and I let out a shaky breath, squirming slightly at the touch. He did it again, rubbing back and forth, and I could feel the little circles of his fingertips sparking pleasure that rolled out from my core, spreading like ripples from that achingly good spot somewhere deep inside. I clenched down around his fingers, whimpering, suddenly wanting more. 

“Sam,” I said softly, fingers tangling in his hair, and he looked up at me with so much raw lust in his eyes that I forgot what I was going to say. 

“What do you want?” he asked. 

I swallowed, inhaled deep, exhaled shaky, and whispered, “You.” 

“You’ve got me,” Sam said, with a little dimpled quirk of a smile, but he crawled up my body, kissing up my breastbone before letting me taste myself on his lips. I tugged on his belt clumsily. 

“Can you… off?” I stammered. My tongue felt thick and awkward, words catching and sticking in my throat before they could make it out of my mouth, and I tried to swallow around the choking anxiety. Sam got his jeans off (gracefully, without coming anywhere close to kicking me in the face, of course) and fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand for a moment. I snuck a glance at his body, muscles and scars and blood-flushed cock bobbing up against his stomach. 

I had another instant of blinding, paralyzing panic. 

“Come here?” Sam asked, quiet and hesitant. 

His tongue flicked out over his lower lip as he settled back against the headboard, sitting up, and I crawled into his lap, straddling him, hoping he couldn’t see the way I was trembling. It helped, somehow, that he looked nervous too. 

“No rush,” Sam said again. “If you wanna just stop here, I -” 

“Fuck that,” I huffed, and kissed him again, feeling him smile against my mouth. I heard the little snick of a bottle of lube opening and felt his knuckles brush my stomach as he stroked himself, slicking himself up, and then we were tangling together, closer, his hands on my waist, my breasts pressing against his chest, his lips parted and then going slack as I started to sink down, opening up around him with a long, rough groan.  

And yeah, okay, it had been a while since I’d gotten laid, but… I didn’t remember it being like that. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt anything like this: full and sizzling and scared and safe, all at once. 

“Hey, breathe for me,” Sam said, and I took a shuddery gulp of air. “You good?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, Sam. M’good,” I slurred, dropping my forehead down to his shoulder, shifting my weight and feeling the drag and stretch of him inside me. “So good.” 

“Good,” he repeated firmly. He cupped the back of my head with one hand, fingers sliding through my hair, and tugged slightly, tilting my head back so that he could kiss me. I felt his groan as a vibration against my lips when I rocked against him experimentally. I lifted up slightly, tilted my hips forward as I slid back down, and my breath hitched in my throat at the frisson of sensation. 

“Can’t believe - you… this. I thought about this,” I confessed shyly, stumbling over the words, settling into a slow, easy pace. I rested my forehead against his, our noses brushing, and I felt the tickle of displaced air as he sighed. 

“Thought about you so much,” he growled. “This whole week was just… fucking torture, having you that close. Sleeping next to you every night. Hearing the little noises you made, wondering what you were dreaming about. Got me so hard I couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t sleep, just wanted to pin you to the bed and fuck you awake. Had to sneak out so I could jerk off in the bathroom, imagined bending you over the sink...” 

The sound I made was high and thin, ah - ah - ah, in time with the shallow thrusts of my hips, before I could find my voice again: “Should’ve. Fucking… should’ve woken me up, Sam. Almost came in while you were showering one morning, wanted - just wanted to touch you.” 

He groaned, one arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me down against him harder, grinding up at the same time, and I whimpered, sparks sizzling at the edges of my vision. We were close enough that we weren’t making eye contact, exactly, but I caught flashes of his expression, pupils blown, mouth swollen red. 

“Tell me,” he whispered fiercely. “God. Tell me what you want. What you imagine. Just want… want to know everything. Every dirty thought you’ve ever had, every fantasy, every filthy thing you think about when you touch yourself.” 

I trembled, cheeks burning, closing my eyes with embarrassment even as I clenched down around him helplessly. I was so turned on I could barely breathe, and I wasn’t sure if it was his voice, the low silky promise in it, or the hot, thick length of him splitting me open. 

“Can’t - I don’t - fuck, Sam, I can’t, I just -” 

“You want me to guess, then? Or do you want to know what I think about?” he asked, and I shuddered again, rhythm faltering. Sam grabbed my ass with both hands and helped me move, lifting me a few inches off his cock and then impaling me again, using his grip to forcefully swivel my hips back and forth, and I let out a ragged, desperate moan. 

“Anything, nnnh, fuck. Fuck.” 

“Want to learn your body, learn what you like, learn exactly how to touch you,” he said hoarsely. “Want to tie you down and get you close, right up to the edge, and then... stop. Want to keep doing that, get you close, not let you come, over and over again.” 

“Oh my god, Sam,” I panted, half-laughing, feeling crazed with what his voice was doing to my insides. My skin felt too tight. 

“‘M not fucking kidding,” he said, and there was a hint of a snarl in the words. “I could tease you for hours. Want to see what it takes to make you scream. Want you to hear you beg, hear you so desperate that you can’t be shy any more, want you to tell me exactly how you want my cock.” 

All I could do was whimper, working myself down on him harder, faster, frenzied, already feeling sore in the best way. I could tell I’d be feeling him for days, and my stomach twisted at the idea. 

“Want to hold you down, mark you up, mark you as mine,” Sam said breathlessly, and he kissed me, clumsy and rough as we moved, teeth catching a little too sharp on my lower lip. I moaned.

I leaned forward, pressing my mouth to the sweat-slick curve of his neck, making sure he couldn’t see my face as I confessed, “I’ve thought about that. You holding me down. You - your hands.” 

I could feel the way the words affected him: like I’d punched him in the gut, a shock and then a shiver, fingers digging into my skin with a compulsive grip, hips twitching up. 

“Yeah?” he gasped. He sounded wrecked, and the idea that I’d done that, made Sam Winchester feel even the slightest bit out of control, was this heady molten rush in my core. It made me brave. 

“Thought about you pinning me,” I admitted. “Your - your hands on my wrists. Pinning me against the wall, holding my hands over my head.” 

Sam gave another of those full-body shudder-spasms, the muscles of his shoulders rolling and bunching under my hands, before he froze completely, hands on my waist holding me tight so that I had to freeze too. 

“Wait,” he hissed. “You’re gonna… can’t take it, c’mere.” 

He lifted me off his lap, and my head was spinning too hard to make sense of any of it; I just stayed there, waiting, as he slid around behind me, chest to my back, so that we were both up on our knees facing the headboard. 

“Scoot forward?” he asked softly, and I willed my shaky limbs to cooperate. “There.” 

He grabbed my wrists, one in each hand, and pinned my arms over my head, my palms flat on the wall. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to collect myself, taking a deep breath, but I was so giddy and amazed that I giggled. It was too much, the idea that all those late-night fantasies were suddenly possible… that I’d said it out loud and Sam had just done it. 

“Okay?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of my ear. 

“So much better than okay,” I said, and at that, Sam crossed my wrists, pinning them both over my head against the wall with one hand. I whined, too stuck on the iron-shackles feeling of his fingers to focus on the way he was positioning me, bracing himself with one hand against the wall and the other flattened over my lower belly. 

“Want to hear you,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.” 

“Need you inside me,” I said. My voice cracked. “Please, Sam? Please fuck me.” 

He sank his teeth into the curve of my shoulder as he lined up, biting down hard enough that I knew it’d leave a mark. The blunt pressure against my entrance felt like too much, too thick, but I arched my back and he pushed in, hot and hard and perfect. 

The angle and the position made it impossible for him to get as deep as he had been, and it wasn’t the same almost-painful fullness as before, but it pressed the head of his cock right up against the same spot his fingers had found earlier, even more sensitive now. Sam rolled his hips, grinding so perfectly against that spot that I shouted. He wasn’t thrusting in and out, wasn’t letting up, was just twisting and undulating, deep and deeper. The pressure felt like an ache, somewhere inside, a pulsing gut-wrenching ache that was almost too intense. 

“Sam,” I bit out. “Sam. Can you - I need -” 

My head fell back, tilting against the solid support of his shoulder, but he seemed to understand my incoherent stuttering. The hand that had been on my hip dipped down, fingers circling my clit, and I tried pointlessly to rock back, shove myself against him, needing more. 

“Use your words,” he said, low and teasing, and I let out a strangled, frustrated cry, because he fucking knew what I needed. 

I was too far gone to care. I hissed, “Touch me. More. Harder, don’t stop, please.” 

And there it was, exactly what I needed, fingers circling steadily on my clit in time with every swiveling roll of his hips, and thank fuck he was holding me up, still bracing me between his body and the wall, because I would’ve flopped over like a rag doll; I could barely breathe, let alone keep myself upright. I was too lost to care about the broken, needy noises that were shredding my throat, and I was too lost to care about the stupid faces I must be making, and I was too lost to care about anything that wasn’t the perfect pulses quaking through me, filling me up, rolling out to my toes and my fingertips and the crown of my head. 

“Gorgeous,” Sam breathed, rough and reverent, and then “Mine, fuck, finally, I -” 

His hips snapped forward, sharp enough to set off fireworks behind my eyelids, and I shook and strained in his arms as my vision flashed white and then dissolved in sparkling black. I was dimly aware of Sam saying my name, chanting it again and again like a prayer. He was holding me, crushing me to his chest, impossibly close, closer than I thought another person could be. 

I heard it echoing in my ears like a second heartbeat: finally, finally, finally. 

.

.

.

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[miss-tc-nova]

Et Tu - Riku x Reader

Hi all! Been a hot minute, but have a Valentine’s Day fic! I mulled over a lot of different ideas (including cliff diving) before I finally came down to this. And yes, I’m aware the title is a bit convoluted. 

And thanks again for the request Xeha-non, I too have been all over Riku for the last few weeks. 

~~~~~

              Jamming along to the song on my phone, I prance around the kitchen, collecting items to throw in the bag on the table. I’m making a mess of my house but I couldn’t care less, a beaming grin on my face as I toss the marshmallows in after the chocolate.

              Today is Valentine’s Day; more importantly, it’s the first Valentine’s Day I’ll have with my boyfriend since his crazy adventures ended a few months ago. I didn’t beat myself up or hold his past absences against him—it was just another day to me. But this year, oh, I’m so excited for this year. I’ve been happily hopping around my home all day, trying anything and everything to make the time pass.

              The sun is hanging low in the sky by the time there’s a knock at my door. Thank goodness I’m not strong enough to tear the door off its hinges as I rip it open to lunge at the man on the other side. Laughing, he spins me around before setting me back on my feet.

              “Excited, huh?” he greets, pressing a peck to my forehead.

              “I get to spend Valentine’s Day with my boyfriend! You have no idea!” I say, bouncing on my toes.

              “Considering the number of texts I’ve gotten today, I think I have a decent idea.” I jut my tongue out at him. His cheeky demeanor slides into something softer, scattering the butterflies in my chest that always bustle in his presence. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

              “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I return.

              The ensuing kiss is gentle, just like Riku himself—when he’s not picking on me. It lingers just long enough to spread a rash of goosebumps and send the butterflies soaring. It leaves me indescribably happy, even when it ends.

              “So, are you ready to go?” he asks.

              The question breaks the serenity, sending the giddiness back into full swing. Scurrying back into the house, I scoop up the bag. “Yep! You got your swimming shorts?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Perfect!” The door slams behind me. “Let’s go!”

              We make our way to the small island where we set up a little camp on the beach just out of reach of the water. Because the sun is starting to set, the place is quiet and empty; even those wretched birds have vacated for the day—it’s perfect.

              Splashing, swimming, floating: water occupies our time as the sun says its last goodbye with the vanishing sunrays. I hold onto Riku as he keeps us afloat, looking to the violet sky where the first stars are beginning to peak through.

              “When I moved here, I didn’t think I’d like island life,” I hum.

              “I used to hate it here,” he says just as thoughtfully. “But you really start to miss the place you call home when you manage to escape it all. Especially when you find out there are people waiting for you to get back.”

              I realize he’s talking about me and my stomach flips. Nevertheless, I grin and pinch at his vulnerable cheeks. “Aww, sweetheart, you missed me?”

              Riku suddenly stands; I hadn’t realized we drifted so close to shore. My arms wrap around his neck as he lifts me from the water.

              That sneaky simper stops my heart. “Of course I missed you, babe.”

              And with that, he throws me out into deeper water.

              Clawing my way back to the surface, I chase after the boy. I am in no way an actual threat but he humors me in running away. Somehow it all ends with me clinging to his back while Riku treks back onto the sand.

              “Alright, I’m sorry,” he gives. “Can you get off now?”

              “Mmm, no.” I press a kiss to his cheek.

              “So if I just fall backwards?”

              Riku leans backwards. Panicking, I cling tighter and brace for impact but, just before he falls, he steps back to catch himself.

              “Yeah?” he goads.

              With a huff, I let go. “Fine.”

              Ruining my fun as usual, Riku helps me get a fire going in the pit and settled into the sand. Right as I’m about to break out the sweets, he holds his fist out.

              “Here.”

              I eye him for a moment, growing suspicious. “What is that?”

              Green eyes roll. “Just take it.”

              “Rikuuu! I told you not to get me anything,” I complain.

              “Oh come on. You planned this,” he retorts.

              “Yeah, but I planned this for both of us.”

              “Are you being ungrateful?”

              My mouth clamps shut as I scowl. Knowing he’s got me, Riku smirks and takes my hand to drop something metal in it. I stare down at the trinket. At the end of a silver chain hangs a gleaming, purple charm with an emblem inside. There’s a vague feeling in the back of my head that I’ve seen this emblem before.

              “I hope it looks alright. I didn’t really get to pick what it looked like,” he says.

              “What do you mean?”

              Riku taps the trinket. When it suddenly lights up, I nearly drop the thing. Light grows and expands until, like a balloon, it bursts. My jaw drops. Fluttering rapidly in the air is a round, fluffy bat creature with a big grin. I watch it flap its way to Riku, where it rests on his shoulder.

              When I finally get my voice back, I shout, “What the hell is that?!”

              “This is my Dream Eater,” he explains. His fingers scritch at its chin like a cat and the thing practically melts. Meanwhile, all I can do is stare at him like he’s insane. “Uh, they usually live in the Realm of Sleep, eating nightmares. He helped me through my Mark of Mastery exam. You can pet him; he doesn’t bite…hard.”

              I glare but Riku insistently waves me closer. It takes a little bit of courage before I finally reach up to rest my hand between the creature’s large ears. It leans against my palm, practically purring.

              “Aww!” The way the Dream Eater coos and bats his eyes makes my heart soft. “So why is he here?”

              “Because I want him to watch over you.”

              “What?”

              “Things are different now, but I still can’t guarantee I’ll be around all the time, so I want him to stick around and watch over you; that’s why I asked Yen Sid for a charm that would bring him to our Realm.” A hand under the Dream Eater’s feet moves him from Riku’s shoulder to mine. He gives me a look full of soft adoration. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right?”

              My ears are burning but I refuse to let him see me fluster. “So you gave me a babysitter for Valentine’s Day? Thanks,” I deadpan. It turns to giggling as the bat fluffs and nuzzles against my face.

              “More like a guard dog,” Riku replies. “Plus he makes a pretty unique pet.”

              “Giving me a pet without asking—so irresponsible,” I tease. “What’s his name?”

              He shrugs. “Doesn’t have one. When I got him, I was kinda busy with other things.”

              “Well that’s just a shame. Isn’t that right?” I coo at the bat. He cheerfully squeaks. Honestly, he’s so cute I could just squish his face all day. “Isn’t that right, Ceasar.”

              “Ceasar?”

              “Yeah. I like Ceasar. And I can’t just run around yelling ‘hey you bat!’”

              “Fair enough.” A beautiful shade of pink tints his cheeks as he asks, “What you smiling about?”

              I lean into the fluffy boy. “Thank you, Riku. I love him.”

              That shade darkens. “Good.”

              “Alright!” I announce, changing the subject and pouncing for my bag. “Now, I have been looking forward to this all week!”

              My boyfriend chuckles. “You mean mauling me in the ocean wasn’t the main attraction?”

              “No no no. That was fun and all but tonight’s main attraction—until you brough Ceasar—is smores!” I toss him the box of graham crackers.

              Ceasar dances in the sand, looking surprisingly excited for a creature that’s probably never had a smore.

              “Oh I see now: today’s just an excuse for you to eat sweets,” Riku says.

              I shove his shoulder. “Come on! When’s the last time you had a smore?” I jam a marshmallow onto a stick for roasting.

              Riku scratches at the back of his head. “I dunno. Maybe when I was a kid?”

              “He says as if he’s an adult,” I mock.

              A finger prods my cheek. “I’m more mature than you are.”

              “I can be mature when I have to be.” I lean away from the poke. “You, on the other hand, seem to need a lesson on acting like the kid you are.”

              His indignation is clear. “What’s that mean?”

              “It means stop acting like you’re not a kid.”

              “Hey, I’m a keyblade master.”

              “I’m sorry, Mr. Keyblade Master—you’re still not eighteen. You still got a few months for that. And I know for a fact that you’re not above being childish.”

              “Oh yeah? Like when?”

              “Like throwing me in the water. Like that time you stole my ice cream and made me get another. Like that time you hid in my closet to scare the ever-living hell out of me!”

              “I forgot about that,” he snickers.

              “I know we’re kinda out here on our own, but we’re kids. We’re big kids, but we’re still kids; so I know it wouldn’t kill you to act like it more often.”

              His laugh dies down. “Sorry. I guess all this keyblade business kinda gets to me sometimes.”

              There it is: the seriousness that plagues him even in his brightest moments. His face downcast and all light gone from his eyes—it’s like he’s reliving one of those terrible memories. We’ve been having fun these last few months since he got back, but there’s no denying that he went through hell. He laughed and smiled and teased me, but I could always sense a weary darkness deep in him.

              I sigh. “I know. And that’s why you have me. I may not be a fighter but…” Looking him in the eye, I use Riku’s own words, “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right?”

              He stares, awestruck, a second blush overtaking his face. Normally, I would’ve taken a jab at his moment of weakness, but this time, I simply return my attention to the marshmallow.

              It’s on fire.

              “SHITSHITSHIT! DAMMIT!” I jam the flaming chunk of charcoal into the ground and shovel sand onto it to put it out. “Aww!”

              A new kind of laughter, something pure and light, rings through the air. I look back at my boyfriend and, this time, it’s my turn to blush. For once, the darkness is gone—this is pure happiness and it makes for the perfect Valentine’s Day.

              I grin. “What are you laughing at?! That one was for you!”

              “I know you struggle with a lot of things, but I didn’t think roasting marshmallows would be one of them.”

              “Shut up! You can make your own smore!” I retort, pulling the stick from the sand to throw at him.

              The projectile bounces off his arm and the young man retaliates by pulling me into his lap by the arm. His strength makes escape impossible and I break into a giggling mess at the mercy of his peppered kisses. His victory ends with a much more loving kiss against my cheek.

              “I love you,” he murmurs.

              The confession ignites a fire in my chest. Only hiding my face against Ceasar, hopping into my lap to join the cuddling, can save me from the embarrassing blush.

              “I love you too,” I utter meekly.

              One last kiss meets the top of my head before Riku reaches for the marshmallows. “Now let me show you how to actually roast a marshmallow.”

              Rolling my eyes, I play with Ceasar’s wings. “He’s so mean, isn’t he, Ceasar.” The bat happily squeaks. “That’s right.”

              “You know he’s only kissing up to you so he can have a smore, right?”

              I gasp, holding the Dream Eater at arm’s length. “Ceasar! You would betray me for a smore?!”

              Happy cheep.

              “Pretty sure he’d sell us all out for a piece of cake,” says Riku, offering the bat a chocolate that instantly disappears.

              “You traitor!”

              Ceasar’s grin never falters. “Squeak!”

[wolfcha1k]

Decided I wanted a cover for my Guy x Eep one shot collection "A Tomorrow of Our Own", as of now its part 4 of "The Sun Was A Wayfarer" series. I'll post the first chapter of "A Tomorrow of Our Own" down below ~ Used refs from the movie itself for this picture ~

- <3 -

Summary - "I was thinking about Tomorrow… OUR Tomorrow."

"I think I love you So what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of A love there is no cure for I think I love you Isn't that what life is made of? Though it worries me to say I've never felt this way"

What is life like after Tomorrow? Guy and Eep are settling down into their new married life together at the Betterman Farm. There's been some obstacles along the way but its nothing they can't handle.

[Read the next two chapters of this story here on Ao3 OR FF.net, note, its a one shot collection: A Tomorrow of Our Own  /// A Tomorrow of Our Own ]

The Sun Was a Wayfarer - Series

Previous All I Can Think About next n/a

He wasn't wrong about the flowers, butterflies and babbling brook that would be in their very own home. This privacy thing wasn't so bad either once she got over the initial newness of it too. There was also the benefit of being able to shamelessly share a space with him that wasn't occupied by seven other large masses getting in the way. Okay, so maybe the sleep pile did have its drawbacks now that she thought about it. It reeked of love though, despite what Guy might have said against it.

Guy's arm was slung loosely over her waist as she curled up into his side. He was warm, combating the morning chill that turned her skin to goose flesh. Eep burrowed her nose into his neck, breathing deeply. She could feel his pulse under her lips. The strange scent of vanilla was finally fading away to something that was just Guy again. She had woken up with the sunrise and was unable to fall back to sleep. So she watched the early light of dawn warm his features, turning his caramel skin a rich bronze color.

She admired him with a soft smile, reaching out fondly to brush her fingers against his cheek. To think she'd nearly lost him, the thought still made her stomach clench. Ee[ ran her hand over his chest to lay her palm flat against his heart. Guy stirred with a soft groan, eyelids quivering though he didn't open them. Instead, a lazy smile crossed his face.

"Mhm… isn't it a little early for that?" He murmured though he hardly sounded like he was complaining over the attention.

She fought a grin off, instead brushing her fingers against his skin. "Hey," she greeted.

His voice was still thick with sleep, giving it a raspy timbre sound. "Hey what?"

"Hey you, good morning," Eep merrily said, reaching up to fondly poke his nose.

He huffed, at last looking at her bleary eyed. Guy lifted his free hand to touch her nose, watching her go cross eyed as she tried following it. "Morning boop."

"Is that what we're calling it?" She let out a giggle.

"I'm not awake enough to think of something better," he said, beginning to stretch. "Have you been up long?" He reclined his head to try getting a proper look out the window, everything was covered in pre dawn light.

"A bit," she hummed, leaning towards him to press a featherlight kiss to his lips. He chased after her when she pulled back, cupping her cheek. She felt his sleepy smile. "I thought it was too early," Eep teased, practically purring.

"I can make exceptions," he protested, wrapping his arms around her to pull her flush against him.

She snorted more so than laughed, trying to muffle it against his neck. Eep took the opportunity to playfully nip at his pulse point, feeling his hands clutch her waist. She grinned, dragging her teeth along the spot a moment before she sighed. Nestling closer, there were no complaints on Guy's part as she practically draped herself over his chest.

"Still doesn't feel real," she couldn't help but muse.

"Hmm?" He encouraged her with a hum, stroking her back with his calloused palms. He traced a large scar that dipped down the lower part of her spine.

"You know… this, us, here together," Eep said in a wistful sort of way. She lifted her head up to look at him, finding his dark eyes were glinting with emotion.

"Well, I'm glad it's real." He pressed a chaste kiss to her nose before pulling her back close. He rolled onto his side with her in his arms. "I was stupid."

"And I was unfair," she added, knowing the blame wasn't solely his. Eep could have handled that argument better, communicated what she was feeling so she hadn't blown up at him like a fire spewing volcano. The ash that had rained down was worse than the lava, really. "I didn't think about how you were feeling."

He gave her a smile, tender as he looked at her. "I'm just as guilty of that, Eep."

"Yeah but you weren't the one storming up a tree throwing a fit," she huffed, her thoughts drifting back to her mother Ugga. She'd practically flattened that small clearing into nothing with how many trees she destroyed in her anger. The heartbreak lingered at its strings when she let her mind dwell on the moment.

"I can't believe he would choose... a tree over me."

"I don't think it's that simple. Guy knew the Bettermans when he was little, they're the closest thing he has to a family."

"We could keep this blame game up for forever," he said with a sigh, instead tangling his long fingers into her hair. "Words are weapons we really need to remember to be more careful with."

"I'm sorry I called you stupid," she said, feeling him huff into her neck.

"When did you call me stupid?"

"After our break up… I was venting to Dawn and I told her boys are stupid." Eep felt him laugh more so than heard it, Guy muffling his face into her collarbone. "What?"

"I called you complicated, we're even now." He drew away to poke her nose, earning himself a pout as Eep returned the gesture. It was their little game, one Eep was glad to finally get back to. "I don't think the punch monkeys agreed with me though."

"Complicated?" She arched a brow, amusement in her voice. If she knew where this was going, it would be a pretty easy guess. Eep leaned away to sit up a little, making space between them. "What girls besides Dawn do you know?"

"You," he teased.

"I don't count," she quipped, poking him on the chest.

"Well… what boys do you know then?" His tone was mirthful, leaning up on his elbow as he looked at her.

She opened her mouth to retort.

"Your dad, Thunk and Mr. Betterman don't count."

She hinged her jaw back closed with a pout. "Fineee," Eep said, dragging out the word before flopping back down against him. Her weight sent him down on his back again before she rolled off him. They were still pressed close together.

"Okay so we might not be the best frames of reference." Guy leaned his head against hers as they laid side by side.

"Oh definitely," Eep agreed, grinning.

"Also… I'm sorry I told you to take a shower." Eep turned to brush her nose against his cheek, making Guy turn to grin sheepishly at her.

"When was the last time you took a shower?" She couldn't really pick up the scent of soft rain and cool mountain streams on his skin anymore, it was faint even with her very sensitive nose.

Guy looked confused by the question before reclining back to get more comfortable. "A few days?" Eep gazed at him with confused eyes, Guy picked up the social cue. "I thought I kinda deserved it, like penance?"

"Guy, you can shower, for The End's sake." She shook her head.

He gave a helpless sort of shrug, making Eep nudge him with her shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow."

"It's always Tomorrow with you, isn't it, babe?" Eep sighed fondly.

He seemed to realize what he'd said and grinned, toothy and wide as he laced their fingers together. They were pressed palm to palm, it brought a wave of nostalgia over Eep when she remembered back to the first time in that maze of a gully filled with crystals. Come with me, the memory echoed before his voice broke through with a tender reverence. "I have my Tomorrow figured out now. Don't you worry, Eep."

"Like I ever was worried," she said, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. She knew it was silly to be, considering that now they were more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.

He was her husband and she was his wife, yet the butterflies still flocked a storm in her belly. They shared more than just body together but heart and mind too. They were life mates and yet things didn't really feel any different, she'd lived with him long enough. The change in their routine in the few short moons since the situation with the spineback gorilla was hardly a shift that needed adapting to.

His face looked sad for a moment, brows furrowed as he nuzzled his nose into her chin. He peppered her jaw with kisses, trying to reassure her without words. She lifted her neck with a shiver, giving him better access. Nothing was said for a long moment as they traded lazy kiss after lazy kiss, the morning was still young and they had all the time in the world to enjoy each other. After pressing his lips to her jaw a few more times he drew back with a loving grin, one she returned before nuzzling her nose against his.

His breath tickled her lips, their foreheads pressed against one another. This was what she always wanted, just him right here, together forever in their Tomorrow. There was no Tomorrow without him.

"Hey," she said in a low voice.

"Hey what?"

"I love you." Eep beamed at him.

"You're pretty awesome too, I hope you know that," he told her as they leaned against each other.

She practically purred with delight, Eep brushing his cheek with her own. "You could stand to tell me that every so often, actually."

Something about the words seemed to make his eyes flash and he perked up considerably.

"Oh yeah," he exclaimed, nudging her to sit up on the bed. Eep leaned back on her heels and watched Guy get up. He went to dig through their things, they still needed to finish unpacking but the excitement of new marital bliss was distracting. It was a wonder they got anything done when they were so wrapped up in eachother every day. "There's something I wanted to do if you were okay with it."

She scooted off the pallet, alit with curiosity as she coyly arched a brow. "Oh? Like what?"

He seemed to catch her hint and huffed, amused. "You wish, I mean something else."

She pretended to be disappointed, resting her chin on her fist as she sat back down. "You're no fun."

"You didn't say that last night," he teased before continuing his rummaging. Hesitation flashed across Guy's face, soon replaced with a resolve strong as steel. He turned to face her with a jar in his hand. "I made extra Henna," Guy explained, gesturing to himself. The newly painted stripes had long since dried, Eep had missed them.

"For?"

"Well… you," he replied, shuffling his weight before approaching her again. "Since we're married and all now, I thought… maybe you'd…?"

"Are you sure this isn't an excuse to get handsy, Guy?" She nudged his knee with her foot, rousing a laugh out of him.

"And your dad said I was the bad influence," he said. Guy's smile turned wistful suddenly, dark eyes gazing at the jar. "I remember my mom and dad having matching paint."

Eep smiled at him, sympathy on her face. She hopped onto her feet, reaching out to trace her hand down a stripe on his slender shoulder. "Was it all your family?"

"Yeah, our tribe used them to make sure people knew we were all together, that we were one people." He rested his large palm over hers, stopping her. Guy slowly led her hand down his arm, Eep touching the two stripes around his bicep before finally he tangled their fingers together. "You're my family now," he said fondly, soft. "So, that makes you my tribe too."

"You think I've earned my stripes?"

"There was never anything to test you for," Guy replied with a shake of his head, lifting their joint hands so he could kiss her knuckles. "Nothing at all to prove." Eep reached out to trace his cheek with her fingers before laying her palm flat against it. He leaned into her touch, arching his brows with a small grin. "So… is it a yes?"

Eep nodded her head. "I always look pretty good in stripes anyways."

"You always look good."

"Flattering me will get you nowhere," she said in jest, though she glowed with how pleased she was by the compliment.

"It's gotten me this far," Guy replied, leaning forward to kiss her.

Eep met him half way, pulling his palm closer to hers as she wrapped her free arm around his waist. Guy cursed the jar of paint in his other hand, groaning against her mouth. Eep was flush against his torso and chest, always the daring one and already she took control of the kiss. He was always happy to follow her lead though.

She gave his lip a feisty nip, Guy juggled for his paint when he mentally stumbled and slackened his grip. It cooled some of the heat in his belly, simmering into embers. Finally, he mustered enough willpower to pull away from her when he felt the soft flicker of her tongue. He'd never get the tattoos on her before the first chickenseal crow at this rate.

Eep let go of his hand and pulled away from him, seeing he needed the breathing room. She just grinned broadly at his flushed cheeks and flustered expression. He cleared his throat, adjusting his cargo. "Um… anyway, guess just sit on the stool there."

She took a seat with surprising daintiness as she did so. Guy crouched in front of her, gesturing with his head for her to give him her arm. Eep extended her forearm, watching Guy dip his hand into the red paste. He began to trace a stripe along her bicep gently, feeling the firm muscle under his palm and fingers.

"It might itch for a few hours at first," he told her, trying to distract himself from the nervous pounding in between his ears.

Eep noticed the first stripe he painted wasn't rounded like his, but kind of lopsided in places and jagged in shape. She looked from her stripe to Guy's, curious if he'd slipped up. He only grinned. "Let's just say Gran inspired me, Fire Heart."

It suddenly made sense, her eyes quickly glancing back at the lightning bolt shaped stripe curved around her bicep. "But its not -"

"New tribe names, remember?" Guy leaned back on his heels a moment to give her a proper look. "We can change things, make new traditions. It still means the same thing, Eep. It just has a personal touch now."

"We never got to give you a name, you know."

"Well… you could now I guess."

"I'm not as good as Gran is at the Thunder Sister naming thing," Eep mused, watching Guy dunk his fingers in more of the Henna to paint another stripe.

Guy chuckled, "Can't be any worse than Bog Water."

"Hey you, Mrs. Betterman is proud to be Bog Water." She reached her free hand to reach into the Henna, dipping her fingers in it before playfully tracing a shape against his eyebrow. Guy started, nearly messing up his own paint job as he looked at Eep. "Hold still, I'm christening you."

Guy tried looking at what she was doing but it was pretty much impossible so he just waited patiently for Eep to finish. It was two tusk-like shapes she'd painted under both eyes, starting at his eyebrows and stopping at the slope of his nose. Eep cleared her throat dramatically. "From now on," Eep began with as noble a voice she could muster. "You will be Bright Smile."

When he grinned at her, Eep knew it was the perfect name, even if it didn't sound the most intimidating. It certainly was no Blood Horn or Fire Heart. "Bright Smile?"

She thought back to the night she'd met him, drawn out of her cave by the light of his fire. When she thought he was a warthog beast ready to kill her, Eep hadn't hesitated to grab for a rock to dash his brains in. However, there were hands that reached out to placate her and ever so slowly the boar head had come off. In its place was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen and he was smiling at her.

At least, until she was startled so badly she dropped said rock upon his foot but that was a different story entirely and one she still thought back on with embarrassment. "If the shoe fits, you make extra pairs," Eep chirped proudly, feeling giddy with a secretive smile.

"I like it," he told her, idly touching the edge of the paint with his finger. "Wish I could see what you painted though."

"It's nothing phallic if that's what you're thinking, Guy."

"I wasn't going to say that," he replied.

"You were thinking it," Eep tsked with a pout.

Guy chuckled, shaking his head before going back to his work. He painted another stripe, the placement similar to his own. He went into the farthest depth of his memory to try recalling just how the stripes looked between married pairs. Eep rolled up her night shirt up to her chest, letting Guy draw stripes similar to the ones he had. Hers were on her belly though, and when he circled her ribs, Eep fought off a giggle at just how tickling she was.

He couldn't resist digging his fingers into her side, rousing a shriek of laughter. "Stop! You'll ruin your paint job!" Eep exclaimed.

"I can just redo it," he quipped, grinning though he lightened his touch to avoid another giggle fit when he began the next stripe that went closer to her hip bone.

She reached over his head, ignoring his gentle scolding that she was fidgeting too much to grab the mirror on the nightstand. "What happened to just redoing it, Guy?" Eep teased.

Gripping it in her hands, Eep pushed her finger against his forehead to make him lean back. She presented him with his reflection in the glass, grinning as she peeked over for his reaction.

He paused with a contemplated expression on his face and tipped his head to the side, causing some of his hair to fall away like a curtain. Guy seemed to connect the dots in what his face paint meant, recognition alit in those dark eyes of his. After several heartbeats, Guy glanced up at her. "You still think about it?"

Eep knew what he meant and nodded. "Of course, it was only one of the most important nights of my life." He smiled at her and Eep fought off a blissful sigh. "Now you're just being deliberate."

"How so?" Eep traced his lips with her index finger, outlining his smile and she bopped him one right on the nose right after. He looked like a confused puppy for a moment before he chuckled. "Hey, it worked. You didn't break my head with a rock. My foot though…"

She huffed, pressing her full palm into his face in embarrassment. "Ssshh, you snuck up on me. You deserved that." The words were muffled against her hand but she got the gist of it. "No, you could have just said something."

Guy reached over to grab her wrist, pulling her hand away. "Air," he gasped out first before speaking more. "I'm glad you broke into my camp and tried stealing my fire anyway. It worked out."

"That sounds even worse out loud," Eep bemoaned, pulling a clump of her wild red mane of hair over her face.

"And then there was the log ride…"

"Guy!"

"I say this with love, Eep."

She only huffed at him and put the mirror back where it came from. "Don't you have some stripes to finish painting?"

"I will if a certain someone, who will remain nameless, would let me," he said with mirth, pointing from the bowl of Henna to her.

"You're starting to sound a lot like my dad, Mr. Crood." Eep held still at last, letting Guy finally finish the stripe on her hip.

"Mr. Crood? Mr. Crood is my father-in-law, Eep." The comment earned him a gentle tap on the head, gentle for Eep at least. He blinked as his vision blurred for a second. He reached over and hoisted her leg up onto his shoulder. Her weight was heavy and solid but he'd grown used to it in the recent moons.

"Guy!" She nearly sounded scandalized, much to his amusement.

"I have to paint your thigh!"

She sheepishly looked away from him and Guy began painting the final stripes. He was quick about it, since she seemed to fidget awkwardly at their position. It was silly to be embarrassed when all things were considered, Eep took a moment to glance at the rock Guy had given her that rested next to the bed. Finally, he drew back and lowered her leg back onto the ground, relinquishing it.

"That should do it," he said, sounding proud. Guy stood up, grunting as he popped his back at the stiff muscles that had coiled during his seated position. "You're right, you do look good in stripes."

Eep got up from the stool with an eager little hop, extending her arm out to give it a good once over. She reached out to touch the edge of one stripe, careful to not mess up the paint. It would take a few hours to properly dry. It was a deep red but she knew with time they would soon be the same shade of brown as her husband's. She looked at Guy who was waiting for her opinion, he tried hard to not look as excited as he felt but like always he was an open book.

"I love them, Guy." She reached out to hug him, weary of pressing her torso too close to his. Guy patted her back gently. He wanted to tug her close but he'd spent too much effort on the Henna to mess it up. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like them," he said, beaming. "Thank you, love."

She flushed at the term of endearment even though she heard it plenty of times prior. Eep looked back down at her stripes, admiring wondered what Guy's family would have thought of her. Would they approve of her being part of them, even if it was only in spirit now?

"Something on your mind?" His voice coaxed her from her thoughts, drawing her back to the present.

"Nothing," she began before furrowed her brows. "Well… maybe not nothing. I was thinking what your parents might have thought of me." Eep knew the Bettermans hadn't approved of her at first but that was different now, they were quickly becoming like family.

The Bettermans had been part of Guy's old tribe, though they no longer wore their stripes. Guy looked thoughtful but he didn't hesitate. "Mom and dad would have adored you. I know it."

"Why is that?"

"They told me to find Tomorrow and I found you. It was always you, that's why." He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Eep smiled back at him, she couldn't help but feel relieved. There was the familiar sound of a chickenseal cawing that roused them, breaking the moment. Guy looked at the window, surprised that so much time had passed. The sky was now a light blue color.

"And there's our cue to get ready for the day," he sighed, turning away to put the paint away and wash his hands in a nearby basin.

"Yeah, we gotta go meet up with Dawn for the morning chores." Eep removed her night shirt to go grab her fur pelt dress that was draped over a nearby pole. She grabbed Guy's pants and boots along the way, tossing both in his direction.

He was quick to get dressed, tugging the garments on. "Careful with the paint," he cautioned once Eep pulled her dress over her head.

"This one hangs looser than my other one," Eep reassured him.

He nodded his head and gave the room a look. "We really need to think about organizing this place," he said, eying their unpacked bags and disarray belongings.

Eep began making her way for the door after pecking his cheek. "There's always Tomorrow," she chirped and she heard him laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

[hornsandthings]

solemn steppes

pairing: cassian (ACoTaR) x reader

summary: reader, a student of cassian’s defence training in the illyrian mountains, has a bad session. after, when he checks up on her, cassian is given an intimate reminder on how bleak and cruel illyrian life can be. angst and fluff.

note: agh, i got really stuck on this one and i think i’m a bit rusty. i tried, but decided to just get it out there hehe. i hope cass is somewhat in character... haven’t read ACoTaR in ages (something i should remedy...) // wc: 1771

+++

the illyrian mountains were certainly beautiful – misty mornings and pale sunlight. you knew, however, that this majesty was only a surface quality. what the visitor often overlooked were the frozen animal husks, the dry tundras, the abandoned hamlets. the snow was not white, not for you or any other illyrian. it was discoloured, the purity corrupted with mud, blood, piss. there was no peace here; the winds sang no lullabies.

the cacophony of the village rivalled that of the thunderstorm in the distance – the blacksmith was busy hammering away at some forged steel, a brawl was brewing, and cassian’s students were training.

you grunted as your sparring partner pushed you to the ground, limbs too weak to defend. her wings flared wide as she straddled your torso, frustration evident in her furrowed brow as her hands encircled your neck.

you clutched at them, barely keeping away the choking grip. every muscle was on fire, vision hazy with dizziness. training had only just reached its midpoint, but already a headache was pounding against your skull, making you slower, making you weaker. from the very beginning it had been a poor match; today you just couldn’t hold your ground. your blocks weren’t strong, your counters slow.

as you lay there, trapped, snow soaking through to chill your bones, you bit back tears - it shouldn’t be like this. you were older than the other students, had better control and movement. but your meat stocks had spoiled prematurely, the wind had battered the hinge of your cabin door, and screams in the night had you sleeping with one eye open.

but it wasn’t only this week. things had only gotten worse for you for some time, and cassian’s training had been the only reprieve. the opportunity to do something purely for yourself was liberating, and there was safety in the feeling of getting stronger. cauldron - you were even good at it; a rare thing. there was this, but also cassian. focused and particular - this was how he held himself during training, upholding that hard earned title of general of night’s armies. but sometimes he revealed a different side of himself, one that was funny, kind, and so very genuine. for the first time in your life you wanted to impress a male, and pushed yourself every session to do so.

but now, as you did everything wrong, you felt so useless. how could you ever believe you could be strong, if you couldn’t even feed yourself? you reached out, pawing blindly at your partner.

“elbows by your ribs,” cassian was saying, voice nearing as he knelt closeby. you tried, oh how you tried, but your mind had become so muddled with exertion that you couldn’t comprehend the meaning.

and finally her hands grabbed your throat, thumbs pressing down and soon you were choking, the little breath you had snatched so swiftly—

stop – the word was on your tongue, but all that came out was a wheeze. you clawed at her shoulder, the other clutching her wrist – but sweat made it slip, and then she was clenching her jaw, and then everything was burning—

“enough. enough! she’s trying to tap out—”

the weight lifted and the looming shadow vanished, but still you felt you were drowning. hoarse coughs wracked your body, and soon cassian hauled you up. “hey, look at me. are you alright?”

you squeezed your eyes shut. his big hands rested on your shoulders, and you used that to try to ground yourself, to focus on anything besides your seizing lungs or roiling stomach. cassian said your name once again, soft and intimate, like those few times where he could find you outside training sessions. you shook your head, giving him a weak shove before vomiting onto the ground. you spluttered, a bitter taste left in your mouth.

“for cauldron’s sake,” one of the students muttered, her sentiments echoed by others. you squinted up at the onlookers that had assembled, looks of scorn on their faces. honestly, you could understand why, and didn’t even care when tears escaped.

cassian sighed, grumbling a reply under his breath. you looked away, thinking he was annoyed, perhaps even embarrassed, but his touch was gentle as he reached for you again.

“can you stand?”

you swallowed, finally looking at him. you should’ve been intimidated, knowing that the night court’s general was seeing you so exposed; it always was hard to separate him from his role. but now, with his hazel eyes in such clear contrast to the monochromatics of the steppes, you reminded yourself that he had indeed become a friend.

lingering nausea turned your stomach once more, making you wince. cassian took it as answer, and gathered you up in his arms. “i’m taking you to the healers.”

curled up, you focused your gaze on nothing in particular as he carried you across the camp, trying not to think of what onlookers would think. this only reinforced the helplessness, the frailty that you so foolishly tried to overcome. cassian’s leathers were rough and cold against your skin, but his scent was comforting.

he set you down on a damp bedroll, hand briefly cupping your cheek. your heart pulsed violently; so unfamiliar you were with such gentle touches. “i’ll be back for you, alright?”

cassian then nodded to the healer just beyond, leaving you rather reluctantly.

the healer - an old woman, wings deformed by force - readied some herbs in the dark corner of this meagre tent. you looked around, barely keeping in the scoff. no viable blankets, no food… there wasn’t anything here that would help.

+++

cassian found you again later, when everything was graying. you hadn’t been at the healer’s tent when he finished the girls’ training session; she had told him that you left before she could even administer anything. he’d had some trouble, but eventually one of the girls pointed out the derelict shack.

you were sitting in a wooden tub - a glorified basket, really - listless in the cold water. cassian gritted his teeth, hesitating in the doorway. his relationship with you was undefined; you two saw each other only for a few hours a week at a time, and much of it was only in an official capacity. you were a quick and keen student, starting out strong. at first it had been an acknowledgement of your potential, then the liking of your smile, and eventually he found excuses to talk to you outside training. you were unyielding to the challenges of the steppes, and he admired that. being a good judge of character, cassian also found it so very easy to read you - something that had perhaps saved your life today. he knew you were interested in him, but kept yourself at a distance.

sometimes he wished you didn’t, and right now was one of those times.

he looked around at the splintered walls, the ragged bedding. he was familiar with illyrian poverty, but hadn’t experienced it so intimately for some time. you hid it well before - perhaps it was the clothing. but here in the twilight, your form looked so weak.

he quietly called your name, but you didn’t move. steeling himself, he made his way to you and crouched next to the tub. your knees were clutched to your chest.

“i’m sorry,” you croaked.

“what happened today can happen to anyone,” he said, choosing his words carefully. he didn’t blame you for a thing - didn’t think any less of you because of today’s overexhertion - but illyrian pride was a thing he had to keep in mind. you finally looked over, and your forlorn expression clutched at cassian’s heart.

“i was pathetic. the other girls are better - some of them can even fly! with my wings… what’s the point?”

he couldn’t help but glance at your curved wings, bent to fit inside. they were marked with scars and pockmarks, cruel memories of illyrian practices. he shook his head, swallowing the anger. “don’t say that. you worked hard today, as you always do.”

he sighed, thinking back on today’s overexertion and the way you had been steadily disengaging over the last few weeks. at first he thought it was an enhanced effort and trying to ignore your feelings, but he shouldn’t have been so arrogant.

“what’s going on, sweetheart?”

and your face crumpled, tears quickly welling and rolling. you shook your head, covering your face with your hands before your shoulders shook with a sob. cassian shifted involuntarily, a knee-jerk reaction.

“those… those gifts you gave me? i’ve had to sell them… trade them away… i’m so sorry, cassian. i don’t even have anything to show for it now. i— i—”

“hey.” he reached over, cupping your face, but you couldn’t stop.

“if i can’t join the legions, what am i going to do? i don’t have anything, cassian,” you implored, trying to make him understand. you didn’t need to, because cassian already knew what that felt like. “no skills, no prospects… i don’t—i don’t want to sell myself—”

he gripped you tighter, forcing you to look into his eyes. “hey, hey! just breathe, alright?” you were really crying now, sobs heavy as you gripped his arms. there was desperation there, a kind of hopelessness that he immediately wanted to change for you. the breathy sobs continued, and he quickly found a towel. “come here,” he said, helping you out of the tub and into his arms, your wet hair cold against his neck. he hugged you close, pressing what he hoped to be a reassuring kiss to your head.

when he felt your palm press over his heart, he intertwined his fingers with yours, calluses as rough as his. your hitching breaths evened out as cassian held you. he was hesitant to disturb the tentative calm, but he had to know. “how long has it been like this?” he asked, gently lifting your chin. thumb caressing your jaw, he regretted that this intimacy - both physical and emotional - had taken your humiliation to come to pass.

the reply was a mere shake of your head, full of shame and regret. your gaze lowered, but cassian pressed his forehead against yours, trying to comfort you in a way when words simply couldn’t. but he tried anyway. “i’m going to help you, alright, sweetheart? i promise. i’m sorry.” he tasted salt on his lips, and gathered you closer. “we’re going to be alright.”

he wasn’t quite sure how yet, but he was going to deliver on his promise. he cared for you, whether you believed it to be foolish or not, and cassian would endeavour to show it from now on.

[bird-in-a-cage]

In today’s update of Whoops My Hand Slipped, and 100% inspired by smutty voice in my ear ( @cockasinthebird in case you couldn’t guess) and yesterday’s ravenous ghost talk, I present this. Enjoy!

E | 3157 | dubcon, spectrophilia, dom/sub vibes, choking, public sex, light nipple play

L Train

Steve fiddled with his tie, waiting on the platform for the red line to take him downtown. He was nervous, naturally. Not everyone got their foot in the door at Pierce and Pierce. But he had. And without his father's help. He had a job interview scheduled for ten. Nailing it was of the utmost importance. It meant he could stay in Chicago for one, his tiny uptown apartment with the windowsill lined with small succulent pots. It also would prove to his father that Steve wasn't a screw up. He could finally put his adolescent years and all the horrors they held to bed once and for all. Cut all ties with Hawkins and his family for good.

It was more than a job interview.

The platform gradually filled with commuters as the train pulled into the stop, already full of people. Steve had hoped getting a slightly earlier time would have meant it wouldn’t be so busy. He didn’t really want to have to ride an hour through the city crammed in like the fish in a trawler net he now was. But it would be okay. The journey didn’t matter, only the destination. He found a place to stand near a set of doors, facing outwards to watch the city go by, shifting his messenger bag to his front to keep it safe from pickpockets.

Steve knew there weren’t any, but his small town brain wouldn’t let those kinds of prejudices die. 

The doors slipped close in front of Steve’s face before the train shuddered and shunted back into life, setting off at a pace through the city. Steve sighed silently to himself and ran through potential questions he might be asked, hands moving between playing with the strap of his bag, to the end of his tie, to brushing through the hair by his ears. All nervous habits and ticks. Never able to properly keep still. He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally picturing the interview. Placing himself as smooth and confident, with all the right answers. The total opposite to how he was in reality. Pierce and Pierce didn’t need to know who he really was.

Steve’s eyes flew open when he felt something touch his chest. There was nothing in front of him but the door, locked tight for safety. Maybe he had imagined the first, but the second time around there wasn’t a chance. It felt like a hand, open and splayed, right in the middle of his chest. The pressure of it slowly moving around to cup a pectoral muscle. It was strange to say the least. It didn’t feel like it was over his shirt though. It felt like it was directly against his skin. Steve glanced around. There was a man standing behind him but facing towards the rest of the carriage, nose deep in a folded up paperback. To Steve’s left was a woman in a pencil skirt, a black handbag pinned under her arm, again facing the carriage, focusing on nothing in particular with headphones on. Steve bit his lip before an embarrassing noise could be heard over the rattle of the engine as he felt fingers circling his sensitive nipple. His brain was suddenly spinning into overdrive, trying to work out what was happening and why. It wasn't another commuter and it certainly was far too direct to just be a haphazard breeze.

Mmm aren’t you a pretty one…

Steve felt his nipple being pinched as he probably resembled an owl, frantically looking around for whoever had spoken. But the voice that had floated around his head didn’t look like it came from anyone nearby. No one else was reacting if they had heard anything, or said anything even. It wasn’t a quiet voice either. Someone else would have definitely heard it. Steve hung his head and breathed hard through his nose. Now wasn’t the time for a breakdown, not on the biggest day of his life. Certainly the most important. Maybe that’s why it was happening. Stress and pressure. Steve closed his eyes again, just for a moment.

Nah ah pretty boy, let me see ‘em. You got real nice eyes.

Okay. No. This wasn’t happening. Not at all. Someone was playing a joke. A hideous prank. Steve kept his eyes shut on purpose now, ignoring the voice that was clearly just in his head. Trying to just breathe calmly and regain some form of composure. It lasted all of two seconds before his now hard nipple got another playful pinch. A noise bubbled in his throat that he had to pass off as a small cough.

Come on princess. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…

Steve furrowed his brow at that. What did that mean? He opened his eyes, just a crack, and glanced up from his shoes, nearly screaming when he saw blue eyes and a wicked grin suddenly in front of him in the impossibly small space. Steve blinked in fright and it was gone. Like it had never even been there. Breathing wasn’t helping anymore. Not when he could feel something running through his hair, raking fingers combing it back all the way to the base of his neck. It made Steve shiver down to his toes. He loved having his hair messed with. Even a trip to the salon was a danger for being slightly turned on by the hair wash station.

God what was happening? Why couldn’t anyone else hear this voice? Why did Steve suddenly see crystal blue eyes?  Why was he having a breakdown now?

The hand left his hair and travelled down his spine, skin prickling in its firm wake, causing Steve’s back to arch with it. Down down until one hand became two and cupped his ass almost posessively. Another noise almost made its way out of Steve’s mouth in surprise.

Jesus baby, look at all this now. Goddamn shame for it to be all covered up in a monkey suit...

Was… Was that a complement? Steve shook his head, trying to get the voice to fall out of his ears, maybe shake loose the part of his brain that was shutting down and allowing any of this to happen. Certainly trying to shake away the thought that this actually felt good. That the hands now kneading his ass were actually pretty nice. Wide and definitely firm. Exactly what Steve liked. For a small moment he let himself enjoy it, maybe subconsciously pushing back, just a little, for more. The voice in his ear chuckled almost knowingly before the whole of Steve’s back just felt warm. Unnaturally warm. Stranger than if he was stood halfway under a heating vent or had his back against a radiator.

Let’s see what else you got huh?

The hands worked their way around Steve’s front, around his waist and down. Behind the messenger bag that was now having to hide the beginnings of a semi, through clothes that apparently he may as well not have even been wearing. Steve definitely felt a hand wrap around his cock like it was just out in the open, circlingly tight and giving one sharp tug. A noise bubbled and popped out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop it this time. An embarrassingly high moan because okay that really did feel good. Steve felt the flush burn his cheeks, keeping his head down towards the floor in the vain hope that no one was paying attention enough to know it was him. All lost in their own pre-work worlds. The voice laughed almost cruel in Steve’s ear. Mocking in a way as the phantom hand started playing more, working Steve into complete hardness, tenting his best work pants and pressing into the leather of the bag. Steve’s grip on the strap of it was turning his knuckles white.

God you’ve got a nice cock princess. Real nice. You got the whole package huh?

The whimper that left Steve’s bitten lips was shameful. He didn’t want this, didn’t ask for this, didn’t even know what was happening but, he didn’t really want it to stop. It had been a good few months since anything had touched him, aside from himself. And whatever was working him over felt so good. Practiced even. Different from Steve touching himself, tighter and rougher, but still good. He dug his feet firmer into the solid flood to stop his hips rocking into the feeling that was taking over, sweat starting to bead on his temples.

Mmm don’t be shy now baby. Bet a sweet lil’ thing like you just loves being all full…

Steve swallowed thick. What could that possibly even mean in this context? In the middle of morning rush hour on the busiest train Steve had ever been on in his life, shunting from station to station through Chicago towards the biggest opportunity he’d ever gotten, being groped and touched all over by an apparent ghost that just haunted the train? Was this a dream or a nightmare? Steve couldn’t even tell anymore. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was still in bed, having a stress dream. His alarm clock would blare any minute, he’d open his eyes and this would all be over. He’d be staring over at the closed bedroom door and not down at his shiny black shoes. He wouldn’t be feeling a small damp spot growing in his briefs. He wouldn’t feel the phantom hand leave his cock and start rolling his balls around slowly like marbles in a wide palm, and he certainly wouldn’t feel another hand around his throat, forcing his head up off the floor and towards the ceiling. An advert for insurance right there in front of him.

Bet you love suckin’ dick, huh pretty boy? Fuck, just made to take whatever you can get I bet. What I wouldn’t give to have those lips wrapped around me. Bet you could swallow me all the way down huh? No problem at all. Bet you ain’t had a gag reflex for a long time now...

Steve’s knees were starting to shake. This was all too much. He still wasn’t sure if it was a ghost or the voice of his subconscious ringing loud and true in his head. Because the voice wasn’t lying. Not even a little. The hand left his throat. Steve didn’t want to admit he missed it, feeling something that felt like a thumb press under the hinge of his jaw, fingers achingly close around his windpipe. He screwed his eyes shut, tight, trying to keep breathing and not pant or moan like his body wanted too, especially when the hand returned to his cock, now stroking with careless abandon.

Steve was going to come. He was going to come right in the middle of a subway train in his best suit less than an hour away from the biggest job interview of his life and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

But it wasn’t the stroking that was going to take him over the edge. No. It was the sudden feeling of something blunt and hot pressing up hard against his asshole. His eyes flew open and all he saw was his own reflection in the train doors, a flushed mess sweating out of his own skin like he’d come down with a sudden fever. Steve had enough life experience to know exactly what was going to happen. He couldn’t move from it, there was nowhere to go with everyone packed in like a sardine can. In true honestly he didn’t exactly want to move from it.

You want this baby? I promise it’ll feel so, so good.

Steve could only stare at his own reflection, his own eyes dark with lust and want and god he’d gone completely insane. The hands left his cock and wrapped themselves around his hips. Instinctively Steve arched back, practically presenting. That was his answer. He did want it. He wanted it bad.

Fuckin’ knew it...

The groan Steve heard in his head was sinful. So deep and sexy it was like the soundtrack of a porno playing just for him. But what he felt was even better. So impossibly good. Going from nothing to stretched out and full in just a few short moments with no pain. It was heaven. Steve couldn’t stop the small whimper from his throat even if he wanted too. The man reading the paperback coughed. Annoyed. He’d definitely heard that one. The voice laughed, rocked up and punched the air out of Steve’s lungs, those devilish hands letting go of Steve’s hips and travelling up to his chest again. This time deciding to play with both of his nipples, flicking and twisting and circling around and around. Steve wouldn’t have lips left after all this with how hard he was having to bite them.

He no longer cared what was happening. If he was having a breakdown then so be it, this all felt far too good. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

Rock for me baby. Let me know you like it...

The voice was so sultry Steve had no option but to obey, rocking small on the balls of his feet. The voice moaned loud and deep and it just sent pure sparks along Steve’s spine. It definitely felt like something was inside him, something thick stretching him open and fucking him without a care. Steve felt it thrusting in and out, setting a brutal pace straight away that just wouldn’t be possible. God it was incredible. The small wet patch was getting bigger, threatening to leak through and stain, but Steve didn’t have the brain power to care anymore. He shifted his bag ever so slightly over the sensitive head of his cock, using three layers of different materials to his advantage, making his eyes roll back into his head. The voice just laughed and went harder. It was a miracle Steve was still on his feet. Was pretty sure whatever was fucking him was the only thing keeping him upright anymore.

Fuck, look at you. Such a little slut. So desperate for a dick you’ll take anythin’. Ain’t that right princess? Nod for me darlin’, you know I’m right. Say it outloud. I wanna hear it.

Steve bit his lip harder. He couldn’t. That was just too much. That would be admitting that this was good to the world. That wasn’t about to happen. A hand wrapped itself around his throat again, head being dragged back up to the insurance advert, locking eyes with a picture of a smiling woman holding a set of keys. Steve gasped and the grip was tighter this time. The other hand was back around his cock. God he could feel fingers everywhere. Splayed over the expanse of his throat and squeezing. Trailing through his weeping slit, wrapping tight on the strokes up and down then trailing again. The dick fucking him was getting harder somehow, brushing over his prostate with every other thrust. Steve was going to explode. This would be how he died. On the L Train red line. They’d find his corpse with a gaping asshole and drained of every ounce of cum Steve could possibly ever make. No evidence to be found. No motivation for a killer.

Come on pretty boy. Say it. Say you love my cock.

The hand tightened enough for Steve to choke and cough. His brain was swimming. A coil had formed hot in his gut, winding tighter and tighter. Jesus there was no way this was about to happen.

Say it!

“I love you cock…” Steve barely muttered out, gasps and a moan spilling out too. The man with the book coughed again but Steve didn’t care anymore. He was lost in a world of invisible hands and see through dicks and a voice, a deep deep voice that was grunting and panting hot next to his ear. Steve kept rocking back, a deep part of him wanting to just fall to his knees and let this ghost or whatever take him mercilessly.

Yeah you do. Yeah you do. Fuck!

Steve gasped at the feeling of wetness that wasn’t his own, deep inside him. That was extremely real. There was no way it couldn’t be. The ghost kept rocking into him, spilling and apparently milking himself in Steve’s body. He’d never felt so violated before. But it poured pure gasoline on the burning fire. With one more stroke of an invisible hand Steve came in his pants, whimpering like he was about to cry as the world whited out, falling forward to brace his hands on the door so he didn’t just crumble and fall apart. He panted through his nose, deep and hard and heavy. His briefs felt disgusting sticking against his spent cock. The voice laughed breathy, what was probably a nose brushing behind Steve’s ear with apparent affection.

Fuck, that was good. Thanks pretty boy.

And with that everything stopped. Steve was left alone, up against the train doors. The hands and voice totally gone. The only evidence of their presence was buried deep inside him. Steve ran off the train as soon as it pulled into the next station. If it was his he didn’t care. The first lungful of air was bliss. He gulped it down like water in a desert, trying to clear his head, staring at the steel vehicle. If his pants weren’t sticking to him so uncomfortably Steve would argue with himself if anything had even happened. 

Blue eyes and that grin flashed through the glass of the doors. They winked and blew Steve a kiss before the train set off again, having to keep time through the city and its next stop.

Steve stayed on the platform for a while. A still beacon in an ocean of moving bodies, mentally trying to process what had happened but he just couldn’t. It was all far too much. Did he really just get fucked by a ghost? No, okay, one thing at a time. Pierce and Pierce. Job interview. He could ditch his briefs and try and block out this morning, he could still try. Piecing together his surroundings the office was only a few blocks away. He still had time to make it. Focus on one thing and one thing only. Don’t let them see the crazy. Prove everyone wrong.

Determined, Steve pressed on. His body felt truly fucked. His insides just felt wrong and out of place in a way that would be amazing if it wasn’t down to a spector’s wicked work. No. Don’t focus on that. Professional, not crazy. It was two blocks down that Steve came to a stop from his march, a sinking realisation setting in. Regardless of the outcome, he’d need to get the same train home. And that thought didn’t fill him with as much dread as it should have.

[baby-grayson]

Sweet Enigma: Part 2

Word Count: 2918 

Tag List: @wheezeatmedolans​ @styles-dolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @evergreendolan​ @baby-turtles​ @dolanstacoma​ @not-gbd​ @graysavant​ @someonetogray​ @dolansficsandpics​ @ batgirl099 @voguekristens 

Grayson’s eyes shifted from his seat in Kate’s car to his front door. His mouth folded into a tight ball, while he huffed out of his nose. His weak sinus responded by triggering a cough that filled the space of Kate’s car.

She winced and gave him a sideways glance from the driver’s side, “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

Grayson nodded and cleared his throat. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down, thankful to see that he was no longer wet—although he was highly disheveled. He pushed the passenger side door open and convinced his legs to walk toward his front door.

For a moment, he second guessed whether his key would open his own front door. Something about his house made it seem like foreign territory, like it belonged to another version of Grayson with much different priorities than the one that walked over that threshold.

Almost immediately, Grayson was faced with the tall, looming, svelte figure of Calvin Maddox.

Calvin Maddox was a slim shouldered, lengthy man with perfectly kept white hair: who walked with all the power, elegance, and traditionalism that came with having old money. Maddox had inherited a fortune from his bloodline: he maintained his money via his status as a Real Estate Tycoon in the deep South. Up until the night before, Calvin had liked Grayson. He had looked forward to being his father-in-law one day. Calvin would have never uttered this out loud in front of his family, but he even favored Grayson over his current son-in-law, Sherry’s sister Coral’s husband, Jackson White.

In that moment, Calvin’s steely blue eyes were forged with hatred and detest while he looked down his nose at Grayson while he made his way through the front door. Calvin’s figure reminded Grayson of a wolf, as the older man prowled his way across the living room and silently stepped in front of Grayson’s path. For a second, Grayson could have sworn he saw the man snarl at him.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Calvin’s Southern accent was thick and slathered with a calm anger, “Walking through that door, like nothing ever happened.” Grayson’s pupils trembled in his eyes as Calvin crossed his arms.

“I-uh,” Grayson stammered, “I just wanted to get a few things. I’m uh—I’m sorry—I am but—I’m not looking for a problem.” Grayson held out his palms in from of him, taking in a few shaky breaths. Calvin stepped toward Grayson, keeping his arms crossed. “You know my daughter wasn’t looking for a problem when she agreed to be your wife. But now I’m wondering if that’s really the case, son.” In the past year, Calvin had started calling Grayson ‘son’, in act of Southern hospitality. Usually, Grayson found it comforting; on that day, the word was charged with antagonistic energy.

Grayson gulped down, feeling his heart pound from deep within his chest. He opened his mouth to say something but found his entire mouth was dry, with his tongue hanging heavy against his palette.

“Now,” Calvin took another step toward Grayson. He narrowed his eyes at Grayson before continuing, “You want to tell me what happened last night Grayson.” Calvin took another step toward Grayson, leaving only a few inches of space between them, “Or are we going to have a problem?”

Grayson went blank, staring up at the older man with wide eyes and shallow breaths. His tongue flopped inside of his mouth, failing to create anything that could become coherent words. His bottom lip trembled as he tried to find a response that could face the moment.

From inside the house, behind the pair, a few footsteps came sauntering through the hallway.

“Hey,” Ethan’s voice was low and calm, “What’s going on out here?”

Grayson’s eyes immediately found Ethan’s: a pair of unsure, nervous eyes meeting an identical pair laced with assurance and relief.

Calvin did not shift from his position in front of Grayson. “Nothing Ethan,” he looked over his shoulder to find Ethan standing in an identical position: crossed arms and steely eyes. Calvin dropped his hands at his sides and stepped back from Grayson’s personal space, “Just asking your brother if he could explain why he decided to break my baby girl’s heart last night.” Grayson gulped again. He saw an accomplished look wash through Calvin’s eyes for a moment.

Calvin looked down, surprised to see Ethan place a hand on his shoulder, “I think my brother will talk, when he’s ready to talk.”

Grayson’s mouth fell into a tight line and he pushed his shoulders back: trying to feign confidence. Ethan patted Calvin’s shoulder chummily, nearly mocking the tension of the moment, “C’mon Calvin, I think you should eat something.” Grayson was extremely grateful to see Ethan lead the man away coolly. Finally alone in the room, Grayson breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t aware of it at the time, but Ethan had made excuses for Grayson’s disappearance the night before. In the weeks prior, Ethan had noticed his brother’s confidence slowly fade into a squirrelfish demeaner: he knew it was just a matter of time until Grayson’s façade broke. Ethan was shocked that Grayson chose his own engagement party to accept his inner qualms. Ethan wrote it off as another example of Grayson being the dumber twin.

From the car, Kate pulled down the sun visor in her car to inspect herself in the mirror. While Grayson mentally sparred with Calvin Maddox in the house, Kate discovered a few stress pimples forming between her temple and her left eye. She sighed and bored holes into the front door with her eyes, silently begging Grayson to come back as quickly as possible. She looked back in the mirror to recognize the under-eye bags and frizzy, unkept hair that came as a consolation prize with being a third-year doctoral student.

Grayson’s steps were hurried and frantic as he raced to his own bedroom: barely recognizing it under the hoards of overturned drawers and bags laying out the room. In a manic fit, Sherry had scoured and destroyed everything she could get her hands on, in a mad effort to understand where Grayson had gone and why he would want to leave her. Grayson’s heart stopped for a second, but his mind emphasized the importance of haste.

Moving quickly, he grabbed his orange, leather, Louis Vuitton duffel bag from the top shelf of his closet. He shuffled through piles of clothing to find the few pieces he though he would need in the coming days. He didn’t pay attention to the shoes he grabbed from his closet, putting whatever he found first in the bag. He was looking down at the bag, taking an inventory of what he had packed when the door to his on-suite bathroom slowly opened with a painful screech on its hinges.

In the door frame, was the image of Grayson’s exhausted, angry, and frenzied fiancé.

Sherry Kerrigan Maddox was drawn into the world with womanly curves and a Cheshire Cat smile. She knew nothing except for the high-class, debutante life of a Southern heiress. She grew up trailing her mother and sister at high-profile events: wearing big hats, drinking sweet iced tea, and laughing politely at the jokes of the country’s richest southern dynasties.

Sherry spent most of her teenage life away from her mother and father, attending a private boarding school with her older sister, Coral. Unlike Coral, Sherry never did particularly well in school. The only subject she was ever mildly interested in was French, which she learned to speak with superb proficiency, something that came in handy with her future modeling career. Once, Sherry had cried when she was handed a math test. Her teacher, who had just graduated from college, excused Sherry from taking the test in an act of kindness, not wanting to subject a young girl to public emotional strife. When the board of Sherry’s private school found out, they threated Sherry with suspension on the order of disobedience and violating the academic validity code. A cool word and hot money from Calvin Maddox promised that the teacher would be let go from the school, while his daughter could continue to happily doodle in her notebooks and forget about Algebra.

She was, objectively, beautiful. Her round face was complimented with full cheeks and a soft jawline. Her blue eyes were wide but almond shaped: inherently sensual. She wore a strong, arched brow: the brunette color of which exposed her as a fake blonde. But her hair was a gorgeous golden hue, always sitting exactly perfectly on her head. Sherry Maddox knew, quite well, that lipstick lasted longer, but always preferred to wear gloss, because it was more fun.

Her voice was choked with waves of torment, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Every muscle in Grayson’s body stiffened. In a deep place, he knew this conversation was coming he just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. He swallowed hard, meeting his lips together in a flat pout. He let out a hard breath as Sherry spoke again, “What are you doing here?” Grayson didn’t turn to face her, “Sherry-I-“ “NO!” Her usual Southern elegance was gone from her presence, replaced with the unhinged pain of a woman with a broken heart, “You don’t get to say my name! You don’t get to just,” she motioned her arms in the air, “waltz in here!”

Grayson stammered and turned to find Sherry with tears in her eyes, shaking a pointed finger at him. He closed his mouth.

“So?” Her voice held a sharp edge, “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” She gritted her teeth, “You leave me there. Alone.  In front of everyone. And you can’t even apologize.”

Grayson exhaled; his jaw shook in the attempt at finding something to say. He signed, “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know—I” Sherry interrupted him, “You? You embarrassed me? You humiliated me? You left me to explain to TMZ and Page6 why you weren’t there? You left me there to listen to Ethan’s pathetic excuses for you?” She sneered at him, “You must think I’m really stupid.”

Grayson reached an arm behind him, placing it on his duffel bag. He silently wished that he could run away, and leave this moment frozen for a more prepared Grayson to handle. “I don’t think that Sherry. I just –I need time.” His eyes pleaded with her; his heart felt like it was being plucked at by a thousand angry, clawed birds.

Sherry laughed: a cold laugh without an ounce of humor in her face. “You need time?” Her voice was vicious. “You need? Wow. We’re talking about what you need. What about what I need? What about the fact that I needed you last night? Thought didn’t cross your mind did it?”

Grayson’s face folded into a pained position, “I’m sorry Sherry. I really am. I—We—I can’t do this anymore.” In one swift motion, Grayson picked up his duffel bag and headed for the door. He tried to block out the sounds of Sherry’s cries and screams.

Making his way to Kate’s car, Grayson’s internal structure was panged with guilt. His mind tremored with the realization of the gravity of his actions.

Grayson landed in Kate’s passenger seat in a hectic, distressed position. Kate silently wished she had suggested that Grayson call Ethan to collect his things. Grayson turned to face her; a distraught form of inner terror palpable in his eyes.

His voice was low, “We’re really doing this.”

She gave him a sideways glance, “You’re really doing this.”

Grayson’s mouth flatlined. His jaw locked with tension and guilt. He thought back to Sherry, peering at the front door through the car window, he turned to face Kate.

The wounds in his heart burned when she said, “I’m not the one who needs a second chance because I treated you right the first time.”

The car ride to Kate’s apartment was silent except for the gentle buzz of her engine. She parked on the street and didn’t say a word to Grayson as she exited the car.

With her keys dangling in her hand, she quickly marched up the stairs and through her front door. Her energy was fluxed by the sight of Wesley in her living room. “Hey,” his voice was heavy with concern, “I texted you. I thought we were going for breakfast this morning?” His big brown eyes were weighed down with his care for her.

Kate’s mouth went dry as he tongues floundered for a moment, “Sorry—I must have forgotten. You know how things have been lately, I’ve been working more than I’ve been breathing.” Her words mushed together, making her sentence sound like one over-extended syllable.

Wesley stood up and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You doing alright Katie? I’ve been worried about you but this—this isn’t like you.” He gently thumbed her clavicle, “Maybe you should put work down for a little bit.”

Kate shook her head quickly, “No-I mean yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I am going to do. I was going to call you. I’m leaving. For now. To go to..Philly! I’m going to spend time with my mom in Philly.” She nodded enthusiastically, trying to fake a smile.

Wesley seemed satisfied with this answer, as his eyes lost some of their murk, “Good. I’m happy for you. When are you leaving?” “Today!” Kate’s answer came a bit too fast and too loud.

Wesley furrowed his brow, “And when are you getting back? Maybe we can take a weekend together before you go back to work?”

“I’m not sure,” Kate gave a weak shrug, “I didn’t book my return ticket yet.” She sucked in her top lip, “I was going to wait—for the weather. Wouldn’t want to book a ticket during a snowstorm.” Wesley placed a gentle kiss on her head, “Say hi to your mom for me. And remember, I’m a phone call away.” Kate’s own heart betrayed her as her pulse quickened under Wesley’s lips, “Will do.” She sighed in relief when she stepped away and headed for the door, “Enjoy your trip. Love you Katie.” “Love y-“ Wesley shut the front door and she did not finish.

Kate was emotionally uncomfortable. Not from lying to Wesley because this was not the first time she had lied to him. She was uncomfortable with how nearly comfortable she was in this dialogue.

She shifted her emotions to a distant place in her mind, deciding to struggle with them later. She worked methodically to pack a backpack with the clothes and toiletries she would need for the trip. At the bottom of her closet, she pulled out a shoebox with the two t-shirts and one pair of sweatpants she was left with after breaking up with Grayson. She included the pieces in her backpack, figuring this was as good a chance as any to give them back to him.

Hustling out of her door, she looked down to see her school bag thrown against the floor. She picked it up, her research in the back of her mind. With two backpacks and a jacket slung over her shoulder, she made her way to Grayson in her car outside.

Kate shoved her things in the back seat, next to Grayson’s duffel bag. With a huff, she dropped herself in the driver’s seat and turned to face Grayson.

He started first, “I’m sorry.” He spoke quickly, “I’m so sorry. I know I’m dragging you into this when you don’t deserve to be here. I should have never assumed that you would even be remotely interested in trying to—” Kate held up a finger to his lips. “This is my decision too.” Her voice was steady, the opposite of his frenzied tone. Grayson shook his head, his mouth felt sparks under her slender finger. “You’re not responsible for sorting through my emotions.” She looked at him, a serene balance in her eyes. She spoke with a confidence, “If I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t be here.”

[hansoulo]

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 4

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon-typical violence and blood, grief, angst, death, y’all know the drill (there’s some descriptions of gore this time! if you watch narcos i don’t think you’ll be fazed by it but just a heads up. also talks about kidnapping and implied trauma. take care babes)

Word Count: 1.2k bc i needed the suspense soz

A/N: *throws this at you and runs away*

masterlist playlist

You were cold. That was all you could remember. Things returned slowly, falling in and out of your memory like specters. A hand over your mouth. Concrete. A flickering light bulb and a sicario - who couldn’t have been very smart because if he was he’d have realized that you didn’t know anything. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. You knew a little, courtesy of Horacio. Too much, probably. Enough to make yourself a target, anyways. Damn this. Damn you.

The sound of gunshots was enough to wake you from your daze and you vaguely register the taste of blood in your mouth. You force your eyes open, tensing your hands that lay tied behind you to get the feeling to return. The room was bare, faintly lit by the weak light of the early morning, and you felt your shoulders pressed up against plaster. Oh. You were on the floor.

This was much less professional than the last time you were kidnapped. Of course, then you were only bait. A pretty face with a ring on your left hand and the last name of a man they knew they wanted dead. Well, they got that soon enough.

You could be bait this time, too, for a different man. Apparently, you had a type.

---------

Shouting. Running. Slamming doors. Horacio’s yelling something in Spanish. Something about sicarios and traps and hostages and- You. His…. friend? Neighbor? Unpaid babysitter, who also knew how he took his coffee? (Scalding hot with tons of sugar, in the white mug with the chipped lip that was always in the top left cabinet.)

They used zip-ties on your wrists. You kinda want to laugh. Shoulders tight from being pulled behind you for so long, you shift your weight until pinpricks erupt across your numb legs. You should probably call out to him or something, to speed the process along, but your throat is burning something awful so you just let your head fall back and listen to the sound of tactical boots.

Three.

A round of gunfire, shot quick from the hip of a stranger you can’t imagine makes for very good company. You can hear bodies fall, but you know it’s not him. He wouldn’t go down that easy.

Two.

“Dónde está ella?”

“Mi coronel, aquí.” A muffled curse. The cock of a gun. Then, the door is pushed open with a loud creak of its rusted hinges.

One.

He’s on you like a man starved, all dark green fabric and hulking shoulders as he seems to just… appear, crouching down with a hand brushing your cheek. You don’t actually remember seeing him walk over, so maybe you really did hit your head on something. That would explain the ringing in your ears. And your busted lip. And the way that every time Horacio moved, there seemed to be two of him dragging out a few seconds behind.

Hands, strong and callused and more familiar than they should be, grip at your shoulders to coax your head up. The world comes into focus then- less blurry but way more frightening. The walls are streaked with red and your eyes catch a crimson path on the floor, snaking around to the doorway. All you see is a man’s shoe.

“Hey, hey look at me.”

You feel yourself- as though disembodied- shaking your head frantically as you duck your face to the floor. He reaches to cut away the ties around your hands, one knee braced against the floor and his mouth pursed in a line. The scent of gunpowder chokes you, presses down on your lungs like the deadweight of a corpse. Your face feels hot, burning like you’re running a high fever and you can’t string two words together without thinking about blood and bodies you can’t fix and how you can’t remember anything - which means you can’t remember what they’ve done to you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. It's too much. It’s too-

“Look at me.”

Fuck.

Horacio’s hand moves to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb tracing over the split skin of your bottom lip. His eyes seem to hold everything inside them, the embers of a flame you’re used to seeing sedated now flickering something dark. Something you should want to run from.

What’s another arrow in the quiver of your self-loathing? Not much, you suppose. Not much at all.

You look.

--------

He walks you back to the complex with his fingers still curled around your arm.

“Are you alright?”

Horacio’s voice is quiet, softer than you’ve ever heard it but god, what you would give to hear it again.

“Yeah, yeah I’m- I’m fine. Just… tired.”

He nods - unconvinced but letting you lie anyway - and steps back to open the door for you. Right. He has your spare key.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and at that Horacio shakes his head. He’s good at hiding things, at hiding how he feels, but you know he’s holding his breath- trying to keep from frowning. For your sake. “I- I don’t know if I can do this, Horacio,” and you try to focus on the way his chest rises and falls to steady yourself but it’s not a good idea because it just makes you want to collapse, dead on your feet, into him. “Whatever this is.”

“Chiquita-”

“No- no. Don’t. You-,” you choke out the words, fighting tears as the exhaustion of the day finally seems to make itself known. “You can’t call me that. I- I'm not your chiquita,”  and the last word comes out a bit sharper than you wanted it to, a bit too biting towards the man standing outside your apartment door with your keys still in his hands. Your eyes soften when you see the jagged metal gripped in his palm, hands tensing with scarred, white-stretched knuckles. Horacio’s jaw is tight again and you're reminded of how you teased him once. You’ll grind your teeth down clenching your face like that. Loosen up a bit.

The words leave your mouth, breathy and slightly shaking, before you realize what you say. “I’m not your anything.”

You want to slam the door in his face. You want him to slam the door in your face. You want so bad to be angry, to have someone to blame besides yourself and your own fucked up head, but you can’t. So you don’t. You just walk into your apartment and let the lock click quietly behind you, listening to footsteps as they retreat across the hall.

The rational part of your brain tells you to go to bed, to fall asleep after a good cry in the comfort of your bedroom surrounded by soft things and another wall separating you from him, but you hadn’t really made a habit of listening to reason lately. Why start now? The floor was as good a place as any.

Your back slid down against the door as you sat, drawing your knees to your chest with a shallow breath. There was a quote from somewhere. Shakespeare, maybe. Oh brawling love, oh loving hate, oh anything of nothing first created. This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

This love feel I, that feel no love in this. This love… this…

Romeo and Juliet. That’s what it was. The irony of it makes you laugh, the sound lacking humor as you shake your head.

They were doomed from the start, really. Still, there was something beautiful about it. Dying for someone else. Knowing they’d do the same.

You would die for him. That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you… what scared you was knowing he would die for you, too. Just like before.

The thought makes your chest seize up, the lump in your throat growing heavier with every passing second. You couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did. You barely lived with it now.

You fall asleep to the sound of crying. It wasn't yours.

Taglist: @chelsfic​ @itzagoodthing @lesqui @glowingpena @agirllovespasta @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @amarvelousmandalorian @paniclana @huliabitch @symbiont13 @jayoknrjk28 @ah-callie @watsonwise @raabiac @angelicpascal @sparrows-books @popculturepriestess @spookypym​

lmk if you wanna be added/taken off. eventually i’ll get around to organizing like separate permanent/series/character ones but i’m lazy so. later.

[artificialqueens]

Blue Neighborhood Series: BLUE (Methydoll) - Mac

AN: All my thanks to Alex for betaing this bitch. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out!! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Nicky offers to help Crystal with her art school applications by acting as a model and getting her portrait done.

Crystal had only just sat down at her desk, bags still thrown haphazardly about her room, when she heard a loud thwack on her window that nearly caused her to fall out of her chair in shock.

She whipped her head in the direction of the sound. Through the early afternoon sunlight she could make out Nicky’s flushed red face, and three words written boldly on a piece of paper pressed to the French girl’s window.

YOU’RE A BITCH

Crystal bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright, sealing her expression in mock annoyance as she threw open her window.

“I was only gone two days.”

Nicky gave an over exaggerated sigh, throwing her head back and clutching at her chest as if in pain. “I was stuck with Heidi and Brita who kept talking about how hot MEN are.” Nicky gave a pathetic sniffle.

When her antics didn’t produce the reaction desired, Nicky crossed her arms over her chest, puffing it out in frustration and refusing to look Crystal in the eye. “You should be thankful I am even talking to you after you LEFT ME!”

Crystal just raised one judgemental eyebrow, fighting back the urge to blush. “You’re such a drama queen,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

The side of Nicky’s mouth quirked up in a half smirk. “And Heidi’s a bad liar.”

Crystal’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Dammit. “She told you?”

“She didn’t have to!” Nicky exclaimed. “As soon as she mentioned it, I knew. She never invites me over to her house, so of course you had to be behind it.”

Crystal sighed. “Did you at least go?”

Nicky scoffed. “Of course I went. I’m a good friend.”

“And-”

“Why do you say it like that? Like I did something bad?”

Crystal raised one skeptical eyebrow.

Nicky eventually raised her gaze, allowing herself to meet Crystal’s eyes for the first time that conversation, and sighed. “Heidi’s mom is pissed because I strongly encouraged Heidi to buy this gorgeous Coach bag.”

“How much was it?”

Nicky pursed her lips. “I’d rather not say.”

“Two hundred?”

“Yeah…” Nicky trailed off, “plus another two hundred,” she mumbled.

Crystal’s jaw dropped. “You got her to buy a FOUR HUNDRED DOLLAR PURSE?”

The older girl held her hands up in surrender. “In my defense, retail therapy is good for heartbreak!”

Crystal, still in shock, just nodded dumbly to herself, mumbling, “Oh my god, you’re actually the worst person on the planet. I can’t believe I’m friends with the actual worst human being to exist ever.”

“You love me.” Nicky winked, causing Crystal’s heart to do that silly little flippy thing making her palms sweat and her ears burn.

There was a beat of silence before Crystal gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll talk to Heidi’s mom.”

She had been trying, rather foolishly, but she had been trying to get Nicky to open up to the rest of their friend group. Nicky had been living in the U.S. for nearly four months now and yet hardly seemed concerned by the lack of bonding she had accomplished with the girls in the neighborhood.

Maybe it was a selfish part of Crystal too that needed someone else to understand how she felt under Nicky’s spell.

Because surely it couldn’t just be her.

Nicky had that effect on everyone.

“Did you at least like the college?” Nicky asked, drawing Crystal out of her spiraling thoughts and back into reality.

The artist cast her eyes down to where her fingers were fiddling with the peeling window trim, and couldn’t help a smile from breaking out.

“It was wonderful,” she said lightly.

Nicky’s gaze softened, brilliant smile taking over her features. “Stop being so fucking cute. I can’t be mad at you when you smile like that.”

Crystal couldn’t fight the blush this time and allowed her cheeks to flush crimson. If worst came to worst she could blame it on the cooling temperature and the change of season.

Her mind trailed back to the college visit, a sigh leaving her lips against her will.

“But-” Nicky prompted her.

Crystal shook her head. “But- the admissions lady took a look at my portfolio and said it could use some work.”

“So she is an idiot.”

“No- I mean, maybe.” Crystal sighed. “I know my art style isn’t… traditional, and I know that to move in the art world I have to play by their rules, at least a little.”

Nicky nodded gently. “So what are you going to do?”

Crystal sighed, leaning forward to rest her head on her hands. “I need more ‘realistic’ pieces. Portrait work is probably my best bet, but I’m not entirely sure who I would do, and I got a C in freshman bio so-”

“You should paint me.”

Crystal’s head shot up. “W-what?”

Nicky smiled, rolling her eyes playfully. “Paint me like one of your French girls.” she snickered, posing dramatically. “C’mon, don’t act like you don’t want an excuse to stare at me.”

Crystal couldn’t help a laugh from bubbling out, lighting her up from the inside out. “Can’t argue with that,” she threw back, just as teasingly.

Nicky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected Crystal to match her energy, when her usual reaction was to blush and gloss over the flirtatious tone.

It was almost comical how long it took Nicky to process the statement, and Crystal found herself, for the first time, in a position of power over the other girl.

She pushed her luck. “Tomorrow after school? Art room?”

It was refreshing to see the impeccably put-together girl out of her element, and Crystal’s smile only grew as Nicky caught her breath before nodding.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

…

The rapidly cooling air that signified the coming winter seeped through the shoddy insulation in the art room. Old walls did little to prevent the howling wind from seeping into the well-worn cracks in the brick. And yet, Crystal had never felt more at home.

As the sun was already beginning to make its descent from the sky, she allowed herself to glance around, marveling at the expanse of half-finished art pieces that littered the shelves, and her large blank canvas that took up the middle of the grouped tables.

The door to the room creaked on its hinges and Crystal looked up suddenly, heart pounding in her ears at the prospect that she was about to spend the next however long having to stare at Nicky’s beauty up close and personal.

But her elation quickly faded as the figure that burst through the art room doors was not at all who she expected.

“Sorry, I was just… looking for Jacks…” Gigi trailed off, breaking eye contact before nodding to the floor. “I’ll just-” she motioned to the door.

“So it’s true?” Crystal heard herself say. “You and Jackie?”

Gigi met her eyes warily, holding her gaze just long enough for Crystal to see that she was genuinely afraid.

The cheerleader nodded once. “Yeah.”

Crystal hadn’t seen Jackie in a couple days, the older girl having given the excuse that she needed to practice the changes in their cheer routine. But she had mentioned in passing that she and Gigi were seeing each other.

Crystal hadn’t believed it at first, but now, looking at Gigi’s worried expression, the first vulnerability she had seen from her ex in a long time, she had her answer.

It was… different, Crystal decided.

Not bad, but not nearly comfortable.

Her ex and one of her best friends.

Crystal could be more mad. She probably should be.

But just by looking at her Crystal could tell that this Gigi, this nervous, timid thing, was a far cry from the Gigi that had caused all that pain freshman year. She had three years to grow and change, and if the way she was guiltily staring at the floor was anything to go by, she had changed quite a bit.

Gone was the cavalier, above-it-all attitude she used to exude. The smarmy chuckles and flirtatious winks she gave out like candy.

She had no doubt been humbled by her fling with Jaida being outed, however, it was more than that.

But Crystal didn’t allow herself to analyze further. They were different people now.

The heavy silence was clearly eating at Gigi because she went to explain herself, “If you want to talk about-”

Crystal stopped her with a shake of her head.

Gigi withered.

“Just don’t hurt her.” Crystal said firmly, putting every ounce of strength she had in those four words.

Gigi met her eyes finally, determination clear in them. “I won’t.”

Crystal believed her.

“Okay,” she said.

We’re good. She meant.

…

They got five minutes into painting before Crystal sighed, dropping the brush exasperatedly.

“What’s wrong?” Nicky teased. “Can’t capture my beauty?”

Crystal rolled her eyes. “Nothing could ever capture your beauty,” she deadpanned.

Nicky tried to hide the flush of her cheeks by turning her head, but Crystal caught her, smiling inwardly at the reaction.

“You need to relax. Put on some music.”

“I don’t know about-”

Nicky’s eyes lit up. “Here, I have a playlist for this!”

Crystal raised an eyebrow skeptically. “You have a playlist for getting your portrait done by your friend who’s never going to get into art school and might as well drop out now and live in a cardboard box under a bridge?”

Nicky rolled her eyes, hopping off the stool and grabbing a random half-finished pottery project off the art room shelf. “No, that’s too long for a title.”

Crystal stuck her tongue out.

Nicky just smiled knowingly. “I called it ‘songs to play when Crystal gets frustrated that give me an excuse to initiate physical contact.’”

“Wait what-”

But before Crystal could get a word in edgewise, Nicky was blasting her old-timey music.

The notes rose and fell against the unfinished clay pot, adding a strange echo to the song. Nicky didn’t seem to mind though, turning on her heel and holding a hand out to Crystal.

She looked editorial, pristine white blouse and matching pants hugged her slim figure like they were tailored to her frame.

“Come dance with me,” she spoke softly, pushing herself off one of the tables to inch closer to Crystal.

The artist had the distinct feeling of being hunted as Nicky’s eyes zoned in on her face, tracing the curve of her lips. “I-I have to-”

“S'il te plait, mon amour.” Nicky practically whispered coming closer, breathing in her air. “Danse avec moi.”

And Crystal had no clue what she said, but she couldn’t very well refuse Nicky when she spoke like that. All soft eyes and gentle French words.

She took Nicky’s outstretched hand and found herself in the leading position.

It was only when Nicky pulled her closer that Crystal noted her own drab appearance, overalls smeared with paints and bits of charcoal that most definitely would ruin Nicky’s all-white outfit.

“Wait, the paint isn’t dry!” She tried to warn, but Nicky ignored her, pulling the artist closer, the blues and oranges and lilacs pressed against the expensive fabric.

The French beauty just shook her head and laughed at Crystal’s shocked expression.

They fell into a rhythm before long, Crystal swaying them this way and that. She was surely doing something wrong, but Nicky didn’t seem to mind, peaceful smile pulling at the corners of her mouth and eyes.

She looked ethereal up close.

Her pores varied in size and the lines beside her mouth were deeper than Crystal had assumed at first glance.

She was perfect.

She was just like everyone else.

Almost without realizing it, Crystal slowed their rocking to a stop.

Nicky blinked her eyes open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Crystal shook her head to clear it.

“Why’d you stop?”

Crystal smiled gently. “I wanted to see your eyes. I missed them.”

Nicky threw her delicate neck back in a laugh that rang in both their ears. “Awww, Crystal,” she cooed. “You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

Nicky just hummed noncommittally, poorly hiding a smile, and went back to swaying.

…

It went on that way for nearly a week.

With Crystal trying to paint her neighbor, and said neighbor distracting her by doing something ridiculously romantic that made her head spin on her shoulders.

They got good at it.

Danced around each other like professionals.

Like they had since the day they met.

When the painting was finally done, Crystal didn’t tell Nicky at first. She soaked up their time together like she couldn’t just throw open her window anytime she felt like it and see the older girl.

She drank in the moments right before she unveiled her masterpiece.

Nicky didn’t say anything for a long while.

And then finally, “It’s beautiful.”

Crystal scoffed. “It’s you, you fucking arrogant ass-”

Nicky shook her head, turning to meet Crystal’s gaze, eyes brimming with something so… real it nearly stole Crystal’s breath.

“It’s beautiful because you did it. Because I can see the brush strokes here,” she pointed to the tip of portrait-Nicky’s nose, “and how you changed the shade of white under my chin. And that you got the two different tones of my eyes.”

Nicky’s hand was sweeping over the expanse of the canvas, tracing the patterns and divots and blemishes that made up her being. Crystal would have scolded her for running her fingers over the painting, but Nicky was breathing in her air again, and Crystal’s head felt woozy with the rush of emotion.

Because Nicky noticed.

She noticed each color change, each shadow placement, each brushstroke.

And Crystal suddenly felt very stupid because of course Nicky noticed.

She always noticed.

“It’s beautiful because you love me.”

Crystal’s heart lurched forward.

“You don’t have to say it. I know.” Nicky turned back to look at the painting. “This is how you love me.”

“Nicky-” Crystal started, unsure of what she was going to say.

Nicky turned to her, that ever-present mysterious emotion front and center, and only then could Crystal place it.

“I love you too.”

Love.

Of course.

Love.

And before either of them could dance away, Crystal pulled Nicky in by the hips, digging her fingers into the dip in her waist and pressing their lips together.

It felt like rainfall.

Or like a promise.

But mostly it felt like love. Like a long-time-coming love.

Like the kind of love that had time to mature. That had time to grow.

Nicky’s hands cupped Crystal’s face like she was a delicate work of art, and Crystal’s nails dug into Nicky’s skin like she wanted to shatter it.

And the kiss was messy and wet because someone started crying but they were both smiling and clutching onto each other like a lifeline.

And Crystal couldn’t ever remember being happier.

[kingsofeverything]

50/30 heat snippet

because i have to distract myself from the real world right now, so here ya go:

Harry spends the next hour or so getting things set to be on hold or handled by Niall, and then he heads home. All he wants to do is cool off, so he takes a quick shower with his favorite peppermint soap, then fills the tub with cold water. It helps, but he wishes he thought to use bubbles so he didn’t have to look at himself. It’ll be dark or dim in the bedroom—thank goodness for room darkening shades—so maybe Louis won’t notice his scars and stretch marks. Harry pinches the inside of his wrist and instead of waking him up, like he intended, it sends a shock of desire straight to his groin. Even his thighs feel hot.

When he’s gone through his closet inside his head and finally decided what to wear, Harry washes once more, thoroughly, and wraps himself in a towel. He listens to Simon & Garfunkel and laughs as he dances to songs from The Graduate, though he doesn’t think Louis would get the reference. He hasn’t dressed for his heat in probably ten years, if not more. And he’s pretty sure he took off whatever he wore before Richard got there that night. 

Carefully, Harry steps into a pair of loose, black linen pants. It’s torture buttoning his shirt up, and he leaves the top two undone, but when he sees himself in the mirror, he unbuttons another one, then buttons it again. He’s too nervous to show so much skin. Harry laughs as he shakes his hair out; he doesn't want to show his nipples, but he knows he’ll be begging for Louis’ knot in a few hours. 

“Oh my God,” Harry whispers aloud to himself as he lights the unscented candle on his chest of drawers. He can smell himself, now that he’s clean and no longer wearing scent neutralizers. The grey at his temples is less noticeable in the candlelight, but his hairline looks the same. Harry sighs. His legs tremble as he walks to the kitchen to have a glass of water and take his temperature. Ninety-nine point eight. 

He reconsiders taking the lucidity meds. The only other time he’s taken something like that was prior to the heat during which he and Richard planned to, and did, conceive their youngest daughter. Harry wanted to remember it. Heaven only knows why. Begging to be knotted and knocked up. Pleading for his ex to breed him, and then crying—sobbing—his thanks when he agreed. Richard knotted him and Harry fell asleep. It wasn’t perfect, but such is life. In all their years together, his heat and Richard’s rut were never completely in sync. The heat at the spa was equally embarrassing in a different way. There’s no need for him to have three such memories. Though he does wonder what it’ll be like with Louis. It’s best not to be too curious. 

When the doorbell rings, Harry’s stomach threatens to empty itself. By the time he reaches for the doorknob, it’s as settled as he can convince it to be. 

It’s funny how they can both dress all in black, yet look so different. Harry tries to take in as much of Louis as he can at once, looking him up and down, eyes catching on the bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a testament to how close his heat is that he thinks about ease of access and hopes Louis isn’t wearing underwear with his loose fitting sweats.

Louis stuffs both hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and clears his throat. He looks younger than twenty-eight. That thought makes Harry wonder what twenty-eight looks like. He frowns and Louis asks, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Harry steps back, opening the door wide. “Come in. Sorry.”

“No problem,” Louis says, lifting his wrist to lay it against Harry's forehead. Involuntarily, Harry sniffs him, but Louis either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care to acknowledge it. “Do you know what you want me to do?”

Harry’s face flames and he pulls his shirt away from his chest, fanning himself. 

“What do you like to eat during—”

“I have a fridge. In my bedroom.”

Louis sputters a laugh. “Okay, but what do you like?”

“Sorry. Sorry, um… Fruit, usually. Yogurt. Water. That’s what I have.” Those are the easiest foods for him to subsist on. “Maybe tea if I seem tired?” 

“Okay,” Louis says, and Harry watches him. “Show me where to go, babe.”

Harry takes him through the kitchen, in case Louis wants something. And he’s glad he did when Louis grabs a jar of peanut butter off the pantry shelf. He shows him to the spoons and Louis takes his time. Harry wonders if he’s stalling. 

“Do you want to give me any…” Louis holds a spoon aloft and taps the top of the jar. “Guidelines? Likes? Dislikes?” 

Harry shakes his head. “I just want… I want you to… use your instincts. Take care of me.” Closing his eyes tight, Harry pushes the words out. “Knot me. Feed me. Whatever you’re… Anything you’re willing to do.” 

“Kissing?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. 

“Kiss me, touch me, scent me, but…” Harry looks around the kitchen. He doesn’t want to have to show Louis to the bedroom. He just wants to be there already. “I don't want to have to think until my heat ends, starting right this second.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He crosses the kitchen to stand inches from Harry. “Do something for me?” 

Harry nods and Louis lifts his hand, cupping Harry’s jaw. While Harry holds perfectly still, Louis leans closer and drags his lips over Harry's neck, up to the hinge of his jaw and back down to lick over the faded mark. This close, his scent is richer, washing over Harry, calming him. 

“Your scent. Do you mask it? I don’t…”  Louis presses kisses under his jaw. 

“Yeah, yeah. I do. Not wearing neutralizers now though,” Harry says, tipping his chin up. 

Louis tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls himself away. Desperate to feel the scratch of Louis’ beard, Harry chases after him without thinking, and Louis grins, giving in easily and taking Harry’s lips in a kiss. He hums and guides Harry closer by the waist, pressing their bodies together, gently rolling his hips. 

“Go to the bedroom,” Louis says, sliding his hand over Harry's soft shirt where it’s tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “Strip the blankets off the bed. We only need a sheet. And get some towels. I’ll be there in a minute. Okay?”

Harry nods and does as he’s told, and pees for good measure. There’s a new box of Alpha condoms on the bedside table and he moves it to sit next to the stack of folded towels. Then he moves it back to the bedside table, finally dropping it into a drawer. They’re not necessary with Harry’s permanent birth control and the recent test results they sent each other after their first meeting. Harry unbuttons his shirt, spinning around when he hears Louis’ hum of approval. 

“No more thinking?” Louis asks and Harry nods, turning slowly as Louis walks around the bed. 

Louis pinches the fabric at the hem of Harry’s shirt and Harry gasps quietly as it slips off his shoulders. He looks from the piercing blue of Louis’ eyes to the soft, heavy sweatshirt draping his torso, wishing he could see more of Louis’ skin.

“Yeah, hold on,” Louis says, stepping back and yanking his hoodie over his head. His hair stands up and he combs it out with his fingers only to mess it up again when he tugs his t-shirt off. Harry can’t help but stare. And when he sees Louis’ pert nipples, slender frame, the muscles of his arms and chest and stomach… Harry can’t help but compare. 

Louis lays his warm palm flat on the center of Harry’s chest and steps so close that Harry feels tall, looking down at him. 

“Love how puffy your nipples are,” Louis says, sliding his hand over and tracing circles around the areola. Even as he pushes into the sensation, Harry tries to make himself pull away. His husband stopped playing with his nipples when he got pregnant the first time, not that he touched them often before, and Harry’s never… He’s never really enjoyed masturbation. It’s always left him feeling a little lost and morose afterward. And he’s always worried so much about being caught, it makes it difficult. Louis gently pinches Harry’s nipple again. “Sensitive. What about here?” 

Slowly, Louis traces Harry’s silhouette with his hands, reaching around to palm Harry’s ass through the loose linen fabric of his pants. Harry grunts and digs his fingers into Louis’ hips, grabbing at his sweatpants, cheeks burning at his shamelessness. Louis makes quick work of Harry’s linen pants, God bless a drawstring. He flushes even hotter when he’s reminded that he’s naked underneath. 

“You alright?” Louis asks, voice low, and Harry shivers. 

His body temperature is still rising, but he’s hot enough now that he feels cold. His sweat evaporates before it can bead on his overheated skin, and he’s thirsty. Louis cups his face in one hand and Harry sways towards the touch, closing his eyes, breathing in the swirl of their scents mixing. 

Louis’ other hand is cool where it rests on Harry’s hip, and Harry wants Louis to touch him everywhere. As Harry thinks it, Louis sweeps his hand up his side and over his ribs. He thumbs at Harry’s nipple just long enough for Harry to want more, sliding his palm around to Harry’s back, where he rubs small circles at the base of his spine. Every muscle in Harry’s body slackens slightly, and a quiet moan slips past his lips as he relaxes forward, right into a kiss. 

Tipping his head, Louis pulls Harry tight against him, mouths brushing together as he says, “Get on the bed. Want you to have some water.”

Harry sits at the edge of the mattress, looking at the curtains on the window, frowning until Louis brushes his hair from his forehead, tipping Harry’s chin up so he has to look at him. He takes Harry’s hand and wraps it around a water bottle, helping him drink until he finishes it. 

“Lay back on the pillows, Harry. Want to see your pretty cock.”

“Oh… Okay,” Harry says, clumsily situating himself closer to the headboard. His mind feels sluggish, but not as bad as it’ll be soon. Everything is unfamiliar, even though he knows this bed and this room and this man. Louis. 

From head to toe, Harry’s skin feels like it might burst into flames, more from embarrassment than hormones, but he looks up at the ceiling, closes his eyes, and reminds himself that Louis wants to help him through his heat. Harry starts to roll over onto his stomach, but Louis stops him, gripping his thighs. At least his blushes are hidden by his already flushed skin.

Louis urges Harry to lift his hips and puts a towel beneath him, then helps Harry bend his knees and plant his feet on the mattress, crawling between his legs to lean down and suck one of Harry’s nipples between his lips. Arching into the touch, Harry wants more of Louis’ mouth, even as his cheeks burn with the embarrassing knowledge of what will happen if he keeps it up. With his hands to either side of Louis’ face, Harry guides him to his other nipple, body jerking as Louis’ knuckles brush the underside of his dick. He can feel Louis’ grin when he wraps his hand around it. 

Propping himself up with one arm, Louis dips down for a kiss while he slowly strokes him, thumbing over the head. He barely pulls away, just far enough that his beard and mustache scratch Harry’s lips as he talks. “Love your dick. Big for an Omega.”

“I…” Harry ducks his head, hiding his face against Louis’ neck and inhaling deeply. “I know.”

“You ever top?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head, burrowing his nose into Louis’ skin. “That’s fine. Was thinking of riding you if you get…” 

Shaking his head again, Harry groans, fucking into Louis’ hand. He manages to croak out, “No.”

“Okay, baby.” Louis releases his cock and settles his weight between Harry’s legs. The pressure against his dick makes his hips buck uncontrollably. Louis kisses his lips, his chin, the hollow of his throat, and sits up a bit. “Want to get you off with my mouth first, if that’s okay.” 

All Harry can do is nod. 

Louis trails kisses over his stomach and Harry stills, sucking in and tightening his abs until Louis nips at his love handle and surprises a laugh out of him. The tips of Louis’ fingers brush over the skin of his thigh, slipping in the wetness between his legs. 

One finger slides inside easily and Louis hardly waits before making it two. He takes Harry’s dick into his mouth, and reaches up, pinching and twisting his nipple. He’s barely sucked on the head when Harry’s entire abdomen cramps with the force of his first orgasm. 

He wakes out of his heat a little more than forty-eight hours later, standing in his shower, face tucked into Louis’ neck, breathing in his scent, while Louis fingers him clean. 

“You’re back, hmm?” Louis asks, plunging his fingers in and out of Harry’s body, jerking him slowly with his other hand, letting the water wash everything away. Harry nods, whining and chasing Louis’ fingers when he tries to pull them free. “Okay. Shh…” 

Louis strokes him faster, holding him close, bringing him off so effortlessly that Harry’s mouth falls open as he comes, clenching around Louis fingers, dripping over his fist. 

“Thank you,” Harry mutters when Louis slips his fingers out, petting over his rim. 

“Hush,” Louis whispers, sucking Harry’s lip into his mouth. Barely able to stand on his own, Harry tries to reciprocate, working Louis’ knot with his hands while Louis jerks himself off. He squeezes Harry’s ass, making him stand up straight, and when the tip of Louis’ middle finger catches his rim, Harry forces himself down on it with a whine. 

Louis gasps, knot swelling in Harry’s hands as he helps him through his orgasm, though his knot doesn’t last long this close to the end of Harry’s heat. When Louis finishes, they cling to each other in the shower, and neither of them seem able to stand alone. Sated, clean, and exhausted, they work together to put new sheets on the bed. 

Still foggy, but more and more aware of his surroundings, Harry climbs on the bed, sprawling on his stomach. He asks, “Is it Monday?”

“Saturday,” Louis says, tucking himself into Harry’s side. He runs the palm of his hand over Harry’s back, following the path of his spine, resting his hand at the bottom. “Think you’re clear of it. If you need me, I’ll wake up.”

“Saturday,” Harry says. 

“Go to sleep,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder blade.

[geronimo-11]

These Secrets That We Hide

Chapter: 1/?

Pairing: Jeremy Danvers x OFC

Summary: Katherine Adler thought she was moving to upstate New York with her brother for a chance to start her life over. But when events from her past catch up to her and secrets about the family down the road come to light, her dreams of a fresh start start to crumble. It seems like everyone has secrets to hide.

Warnings: None

A/N: This has been a long time in the making, but it’s finally finished! The first chapter of Katherine’s canon!! Big thank you to @mtwalker for brainstorming with me and just being an all around amazing person and friend.

This strays from canon quite a bit, but just stay with me okay?

Read it here or on AO3!

Chapter 1: Loyalty

No one under the age of fifty willingly moved to Bear Valley.

Most of the inhabitants were elderly retirees fleeing the pressures of city life, or locals whose families had been there for generations and just couldn’t picture a life outside the familiar comfort of their small town. The few young people who did live there were born there, but even then they were looking forward to the day they could bolt to greener, more exciting, pastures.

So when Nick got a call from a friend saying that he was making the long trek from Tennessee to upstate New York with the idea of putting down roots closer to the Pack, he was definitely surprised. He was excited to see an old friend — and at the prospect of having someone new to talk to besides Jeremy, Clay, and Elena — but surprised nonetheless.

Most of the Pack wanted to live as far from being under the Alpha’s thumb as they could get, so they could live their lives as ordinary as possible. Well, actually, so they could break as many rules without getting caught as possible. For someone who didn’t have as close of a relationship with Jeremy as the rest of them, it was odd for any member of the Pack to suddenly want to live so close. But, regardless, Simon was coming, and he seemed very adamant about the fact. 

Nick waited until the day after Simon had told him he would be officially moved in before getting in his car and driving down to greet him, just so he’d have enough time to get settled. The house Simon purchased bordered Stonehaven property and was barely a five minute drive from the house. It was closer to town, but there was an abundance of trees and land this far north, meaning there was plenty of space for a wolf to run and not be seen. As part of the Pack, Simon could even venture onto the Stonehaven property for a run if he wanted. All in all it was a pretty nice setup he'd made for himself.

The road to Simon’s house was long and straight and Nick’s car kicked up dirt in the dry August heat as he turned off the main road and onto a gravel driveway. He thought briefly of having to wash his car again when he got back to Stonehaven. Or maybe he’d run it through the carwash in town. See if he could finally learn the name of the girl working the desk… Focus.

The house came into view and Nick whistled under his breath. From what he remembered, the old farmhouse had belonged to an elderly woman in town who had died almost a year ago. She hadn’t been able to really take care of the house due to her age, and after remaining unoccupied for so long Nick was expecting the house to look a bit worse for wear. That didn’t seem to be the case.

The outside of the house had a fresh coat of white paint and the new porch was large enough to accomodate a wooden swing and two rocking chairs. Nick could smell the strong scent of new mulch in the flower bed as he parked his car and noticed that there were freshly planted bushes decorating the outside of the house. Simon had apparently been hard at work.

Nick shut the car door as he took in all of the new renovations and made his way towards the house. He hadn’t made it far before the front door opened -- heavy dark oak that didn’t creak on the hinges, also very new -- and Simon stepped out.

Simon hadn’t changed that much from the last time Nick had seen him three years ago. His messy brown hair was pushed back from his face --  uselessly, it would seem, since several strands still hung down in his dark brown eyes. A gray t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and outlined the muscles in his arms. The only difference Nick could really see was that he hadn’t shaved in a while. Heavy stubble clung to his jaw and Simon swiped a hand over it as he hopped hastily down the porch steps. 

“Hey, man,” Simon greeted, holding out his hand and flashing teeth in a grin. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too. Been a while.” Nick grasped Simon’s hand tightly and pulled him into a hug. He clapped a hand on Simon’s back and stepped away, looking around at the house once again. “Looks like you’ve been busy. This place was practically falling apart from what I heard.”

Simon turned back to the house and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, it needed some work. I can’t take all the credit, though. I had some guys come in and do some work before we got here, I just okayed everything over the phone.”

Nick raised a brow, doing a quick scan of the outside and then back towards the house. “We?”

Simon’s eyes widened and he turned to Nick with a nervous laugh. 

“Yeah. Um…” he paused and cleared his throat. Another laugh bubbled anxiously passed his lips and he ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. I thought I’d have a chance to…” 

Nick crossed his arms across his chest. “A chance to what?”

Silence. Simon bounced on the heels of his feet and gave Nick a wary glance. 

Nick frowned and took a step forward. “Simon?”

With another glance in his direction Simon gestured for Nick to follow him towards the house. He didn’t say another word until the front door shut behind them.

“I found my sister.” The words seemed to tumble from Simon’s mouth before he could stop himself. He was practically vibrating with excitement, eyes lit up with barely restrained joy.

Nick raised his brows and smiled. Simon and his sister had had a falling out about six years ago, severe enough that his sister had left their hometown, cut off all communication with her family, and remained completely off the grid. Simon couldn’t find her anywhere. That is, until about a year and a half ago, when he’d come to Nick wanting to reconnect with his sibling, and Nick managed to pull enough strings to get a general location for him. He hadn’t heard anything afterwards, when Simon went basically off the grid himself, but Nick was happy that the two seemed to have reconciled.

“That’s great, Si. I’m happy to hear it. But, uh,” He looked around the small entryway Simon had shuffled them into. “Why did we have to come in here for you to tell me that?”

“Because that’s not all I have to tell you, and I thought you’d feel better hearing the rest sitting down.” All the previous excitement Simon had shown when they first entered the house was gone. Even though he was still trying to put on a light-hearted air, he looked more serious than Nick had ever seen him. 

A pit settled in the middle of Nick’s stomach and he cast Simon an apprehensive look as he allowed himself to be led into the living room and seated on the couch.

“Is everything okay? Are you and your sister good now, or..?” Nick prodded when it seemed like Simon may fall silent again. Dancing around the subject was making his fingers twitch. He clasped his hands between his knees and waited for Simon to, hopefully, tell him what was going on.

“Yeah, Katherine and I are fine. Better than fine, actually.” Simon sat in an armchair across from Nick and grinned. “I apologized and we talked and cleared the air. It’s almost like nothing happened at all.”

Simon’s smile faltered slightly and he looked down at the floor. 

“But it just didn’t feel like enough to say sorry. Not after everything…” He trailed off and shook his head, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself in thought. After a moment he blinked, coming back to himself, and looked up at Nick. “That’s why I bought her this house.”

Nick stared at him. He… he must have heard wrong.

“You bought her… this house?” He gestured around the room with a single finger. Simon nodded. Nick’s eyes widened and he felt his jaw drop. He couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “That’s an awfully big gesture for just an apology.”

Simon’s eyes darkened and Nick watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched reflexively. 

“There’s more to it than that.”

Before Nick could snap and ask what the hell was going on, they heard the rumbling of a car engine coming down the driveway. Nick glanced out the window behind him and then back to Simon, only to find the other wolf’s eyes were already on him.

“I haven’t told Jeremy any of this,” Simon confessed cautiously. Nick pressed his lips in a firm line, the pit in his stomach growing with every word.

“I was planning to, I swear,” he placated with open palms when he saw the look on Nick’s face. “But I wanted to call you first and have you come over so I could tell you everything. You just beat me to it.”

Nick shook his head, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Why would you call me-” The realization clicked and Nick felt his face drop. “You want me to tell Jeremy first. To cushion the blow for when you talk to him.”

Because Simon will have to talk to him. If he brought a human into his house -- a house that was basically on Stonehaven property -- without telling Jeremy, it definitely wouldn’t go unanswered. It probably wouldn’t have gone unanswered if he had told Jeremy. Regardless, either Simon would go talk to Jeremy or Jeremy would go talk to Simon, and the latter would be infinitely worse.

The engine was getting louder now and Simon glanced anxiously out the window. 

“There’s one other thing that I haven’t told you about,” he started slowly, standing up and walking towards the door. Nick stood to follow.

“You mean other than the fact you have a human living with you on Stonehaven’s doorstep?” Nick quipped. “I don’t see how it can get much worse.”

Simon offered him a wry smile. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and met Nick’s gaze.. Something flashed in Simon’s eyes then -- anxiety, protectiveness, fear -- but they all vanished before Nick could pinpoint just one.

“I just… I need you to keep an open mind.”

With that said he opened the door and stepped out on the porch, leaving Nick following after him slightly bewildered. There was an old, red jeep sputtering down the driveway when they went outside. The brakes squeaked as it pulled to a stop next to Nick’s car, and the jeep hissed and groaned so badly as the engine was shut off that Nick wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire thing fell apart right in front of him.

“I wish she’d get rid of that thing,” Simon mumbled beside him, shifting side to side as the engine gave a final sputter before it died. The driver’s side door creaked as it was forced open, and a woman stepped out. 

She was fairly tall, with long dark hair and sharp cheekbones. A smile lit up her pretty face when she saw the two of them on the porch and she held up a hand to wave. Nick held up his hand in response before realizing just exactly who she was. He looked at her and then again at his friend, brows raised.

“That’s your sister?” He asked. Simon shot him a half-hearted glare.

“Don’t.”

Before Nick could defend himself there was another loud, metallic groaning sound and one of the back doors of the jeep popped open. Considering Katherine was leaning over the passenger seat and grabbing a bag, there was no way she could have opened it. So, who..?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. A pair of small legs poked out from the side of the jeep, and then a mess of sandy brown hair was barrelling towards them, shouting excitedly. 

“Uncle Si!” 

It was a little boy, probably no more than six or seven years old. He was bolting through the grass with the same blinding grin on his face that Katherine had given them moments ago.

Oh.

This must be her son. Nick looked over at Simon, who was actively avoiding looking at him. He was grinning, holding out his arms for the boy as he raced up the steps and into his uncle’s arms. 

When the breeze picked up, Nick realized why.

He had thought at first that maybe Simon was avoiding his gaze because he’d let not one but two humans into his home. But that wasn’t it. The wind picked up, ruffling the boy’s hair and carrying his scent towards the house. At first, Nick thought he was imagining things so he took a deeper inhale. His blood turned cold and his gaze immediately snapped to Simon, not even bothering to hide the panic he was feeling and wishing he had bit his tongue because things just got much, much worse.

The boy was a wolf.

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

“Does she know?” Nick asked, glancing down the hall where Katherine had disappeared. 

After brief introductions Nick offered to help carry in the luggage and boxes Katherine had stacked in the back of her jeep. She had offered to make dinner for him as thanks for helping them unpack, but Nick politely declined, saying he couldn’t stay long and just wanted to catch up with her brother for a bit. He’d turned on Simon the second she was out of sight. They hadn’t even made it past the entryway.

“Of course she doesn’t know. Do you honestly think I’d bring her here if she did? We’d be on the other side of the country by now,” Simon scoffed.

Nick threw his hands in the air, exasperated, “I don’t know! I’m still trying to figure out why you would bring her here in the first place!”

Simon shushed him, glancing down the hallway to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. He turned back to Nick earnestly, raking a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I just… I couldn’t just take Caleb away from her. And even if I had wanted to, there’s no way I’d have been able to do it without a nationwide manhunt being called down on me. Believe it or not I actually brought her here to keep her from finding out her son is a werewolf.”

Nick gaped at him.

“By surrounding her with other werewolves?” his voice strained, rising in pitch and cracking slightly in disbelief as he tried to keep from yelling. “I’m pretty sure she’s gonna notice when he hits puberty and you have to put deadbolts on his bedroom door.” 

Simon’s lips pressed in a firm line, biting back a retort, but remarkably he said nothing. Sighing heavily Nick brought up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Do you honestly think Jeremy will be okay with this?” he asked. Simon laughed bitterly.

“Of course not,” he admitted. “There’s nothing about this situation that’s okay. Hell, I’m not even really okay with this. But I wouldn’t be here if I thought I had another choice.”

Nick rubbed his palms on his eyes and took a deep breath. He shook his head and looked Simon in the eye, making sure every word he said would register, that Simon was aware of the danger he was putting his family in.

 “You are knowingly backing him into a corner, Simon. And you might not be glad you did.”

A warning was all he could give him now. Maybe if Simon had bothered to call him earlier, Nick could have listed all the reasons why this was an absolutely horrible idea. But he hadn’t, and now they are where they are, with Simon digging himself a hole and Nick apparently the one handing him the shovel. Jeremy was likely to bury them both if they weren’t careful.

Simon swallowed and offered a sharp nod. “I know. But what was I supposed to do, let my nephew become a Mutt?”

Nick rubbed at the side of his face, exasperated. He threw his hands in the air helplessly. 

“No, just… I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

Nick placed his hands on his hips, words dying in his mouth as the boy -- Caleb, Simon had told him during their introductions -- ran down the staircase beside them.

“Look!” he held up a small plastic dinosaur to Nick, a grin stretching across his face. “Uncle Si got this for me! They’re all over my room, even my bed has dinosaurs on it!”

Nick smiled at him. “That’s really cool, bud.”

Caleb offered Nick another toothy grin and took off down the hall, yelling excitedly about his new bedroom to his mother in the kitchen. Once he was out of sight Nick ran a hand over his jaw and shared an uneasy look with his friend. 

“What exactly are you going to tell Jeremy?”

Simon exhaled a long, sharp gust of air and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck.  

“The truth. All of it.”

Nick laughed once, a humorless puff of air past his lips. Katherine emerged from the kitchen then, with Caleb gripping her hand tightly and dragging her down the hall. His face was alight with excitement and his mouth was moving a mile a minute as he urged his mother towards the stairs.

Katherine’s eyes held the patience of a saint as she looked down at her son, smiling encouragingly at him and nodding every so often as she allowed herself to be drug across the hardwood floor. Nick felt his chest tighten, his thoughts turning to his own mother. The brief time they’d spent together in Ontario felt like a lifetime ago now, and he knew he’d never get the chance to see her again. He couldn’t, for her sake, and it killed him inside every time he thought about it. And not just her, either. Jeremy was still trying to decide what to do about Rachel. He hadn't made any decision yet, but he had to eventually.

As they passed, Katherine looked up and met Nick’s gaze. She smiled at him, the corners of her hazel eyes crinkling, and Nick felt himself smile in return. He looked between Katherine and Caleb one more time, saw the joy on each of their faces, and knew he’d made his decision. There was no way he could pass up an opportunity to help a wolf stay with his mother. He'd lost his own, and he may have no real say in what happens with Rachel and her son, but he has a chance to do something now. When they’d disappeared up the stairs once more, Nick sighed resignedly and dug his car keys out of his pocket.

“Well, it better be convincing. For your sake and for theirs.”

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

Katherine offered to make dinner twice more before Nick left and he turned them both down as kindly as he could -- although when she mentioned grilled steak he felt his resolve falter and mouth water. But he took one glance at Simon and shook his head, telling her he’d be more than happy to join them some other night. For now, he needed to think. About, well, everything. 

First he needed to figure out how to tell Jeremy about the situation that he had inadvertently dropped on their doorstep. If he’d known the real reason why Simon was looking for his sister-- no. He couldn’t go there. Not when he didn’t even know if Simon knew Katherine had had a son. He would give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

The drive back to Stonehaven seemed shorter than the drive to Simon’s house, and before he even realized it Nick was turning onto the driveway. He felt his stomach clench and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. It was one of the few times in his life where he was genuinely nervous to go home. 

With any luck no one would be awake, and he could think about the best way to approach the news tonight and tell Jeremy about everything tomorrow. Simon hadn’t mentioned when he was thinking about coming to Stonehaven, but Nick knew he’d need to fill Jeremy in before that happened. He didn’t want Jeremy getting blindsided like he had been, especially considering the Alpha’s influence would literally mean life or death. 

His car rolled to a stop in front of the house and Nick felt his stomach sink. There was a light on in the living room. Maybe it was Clay or Elena, sitting up for a drink. Although, if they thought they were alone, he should probably knock before he entered the house. He snorted his amusement and turned the car off to head towards the front door.

Nick peeked into the living room when he got into the house, and the door shut behind him with a foreboding click as he felt his stomach sink impossibly lower.

Luck, it seemed, was not on his side tonight. 

Jeremy was sitting at his desk, a lamp beside him providing a soft yellow glow, just enough for him to see the papers in front of him. He looked up as Nick walked in and smiled.

Well. There was certainly no avoiding him now.

“You’re back late,” Jeremy commented off-handedly. Nick scratched at the back of his neck as he walked into the living room, stopping just in front of Jeremy’s desk.

“Yeah, we, uh, ended up talking for a while. There was a lot for us to catch up on,” he mumbled the last part and Jeremy raised a brow at him.

“And? How is Simon? It’s been a while since he was here last. I was surprised to hear he wanted a change of scene so suddenly.” He looked down at the papers in his hand and Nick shifted on his feet.

“He’s… good.”

His hesitation made Jeremy pause and then Nick was on the receiving end of two intense, questioning eyes. Suddenly Nick was sent back to all the times he’d seen that exact look when he was a child, the few instances when his father wasn’t around and he’d managed to sneak cookies before dinner only to be caught after the fact with chocolate all over his face. He squirmed just like he did when he was eight years old and Jeremy zeroed in on the movement. 

“Nick?” he prodded, dropping the papers on his desk and giving the younger wolf his full attention.

Taking a deep breath through his nose Nick stepped forward. He pressed his palms flat on the cool wood of the desk to steady himself and looked Jeremy in the eye.

“There’s, um… There’s something you should know.”

[capricornus-rex]

Stronger Than Blood (3)

Not a witcher fic, the gif just fits the mood

Chapter 3: Impulses | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

Tagging @ayamenimthiriel​ since they asked in Chapter 2′s comments section ;)

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive! Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

Cal went back into the city, preparing for his stroll into the inner district with you. He entered Tundu’s shop again, he was half-expecting you to be already waiting by the counter but to no avail. Footsteps were followed when the hinges of the door stopped squeaking.

You were clad in a poncho, you smiled upon seeing Cal wearing the same article of clothing. The only difference is that yours was long enough to reach your knees.

“Awesome, we have the same cover,” you quipped.

When Cal saw you pull up the hood upon exiting the store, he followed suit.

“Stay close,” you warned within his earshot.

“Don’t worry, I plan to,”

Staying under the broad daylight and going together with the crowd was a good tactic, but Cal felt the growing tremors in your body the farther you got away from Tundu’s store. He’d catch glimpses of you—cautious yet calm in demeanor but deep inside you’re sweating bullets, hanging your head low as you pass by the loiterers who may know your face. Cal was under the impression that you’ve been to this part of town more than once. It doesn’t take a genius, after all, he had survived a similar environment for roughly five years.

As soon as the shadows have towered over the streets, your shallow breathing rasped through your lips, avoiding the eyes of the many bystanders grouped together at storefronts; you felt Cal’s arm brush against yours, causing you to flinch and shoot a glance at him.

“What? You said stay close,”

You wonder where does this boy find his smug confidence within himself and use it so casually. Whatever the answer was, it was a question for another time.

This part of town has always been a catalyst to your anxiety growing tenfold. It’s become an unconscious habit of yours to keep your fists clenched, as if repressing something that you can muster but cannot control. The chances of you getting jumped lingered with every step, so you find a way to distract yourself.

“Tundu says that you need a mechanic?” you began.

“Yeah, well, it’s just me and the captain who’s gonna be working on it. It’d be nice to have an extra set of hands,”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s a bit of a big project, and we have places to go,”

“Well, that was the job I originally signed up for when I walked into Tundu’s sweatshop anyway. I only ended up being an assistant store keeper because not many come by the place to actually get the service,”

“You seem like a pretty good mechanic,”

You scoffed another chuckle again, “Don’t flatter me too much, Cal. I just might get used to it.”

The two of you traded glances: he had that coy smirk flashing back, while you smiled and giggled away the wholesome awkwardness dangling between you.

Farther and farther into the inner district, all the twists and turns, this is the part of the town the locals call “the Boroughs.” The ambience has gotten sketchier, the crowd sparse, and flashing neon lights took the place of natural sunlight. Cal’s hand searched for the saber at his hip—still there. Good.

Around the curb, you’ve led Cal into a store a little bigger than Tundu’s, and you were greeted by a Balosar storekeeper at the counter upon entering. You had warned Cal beforehand to keep his hood on even when they’re inside. The Balosar’s jaw clenched and his eyes squinted, when he realized who it was under the hood, he eased only for a bit—he was suspicious of your companion.

“Come now, Finteb, you don’t have to be so hostile all the time,”

“I’m being precautious—there’s a difference,”

“Sure,” you moaned indifferently. “Where’s your boss?”

Speak of the devil, the boss stepped into the scene: a Quarren. The creature’s tendrils dangled left and right with every step of the stairs.

“Ah, if it isn’t Tundu’s little protégé, [y/n],”

“Hello to you, too, Melgu,” your deadpan greeting hummed through the room.

“It’s been a while, eh, girl?”

“Look, I don’t plan on staying here. I just came here for what I need,”

The Quarren spots the boy behind your shoulder. Even with the complicated structure of his mouth, you spot a smile curling between the fleshy tendrils dangling on both sides of his face.

“Ah yes, but who needs it—is the question. Is it you or your boyfriend here?”

You felt the color burn in your cheekbones, you angled your cowl lower to hide it from everyone in the room—including Cal, whose cheeks were also flushing red.

“He’s… someone I’m working with,” you dismissed. “And he’s the one who needs it.”

BD-1 promptly flashed the holograph of the Mantis’s cross-section to the Quarren—and the Balosar onlooker—Cal described the part to the store owner in full detail.

Just when Melgu thought he was being slick, your instincts were already telling you what he’s trying to pull—just by judging his body language and the tone of his voice. Cal picked up the hint seconds after you did, but neither of you were ready to call him out just yet. It was between you and the Quarren to negotiate about the ship part.

“I have such a part,” he raised his digit in front of you. “But it is no ordinary, generic-line compressor. It’s one of my best merchandise to date!”

“I don’t doubt it,” you reassured with a deadpan tone, obviously unimpressed with his bragging. “So, may we see it?”

Melgu turned to his Balosar assistant, Finteb, to go fetch the part from the stockroom. The young male scurried out of the scene and disappeared into the narrow hall of the store; minutes later, he comes back out with the compressor in his hand and set it down in the counter right in front of everybody.

“This is the all-around model,” you uttered, leaning slightly forward to see the finer details. “Corellian make, of course. You’re right, this isn’t some generic unit.”

“Ahh, see? What’d I tell you?”

“How much is this gonna cost me?”

Melgu didn’t answer with words but with a sinister chuckle. Something is definitely up, no denying that. With your collective suspicion with Cal aroused, the two of you became more cautious of what to say or do next to the Quarren.

“Actually, there is something holding me back,”

Your stomach sank, you weren’t able to control the furrowing of your brows. Cal could feel his ribs constricting around his lungs, pleading to the wind that he won’t have the need to use his saber against this Quarren and his Balosar helper. He felt for his saber with his arm subtly, when he felt the edge of the solid cylinder hit his skin, he was assured—at least on that part only.

Meanwhile, you were also dealing you own problem—both mentally and the one right in front of you, repressing the gradual anger welling up in your being while conversing with this wretched scumbag of a black market vendor was a tedious challenge in and of itself. You’ve dug your nails into your palms that you could feel it cutting through the flesh as you try to suppress yourself. Cal can feel it—and you perfectly well know that he does.

“What is?”

“Your boss, Tundu, he and I have some unfinished business—I’m presuming he’s told you that,”

“He hasn’t told me anything,”

“Aww,” he groaned with pity for you in a mocking manner. “I suppose that walking sack of wrinkles didn’t want to bring his little protégé into his mess—or he just didn’t trust you well enough.”

“What are you getting at, squid?”

“Your boss is in neck-deep debt. Obviously, his business is dying and he had nowhere else to run to but me—almost all of his customers come fleeing to me. They’d even risk the Imperial patrols for my merchandise!” he guffawed insultingly.

Melgu continued to gloat about how his business is booming and, consequentially, killing Tundu’s in the process.

“Look, squid, I didn’t come here to watch you goad at me,” you hissed through the tight grit of your teeth. “Unless, of course, you want me to arrange that on the spot.”

The store owner relished the last moments of his bragging rights, he had taken notice of your hand hovering over where your weapon ought to be; but you’re praying that he doesn’t cross that threshold, but knowing Melgu—who was a sentient combination of fragile ego and a red-hot temper—he does not see any boundary.

“Well, aren’t you just valiant? Tell me, are you really willing to go through all of this trouble…” he picked up the part and flaunted it in front of you under the shine of the building’s skylight. “All for this? Or are you also trying to preserve your boss’s honor?”

“That wasn’t really part of my plan until you decided to bring Tundu into the equation, you seaside degenerate!”

Obviously, the Quarren didn’t like the choice of word you used to call him. The inch-thick flesh over his eyes—where one’s eyebrows should be—wrinkled and the long cartilages that frame the flaps of his triangular head tightened.

With the snap of Melgu’s fingers, his goons appeared from all sides of his store—even from the front door—you and Cal were practically back-to-back with one another, but neither of you have drawn out your weapons.

“What’s the matter, a little outnumbered, aren’t we?”

“I like these odds,”

“Be careful, [y/n], in this part of town—being cocky could only lead you to two roads. If so much as a thread of your shirt flies onto me, my men will reach you and Tundu’s precious little outhouse of a shop,” Melgu chuckled in a sinister tone, images worked in his mind of how his henchmen will handle the situation. “Well, frankly, accidents happen all the time, darling.”

“You son of a bitch!” you snarled. “I could kill you right here and now—I’d even include your boy Antennas here for good measure, just so there won’t be any witnesses.”

An involuntary whimper escaped the Balosar’s mouth, looking to his boss for some kind of reassurance that you won’t lay a finger on him, but no such confirmation came—only a low growl objecting your threat. He motioned for his brutes to hold both of you down—they were Devaronians and their arms could snap your spine with a single squeeze.

“You’re not getting close to our shop!” you growled as you’re nearing your boiling point.

“Ohhhh,” he mockingly sighed. “I’m not going anywhere, but I think my men are getting close the second you stay within my men’s grasp.”

Melgu broke out chortling, it irritated you to the point that you felt your insides burning and seething with rage, sharp inhales entered through the paper-thin gaps between your teeth, and Cal never took his eyes off of you the moment the Devaronians grabbed both of you.

“No…” you snarled.

“What was that?” Melgu leaned in, cupping his right ear flap.

“I said… NOOO!!”

Nobody—not even Cal Kestis, a Jedi—saw it coming. An energy wave sent the whole store flying—both living and inanimate, no one escaped the torrent of Force that emitted from your very being. You quickly helped up Cal to his feet.

“Come on, Cal!”

“You little Serennian bitch!” Melgu groaned as he struggled to prop himself back up.

You gently pushed Cal ahead of you, made a split-second’s worth of a glance and spotted the compressor on the floor. You reached for it, and for the first time, used the Force after some odd years of stagnating your connection with it.

A speeder bike parked by Melgu’s storefront made itself open for the taking. You and Cal hopped on with you on the helm, the two of you sped away before the Devaronian lugs could catch up and dare to hold the speeder bike by its back bumper.

[sheps-shepherd]

Title: Perfectly Perfect 

Pairing: Mikleo/Sorey; Mikleo & Sorey

Rating: T (for non-explicitly implied sexual content)

Written for @sormikweek​ 2020 Day 8: New Moon - New beginnings; Blank page / El Nath - Neutrality for good or evil; Symbolically called the Shepherd

A/N: This is by far my favorite piece that I wrote for the entire week. It's also the piece that started the whole idea to use this week to expand this universe that I'm really excited to build on and share. Expect not only the rest of the week's prompts, but many more independent works from this world.

"This world" being a BBC Merlin AU in which magic is illegal, Mikleo is a sorcerer hiding who he is, and Sorey is a prince living his best sunshine life. In case you haven't heard that spiel already.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

“What if I changed my name?”

Mikleo turned from the spellbook he was reading with a smile on his lips, sure that Sorey would greet him with a matching one. But Sorey wasn’t even looking at him, let alone smiling. He was standing by the window, arm braced against the stone wall above it, staring out into the courtyard with a shadowed look on his face. Mikleo’s smile faded. He’d been catching Sorey with that kind of look on his face more often these days than he liked. 

“Where did that come from?” Sorey offered a half-hearted shrug and stayed silent. Mikleo didn’t buy it for a second. He closed the book and stood from his spot, crossing over to the other side of the window. “Is this about the coronation tomorrow?” Sorey winced like he’d been hit, which was as good as an admission in Mikleo’s eyes. “Sorey, it’s okay to be nervous-” 

“That’s not it,” Sorey said, shaking his head insistently. “It’s not nerves.” 

“Then why have you been thinking about changing your name?” 

Sorey’s jaw worked like he was wrestling with the words inside his mouth. Mikleo waited patiently, leaning against the wall as he watched his prince. 

King, Mikleo mentally corrected himself. Today was the last day that Sorey would be a prince. Although, in Mikleo’s opinion, Sorey had been a king for a long while already; it just hadn’t been official until now. 

“Because I don’t think I can do it.” Mikleo opened his mouth, ready with another protest. But Sorey finally turned to look at him, and the shadows hiding in the green of his eyes made him pause.

Sorey finished, “I don’t think I can take the crown if I still have his name.”

“Sharing his name doesn’t mean anything. You couldn’t be more different than him.”

“I know that. I know that, but….” Sorey squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. “Mikleo, I can’t stop thinking about it. And if I can’t stop thinking about it, then how can I expect anyone else to?”

Mikleo reached out, placing his hand on Sorey’s shoulder as gently as he could. The muscle beneath his palm was taut with what he now understood was several days worth of stress and anxiety - this had been on Sorey’s mind for a while, probably ever since Velvet’s abdication.

No. Probably longer than that.

“You’re not Artorius, Sorey,” Mikleo said. The name tasted vile on his lips, and hearing it made Sorey flinch again. “You could never be. The darkness in him didn’t come from his name. It doesn’t work like that.”

“But that’s what I’m talking about,” Sorey argued weakly, cracking his eyes open and peeking back over at him. “It feels like that, doesn’t it? It’s like it’s a curse now. No one wants to say it. No one wants to hear it, and I’m supposed to accept his crown in front of the entire kingdom like I don’t know that’s what everyone watching will be thinking?” He pushed himself away from the wall, away from Mikleo. His hand went up to tangle in his hair. “I won’t do that, Mikleo. I can’t.”

“Sorey,” Mikleo said, as calmly as he could with his heart racing so frantically in his chest. “This is your destiny. You accepting the crown tomorrow was the only thing in Camlann’s history ever meant to be set in stone. And no, not everyone is going to understand that, but you will. You do.”

“But what does knowing that change? That becoming king of the kingdom Arthur broke should make me feel good? That doing it with his name should make me feel proud? Because I don’t feel anything but afraid.” Sorey raked his fingers the rest of the way through his hair, the strands sticking out wildly in their wake. Mikleo had always poked fun about how Sorey’s hair seemed to constantly look some semblance of messy, but there was nothing charming about seeing it that way now. “Arthur wasn’t even my real father, but I’m still destined to get stuck with all his mistakes? I know destiny means a lot to you, Mikleo, but that doesn’t solve anything.”

Mikleo’s magic stirred in his chest. It trembled in the anxious atmosphere that had filled the room like it understood it had become a topic of their conversation. No one knew the burdens that came with destiny as much as Mikleo did. Not even Sorey.

His magic strained against his fingertips. He knew what it wanted to do. He let it.

“You aren’t destined to be stuck with any of Artorius’ mistakes.” Mikleo looked back to the window and felt his magic rush out of him. The latch clicked and the window pane creaked open on purposely rusty hinges. A gust of wind flew into the room, buoyed by the sweep of his magic as Mikleo focused back on his king.

As he expected, Sorey’s eyes were wide; he still got starstruck every time he saw Mikleo’s eyes flash amethyst, even though he’d seen it plenty of times at this point. The breeze blew through Sorey’s hair, righting the strands that had been tousled in his frustrated pulling, circling around his head like a halo until it deemed every piece in its place. It sent his earrings fluttering across his cheeks as it swept down towards his shoulders and dispersed with a flutter of his sleeves. Sorey still stared at him, wonder replacing the shadows that had haunted his eyes. Mikleo stared back.

“You’re destined to fix them.”

Sorey - who was Mikleo’s destiny, and always would be - blinked slowly. Mikleo watched the anxiety bleed out of him, watched as his shoulders dropped and his fingers uncurled and his face softened. He suddenly looked exhausted, but it was better than seeing him look so hopeless.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, okay, that was what I needed to hear. Thanks, Mikleo.” He brought a hand back to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

That sounded more like the Sorey he knew. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I wish you had dumped this on me sooner.” He crossed the room again, and this time Sorey was there to greet him with a hand at his waist and a sheepish smile. “But I should have realized this wasn’t as easy on you as you were making it seem, so I’m sorry.”

Sorey opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again, like he had changed his mind about what it was he wanted to say. “It’s not easy,” he admitted finally, and Mikleo was sure he’d scrapped some kind of I’m fine, don’t worry about me speech. “It’s… been a lot to process. And sometimes it feels like I don’t have enough time to go through it all.”

“You don’t have to go through it all right now,” Mikleo said. “And you don’t have to go through it by yourself, either.” He placed his hand on Sorey’s arm, squeezing carefully. “I know Velvet’s leaving, and I’m not her, but-”

“I don’t want you to be like Velvet.” Sorey reached up to press his other hand against Mikleo’s cheek. “I want you to be you. Who else is going to tell me when I’m in over my head or being too dumb?”

“Velvet, but I see your point.” And his Sorey really was here again, because he threw his head back and laughed. A full, rich sound that made Mikleo think of sunshine - or maybe there were just things about Sorey that still left him starstruck, regardless of how many times he’d seen them. “As long as you’re okay with me taking up that mantle,” he continued once the other’s laughter died down, “I suppose that settles that.”

“I’m more than okay with it.” Sorey cocked his head then, staring at Mikleo with a fond grin on his face. “Sometimes thinking about all the destiny stuff makes my head spin, but I know it’s not all bad. After all, destiny brought me you….” His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he snuck his thumb beneath Mikleo’s fringe of hair, tracing across the skin of his forehead right beneath where his circlet rested. “...Luzrov Rulay.”

Like clockwork, Mikleo’s magic rose to the call. It swirled wildly in his chest, an involuntary spark that shot through his bones. The feeling wasn’t as alarming to him now as it had been when he was young with no idea of where it was coming from, which had resulted in his mother gifting him the circlet in the first place. Mikleo hadn’t felt that terrifying slipping feeling again until he met Sorey, although he eventually realized it wasn’t a rebelling of his magic, but instead an answer. The tampering enchantment he wore did nothing to block Sorey’s voice if he called, and Mikleo’s magic would never ignore their king. It pulsed in his palms, spiked aches in his knuckles on its way down to his fingertips, and then Mikleo felt the tell-tale rush that came with the beginning of a spell.

The window pane swung back and closed itself. The latch clicked. The drapes drew themselves shut with just enough of an opening for a sliver of light to keep the room dimly lit. But Mikleo still saw the stars that twinkled to life in Sorey’s eyes, also like clockwork as his own eyes flickered back to amethyst.

Sorey’s thumb moved again, now tracing a gentle path below his eye, watching intently for the moment the amethyst faded back to his natural blue. “There we go,” he murmured, and his magic sang from the praise as it settled back into his blood where it belonged.

Which then shot up to Mikleo’s face and burned his cheeks. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“You know that I hate it when you use magic around me when I can’t fully appreciate it. It was only fair.”

“I was just trying to remind you.” He cleared his throat. “Which it seems I did.”

“You did.” Sorey’s other hand came up, and he tipped Mikleo’s head back as he properly cupped his face. “You definitely did.”

Sorey kissed him, and his magic simmered happily. It was all Mikleo could do to hold onto Sorey’s arms as he leaned into him, all warmth and comfort as Sorey thanked him in his own way.

Mikleo let him take his fill, felt his head begin to get that floaty feeling that came with Sorey’s more intense kisses; the kind of kisses they shared when they were alone that often built into something more, which were finally becoming more common between them, much to Mikleo’s delight. But when he felt one of Sorey’s hands leave his cheek in favor of moving down to press against the small of his back, Mikleo reluctantly twisted his face away, and brought his own hand up to keep the other at bay when he tried to follow.

“Wait,” he said, and Sorey’s pout was immediate. Mikleo pointedly ignored how cute it made him look. “The name thing. You need to tell me more about that first, before we get distracted.”

Sorey blinked. “Oh. That.” His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that wasn’t supposed to spiral into what it did. I really did just want your opinion.” His fingers flexed nervously at the small of Mikleo’s back. “So, what do you think? About maybe changing my name?”

“I think the question you should be asking me,” Mikleo answered, “is what I think of whatever name you’ve already picked out.”

Sorey was surprised enough to take a step back, and Mikleo rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Sorey, I’m not stupid. You wouldn’t have brought it up to me at all if you hadn’t gotten that far with it.” The pout returned. Mikleo ran his hands up Sorey’s arms, settling on his shoulders where he gave him a light shake. “Come on, tell me.”

“I really can’t get anything past you, can I?” Sorey sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I thought about just taking Velvet’s name. I mean, it would have made sense. The Crowe family is technically the one that should be on the throne. But.... I didn’t like the way that made me feel either. I’m not really Velvet’s brother any more than I was Arthur’s son.”

Mikleo opened his mouth, but the hand on his cheek shifted to cover it before he could speak. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Sorey hurried on. “I just mean I think I’m finally ready to make my own name. I don’t want to be defined by Velvet any more than I do Arthur. I think it’s time I finally start just being Sorey, don’t you think?”

He took his hand away, dropping it awkwardly onto the bend of Mikleo’s elbow. Sorey stared at him with the most hopeful look Mikleo had ever seen on his face, and he didn’t know if it was possible to fall in love with someone twice, but their relationship had braved greater unknowns than that.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I do.”

The smile that split across Sorey’s face put the sun itself to shame.

“I like Shepherd,” he said, voice quiet like it was taking everything he had not to burst with excitement. “I thought it fit nice. I came from something simple, just like all the people I’ll be leading. I want them to know that.”

Mikleo nodded as his eyes stung with pride. Hearing that made him prouder than any ancient script of destiny ever could. His destiny was to make sure Sorey took the crown tomorrow, but Sorey made himself worthy of it all on his own.

“Sorey Shepherd.” It was like magic, sizzling on his tongue. “I like it, too. It’s perfect.”

You’re perfect, Mikleo didn’t say. Sorey looked happy enough to cry without hearing that part.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re right; it suits you.”

The pressure that suddenly appeared at the small of his back told him what Sorey’s next move was going to be, and he held up his hand again before Sorey could swoop back in. “But,” he chimed, maybe just a little teasingly as he watched impatience paint Sorey’s face, “to answer your original question, I think the whole thing’s a great idea. You of all people deserve a new beginning.”

Sorey smiled at him, something softer and more tender but just as warm. It matched the way he cradled Mikleo’s face. “You’re my new beginning,” he murmured. “You always were. You always will be.”

And while Mikleo would normally shove him for saying something so horribly cheesy, he let Sorey have that one. He wouldn’t have been able to stop the stupid smile that spread across his own face anyway.

Sorey’s fingers twitched against his cheek. “If there’s anything else from that spiel you want to talk about, you should say it now. Because once I kiss you again, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

Mikleo shook his head with absolutely nothing but fondness. He glanced over Sorey’s shoulder, eyeing the lock on his bedroom door, and his magic rushed to do his bidding. He heard the heavy click a moment later. The drapes were next with a glance over Sorey’s other shoulder, the sliver of light vanishing and shrouding them in darkness - but only for as long as it took Mikleo to light the candles on the walls.

The flickering flames sent shadows dancing across Sorey’s face, and Mikleo took a moment to appreciate the way he looked, just like he knew Sorey was doing as he felt his magic curl within him once more.

“No,” he answered, belatedly. “You can kiss me again.”

And Sorey, his sweet and shining king, was true to his word.

The next morning, His Majesty Sorey Shepherd of Camlann was formally sworn to the throne. The crown glittered where it nestled in his brown hair, caught by the sunlight streaming in through the windows as he stood on the dais, surrounded by his people. Rose and Zaveid were the ones who started the chant, passing it along to Velvet and Alisha and soon to everyone in the room. But Mikleo whispered his piece to himself, and his magic glowed with understanding. They would do everything they could with every bit of power they had to make sure the wish was fulfilled.

Long live the king.