#with his big ears tide into a ponytail

[tastywormfood]

Comfort vampire and glowworm, aged up of course. Im gonna do Sussie and Betsy next<3

Also i used some references i saw on Pinterest for the hug poses, but the artist wasnt named, and i accidentally closed the page. So if u recognize the poses and know who drew them first, i would love to know.

[myzticbean]

Cat!Dad Series: You're My "Maine" Squeeze

Pairing: Qin Che | Sylus / MC (fem! reader) Tags: Super fluff, established relationship, cute cats, domestic bliss Can also read at A03

Previous posts in the Cat!Dad series:

Zayne: Quit kitten around - let's celebrate

Title: You’re My “Maine” Squeeze

Wrapping my arms around Sylus, I rest my hands against the motorcycle’s tank as it rockets down the dark street. I slip a hand under his leather jacket as we both lean into the tight corner, disappearing into the condo’s underground private entrance. The motorcycles that had been following us blew past, unaware we had already made our getaway. 

I laugh, a little giddy from the rush of adrenaline at the chase and successful escape (ahem, joyride), hugging his broad back and resting my helmet between his shoulder blades as he slows and parks the bike. 

“I told you it would be fun,” Sylus says calmly after he pulls off his helmet. I tug mine off as well, my bun squished to my head and tangled flyaway hairs sticking to my face, but I know I’m still grinning from ear to ear. 

“Another successful mission with my criminal mastermind partner,” I chuckle, shaking my hair out of the hair tie before throwing it back up into a ponytail. I swing my leg over and hop off the bike, and he stands as well, wrapping me in his arms in a quick hug. 

We wear matching black leather jackets, my curb stomping boots laced up over black jeans, and a custom thigh holster holding my (not-quite-legal) gun. I lean into his embrace, lifting my face to smile smugly at him.

“Admit it, I definitely helped you a lot this time.”

“You literally started a fight and got us thrown out -- of my own club,” he answers sardonically, tightening his grip around my shoulders and waist. But he can’t hide the lip twitch of amusement and the softness in his gaze as he stares down at me. 

“You needed to hire better help anyways,” I say airily, stepping out of his embrace and flicking a strand of my ponytail back over my shoulder saucily. “That they didn’t even recognize their boss…tut.”

“You do realize most people shouldn’t recognize me, otherwise it defeats the purpose of being the mysterious leader of an underground organization,” he responds dryly, locking the steering on his bike and grabbing the straps of our helmets in one hand. 

“That they didn’t even recognize your dark, dangerous, and sensual aura and let you do whatever you wanted is just a crime against nature,” I answer cheekily. I open my mouth to continue my teasing despite his grimace, when the hissing and howling of cats interrupts me.

As we neared the elevators, I saw a couple of cats brawling, two smaller dark colored tomcats wrestling a dirty, fluffy, absolute monster of a cat. Even while clearly outnumbered, it was holding its own and about to turn the tide of the fight when another cat appeared, intent on jumping into the fray. 

“Oh no,” I say, taking an unconscious step forward. I wasn’t sure how to intervene without getting scratched to holy hell when an empty can was suddenly thrown from behind, clattering as it pelted one of the dark cats on top. 

It screamed, not that it was actually hurt, but more in surprise as it backed off of the giant cat on the bottom. Without waiting, the big cat sprang to its feet, roaring like a tiny lion and racing forward aggressively. 

The tomcat didn’t bother waiting around to see if it could take the big cat on - it scrambled to its feet and raced away, the other cats following close behind. The bigger cat stopped, sitting on the ground in exhaustion, bloody scratch marks on its face, back and ears. 

“You poor thing,” I murmur, squatting down to try to get a closer look. It would probably be pretty skittish, especially if it has been a feral, unneutered male used to roaming the streets of the N109 zone and surviving. 

It turns to look at me at the sound of my voice, its tail flicking back and forth as it surveys me from where it sits on the cold concrete. “I wonder if he’ll let us take care of his wounds,” I say to Sylus who stands behind me, his hand propped casually on one hip as he looks between me and the cat.

“It’s a tom, probably not,” he answers.

“I tamed you,” I say a little tongue-and-cheek as I glance at him slyly over my shoulder. 

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I might argue it was the other way around, kitten.”

“Here kitty, kitty,” I whisper, flicking my fingers at him. I moved to kneel down on one knee, not moving closer, but holding my hand out in case he wants to come over for a sniff.

The cat didn’t deign to move closer, but also doesn’t seem afraid or inclined to scamper away from us. He just peers at me with intent yellow eyes, his fluffy tail flipping back and forth as if to lure me in with the promise of touching it.

I can’t help myself -- I shuffle forward a little bit, my hand still outreached, wanting to see if he’ll let me get close enough to at least take a better look at his scrapes. He’s certainly not afraid - his watchful eyes are flickering all around. 

“Look at this handsome boy,” I croon, voice pitched a little lower, trying to entice him to take a step towards me. I wish I had some food for him. 

Sylus just sighs behind me. 

“Ignore him, kitty,” I suggest, trying to stifle a giggle when I see the cat’s yellow eyes briefly dart behind me before locking back onto mine. “You are definitely the biggest, most handsome cat on the block. If you come juuuust a little closer, I want to make sure you haven’t been hurt.”

The cat yawns, his sharp teeth on full display before he licks his nose and gives me a blink. 

“That’s right, big guy. You know I won’t hurt you.” 

Sylus suddenly chuckles behind me. “Let’s do this a little faster, shall we?” Without pausing, he activates his Evol, wrapping the cat in red and black swirls of color and lifting it into the air. It yowls in immediate displeasure, thrashing and kicking.

“Oh, don’t-” I try to say, before Sylus deposits it in my arms, though still wrapped up and held immobile by his power.

It freezes, looking up into my face, while I peer down at him. “It’s okay, kitty, I won’t hurt you,” I say soothingly. I resist the urge to pet it - it’s trapped and can’t escape, and my touch could do more harm than good. Instead I hold him close against me, cradling him gently in my arms as Sylus guides me towards our private elevator. 

We ascend to the penthouse as I’m trying to look over his wounds - with his thick hair, it doesn’t seem like he sustained too much damage, but I wouldn’t be sure until I could investigate more thoroughly. He is, however, extremely dirty and covered in fleas, which I can see crawling through the dirty fuzz. 

“He needs a bath,” I say, looking him over. “Do you think we should take him to a vet instead?”

Sylus scoffs quietly behind me as we enter our private floor. “I’ll make a call.” 

“My rich boyfriend is so strong and powerful,” I laugh, walking further into the condo and heading towards the bathroom. 

“Do we have any of that blue dish soap?” I call out as I settle the cat down in the shower. I need to grab a towel, and with Sylus’ Evol still activated, he won’t be able to move too much. I kick off my shoes and socks and grab a few fluffy dark towels from underneath the sink, whispering to the cat as I reach for one of the handheld shower heads. Since the shower is big enough for 10 people, the cat is safely outside of the spray as I test out the water and let it warm up.

“What a good boy you are,” I croon, kneeling down by the cat once the temperature has been adjusted, gently allowing the warm water to soak into his fur. The cat gives a grimace and gnashes his teeth, but otherwise doesn’t fight it. 

“Yes, you’re so smart, what a sweet kitty you are. You were definitely going to win. It was three-on-one, and look how strong and brave you were…” I ramble on and on as I soak him from the neck down, gently carding my fingers through his fur to try to get him completely wetted. 

Sylus walks in with a bottle of the dish soap, rolling his eyes a little at my running commentary. “I’m worried about you, sweetie,” he says lightly, squatting by the shower entrance and setting down the soap bottle. 

“Hush,” I say, fighting back a smile as I throw a mock-glare over my shoulder. “Squeeze me,” I say, holding out one palm.

“I wish,” he mutters before he obliges, squirting a heaping handful of soap.

I soap my palms together and get to work, thoroughly (but gently) cleaning up the poor, battered cat. His cuts and scrapes aren’t bad, but I’m careful to avoid getting too much soap in those areas to avoid any stinging. I keep speaking to the cat, voice low and calm, and he doesn’t otherwise flinch at being doused in water and soap.

“I wonder if he was someone’s pet?” I question thoughtfully. “He’s too well behaved for a feral cat.”

Sylus just hums but doesn’t say anything, his Evol still containing the cat though it’s obvious the animal isn’t fighting it. I make sure to wash off as much of the dirt and fleas as I can, rinsing and repeating one more time, and the amount of dirt pooling beneath the two of us turned the pale gray tile completely black. 

But as the cat emerges, clean and victorious, I’m astounded to see a pure white beauty in its majestic display. “He’s so handsome,” I gasp, gently drying him off with a soft towel. 

“I know, you’ve already mentioned it many times,” Sylus says dryly, but the humor glinting in his ruby-colored eyes is obvious. “I always knew you’d be a cat person.”

“You call me kitten often enough, I thought it was obvious,” I say, smiling playfully. 

It’s quiet again for a moment as I finish drying the cat off, before noting, “I don’t think he’s seriously hurt, but he had fleas and could use a check up.” 

As if waiting for my remark, the doorbell chimes, announcing a visitor. I look over at Sylus, who has climbed to his feet and casually strolls out of the bathroom. 

I reach out, cradling the cat in a new clean towel and exit the bathroom and into the living room where a man with a black kit is waiting for us. Without much expression and with almost no conversation, he takes the cat from my arms and begins his check up, and the cat -- who is still held by the black strands -- immediately begins to meow and scream non-stop.

“Oh, poor baby,” I whisper, clenching my hands but unable to help. I look on in concern, trying not to react as the impersonal vet quickly doctors the cat’s wounds and gives him a few shots. 

“He’ll be fine in a few days. I’ve given him his vaccinations, and a pill that will help kill off the remaining fleas.” 

“What kind of cat is he?” I ask, the cat looking even larger as the fur dries.

“I’d guess Maine Coon based on his size and features,” the vet says. “You can do a DNA test if you want to know for sure.”

“Will he get bigger or is he fully grown?”

The man lifted the cat’s lips, checking his teeth. “He’s a young cat, maybe still under a year old, so I would guess he’s still growing. Maine Coons can keep growing until they are around two years old.”

He gives me a few instructions on how to continue caring for the animal, and without much fanfare, leaves. 

“Let’s let him free now,” I murmur to Sylus after setting him down on the floor. Sylus releases his Evol, and the cat slowly stands, taking a few steps and sniffing the air. 

“He’s so cute,” I sigh, watching him tentatively explore his new surroundings. 

“He better not pee on anything until we can get him neutered,” Sylus mutters. “We’ll never get the smell out.”

I reach out, wrapping my arms around his waist and nuzzling into his chest. “You’re so wonderful,” I say, content and a little tired. The doorbell rings again, and I lift my head off his chest to look up at his face, puzzled. 

He motions for me to go, saying, “Get in the shower, I’ll get him settled. The twins brought some supplies.”

I smile in relief, giving him another squeeze, and silently beg for a kiss as I stand on my toes and lift my face. He cups my chin, brushing warm lips over mine in a chaste kiss. He gives me a second kiss on my forehead.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll join you soon.”

More than a week has passed since we rescued the cat. I’ve had to travel to and from Linkon for work, but Sylus never asks if I am going to take the cat with me or drop it off at the shelter. Instead, the cat seems to settle into the plush penthouse as if he had never lived a life on the outside, his kingly attitude right at home in the dark, romantic surroundings. 

After arriving a little later than I expected, I put my overnight bag away in the bedroom before I grab one of the new cat toys lying about. It’s a stick with a feather dangling from a string, and I flick it around on the floor and up in the air, laughing aloud as the cat makes a daring leap trying to catch it. 

“You can do it, Junior,” I cheer as he stretches out his paws, dagger-like nails exposed. Mephisto caws angrily in the corner, pacing back and forth on his stand as he watches the playful cat. They’ve been sassing each other all week, with the kitty missing chunks of hair and Mephisto decidedly more ruffled looking with mechanical feathers lying twisted on the ground. 

The door opens and Sylus walks in just in time to hear me, raising his eyebrows as he comes towards me carrying a couple of shopping and garment bags. 

“Please don’t tell me that name means what I think it means?” he sighs.

I start giggling and the cat takes a flying leap, tackling me to the ground. I ooph out a rush of air, his heavy body colliding with mine as I clutch him to my belly and roll backwards. Sylus drops the bags into the couch and strides over, grabbing the cat by the scruff of the neck and tossing him (somewhat gently) onto the coffee table. He reaches down, helping me to my feet as I fight off a giddy laugh. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” I answer, a sly smile twisting my lips as I reach down to pat Junior on the top of his head, his large, fuzzy ears twisting to catch our voices. “He looks just like his daddy, after all…”

“I did not, in fact, sire a cat. But if my little kitten is so inclined to have her own litter, I could be persuaded.”

I burst out laughing, pushing at his shoulder (he didn’t budge). “I’m not ready for a baby right now. Baby making, however…”

His eyes glint in the light, strangely dark as he locks his gaze onto mine, tugging me closer and into a tight embrace. He leans down, nuzzling his face into my neck, arms wrapped around my waist. “Let’s go practice now,” he suggests, teeth nipping gently at my skin in blatant invitation. 

I sigh, languid from the pleasure that courses up my spine as he trails long fingers down my back in a slow caress. He kisses me tenderly, tongue tracing the seam of my mouth before I open to let him in, our tongues pressing against each other in unhurried exploration. We’ve kissed hundreds of times, but each press of his lips to mine brings a fresh wash of affection and excitement.

I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, falling deeper into his kiss, but a demanding howl from the coffee table shatters the moment. I look down, meeting the irritated eyes of the cat staring back at me. “Sorry, Junior. You shouldn’t be watching mommy and daddy like this.”

Sylus stifles a long exhale before he reaches down, adjusting himself, and steps away back towards the bags. I follow along with interest, trying to peek into the bags, but he covers it up. 

“You can open this one now,” he says, holding out a shopping bag. “I’ll show you the others later.”

I look with interest at the other handful of bags and garment bags, but don’t press. I’ve learned that any surprise from Sylus is well worth the wait. Instead, I tear open the bag and read the brand name on the box. “Evol CommuniCollar?” I question, looking up at him in surprise. “Aren’t these ridiculously expensive?”

He scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Maybe if you’re not me.”

I roll my eyes. “You are such a snob sometimes.” I eagerly read the description. “It says here that it can translate everything your pet says into human language. This is so cool!”

I sit down and start fumbling to open the box, tearing off the flap corners in my haste to get it open. “Oops, I hope we don’t need to return this,” I say. He looks completely unconcerned as he settles on the couch next to me, as Junior perches politely on the coffee table near my knee, tail swishing back and forth. 

Reading the instructions, I open my phone and download the app as Sylus checks the battery charge on the collar. I fill in Junior’s information, noting his suggested breed and age in the settings. While Sylus isn’t watching, I set the AI voice to one of my favorite male celebrities that is (surprisingly) available in the list. 

Sylus gently adjusts it around the cat’s neck, making sure his fur isn’t being pulled or tangled, and gives him a single pat on the head.

Junior is still watching Sylus and gives a tiny meow, and the collar suddenly beeps, a deep, masculine AI-voice is clearly projecting from the collar. “Father.”

I gasp, practically swooning on the couch. “He knows you’re his dad,” I squeal, covering my mouth to hide the huge grin. Sylus looks taken aback, one eyebrow raised as he stares down at the cat that is still looking up at him. He obviously recognizes the voice when I see his sidelong glance at me. 

I hurriedly continue reading the instructions. “While animals may not experience the same family bonds, environmental stimulus, language or emotional capacity that humans do, they’ve been able to map the closest electrical triggers to feelings that we can understand.”

I laugh a little. “So I guess he knows you aren’t his birth father. Maybe you’re his step-dad.”

The kitty looks at me chuckling on the couch, attention flicking back and forth, and as he looks at me directly, he gives a single, long blink. “Wife.” The masculine voice is low and rumbly as he purrs a little.

My mouth drops open, and I don’t dare to look at Sylus. I’m trying desperately to stifle a cackle of mischievous delight, and I reach out to stroke my hand along his back. 

“No,” Sylus says, reaching out to catch my hand. “Don’t reward him for bad behavior.”

“How is he being bad?” I ask, choking on my laughter. I’m trying not to cry, eyes welling up as I gasp for breath.

“This collar is defective. Let’s throw it away,” he says resolutely, reaching out a hand to unclasp the collar from the cat before I bat his hand away.

“Don’t you dare. This is priceless.” I try to be stern, but my quivering lips and definitely giving it away.

He looks slightly irritated but does take his hands away and folds his arms across his chest. I turn back to the cat, giving him a little scritch behind one fluffy ear, and he closes his eyes, rumbling in pleasure. 

“Feels good. It’s itchy,” the cat collar says in its low, dulcet tones. “Wife. Wife.” The purrs get a little louder when I switch to the other ear.

“No, I’m your mom,” I correct, and the collar gives another little beep with tiny rumbling noises as if to translate what I said.

“No, not mother. Wife,” the cat collar responds, and the cat blinks up at me again, holding eye contact. 

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter when I see Sylus stiffen up beside me. “No, I’m your mother. And this is your dad,” I say, pointing to Sylus. “I’m his wife.”

I pretend I don’t see Sylus whip his head around to look at me. I’m trying to make a point to a cat, and this is the easiest way to get it across. How would a cat understand human dating behavior? 

The cat looks obviously disgruntled as the collar makes more translation noises. His tail lashes angrily back and forth, and he turns his head away from me, obviously not agreeing to my words. 

I lean forward, giving him a little kiss on his forehead, ignoring his mew of unhappiness. “I love you so much, my handsome little guy. You’re the bestest boy, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, I’m the best cat. Better than the bird,” the collar agrees, and the cat turns to nuzzle his head into my chin.

I pepper little kisses all over his cute little cat face. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry. I’d like dinner, please. I want the fish one. The wet food, not the crunch food.” 

“Oh, you like the tuna more than the chicken? You should really eat the kibble too, it’s better for your teeth if you can eat some crunchy food,” I say, and we walk into the kitchen, chatting together. 

Sylus leans back against the couch cushions, sighing as scrubs one hand over his face before climbing to his feet and going to store away the bags.

Junior and I chatter back and forth, his sentences slowly becoming longer and more in-depth the more the collar was used. 

He finally finishes his food and I ask to gently wipe his face and whiskers with a clean towel, and he happily obliges, purring loudly as I clean him up. We walk together back into the living room, where Sylus has once more taken a seat on the couch, the fireplace crackling and the low throb of classical music coming from the record player. 

“Father,” Junior murmurs, leaping onto the couch and then clambering into Sylus’ lap (uninvited, but also undeterred). I smile, nestling into his side as he raises an arm and pulls me in closer. 

“Father, play with me. Play with me,” the cat begs, raising one paw and tapping it against Sylus’ chest. 

I try to bite back a smile, shifting away slightly so I can quickly snap a photo. Sylus resigns himself, reaching down to flick one furry ear before he tugs gently at a whisker. The cat grows ever more exasperated as he tries to bat away Sylus’ hand, who snaps his fingers and conjures up a handful of black feathers dusting along Junior’s head and back. 

“You wanted to play, and now you’re mad?” Sylus asks, listening to the cat muttering profanities (with the help of the collar) and hiding a small smile. 

Finally the cat huffs and flops down, and the feathers immediately disappear. We both look down at the large cat stretching himself along the length of Sylus’ thighs, Junior’s head resting closer to his stomach. I reach out, giving him a scritch as I nuzzle into Sylus’ broad shoulder.

Sylus presses a tender kiss to my forehead as he sweeps one long-fingered hand down the back of the cat in a soothing, absent-minded stroke. He drops his head, feathering kisses across the bridge of my nose and cheeks, before pressing a deeper, sweeter kiss to my lips. 

“So about that litter of kittens you mentioned…” I pull away to whisper into his ear as Junior finally settles and little snores start to emerge. 

Activating his Evol, he carries that cat over to his bed, settling him into the cushions lightly while he stands and hefts me over his shoulder. “Practice makes perfect, sweetie,” he purrs, striding into the bedroom and shutting the door while I try to muffle my giggles.

Junior licks his lips, snuggling deeper into his bed and drifting off into an even deeper, satisfied sleep.

Cat image source

[kindred-spirit-93]

hello yall i come with tidings.

cavetown released a cover of mitski's my love mine all mine. drop everything and give it a listen its hauntingly beautiful

i woke up today and chose emotional devastation: been thinking about the apollo cabin all day and severely and irreparably wounded my feels in the process (see under the cut for a lil more)

heres a recipe for falooda bc ive been craving it and my childhood innocence this morning

look at it its so pretty! rose is such an underrated flavour i think

ill probably make another post, but for now: i came across this and it got me thinking about (and crying for) the apollo kids.

i genuinely have no idea if the chart is canon material or a bunch of headcanons (not that it matters ofc) but yeah im building off of it regardless lol

hilal (still unclaimed by hades) khalil's first and dearest friend at chb is diana (from the foster system) and TIL u can get brainrot from ur own ocs and their fantastical interactions with even more fantastical characters. i hurt all over and regret everything ;-;

anyway they grow very close in the short time they spend together (ill make a seperate post with headcanons and little things for diana bc shes my favourite and id die for her and she deserves concept art too).. also still figuring out their orientations so theres that

hilal grows flowers and learns to braid them into cass's hair (like rapunzels), they giggle while comparing similarities in cuisine (her mortal family is also greek) and pretend to fight over dishes

amir and hilal both love having a buddy during iftar and suhoor; chatting about everything from traditions, favourite foods, and eid fun times. enjoy each others company and swap books regularly.

it was no secret that micheal's features were sharp and that his tongue was sharper, and what with his general bad temper and foul mouth it was expected that the pair wouldnt get along. that was until after some incident where hilal lost it and yelled at him for 10 whole minutes, letting a few strong words 'slip' for emphasis. they reconciled their differences later and although the pair never became friends, they both held the other in high regards. micheal definately teased hilal for having a vocabulary to make a seasoned sailor blush. she decorates his scrapbooks sometimes

will is a baby that hilal adores (shes part of the will protection squad) and the two only grow closer after the premature deaths of their loved ones. but before that they often held tea parties where they talk only in thick accents (southern and british respectively) before dissolving into fits of giggles. in some ways will is hilals brother before nico. she knows him very well (and sees right through his innocent exterior he fools chiron with)

more will: he is absolutely wild and i will not be convinced otherwise. hes loud and playful and very energetic. a bit too much. he also has a lil ponytail (someone draw this pls) and enjoys talking about classics and is very chatty, much to the chagrin of his siblings's ears and hilals amusement & delight. loves using big words but frequently stumbles over them (cuteness overload)

long before being claimed by hades, the apollo kids welcomed her and gave her a space to call her own. and there goes the waterslide.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

➷Icarus

Pairings: Dabi/ Reader, Hawks/reader

Tags: pirate au, mermaid!reader, human!griffin!Hawks, pirate!dabi, angst, lots of it<3

Summary: set in an early 1700s au, during a time where Pirates have began taking over the seas and for runaway prince Touya, piracy is the only escape. But after the most unexpected event, his life takes a completely different turn.

Are y'all proud of me? Look at me! I made an edit, AN ACTUAL EDIT. okay quick thing to say before I hop into this is that I absolutely love this with all my heart. Writing it is my therapy, I hope anyone reading finds joy in this. Stay tuned for the next parts.

The first intake of air that enters your lungs feels like poison.

Sweet, mellow, nectar like poison is what you think of it nonetheless, especially if it's the only price you have to pay to bat your eyes to the aqua color of the sky. Today in particular the sun is too bright, too hot, to proud to shine over the little specs of clouds that dare litter that eternally beautiful azure canvas.

You can literally feel the river of tears that begs to stream down your eyes. Your hair is sticking to your skin annoyingly, but you don't dare brush it off, the little pools of seaweed that you've used to accessory yourself with are ghosting around you, spreading and straying away as you shift to your back.

As you lay on your back, letting the water push you to the surface, your ears are happily halfway submerged to the water, the tickling sensation soothing you just enough. Your (s/c) tail lays flat on the surface, halfway submerged much like the rest of your body. You bend it slightly to the side, flapping your tailfin onto the surface softly. Sprinkles of water splash over your torso, eager to finally find their way back into the water, like a fished out fish, racing in a match against time and the vaporising power of the burning sun.

Absurdly you float, feeling your body spinning and twirling as the tides swiped you from place to place. The dazzling sparkles of light that shine onto the water are magnetizing your gaze, pleading with you to fixated them with a look as the sun slowly travels its path to what seems as a few inches away from its previous spot, to you at least.

Your hand shoots up, right above your head, idling between you and your view of the enormous, bright star, as your long fingers spread you take a peak through the fishy fins that join them together. There's a deliberately feeling of malice and loath as you look at them -you've planted the seed of hatred towards the feature, not so long ago- and the slight undertones of your sheer and much illuminated skin looking fins stretch under your brain's command. You've never thought about it beforehand to this, but they hurt when you spread them, kind of like reminding you that there's a limit to what you're vulnerable or not.

At least the skin on his palm, the skin between his fingers isn't joined like yours.

Ironically, it gives you a sense of freedom.

You've only seen him on his ship. Once. But that doesn't stop you from having a painted image of him in the back of your head.

He's a timid buccaneer with a long ultramarine cloak, dreamy cerulean eyes, raven locks so unkept under the loops of his low ponytail and a barbaric lust to cause chaos. In other words, the Captain of a pirate ship.

That's all you need to know to be fascinated with him. You never heard his name, you never heard anyone speaking directly to him, all you had was a moment in which you exchanged looks, you with your pruned up fear of humans and him with big, bounty charged eagerness to spare you.

Maybe that was what had fascinated you about him in the first place. No other pirate had ever spared a mermaid with such light heartedness and a weird bubbly feeling in your chest had foamed its way into your heart ever since.

It's only when you feel you're disassociating out of this hybrid body that an all familiar trill filled your water muffled ears. That was your cue to swim to the shore.

With one deep breath of the surface air you submerged your form into the water, wobbling your tail around to cure any drizzling numbness that could occur were you to simply swim right on the spot. Your hands sway over your face and spread into half circular motions as you flap your fins and tail prominently, rising your body just under the surface.

You only open your eyes when you feel like your bird friend is close enough above the surface. And when you lock eyes with his golden orbs you notice the sly smirk that paints his whole face.

"Race you to the shore?"

Knowing full well that he can't hear your voice from the surface you nod sharply and only once, signaling your acceptance of his challenge. Ruby red wings flap hurriedly from his back, rustling the waters underneath him. You only grunt, because it's unacceptable that he believed he could throw you off track by doing the minimal damage to your surrounding environment.

Even for someone as fast as Keigo though, it's hard time mess up with the tides, even harder to compete with one if the most excellent swimmers, a merfolk.

Your tails flaps dangerously, torpeding your body forward and into a tube of salty bubbles as you swirl all around while swimming. Your eyes are fixated on Keigo, watching his every move as you shift through currents, the fins of your tail occasionally scraping over slack rocks ever so slightly. Your heart is pumping in your chest as you watch Keigo flap his wings again, you spare him a grin that mimicks his own and he raises an eye brow at you, extending an arm and taking his body just a foot more above the surface of the water.

His hand submerges into the water, startling you enough to make you widen your eyes at the sight of it. Little trails of his speed form in white foam behind his hand as he moves forward but you notice how the flat of his palm comes to scoop over the back of your head.

Like hell you're going to let him win this tim-

Your whole body is shaken suddenly as you are guided to the left, then to the right, your eyes squinting shut everytime your tail painfully bumps into the thin distances between the sharp, spike mounds of rocks you had failed to notice.

"Easy there, you don't have to rip your skull open to keep up with the fastest bird alive."

Keigo smiles at you and wiggles his eyebrow to your direction more than twice. It pokes your ego slightly. This playful comment nudges with your merfolk pride and the raptor seems to enjoy it, it seems like it's funny to him to mess with the way you swim when you can't exactly do the same for him up in the air.

And it's only when his hands wrap around you leisurely through the water, seemingly avoiding to actually touch you, but only interested in the intention to cage you that you pout and close your eyes, ready to flap your fins once more. That's the only advantage you need to outsmart him and out speed him.

Nevertheless, before you even manage to execute the first flap to your master plan, Keigo is quick to lock his hands around you, on you. He's even quicker to pull you over the surface.

"That's not fair!" You squeal.

"Isn't it?" The blond chuckles "I thought that you would like to come in tie with me for once"

"You're-"

"Insufferable?"

You laugh at him feverishly, as thin salty bubbles form in the pits of your chest. The soft exhale that travels out of your nostrils is a hot puff of air against Keigo's wet, naked chest, but instead of wincing to the tingling feeling, you feel the pleasant hum of a chuckle vibrate from his chest to yours.

"More or less"

It comes out as a soft coo, another huff of air against his chest though this time it's impossible not to feel how your skin feels against his. But that's just you, you remind yourself. From your point of view, you eye across his chest, careful not to let your face touch him, but your fins are beginning to betray you, perking up furiously.

Keigo seems to notice the way you shift against his grip, but he doesn't cease with his smile. It's only when he lowers you far away from his body though still keeping you in his grip that you see a fragment of his expression slip into what could be seen as sorrow.

"You merfolk could never convince me you're superior beings, you almost crushed against rocks" Keigo laughs.

Surprisingly, this time your chest doesn't feel heavy.

Instinctively you let your whole weight fall on his arms -what are you to a supernaturally strong griffin anyway. You hang your hands on both sides on your body, bobbing your fingertips right onto the surface, dipping them inches into the warm body of water.

"Sorry, your only obstacles seem to be puffy clouds huh?" Your sarcasm is lost in the grander scheme if the smoothness of your voice.

"You could never outrun me, let that sink in" He says, kidding with his head to the shore "where do I drop you?"

"Here's good, the sunset's nice from here" You reply "and yes, I can outrun you that's why I was so feverish about it."

The monotony in your statement is in contrast to its context and Keigo raises a brow at you, though it quickly drops as you manage to miss it. It's too eerie, too complex for his own good to pry into the feeling he's getting from your behavior, but if he were allowed to, he'd talk about how you don't seem to be your usual self.

With a swift flap of his wings he lowers himself into the water, his lungs filled with as oxygen as hes believed he needs from only a second ago. His hands come loose once the sheer liquid engulfs him; he feels how your fins tap against the feet, tickling him to the touch as the moisture softens them up again.

He wonders, if that's how soft his feathers feel to others.

His eyes don't open in the water, more likely because he's diving for the split of a second. It doesn't feel like a life time, just like any other time hes felt time pass by when diving, but he's putting that on you. He won't admit aloud, but his heartstrings pull slightly at the thought of you rooting yourself into him.

At least that's how he feels. And his smile widens when you pop your head out of the water you and shoot him a glare of your most glistening eyes with your lips pressed together in a thin line. He flies lower, with the intention of landing and flips his body so that his legs are facing the sand underneath him.

"Ah, today's nice." He sighs the moment he lies on his side, his elbow popping just in place for his hand to cup his face.

"It is, isn't it?"

Keigo smiles but a hollowing heat spreads to his chest, it's though as he can feel the bones underneath the layers of his own skin. It's his choice to ignore the feeling, rather, he coos a little over to your side, spreading a wing to your side. Red feathers splash happily into the water as they submerge, causing him to scrunch his nose pleasantly to the feeling.

"Keigo"

His feathers perk at the sound of his name, little, ruby feathers spike to his heart's commands. Tenderly your hand shoots to the sharp edge of his left wing, brushing down a few of the stray hawk downs.

He twitches to the touch; with legs that turn stiff as the slim looking black claws of his toes pop, his body shudders the peculiar affection. Keigo isn't used to being touched in the way merfolk get all tacky with each other. Griffin hybrids aren't as sleek and affectionate with their younglings, rather, being physical is discouraged.

"Mmhm?"

The way he coos against you like a little chick though, can't be discouraged by anyone other than you. As more feathers wrap around you, shielding your exposed scaly body from the scorching of the sun. The talons of his hands reach out to caress the hair above your ear, running some strands through his fingers.

You don't dare speak yet. There's a blasting of emotions that's happening inside your chest that your lungs can't respond to. It's only that, your face is so close to his, your nose almost in sync with his. But his eyes didn't look at you in a way that had once seeked.

Heavy chest and a quivering breath, even underwater. That's all the Keigo ever gave you. With his charms, and the perky feathers on his chest and hands that cooked everytime you were close. The pluming wings on his back that reaped the skies in a single flap; a creature worth of a mermaid's love was either worthy or atrociously mischievous, wasn't that the old saying?

And there was a time where you had been in love with him. A time where you had thought that mating for life with the griffin would be the right for you. Many merfolk had swam the path before, many had contributed to the birth of those atrocious, deadly sirens as a species, but at a time, the thought of your own little siren with Keigo sounded like a fairytail.

And that was all it was. Keigo had his eyes on a fairy, then on a raven griffin from his friend's flock.

If Keigo knew of all the hot tears you'd shed first him in the past, would he have sought to mate with you?

Well now you didn't care.

You didn't care about the world of creatures ever since that day.

"Keigo-"

"Y/n-"

You speak simultaneously, almost letting out the hazardous intentions of your statements overlap each other. It only makes you want to giggle though, as much as Keigo seems to want to sit back and wait for you to speak, the sheer profanity that lays beneath what you're planning to ask is coiling the blood in your heart in the most endearing way.

"Can I go first?" You ask and Keigo nods into your eyes.

His golden orbs dont leave yours, not even for a second.

"Is walking hard?"

Keigo's first response is to cock an eyebrow at you. It seems like such a silly, innocent question to which he can't give a definite answer, still the little smile that creeps to the corner of your lips is convincing enough for him to think of one

"Huh?" He laughs as well but this time, his hand comes to rest leisurely over your cheek.

You share a look in silence. The pointy tips of his talons are merely touching your skin in small places, while he scratches tenderly around your skin. Your faces are only inches apart and although it should hurt that he's only a ghostly breath away, your heart stutters at the thought of you learning more about walking.

"I'd like to walk"

In your excited state, you miss the way Keigo snuggles his nose right next to yours, unbeknownst to you, you deny the way his lips beg to clash with yours.

"Keigoo, tell me!"

Keigo seems to sigh a little over his own breath. The little nibble on his heart is quick and gone before he gets the chance to even feel it, so he doesn't blame it on the lack of the contact he had sought for.

"It's like," He pinches his nose "I guess it's like standing but with motion, like when you grab into a rock and pull your body around it?"

"Do I grab on rocks?"

"No, you just stand on your feet. And move them like so."

"Interesting"

Keigo scratches the coarse hair on his chin, puckering his lips to the side of his face as he's trying to think. As if he's trying to out the pieces together.

"And is it hard to learn how to walk?"

"Well I'll tell you if you tell me why you're so interested in learning all these stuff!" His claw soughs slightly onto the sight of your face, forcing you to face him once again.

He's never seen you express concern about this particular subject. But as he guesses, most mermaids do from time to time.

Nonetheless, now is his chance to spurt out what he wishes to say, now that his nose is on yours again. Now that your lips as ghosting over his again, now that your palm reaches slowly for the harsh flex of his bicep.

"I-"

But once again he's cut off.

"It's for a friend. She saw this pirate the other day."

The words that slip so reluctantly off your mouth finally manage to peak Keigo's interest in what you're trying to say. The mere hesitation in your struggling voice is accompanied by the twirling of your tail around his legs. It's a struggle to get as comfortable as before, but Keigo gladly ignores anything that doesn't involve staring in your eyes.

"Tell your friend" Keigo pauses. His wings push you onto him further, trying to coo you in his consultations "a pirate isn't worth her tail."

"But why" You mutter against him.

An atrocious feeling in his gut spurs the moment you let the palm of your hand slip down and splash onto the water. The silent act of giving u accompanied by you hanging your head an inch lower, just so that your lips miss contact by what can only seen like a huge gap. To him.

"They're sick, and they're thieves and they murder creatures for bounty"

"They do?" You ask, terrified

"They tie them to their ships, they shoot them, anything to carry them back to their orm and sell them for money. Tokoyami barely escaped them."

"How will they know I'm a creature if I have legs"

Keigo sighs. The memory is enough to send chills down his spine and cause the feathers on his hands and feet to spurt absurd and proudly. Whoever this friend of yours is, they're out of their mind.

There have been merfolk who have rejected their nature throughout their centuries to nest with humans, only to grow sorrowful in their regrets that they chose to live such mundane, mortal lives. To want to be with a pirate, the worst of the worst, someone who could only die in a few years of being on a ship, was like disgracing the creature world.

Wait- he heard right didn't he?

"You?"

[angerstagram]

monster among men // calum (SMUT)

boxer!calum

Pairing:  Calum + Y/N

Words: 4.6k

Rating:  X. For, you know, sex.

Description:  Calum is your long time boyfriend but he’s also a boxer. When his trainer says the two of you can’t have sex before the big match, you find that much easier said than done.

Warning: Oral sex, mentions of violence (for sport).

Author’s Note: I wrote this in one go and haven’t edited it!! Please forgive the typos. Stay tuned for a part two!

——————————————

Calum threw one last punch at the now well-abused punching bag, watching it swing slowly back and forth—toward him, then away, then toward him again—and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The air in the gym was thick with sweat and dirt as men all around him trained against sparring partners, trainers, or a giant bag of sand, like him.

His trainer, Sal, came up behind him and squirted some gatorade in his mouth before helping him remove his gloves. “That was great, Cal. Your form is better than 97% of the guys in here.”

Calum smirked. “My form is better than 100% of the guys in here and you know it, Sal.”

Sal smiled at Calum but refused to boost his ego. “Well your form isn’t gonna win you a belt, Cal. Not on its own. I need you to keep up your power all the way to the last punch.” Sal was talking excitedly with his hands now, throwing fake punches at the air as though it were 1987 and he was back in the ring.

“Don’t worry about my power, Sal. Just get me in the ring and I’ll take it from there.” Calum wiped the towel Sal handed him against the back of his neck and then over the planes of his chest where little beads of sweat had gathered.

“Alright, big shot.” Sal gestured his head toward the ring and Calum climbed in, letting Sal strap the gloves back on once he was inside.

Sal slid on a pair of punching mitts and held them in front of Calum’s face. “Focus on me, Cal. Right here.”

Calum started throwing punches and Sal met them every time. Every time Calum dropped his guard, Sal would take advantage and hit Calum in the face with a mitt until Calum’s cheek was red and starting to swell.

They went on like that for the better part of an hour, before Sal finally let Calum take a break at the edge of the ring.

“It’s that girl, Calum. She’s inside your head. It’s all well and good to get laid when you don’t have a belt on the line. But if you’re spending all your time thinking about what little date you’re gonna go on and picking up a nice bouquet of pansies or some shit, you’re head ain’t gonna be where it needs to be.”

Calum knew that Sal was trying to rip him up and make fun of him by playing on age-old stereotypes, but Calum could’t even hear him.

As soon as Sal mentioned flowers Cal could smell your perfume. He could feel your skin under his fingertips, the soft give of your hips as he squeezed them. It was as though you were standing right in front of him, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the nape of your neck as you worked in the kitchen. He was pulling your back to be flush with his chest, the shape of your ass pushing deliciously into his —

“You’re not even listening to me, are ya?” Sal’s voice cut into Calum’s reverie and suddenly he was whipped back into the gym.

“I get it, no girls before the match. I hear you, Sal.” If the guys wanted to believe that Calum was a womanizer who was bedding a different woman every night, he would let them. But he wouldn’t jeopardize this match for anything.

————————————————

Calum was really, truly planning on staying strong until his match. But then he got home and you were standing there wearing one of his cotton t-shirts, barefoot and swaying your hips in time to the music playing through the stereo. Everything smelled amazing, the food you had simmering on the stovetop, the candle lit on the coffee table, the summer breeze drifting in through the open windows.

He slipped off his shoes and padded into the kitchen while you faced away from him. He knew you didn’t hear him come in over the sound from the stereo, so he had the advantage as he walked up behind you and gave you a playful slap on the ass.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, dropping the spoon into the sauce you had been stirring and letting out a yelp. “Calum Thomas!” you explained, licking the sauce off your thumb where it had splashed when you dropped the spoon.

“Hmmm,” Calum let out a low hum as he nuzzled his face into your neck, just as he had imagined earlier. He let out a soft sigh, the sound of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be after a long day. “Hey, let me have a taste, too,” he murmured, turning your chin between his fingers and kissing you deeply.

You twisted yourself in his arms so that your back was to the stove and your chest pressed against his. You loved when he came home like this; worked up from a day of hard exercise, hair still wet from his shower at the gym, the muscles in his arm thick and corded under his t-shirt where you traced your fingers.

His mouth wandered down your neck, his open mouth warm against your pulse points. You were breathing heavier now and he knew it, pressing his palm against the small of your back and drawing you impossibly closer to him.

“So, um,” you tried to string a sentence together as the feeling of his lips on your skin scrambled your thoughts. “How was work?”

Your little joke passed over him without laughter, his focus unyielding. He was always so focused on whatever task was at hand that he often couldn’t see or hear the world around him. Times like this, that trait came in handy.

You laced your fingers through his wet hair and scratched softly at the back of his head, bringing his focus briefly back to reality. Calum raised his face to yours again and smirked against your lips. “Work was great, sweetie. And how was your day?”

Calum loved playing pretend like that. Pretend like you two were a normal couple; that he had a normal 9-5 job pushing papers behind a desk in a suit and tie and you drove a mini-van or some shit. A joke that made it seem in moments like this that he wasn’t in physical danger 95% of his day and you didn’t spend thousands of hours of your life scared that one wrong punch would be the end of him.

But you couldn’t think about that now, not when he was hooking his hands around the backs of your thighs and hoisting you over onto a clear spot of the counter. Not when he was standing between your open knees and pulling you closer to his chest again, his arms circling your back and his mouth hot and needy against yours.

His kisses were urgent and all-consuming, pulling the breath of you and energizing you all at the same time. You didn’t realize he had pulled your hair out of it’s ponytail until you felt it cascade down your back. He pressed a kiss behind your ear and bit it lightly, causing you to laugh at the aggression.

“What’s gotten into you, Hood?” you asked breathlessly, teasing him for his ability to go zero to ninety in 3.5 seconds. Something in the tightness of his back and the set of his jaw told you something was up, though. “At least let me turn off the sauce so it doesn’t burn.”

Now he was laughing at you, his chest rumbling against yours. “I’m doing some of my best work here, babe, and you’re thinking about the sauce?”

“I just don’t want it to burn! I’ve been building these flavors for an hour, Cal.”

He didn’t stop laughing, but humored you by reaching over and switching off the burners. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happier when you tell me what’s going on,” you said softly as you rubbed circles against his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles there.

He dropped his forehead against yours and pressed a light kiss to your lips. He knew he would have to bring it up sooner or later, but he didn’t think he would have to say it so soon. “I, um, well.” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he searched for the words. “Basically, Sal thinks that we shouldn’t, um.”

You dipped your head, searching for his eyes. Trying to follow along with his train of thoughts going nowhere. “Sal thinks we shouldn’t what, Cal?”

“Sal thinks we shouldn’t be, um, romantic before the championship match.” Cal almost looked like he was blushing. For someone that was so confident and uninhibited while you were actually being romantic, he often had a hard time talking about it when you weren’t.

Your face was deadpan as you looked at him. “Sal says we can’t fuck before the match,” you paraphrased in an unenthusiastic voice.

Now he was definitely blushing, the color rising in his cheeks and spreading to his ears. “Um, well, yeah.”

“The match that’s in three weeks.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your trainer, a man who hasn’t had a wild night of passion in over a century, says that you and I cannot fuck for 21 days.”

“Yeah.”

“And that will do…what exactly? It will help your form?”

“No, my form is great, actually. It’s my power on the last punch that needs work,” Calum replied, genuinely not realizing that you were being sarcastic.

“Then why the fuck did you come in here and start kissing me like that, jackass?” You swatted at his shoulder and dropped your head to his shoulder, huffing at the injustice of it all.

Calum laughed at your frustration, rubbing calming circles into the small of your back again but you pushed against his shoulders.

“You really can’t touch me if you don’t want me to jump you right now, Calum.”

The look in your eyes made him see you weren’t really joking. Calum felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions; half feeling guilty that he had done this to you, and half feeling proud that he had a girl who wanted him as badly as he wanted her all the goddamn time.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, love, I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe I wanted a little something to tide me over.” He was smirking now, leaning in to give you another kiss but you turned your head to the side in defiance.

He tossed his head back in defeat, taking a step back and throwing his hands up to signal that he wouldn’t pressure you.

But that’s not what you wanted, either. It was very confusing, really. He had worked you up and then left you high and dry, so you were just as much want and need and greed as you were angry and annoyed.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back against you, shifting forward on the counter. “If you want to tide me over, I’m gonna need a little more than that,” you said against his lips, sliding your hand down the front of his shorts and palming him over his underwear.

Calum groaned and bucked involuntarily against your hand before grabbing your wrist. “Baaabe, we can’t,” his voice almost a whine.

You slipped your hand back out of his shirt obediently and placed it back on his shoulders. “Fine,” you conceded. “I guess I’ll just have to go take care of myself. You can finish up dinner, right?”

Giving his shoulders a light push, Calum stepped back, surprised. You slid off the counter and began walking out of the kitchen toward your bedroom before feeling his hand grab your wrist. “C’mon, baby, don’t be like that.”

He pulled your wrist to turn you around, holding your hand to his cheek and pressing his mouth where it met your wrist. He held it there for what felt like forever, the worlds slowing down and your heart speeding up as you concentrated on the feeling of his lips against your palm. He was looking at you from under his criminally long lashes, all dark lines and tan skin with a single wet curl hanging over his forehead.

“We can do this, together, I’m sure,” he murmured into your skin. “Now can we please eat this beautiful dinner you’ve worked so hard on?”

Breathing in through your nose and blowing out through your mouth, you focused on both calming down and cooling down. You really wished this place came with a goddamn air conditioner.

“Fine. You make the salad.”

————————————————————

A week went by like that. The tension growing thicker each day. Waking up next to Calum and feeling the shape of his body against your back, your front, your legs twisted between each other’s or splayed like snow angels. No matter the position, you woke up hot, every inch of your scorching where it touched his.

It really shouldn’t be this hard. You had been celibate voluntarily or involuntarily, for months at a time not that long ago. You were an adult who could survive a simple 21-day stretch without sex.

But that was all before you met Calum. Before you had been with Calum; known the way his body could make yours feel. Before you knew the way he could play your body like a fine-tuned instrument, his every touch lighting a fire inside of you that threatened to melt you from the inside out.

And it was in moments like this, when the early morning sun was streaming in through the curtains and causing a cold yellow light to dance over his golden skin that you felt so acutely what he could do to you. You lay awake just staring at him. At his long, black eyelashes curling so beautifully over his closed eyes. His messy morning hair curling haphazardly over his forehead. His strong jaw line creating a line that led down his neck to the shape of his collarbone where it stood out over the swell of his bare chest.

His breathing was slow, the rise and fall almost lulling you back to sleep. But then he spoke. “You’re being creepy,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you replied innocently, swiping his hair off his forehead and running your finger down his cheek to his jaw.

“Staring at me looking all sexy and asleep isn’t going to help your predicament, see cheeks,” he joked as he slowly came into consciousness.

“How do you do that without opening your eyes?”

He turned his face to press his mouth to the pulse in your wrist, one eye peeking open to stare at you in the morning light. “I’ll tell you one day.”

You curled into his side, setting your chin into his shoulder to stare at him up close. “I think I’ve been rather good, actually. I haven’t pressured you even once, even when I really wanted to jump your bones.”

He laughed, curling to face you on his arm, your bodies forming two parentheses barely overlapping each other under the mustard yellow sheets. “You’ve wanted to jump my bones, hmm?” He ran his hand down your back to your underwear, teasing the skin just under the hem of his cotton t-shirt that you had worn to bed.

“Of course,” you said, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “When you come home all sweaty from the gym in those short ‘80s shorts. How could I resist?” Your voice was joking but you really weren’t. Those were the times you really felt like no championship would be worth dying a slow, horny death.

“Well you’ve been very patient.” Calum pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How long has it been, anyway?”

“Eight days,” you replied too quickly.

Calum noticed your eagerness and laughed. “Eight days. Hm. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your heart skipped a beat but you didn’t let yourself get your hopes up. Not after yesterday, when he had texted you I have a surprise for you when you get home ;) and you arrived home prepared to see a naked Calum covered in whipped cream or something….only to find him with an extra-large pizza from your favorite restaurant. Granted, that had been a pretty good surprise. But it didn’t change the fact that you only thought of him a tease with no action to back up his big talk.

“Oh I’m certain I deserve a reward,” you replied, giving him a playful slap on the ass.

“Whatever shall we do about that?” he whispered into your ear. Goosebumps rose everywhere his breath ghosted over you.

Calum rolled you onto your back, throwing his leg over your waist to rest his full chest against yours. Maybe you could get excited, after all.

He pressed small kisses against your neck, nipping at your skin to make you gasp. When you moved your hands to twist them through his hair he grabbed them and pressed them to the pillows above your head, twining your fingers together and making your breath come out unsteadily.

He kissed you deeply, the air leaving your lungs. Suddenly your entire body was nothing but a pile of unmitigated need, a live wire that sparked everywhere his mouth touched. And his mouth on yours made you feel like he was breathing your life into your lungs and pulling it back out all at the same time.

It was an effect no man had ever had on you before. The ability to turn you inside out like this. Was it because you were in love with him? So completely in love with him that it made the want and the need and lust and sex and love all mix up with each other in your mind until they were a single force driving you toward peak after peak.

And he had barely even gotten started. He had you pinned between his strong arms, the muscles in his bicep flexing as he held himself over you. He ground his pelvis into yours, your back arching to meet each delicious thrust. God, he hadn’t even really touched you yet.

Calum held himself above you to watch the effect his actions had on you. The way your eyebrows furrowed together as he rubbed against you. The way you shivered when he traced one finger up your arm and over the swell of your chest to cup your breast over your shirt.

“I feel like I’m in high school,” you murmured. “Dry humping my boyfriend while his mom watches TV in the living room.”

“My mom is here?” Calum looked over his shoulder as though he would find her standing right behind him.

You laughed and used his distraction to push him onto his back. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.” You peeled his t-shirt off of you and threw it on the floor, immediately forgotten.

Calum drank you in above him, pupils blown out with lust, watching you closely to see what you would try to do next. His body looked relaxed but you knew that in reality he was like a predatory cat preparing to strike. That his lazy exterior could spring into action before you could realize what had happened.

Not wanting him to steal your pleasure from you, you acted before he could. First you slid your fingers down your panties and gathered some of the wetness that had grown there before rubbing your fingertips slowly over your clit. Your mouth pouted open into a gasp, reveling in the sensation, grinding harder as you chased that pleasure.

You slapped your other hand to his chest, your fingertips digging crescent moons into his bronze skin as you rolled your hips over your hand, and by extension, his growing erection.

Calum sat up suddenly. His face was still relaxed, but the speed with which he moved gave away how much your action had affected him. He pressed his chest flush with yours and kissed you hotly.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pulled your hand out from your panties and pressed your fingers into his mouth. His tongue laved slowly over your fingertips, drawing a long moan from you, the air between the two of you growing thick and electric.

“God, you’re killing me, Cal,” you moaned. He ran his fingers down to your hips again, digging into the flesh and rolling you against him. Back and forth, back and forth, rolling you quickly toward an orgasm thanks largely to how long it had been since your last one.

“Do you,” Cal pressed a kiss to the base of your throat, “do you touch yourself when I’m away?” Calum’s voice sounded genuinely quizzical, as though he were discussing the weather or asking you for directions.

“I, um.” Your brain was short circuiting as he pressed you harder and faster against him, your wet panties rubbing against your clit like a tongue. He pressed another kiss to your bare chest, nipping you just under your collarbone before taking a nipple into his mouth.

“Well? Do you?” He repeated, his hot breath causing you to shiver where it met your pebbled nipple.

“No. Um.” The screws were coming loose in your brain. Everything you wanted to do with him, do to him, were flashing over the inside of your eyelids as he drew you to your peak. “Not since, um, not since you said we couldn’t, oh god.”

Calum pulled away and you whined at the loss. He was looking at you intently, as though trying to judge if you were being serious. “You mean that?” He slid his hand down the back of your panties and slid one finger inside you easily. You gasped at how unexpected it was and moaned as he used that hand to pull you back and forth into the grinding motion he had you in before. “You really haven’t had an orgasm for over a week?”

“Yeah, I mean it,” your voice was increasing in pitch and your eyes were shut tight. “Fuck, Calum, don’t stop.”

But Calum did stop. At least, he stopped long enough to throw you onto your back and slide comfortably to rest his head just above your mound. “You’ve been an even better girl than I thought,” Calum praised, his voice still gravelly this early in the morning. “Now let’s see about that reward.”

Calum pulled your underwear off quickly and pressed his tongue flat against you, licking a thick stripe from your opening to your clit. You keened loudly, your back arching when he finally gave you what you needed.

He didn’t intend to tease you. He really did want to reward you for your patience. But it was just so much fun to watch you writhe and moan under him as he teased one finger around your opening and licked figure eights just below your clit.

You were panting as the air of the room pressed heavily against your skin. If fucking Calum was a religious experience, having him eat you out was like leaving earth and going straight to heaven.

“Fuck, Calum. I can’t.” You had been so close to your climax before you felt your mouth on you that your brain was disconnecting.

Finally, he took mercy on you. Diving in to eat you like his last meal. He slid one finger into you, just up to the second knuckle, pressing up against your front wall as he flicked his tongue against your clit.

You bucked up into his face and he didn’t even bother holding you down, just tucked one arm under your thigh to steady himself before shoving two fingers into you up to their base.

He pumped his fingers into you steadily, pressing his tongue flat against you. He alternated his pace, pumping faster when he slowed his tongue and flicking his tongue quickly when he slowed his pumps.

“Oh my god, Calum. Fuck, I—,” you blubbered as your soul left your body. You curled your legs over his shoulders, your thighs shaking as you sprinted towards the high you were both chasing. All the want you had built up for a week had created an ache stronger than you even realized, and the beginning of your orgasm was like stretching an atrophied muscle. “Goddamn it that feels so fucking good.”

When he knew you were going to fall over the edge, Calum slowed his tongue and hooked his fingers to press firmly against your g-spot. He tapped them rapidly against that spot as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you reached your peak. You clamped your knees against his ears, locking him in place as you finally fell over the edge. Your entire body shook as the orgasm rolled from where his fingers still tapped inside you out to your fingers and down to your toes.

Even as you reached your peak he didn’t stop, pumping his fingers and scissoring them to rub against every wall, running his tongue over you until there wasn’t a nerve left below your waist that he hadn’t annihilated.

It was like his fingers were fucking the air right out of your lungs. Connecting the two of you and unraveling you all at the same time.

“C’mon, baby. I know you’ve got another in you.”

And he was right, really. Except it wasn’t exactly a second orgasm as it was a second wave of the first that had never stopped. He stayed like that for a long time, never letting you come down, pulling one after another from you until you had to shove his face away.

He kissed his way back up your body, holding his hand still against your mound as you came down, its warmth soothing as your body shook.

Finally he pressed his mouth against yours and you could taste yourself. You didn’t have the energy to kiss him back. Your lips just hung open as your breath came out in small pants. He rolled over onto his side and pulled the sheet over both of you.

“You are really fucking good at that,” you said finally, flinging the back of your hand against his chest.

Calum nuzzled his nose against your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Only the best for my girl,” he laughed, taking the compliment in stride.

You glanced down at the tent in the sheet where it lay over his waist. “Just, uh, just give me a minute. I’ll get right on that.” You gestured lazily toward his obvious erection.

“No, no. Today was about you.” Calum rolled you so that he was spooning you and ran his hand over the back of yours, twisting your fingers together. “I still need to wait until after the match.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and breathed slowly through his nose to try and bring his own body temperature down. Your thoughts were becoming coherent again.

You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. You kissed him deeply, trying to convey to him the feeling that had overwhelmed you. “I love you, Calum. So goddamn much.”

He smiled but he didn’t laugh. The light danced in his eyes where they crinkled at the corners. He kissed you again and brushed his nose against yours. “I love you, too. Now go back to sleep.”

[monstersandmaw]

Male Uruk-hai x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's another Orctober (!) prompt, of which my lovely, patient Elves over on Patreon had a brief preview a while ago, and my Pixies and Goblins have had access to for a little while. The prompt was 'injured', and this one got so long that it practically grew legs and ran away with me...

Hope you enjoy!

Content: gender-neutral reader, belligerent, tough-as-nails Uruk-hai warriors, one seriously injured mountain of muscle, some violence (not lasting) towards the reader, one loyal centaur bestie, and some sexy times Wordcount: 9769

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At the clamour of two opposing orcish war-bands sweeping through the countryside to the north of your village, the sounds of the skirmish carried on the wind, people went scuttling for the shelter of their cellars. The orcs and Uruks in the area didn’t tend to bother your remote little community because they knew you had little to offer, but still, being caught in the crossfire was a frighteningly real possibility.

Although it was better to gather plants in the morning, when they were still hydrated and fresh, you had been out in the meadow in the late afternoon light, gathering chamomile both for tea and for (separate) use in medicinal poultices when the first orcs had climbed the ridge on the outskirts of town and your heart had stopped beating. Instantly, you dropped into the long grass, crouching low and holding your breath. As they spilled down the steep incline towards the curving, shallow river, you saw with plunging horror that their skin was not the green of the orcs who lived in relative peace at the nearby stronghold, but the dark, bruised looking, purplish-brown of Uruk-hai. This was a true war band then, and they roared down the hill like a tide of locusts, their hooked scythe-blades held high, their harsh, rough voices yelling in their own language.

You prayed in silent whispers to every deity you’d ever even remotely heard of and hunkered down as low as you could get like a leveret in long grass.

The first group that thundered past were few in number, bloodied and battered. They were the clear losers of the fight; driven to fleeing by the stronger horde following on behind. As you hunkered down in the sussurating grasses, heart in your mouth, praying that none of them would see you as they thundered on towards the trees to the north west of the village, you saw the second band clear the ridge, and almost passed out with fear.

Numbering easily twenty five in strength, they raged on, relentless, yelling and snarling. They caught up with a straggler who had been hobbling desperately on a nastily wounded leg, and simply cut him down, hamstringing him and moving on in an inexorable tide of muscle and leather, white and blue war paint, blood and steel.

You stayed still in the fallow pasture for a long time, letting the sounds of pursuit fade into the woods before you stood shakily and looked around. The meadow had been trampled in a wide swathe at their passing, their black blood staining it in places. The corpse of the one who had not made it just lay there like a felled tree, cooling in the late afternoon sun.

Your eyes drifted away from the sight of the corpse towards the woods, and your heart leapt into your mouth when you saw a figure at the very edge of the trees, leaning against the thick trunk of an ash tree. He was one of the largest Uruks that you’d ever seen, larger by far than any of the passing horde, but as you stared at him, you saw him sway and then stagger off into the shadows of the forest, clutching at his middle and limping badly.

He was wounded, and severely.

As the village’s healer, you felt the instinctive tug to help him, to ease his pain, but this wasn’t just another member of your community in need of aid - this was a violent, vicious Uruk-hai. They were best left well alone unless you wanted to risk being captured and taken as a human slave to one of their awful camps, or passed around for their pleasure. You shuddered at the thought and looked away from the gap in the trees where he had been.

Turning your back on the meadow, you picked up your basket in trembling fingers and walked back to your simple cottage on the outskirts of the collection of brick and wooden houses. People were beginning to emerge again now that the immediate danger had passed, and you looked up to see a familiar bay centaur trotting quickly towards you with a mix of worry and relief on his handsome face.

“Gil,” you smiled, pausing and waiting for him to catch up to you. “You alright?”

“Are you?” he asked, his dark eyes wide. “Fuck, I was so worried about you. I saw you going out into the meadow earlier, and then when I saw all those Uruks pouring down the hill and into the woods… I thought for sure you’d have been cut down or trampled, or… or…” his lip trembled and he surged forwards and threw his arms around you, picking you up and hugging you so tightly that your ribs creaked. “I thought they might have taken you…”

“I’m fine,” you wheezed with your face pressed against his softly-rumpled linen shirt. “Gil, put me down… I can’t breathe…”

Apologising, he set you back down and stepped back, his large hooves clopping on the cobbles of the village street, his one white sock dancing in the daylight.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “You want to come back for a cup of tea?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to go and help Martha with the waterwheel. A big old branch has got jammed in the mechanism and she needs me to help haul it free. I’ll stop by later though?”

You nodded and he smiled once before trotting off to help the miller. Gil was a good soul, and you’d known him all your life. He’d asked you out back when the pair of you had been about sixteen, but it hadn’t lasted long, and you’d mutually fallen back into a deeply affectionate friendship after only a few months.

Alone in your cottage, preparing the chamomile flowers for drying, you focused on the task in hand, fingers delicately pinching the stems off, but the figure in the trees kept haunting you like some kind of malevolent spirit, its purpose unfulfilled. Over and over, you replayed that moment when he’d gone from staring directly at you to lurching out of sight between the trees. Would he be dead by now? Would he have bled out? Would some other Uruk have found him and gutted him? Would the rival band have captured him and dragged him away to do dreadful things to him?

You’d heard the jongleurs’ tales of Uruks who butchered their enemies and displayed them as grisly decoration on their spiked palisade walls while they died in agony, pinned like living specimens in a necromancer’s collection for their last few hours… Fighting off a wave of nausea, you gritted your teeth and snatched up your healer’s bag which contained bandages, dressings, salves, ointments for cleaning, and needle and silk for stitching. Taking a bottle of boiled water from the table on your way out, you slammed the door behind you and strode off into the early evening light.

It didn't take you long to cross the meadow and slip into the trees. Listening you fell still, straining your ears to pick up the sounds of… of what? Enemies between the trees? As if there would be any other Uruks here now.

The ash tree was smeared with a lot of black Uruk blood, and it didn’t take an expert tracker to follow the trail to a deep hollow where a massive tree had been ripped out of the ground by a storm, leaving its roots standing up in a disc as high as a single-storey house. At the bottom of the deep divot in the earth lay the Uruk.

One hand rested on his stomach which glistened with black blood, a deep gash in the material of his armour showing his bruised purple skin beneath and the extent of his grave injuries. ‘Grave’ might have been the operative word; you couldn't see his chest rising and falling, and his eyes were closed.

Terrified, heart in your mouth, you stepped down into the leaf-littered hollow and nudged him in the thigh with the toe of one boot.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you knelt beside him and placed your fingertips on his thick, dirt-smeared neck. His eyelids flickered and you nearly recoiled in surprise when he grunted. His tusks weren’t as big as those of the Uruks’ green-skinned cousins, but they were thick and filed to a treacherously sharp point. Uruks fought like the wargs they rode, not afraid to latch their jaws onto their prey and tear them to pieces if deprived of a weapon. Some even favoured that method of ending their enemies’ lives, if the tales were to be believed. And here, beneath your tentative fingertips, was just one such creature.

“You’re hurt,” you said stupidly, and he just blinked at you. His eyelids were barely open more than a crack, and his breath came in minuscule, shallow gasps. With a deep inhale for courage, you reached for your bag and then began to unbuckle his thick, leather jerkin, lifting it away from the sticky black of his half-clotted wound. You knew that Uruks healed quicker than almost all other creatures, not counting those whose magic allowed for rapid regeneration, but even so, this was a terrible injury.

He snarled softly at you but didn’t even have the strength to swat you off him.

“Keep still,” you snapped in a hoarse whisper.

His face was bruised and swollen, with a cut on his chin and another on his forehead, but they were superficial and had already scabbed over. Behind the swelling, you could see strong bone-structure, thick brows framing a face that was monumental rather than handsome, as if carved by ancient masons with no care for subtle detail. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail which was full of bits of leaves and sticky black blood. He was filthy and he smelled revolting.

You treated the wound in his torso, cleaning it and ignoring his growled curses in the Uruk dialect of orcish. You knew enough orcish from trading with the clan to the south to recognise that you were the subject of his complaints, but you couldn’t decipher any more of his thick, guttural speech than that. Using what little orcish you knew, you snarled at him to stop making your job harder, and, to your surprise, he fell still.

He relaxed so suddenly that you thought for a horrible moment that he’d died, but when you looked into his face, you found a new expression sitting there behind the perpetual, heavy-browed scowl. Whatever it was, it was unreadable, but it was better than open hostility.

“That’s better,” you said, tying off the last stitch. “Now, how many other leaks have I got to plug before you bleed out here?”

He twitched his right leg and you looked down and saw a broken-off arrow sunk into his thigh.

“Really?” you exclaimed when you saw it. “You snapped it off? Do you know how stupid that is?”

The growl that rumbled from him was like that of a colossal wolf, but he quickly silenced himself when you grabbed a pair of small pliers that you had knocking around the bottom of the bag, wiped them with alcohol, and set about extracting the barbed arrowhead from his thigh. Field medicine didn’t exactly call for finesse, especially when dealing with an Uruk. They were tough bastards, as he had already proved.

He passed out shortly before it was free, and you stitched that up as well before sitting back on your heels, rinsing your hands in a little of the water that was left, and staring at him. “Now what?” you mused aloud. You hadn’t really thought this through at all; it was all very well patching him up, but this was hardly the clean, sterile environment conducive to healing. It was a filthy, bloodstained forest floor crawling with bugs and gods-knew-what else. There was an old forester’s cabin that had been derelict for years, but it was easily half a mile from where the Uruk had fallen and you couldn’t even drag someone his size and weight an inch, let alone that distance.

Just as you had thought about leaving him there and returning to the village to see if Gil would help you - a stupid idea if ever you’d had one - the undergrowth moved and out of the fading light stepped a colossal warg. Its eyes glowed red in the shadows, but instead of being the usual brown or black, this one’s pelt was a pale, smoky grey, all tangled and matted.

It was carrying one front paw up, clearly in pain, and its ears were folded back flat against its head. From its snarling maw, saliva dripped onto the brambles and old leaves, and you sat there with your joints seized in terror, more frightened than you had ever been in your entire life. You’d never seen a warg, though the same tales which told of the Uruks’ bloodlust and cruelty spoke of the voracious wolf-like beasts that they rode like chargers into battle. You’d not seen any wargs with the war-band earlier and had no idea if this one belonged to the Uruk on the ground or to someone else. Had the scent of his wounds drawn the hunter?

“Please don’t be a wild one,” you murmured aloud.

At the sound of your voice, it seemed to relax a little, limped a little closer, and snuffed at the Uruk in front of you. Then it looked back at you, snarling more gently now.

“Is he yours?” you asked. “You’re hurt too, aren’t you?” you added, seeing that talking to it had seemed to reassure it. It looked like a hyena crossed with a white wolf, with huge, muscular shoulders and a thick, heavy muzzle, but with the more agile body and thick, flowing pelt and tail of a wolf. “You want me to take a look at you?” you offered, holding out your palm. “Come here…”

The warg seemed to know that command, spoken in orcish, and it hobbled over. You pushed the fur back to see that it had clearly been licking it, and in so doing it had kept the gash free of gunk and debris from the forest. You poured some clean water onto the last of your scraps of clean cloth and held your hand out to the warg again.

The creature reluctantly let you take the heavy paw in your palm and you dabbed it clean. It growled, but let you continue, even when you flinched. The weight of the paw was frightening enough, but it was large as a dinner plate and each pad ended in a vicious looking black claw.

“What the hell am I doing?” you asked yourself at one point, halfway through tying the bandage around the warg’s lower leg, just above the paw itself.

From beside you, the Uruk stirred and turned his head to watch you. He asked something in his thick dialect and you frowned. “I don’t understand you,” you said gently.

He let out a soft grunt of frustration and the warg turned and started licking his face.

“Is he yours?” you asked, having checked and discovered that the warg was male. The Uruk groaned and tried to swat the warg off him, but he gasped as he raised his arm, and let it fall back almost immediately. “Easy,” you crooned, shuffling closer. “Hey, come on now,” you said to the warg. “Give him a chance, ok?”

The warg sat down heavily on his haunches and stared at you with what you could only assume was a sullen look in his red eyes. He was as big as a pony and about as strong and hairy as a bear, and as you made the comparison between him and a bear, you turned back to the Uruk and said in tentative orcish, “Hey, so… listen, would your warg be able to drag you, say… half a mile or so?”

For a moment you thought you’d said something wrong, but the Uruk blinked and nodded. He seemed so weak and you wondered briefly if the weapons had been poisoned somehow. They didn’t seem to be suppurating or anything though, and he had lost an awful lot of blood before you’d found him.

The injured Uruk spoke to the warg and the creature snuffed in a decidedly disgruntled manner, but he latched his jaws around the collar of the orc’s armour and looked at you expectantly.

Standing and grabbing the medical bag, you took a deep breath and said, “Come on.”

It took forever, with the warg yanking and dragging the Uruk along. It might have been an amusing sight were it not for the fatigue that was greying the edges of your vision and for the fact that the Uruk himself was so gravely wounded. Eventually the cabin drew into sight and you pulled open the door and stepped inside. It smelled a bit damp, but it didn’t seem as though anything had taken up residence - or worse, expired - in there; it was just a little leaf-strewn and musty. The modest stone hearth sat cold and empty, the chimney was probably blocked, and there was no bed for him to lie on - no furniture at all - but the warg dragged him in and dumped him in the centre of the room.

When he looked up at you, seeming very pleased with himself, the warg wagged softly and you approached him and petted his shoulder without realising quite what you were doing. “Well done,” you crooned.

The Uruk had unsurprisingly passed out again and you knelt by his side, inspecting the bandages carefully. No blood had seeped through, so - somehow - he’d not split his stitches on the rough journey over. Trying not to congratulate yourself too much, given that Uruks were exceptionally tough creatures and that most of the credit was probably his for being almost indestructible, rather than yours for your deft needlework, you straightened and reached hesitantly for the warg’s head again. As you scratched behind his ear this time, he wagged his fluffy tail and leaned into the touch. “Good boy,” you said. “Thank you for your help.”

It was now full dark, and an owl’s harsh shriek outside startled you, the sudden movement making the warg growl.

“I need to get home,” you said, suddenly remembering that you’d promised Gil that cup of tea earlier. If he came round to your house and hadn’t found you, would he have worried? Would he have looked for you? With Uruks in the area, would he assume you’d been taken after all?

You turned to look at the Uruk and found that he had come to and was staring at you. His eyes were a dark gold, ringed with a coppery tone, and they stared at you with an intensity that made your heartbeat falter. He looked so angry. Kneeling beside him and trying to conjure a bit of courage, you pressed your hand very gently against the most severe of his injuries which made him hiss but drove the point home well enough. “You stay still, alright? I’ll come back tomorrow with something for you to eat, and to check on you. I’ve left a waterskin here for you if you get thirsty,” you added as you pressed it against his knuckly fingers.

He snarled something at you and you frowned. You’d caught the orcish word for ‘die’, but nothing else.

“Hey, you’re not going to die, alright?” you said firmly. “You’re my patient now, and I don’t let my patients die. You’re not allowed to die, you hear me?” and you looked up at the warg to add, “Don’t you let him, alright?”

The creature didn’t understand the words, but he caught the intensity of your tone, and he curled up beside the orc, whining softly.

“You keep him warm til I can get a fire going in that grate,” you added and then left them alone to return to the village.

Outside your house, you found Gil pacing up and down, iron shoes ringing on the cobblestones. When he saw you, his eyes went wide and he stared at the black blood that you’d managed to smear on your linen shirt.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, gaze fixed on the stains. “What happened? Where were you? I came over after I left Martha’s, but you weren’t here, and… is that… Uruk blood?”

“Long story,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside. “Lemme clean up and put the kettle on and I’ll… I’ll tell you everything. But you must promise not to tell a soul, alright?”

Gil’s dark eyes narrowed but he nodded and stooped to follow you inside.

Finally, with a cup of tea cradled in your hands, you sat on the floor beside Gil who had lowered himself down onto the floorboards beside the fire, and told him everything that had happened.

“You’re insane,” he said. “You’d actually help one of those monsters?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t just leave him there. I had to know if he was alive, and if he was, I couldn’t just let him die without trying to help him.” Anxiety flared as the silence stretched between you and you looked up at him. “Are you really angry with me?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. I’m just… stunned, I guess.” He laughed and stretched. “You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids, you know that?” he said. When you scowled, puzzled, he chuckled, “Remember that adder you found under a rock?”

“The one with the crushed tail,” you smiled. “Yeah… that was a mean son of a bitch, but I nursed it back to health and somehow avoided getting bitten by it…”

“I just hope you don’t get hurt this time.”

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

He shook his shaggy dark head and said, “Bit late for that, what with bossing a feral warg around and sticking needles in an Uruk-hai…”

With a grin you said, “Well, things just get so dull around here, Gil…”

He rolled his eyes. “I should get going, but… please be careful won’t you? I’m going to worry myself sick about you going out there tomorrow…”

When you did return to the abandoned hut, you found the wounded Uruk sitting up, resting his back against the body of the warg whose growls filled the otherwise empty hut as you approached. “Hey, it’s just me,” you said, hanging back in the doorway. “Remember?”

The orc muttered something and waved a hand slightly as if swatting away a fly, and the warg fell silent.

“Alright to come in?” you asked in tentative orcish, and the Uruk nodded. His eyes were brighter and his focus seemed sharper now. “You’re looking better,” you commented as you stepped inside and closed the door again.

He nodded.

In an attempt to make conversation while you laid and lit the fire, you asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Killuc.” It even sounded like the right kind of name for an Uruk. A moment later, he licked his dry lips and tilted his head slightly. “You?”

When you breathed your name, voice surprisingly thin with anxiety, staring at him over your shoulder as you set the last of the small bundle of firewood onto the top, he repeated it almost reverently and you smiled. “And what’s your warg called?”

He looked askance at the warg, who had laid his muzzle back down on the chilly floorboards and was watching you work the flint striker in your fingers with his steady, red gaze. “Ghâsh. It means ‘fire’ in Uruk.”

“For his eyes?” you asked and Killuc nodded.

As the coils of dry kindling caught fire and the smaller sticks around them began to crackle and spit, Ghâsh raised his head and you caught the soft thump of his tail on the floor. He wasn’t a pretty animal, but behind the thuggish face and frankly enormous teeth, you could see a playful, intelligent, and curious creature.

When you looked back at Killuc, he was staring at you, eyes glowing too in the firelight, and yet again you were forced to admit to yourself that the rough-hewn beauty of his face wasn’t entirely unattractive. You’d been drawn to orcs before, when you’d visited the neighbouring clan for trade, and they’d seemed more than interested in you for some reason, but the scrutiny and obvious interest in his face left you more flustered than you’d ever been around his kind. Well, not that the green-skinned orcs were really quite the same as their more brutal, war-mongering cousins, but still.

Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath and then suggested that you take a look at the wounds and change the dressings. With a wry smile that made your heart’s rhythm falter for a second, he nodded. “Is that alright?” you asked and again, he nodded. “Man of few words, eh?” you snorted, more to yourself than to him. “Suppose if I’d been gutted like a fish I wouldn’t feel too chatty either.”

He surprised you by grabbing hold of your wrist as you passed to fetch your bag and staring up at you. Now genuinely frightened, you turned to look down at him and he released you the instant he saw your expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…” his gaze fell to his lap. “I don’t know how to talk to a human.”

“It’s alright,” you said shakily and stepped away. His strength as he’d squeezed your comparatively fragile, breakable wrist in his fingers had been prodigious. The skin of his hand had been tough and leathery, with hard, smooth calluses from years of weapons training, but the way his grip had faltered when he saw your face had spoken of a kinder creature underneath the brutality.

Returning to him, you watched as he let his hands fall softly to his sides, palms up, showing that he meant you no harm. He even turned his face away slightly. The smell coming off him was… well, it was definitely enough to make you think less favourable thoughts about him, and when he saw your new expression, he growled, “What?”

“You need a bath,” you said, aiming for stern though it came out with a slight squeak.

“You going to wash me too then?” he grinned.

For that, you smacked him on the chest with the back of your hand and he laughed before you could panic about assaulting an orc. Not that you’d hit him very hard.

His blood-encrusted shirt was crispy beneath the slashed, studded leather jerkin which creaked as you opened it up. Removing the bandages, you saw that the wound was healing nicely, with no inflammation or heat to the site. He sucked in a sharp breath as your fingertips curiously brushed his thick, purplish-brown skin around the wound and you watched his muscles clench impressively in his torso. “Did that hurt?” you asked.

Killuc scoffed dismissively and rolled his eyes. “As if you could hurt me,” he laughed but very abruptly cut off with a grunt as you pressed your thumb into the bandages of the arrow wound on his thigh. When you cocked an eyebrow at him, he laughed heartily. Uruks didn’t make much sense, but his body relaxed after that and he let you do what you needed to without complaint in order to change the bandages. That done, and with the fire roaring and filling the hut with warmth, you rinsed your hands off and dried them.

“Here,” you said, just as his eyelids began to close and his head to nod with exhaustion.

When he discovered that you were kneeling beside him again, just below his eye level, he blinked and brought up one hand gently to cup your jaw in his vast palm. He ran his thumb over your cheekbone and smiled. His sharp tusks glinted in the firelight and his eyes had a brightness to them that hadn’t been there the day before. The sight of it warmed you more than the flames did, and he smiled slightly.

“Here,” you repeated, pushing a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread into his lap and unfolding the fabric. Beside it you placed a couple of cured sausages and a hunk of cheese. “You should eat something.”

Killuc’s stomach growled comically and the warg, who had been watching your exchange with his steady, red eyes pricked up his ears and snuffed surreptitiously at the edge of the napkin, as if he had any hope of stealing a sausage without Killuc noticing.

You reached across Killuc’s lap and patted the warg on the head before announcing, “I brought something for you too.” As you held up a cony that you’d nicked from one of Thomas’ traps in the forest for him, he whimpered and wiggled free from behind the Uruk. Killuc grunted as he braced himself on his right arm at the sudden loss of the support, and you tossed the rabbit on the floor before the warg could chomp your whole arm off in his enthusiasm for the meat. It was little more than a snack for the warg, but it was better than nothing. You also hoped that the village’s hunter, Thomas, wouldn’t notice that his trap had been reset without bait.

Killuc was staring at you with his eyes wide and a slightly slack-jawed expression on his face.

“What?”

He shook his head and returned his attention to the food in front of him. He ate as voraciously as the warg did, though without the bone-cracking abandon with which the warg crunched his rabbit down. Your stomach rolled unpleasantly and you headed for the door.

“Look,” you said, pausing there and resting one hand on the door frame. “I reckon you’ll be good to move around tomorrow. I’d suggest not coming to the village though. Head north, find your people, and… don’t come back here.”

His expression hardened from soft and gentle to something unreadable and he ground his heavy jaw. Finally he grunted, “Yes.”

Without another word, you gathered your bag from the floor and opened the door. Ghâsh looked from you to the Uruk and back again, and then let out a long, low, heartbreaking whine. “Sorry pup,” you grinned. “You can’t stay here.”

Just as you stepped outside, you heard a grunt and a rustle and found that Killuc had levered himself to his feet and was making his ill-advised and faltering way over to you.

It was the first time you’d seen him standing since your brief glimpse of him at the edge of the forest, and you felt the blood drain from your face as he loomed over you. Leaning on the wall beside the door for support, he reached for you again and tilted your chin upwards with the very tip of his index finger.

“Thank… you,” he said in broken, hesitant common speech.

You had been on the point of saying ‘you’re welcome’ when something else entirely just fell out of your mouth. “You still smell horrible,” you grinned at him, still speaking common.

“You didn’t wash me,” he said, switching to orcish.

“Dream on, big guy,” you said, turning away. “There are some springs just up the hill from here,” you added. “I’m sure you can manage. Tomorrow though… let them heal up a bit more first.” The thought of him without clothes on was making you hot all over and you knew you’d have to get away before you said something you genuinely regretted. A quiet little village was no place for an Uruk-hai and his war-fluffball.

You’d gone no further than the edge of the little clearing when the patter of paws on leaf-litter behind you made you turn around and you saw that Ghâsh had wriggled free of Killuc’s grasp and had bounded across to you. He now blocked your path, lowering his head and growling. You weren’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t attack, but, squaring your shoulders, you stared him straight in the eye. “Stop that,” you said. “You know I can’t stay, and neither can you.”

He growled louder and you heard Killuc snarl something at him from the hut which had absolutely no effect whatsoever on the slathering warg.

You jabbed your finger back at Killuc and spoke to the warg in a firm, quiet voice, “Get out of the way. Go back.”

The warg’s ears swivelled to lie flat against his head and he licked his chops once before his tail sank between his legs and he whined pathetically. Raising your eyebrows silently, you twitched your pointing arm again, and he slunk away, dejected and defeated.

Letting out a private breath of relief before turning to look at them, the waves of adrenaline started to wash out of you to leave you weak and shaky. When you mustered the courage to look back, you found Killuc scratching Ghâsh behind his ears in a gesture of commiseration, and you waved once. Killuc nodded and then backed into the shadows of the hut, closing the door behind him.

It was impossible to return to normal again once you got back to the village.

You tried, and for a week you stubbornly refused to dwell on the harsh, statuesque plains of Killuc’s body, on the rich, bruised-plum colour of his skin, the vivid gold of his eyes or the gentle power of his enormous, battle-scarred hands. You refused… No. You didn’t. You spent every night that week with only your hand to occupy your body and only the memory of him to occupy your mind. It was a miserable torment, but you knew you’d get over your little obsession soon enough. You had to. He was an Uruk-hai for goodness’ sake. If you came harder than you’d ever come before, with his name on your lips and the feeling of his touch in your mind, it was just a coincidence.

Six days after you’d left Killuc and Ghâsh in the woods, you woke to a commotion of screams and shouts in the village.

Dressing hurriedly into practical clothing, you slung your belt on last of all, and the long knife you used for gathering herbs and stripping willow bark from the trees down by the millpond slapped reassuringly against your thigh in its leather sheath. You flung open the door and immediately discovered the source of the panic.

The urge to shut the door instantly and bolt out of the back was overwhelming.

Six towering Uruk-hai were standing just up the road in the centre of the village, and one had a small faun, Hazel, dangling in limp terror from their grip. You didn’t recognise any of them as Killuc, and wondered vaguely if he knew them. They didn’t have the look of the losing side about them.

Sucking in a deep breath for courage, you marched down the road towards the square where the village well sat at the centre of the space used for selling goods once a week. You’d barely gone ten steps down the cobbles when you heard iron shoes clattering and Gil shot out and grabbed you, yanking you into the shadows between two houses. “What are you doing?” he hissed in a half-whinny.

“They’ve got Hazel,” you snarled back at him, twisting your hand free. “I can’t just let them kill her!”

“They’ll kill you if you go near them!” he insisted, looking like he might try to grab at you again to hold you back.

Before he could lunge at you again, you ran for it like a rabbit bolting from one hole to another while a fox waited in the grass. “Stop!” you yelled, thinking about pulling your belt knife on them, but at the sight of their cruel, curved weapons, you decided it would only amuse them. “Let her go!”

“Or what?” the female holding the faun sneered, dropping Hazel onto the flagstones at her feet. The baker’s apprentice scrabbled frantically to get away, but a second Uruk stepped forward and trod on her stomach, pinning her down with just enough force to keep her winded without breaking her ribcage.

“Let. Her. Go,” you said as fiercely as you could, fists balled at your sides.

The female just laughed again and shoved you hard in the chest with so little effort that it might have been funny under different circumstances. As it was, the gesture sent you sprawling and you landed heavily on your backside, winded. “Pathetic,” she chuckled.

Anger and hurt boiled up in you and you glanced over at Hazel, who lay there, paralysed with terror beneath the iron boot of the Uruk, staring wide-eyed at you. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be like Killuc,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you tried to stand up again.

“What did you say?” a third, slightly smaller Uruk demanded, grabbing you by the collar just as you righted yourself and ramming you back into the wooden strut of the well behind you with the force of a charging warhorse. The whole mechanism rocked, the bucket swinging wildly as you collided with the wooden frame and the breath was knocked from your lungs again.

Stunned and blinking stupidly, you just wheezed, “Killuc…” but you couldn’t get any more out. The orc’s grip had shifted to your throat and he was tightening it. He stank of rotting fish and his teeth were vile, breath unspeakable. He cracked you across the cheek with a fist and you tasted blood.

Without warning, a roar rent the air from a little way back and your eyes travelled vaguely towards the grassy meadow beyond the village. All the Uruks froze and a second later, through blurring vision, you saw a streak of grey dart across the field towards you. Following behind was a darker figure but you couldn’t make much out at that distance and with your airways choked off.

The Uruk holding you released you with a snarl and you crumpled, knees buckling beneath you. The white streak was Ghâsh, and he had launched himself at your aggressor, flying at his arm and pinning him to the ground, snarling and gnashing his jaws shut repeatedly in the Uruk’s face. The Uruk fell still instantly.

Walking slowly, deliberately, unhurriedly across the meadow was a dark, towering figure. His hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail, his leather jerkin was slashed and bloodied, but there was no trace of a limp or falter in his steps now. Killuc paced like a wolf himself towards the others and they all swallowed hesitantly, adjusting their weight slightly and shuffling.

One of the onlookers gathered at the edges of the square, a half-dryad, darted forwards and scooped Hazel up, helping her back and when Gil moved to do the same for you, you shook your head, holding up a hand.

“What?” he mouthed incredulously.

“Just wait,” you whispered and he looked at you as if you’d suffered a serious concussion and weren’t talking properly. Perhaps you had…

Just as Killuc joined the group, the female grunted something in the Uruk dialect and made a grab for you again, as if planning to hoist you up like a war trophy. In fact, he didn’t so much as join it as ram into it with another primal roar. He wrenched the female off you before she could get a good hold and snarled something at her in their language that you understood through tone rather than translation. He was livid, shouting at her until she backed off, smacking his hand off her with a belligerent and petulant swipe of her forearm and stepping away.

When he was satisfied, he turned to you and you tried not to shrink back from him. You did flinch, and he swallowed thickly, hesitating as he offered you his hand to help you to your feet again. Feeling braver than you probably looked, you accepted it and he tugged you gently upwards, steadying you when you swayed. His fingertips came to your cheekbone, where the smaller male had hit you, and a low, earthy growl rumbled from his throat. It was a sound you expected to hear more from Ghâsh than him, but you didn’t mind in the least.

The female stepped forward and spat one more sentence at you in Uruk and Killuc flipped. He turned and backfisted her, sending her reeling, and let out another string of thick, impenetrable orcish curses at her.

At the light pressure of your hands on his arm, Killuc stilled immediately, falling silent and turning back to you. “Enough,” you murmured. “I don’t care what she said, but take your warriors and get out of here. And don’t come back.”

His flattened nostrils flared at your words, expression faltering slightly, but he nodded grimly. “You will not see any Uruk-hai again,” he said gruffly. “This village is not to be touched.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You have the authority to do that?” you asked.

He nodded. “I am their warchief. My word is law. Anyone who sets foot in this village without my permission will lose that leg.”

“Right,” you said shakily. “Sure. Ok…” You took a slow inhale and then said, “Well… thank you. And Ghâsh too,” you added, glancing at the warg who still had the unfortunate Uruk pinned beneath his paws.

Killuc roared something at the other Uruks and they finally slouched away towards the meadow and away from the buildings of the village. Ghâsh stayed put and stared at you as if he expected you to be coming along, and when Killuc whistled at him, he yipped and snarled, dancing on the spot. Killuc did not ask him again, and instead kept walking.

You approached the warg and scratched him under the chin, even as he head-butted you gently, wagging pathetically. Pushing him away, you felt a lump forming in your throat, and he whined in complaint before realising how far the others had gone. With a final snap of his jaws that carried no threat, merely frustration, Ghâsh bounded away faster than a galloping centaur. He barrelled straight into Killuc from behind and knocked him flat, at which the Uruks all laughed. Killuc staggered to his feet, swiped playfully at the warg with a fist, shoved the small male into a broad patch of stinging nettles, and stumped off with his head down.

His was a world of belligerence and uncertainty, his subjects volatile and tough as old boots - that he’d healed almost completely in a week was astonishing - and he did not belong with you. Fantasies were one thing, but seeing him there in the midst of the clean and tidy cottages, with his blood-spattered fighting leathers and his colossal war beast, had reinforced that. You glanced at Gil who stood nearby, still staring at you with a strange look on his face, and you turned away from the sight of the dwindling figures.

“You alright?” he asked as you joined him. You glanced at Hazel who was still shivering in the arms of the half-dryad as she let herself be led away.

With a nod, you said, “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“That was so dumb,” he blurted. “You could have been killed…”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t. Hazel’s fine, and they’re not coming back, so I’d chalk it up as a victory.”

His gentle brown eyes surveyed you for a moment longer and he said, “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” you said, managing a weak smile. “Thanks though.”

He nodded and let you go back to your cottage at the edge of the village to mull things over. You couldn’t shake Killuc’s roar from your mind. It had been like no beast you’d ever heard, thundering in your ribcage and ripping through you with the power of a mid-summer storm. And Ghâsh too had leapt to protect you. “Stop it,” you snarled, slamming your front door behind you. “He’s a bloody Uruk-hai for goodness’ sake.”

To take your mind off recent events, you threw yourself into village life. Another week later, as the harvest festival was approaching, you helped out at the inn when a delivery of casks came, helping Skalen heave them inside and down into his cellar, and you were rewarded for your efforts by the dwarf with a huge tankard of slightly lively ale. The next day, however, your joints and muscles were aching all over and regretting the physical work just a little bit.

“Go up to the hot spring,” Gil suggested. “You should have just asked me to help unload them, you know?”

“I know, I know,” you said, thumping his withers affectionately. “Mr. Big Muscles.”

“I’m not showing off,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I’m just…”

“Bigger than me. I know,” you laughed. “Fine, I’ll go. You want to come too?”

He smiled. “Sure. You want a ride?”

Gil had let you sit on his back only a few times, and it was a mark of just how close you were to him that he had even suggested it in the first place. You nodded your grateful thanks and said, “Let me just grab a change of clothes.”

“I’ll meet you at your door in a minute then.”

At roughly sixteen hands high, Gil was not a small centaur, and he had to swing you up onto his back. You landed awkwardly and apologised, shuffling until you got settled. Riding a centaur without a saddle was hardly comfortable, but the only centaurs who ever allowed someone to ride them in harness or tack were the elite Kingsguards and the swift, light-boned centaurs of the messenger corps. They had one rider, one partner, and it was almost a sacred arrangement between them. This was something much more relaxed and friendly, and you let the syncopated rhythm of his four-beat walk lull you. Naturally they drifted to a mountain of dark skin and a pair of blazing gold eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked as he crossed the meadow and began to climb the hill towards the ridge where the mineral springs bubbled up through the rock and created three steaming pools of blissfully hot water.

“You don’t want to hear them really,” you said after a moment.

Gil laughed, stepping over a fallen branch. “You’re thinking about your four hundred pound Uruk hai saviour?”

“How’d you guess?” you said flatly, resting your forehead on Gil’s broad back for a moment. “I can’t get him out of my head.”

“Your knight in filthy leathers?” he pressed and you thumped him gently with a closed fist. “Got to say, I’ve never heard of an Uruk getting involved with someone of another species like that. I know of orcs up at the stronghold who have taken humans as their partners, but it’s rare for Uruks to give a crap about anything other than running someone else through with their sword or sinking their tusks into someone’s throat, you know?”

You shuddered, recalling the power of his grasp, and the lethal point on his tusks.

“Sorry,” Gil muttered. “Hold on,” and he scrambled up the steepest point of the slope and emerged at the top, barely winded.

However, once he crested the rise, he froze.

“Gil?” you chirped, leaning forwards.

“Uhh…” he said and you felt his flank twitch nervously. He was clearly fighting his flight reflex hard.

“What is it?”

He shifted slightly and the view of the three steaming pools swung into view. You were not alone, and, to your immense surprise, the Uruk who had just stood up from the water was not only Killuc, but he was completely stark fucking naked.

Gil glanced back over his shoulder at you and hissed, “I thought you said he wasn’t welcome back here.”

Through gritted teeth, you replied, “I told him that he couldn't come to the village. I didn’t say he couldn’t bathe.”

“You want to go?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I want to go,” Gil grumbled.

With a shy laugh, you slid off his back and gave his withers a friendly, grateful pat. “I’m sorry. And I’ll be careful,” you said before he could say it for you.

Shaking his head, he backed off, grumbling about having been looking forward to a nice hot soak. “No way I’m going in there for at least three days now…”

“Oi!” you yelped indignantly at his retreating backside, but he gave no reaction.

Turning back around, you saw that Killuc was still standing there with the water sloshing around his knees. The rest of his body was every bit as beautiful as you’d imagined it would be; all brutal muscles and hard lines, slashed and criss-crossed here and there with scars and marks, and perhaps even a brand on his chest. You winced at that, even as you approached and ditched your bundle of spare clothes in the lea of a huge beech tree nearby.

He rumbled your name and smiled at you.

“You here alone?” you asked in common before remembering that he didn’t really speak it. Dammit, but your orcish really wasn’t that good.

Killuc nodded once.

“Why are you here?”

His grin grew until it was a cheeky, wonky, lopsided smirk. “You told me I needed to bathe.”

“Really?” you snorted. “You really came all the way back here to wash because I told you that you smelled like a midden heap in high summer?”

“That bad?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And now?” he asked. He still hadn’t moved a muscle, just standing there as if he were part of the rocks surrounding the pool. And as if he weren’t completely stark fucking naked.

The springs weren’t the sulfurous kind, but they did smell strongly of minerals, though that had to be better than whatever he’d smelled like before. “Probably much better,” you said, making no move to approach him.

A low-frequency rumble, half-snarl and half-challenge, spilled from him and he took half a step towards you in the water. Your eyes roved down his body, drinking in his muscles and his raw power until you saw that his cock was starting to show some interest too, thickening and occasionally twitching. When he saw you staring, he growled again. “Come here,” he rasped.

You’d just begun to take off your clothes when he lost his patience and splashed through the water to the edge of the pool, ripping the last of your clothes clean off you and letting his hands roam over you with an appreciative growl.

“Careful of those tusks, eh?” you chuckled nervously as they flashed dangerously close to your neck.

“Trust me,” he demanded, his eyes blazing and, despite what he was and what his people were like, you did. You knew he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“You really are the warchief, aren’t you?” you gasped as he gripped your hips with his strong fingers and dug them in hard enough to leave bruises.

Killuc didn’t answer. He picked you up at the waist and you instinctively wrapped your thighs around his hips, letting him carry you to the water. He stepped straight into the hot spring water and set you down on the edge of the rocky pool where thousands of years of deposits had built up around the rim, creating an enamel-smooth lip. He lost no time in putting his mouth on you, using his tongue, sucking, sometimes scraping his front teeth over your most sensitive areas, always careful of his lethal tusks. His hands pressed hard into the muscles of your thighs, pulling you apart to give him better access to you until you thought he was going to tear you in two.

The pleasure of the heat of his mouth, his tongue against you, over you, and sometimes in you, sent heat sparking all across your body and under your skin until your back arched and you yelled that you were close. He didn’t stop. You felt his thick fingers slide inside you and when he crooked them just so and they hit that spot inside you that lit you up, you came with a shout, vision darkening. He kept his mouth on you the whole time, relishing the taste of you as you shuddered and gasped, body convulsing with the force of the orgasm he’d practically ripped from you. His fingers were still inside you as you clenched around him in waves of pleasure.

“I want you,” he finally growled as he drew back and you lay limp and exhausted and sensitive all over. “I want you.”

The idea of him being inside you suddenly seemed like all you’d ever wanted, and you nodded. That seemed to surprise him a little, but once he’d spent a bit more time teasing you, working you, worshipping you, waking you up again and easing you back to him, he picked you up and sank down into the water with you so that he was sitting with his back against the smooth walls of the pool. He lowered you into his lap, facing him, and you felt his hard cock nudge against your entrance. He eased you gently down and you kept your heavy eyelids open just enough to watch his expression as he nudged his huge cock inside you, inch by inch.

As his tip sank into you, you groaned softly and his strong arms shook.

“Please,” you said. His fingers had not been nearly enough. “I’m not going to break, you can -”

Apparently that was all he needed, and he rolled his hips upwards, sinking himself into you right to the hilt. Killuc’s head bowed suddenly and he began to breathe rapidly. “So… So tight,” he grunted, frozen. “I’m…”

“Move,” you demanded, practically baring your teeth at him and grabbing a handful of his long, wet hair, tugging his head back to expose his neck to you.

At the command, he obeyed. The fierce, apparently indestructible warchief of the Uruk-hai bowed to your orders and began to thrust upwards into you. The shape and thickness of his cock was just perfect, and in no time you felt yourself coiling up again. His fingers would leave bruises on your hips for sure, but that only seemed to make it even better. Your hands wandered over his colossal, solid body, over his scars, that warband’s brand on his left pec, feeling the flex and strain of his arms and back and shoulders as he held himself back. Even seemingly lost in the depths of his own pleasure, he had not completely forgotten how dangerous he was. That thought alone was nearly enough to make you come again, and he felt you shuddering, body going limp as you sensed the rising crescendo in you once more.

“Wait,” he snarled. “Don’t… Not until…” and he picked up his pace. Water sloshed around you, and each thrust of his hips became more and more strained, his breath ghosting across your wet skin as he struggled not to lose all control. He began to snarl and grunt, the sounds deep in his throat, and then he hissed something in Uruk just as his rhythm faltered. He bellowed as he released inside you, hips sealed against your body, the warmth of the water caressing your waist as his muscles bunched and his back bowed forwards. He filled you so completely at that angle, and you followed him a second later. He was still breathing like a galloped horse when you had finished, and you stroked his hair as he shuddered violently, gasping, sweat beading on his brow and mingling with the rising steam from the water.

The thought suddenly struck you that it felt as though he’d never allowed himself this kind of closeness with anyone, and perhaps he hadn’t. That was a conversation for another time though. Right now, words were not what he wanted. As if the tenderness of your touch drained him of all his remaining strength and willpower, he slumped against your body, hugging his arms around you and resting his forehead at your collarbones. Killuc’s breathing was harsh and rapid, but the longer he stayed there, the calmer and quieter he got.

Eventually he pulled himself upright, leaning back a little, and looked almost sheepishly into your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” he asked and when you smiled and shook your head dazedly, he seemed to let out a breath of relief.

“We’re not that fragile,” you said. “Humans, I mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, stressing with his tone that there was a difference this time.

You took his anvil of a jaw in your palm and stroked his cheekbone as he had done with yours, and kissed him. It was a gentle, unexpectedly sweet kiss, and he growled softly like a distant thunderstorm or a fireside cat, his golden eyes rolling closed. Killuc’s thick, dark lashes were surprisingly long. You kissed his closed eyes too and another unsteady breath left him, his thick arms tightening around you until you nearly wheezed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, so quietly that you almost missed it.

“You haven’t,” you said. “You never have,” you reassured him.

“You saved my life,” he said. “You nursed me, and then you drove me away…”

“I…” you faltered, leaning back a little too. His arms continued to support you, but he let you draw back. “I thought it was probably best… given that, you know… you’re an Uruk-hai…”

He glowered, dark brows furrowing. “I would not have hurt you. And I’m sorry that they disobeyed my orders. The village was not to be touched. Even before you…”

“I can see that now,” you said. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I hurt you…”

Killuc grinned, the expression spreading slowly across his brutishly beautiful face. He rolled his hips once, his cock just beginning to soften but not enough that he couldn’t still make you moan.

“You smell better now,” you added, cracking a joke.

With a sound like a contented lion, he said, “I smell like you.”

“Exactly; much better.”

Laughing, he lifted you up and dropped you in the middle of the pool of gloriously warm water only for you to come up a moment later, coughing and laughing and cursing him all at the same time.

—

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Shanks | Shanks and S/O your first kiss

The red strands shone with the late afternoon light, becoming redder than usual in that dreary sunset light. His skin was lightly tanned, unshaven, and the smell of sea air that he brought with him came in perfectly with him.

Yes, you liked that. She liked to feel the sea odor embedded in every pore of him, to listen to his wonderful stories mixed with jokes, the way he drank and sang his favorite pirate songs, he loved the chill that ran throughout his body when he brushed his skin. She liked everything about him, even his flaws.

S / O never cared that Shanks was a pirate, or rather a Yonkou. It seemed that the danger and grandeur brought in his name, always tempered by a touch of good humor, excited her in every possible way. It was a dangerous attraction, one that makes you delirious, inventing stories of which many may never be realized. How many times did she find herself imagining rather spicy scenes with the redhead. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be held with one arm or how I would be loved with that little "disability", s/o was just curious.

She was always excited to see the imposing ship approaching the small island of the Grand Line. His village did not have much to offer any visitor, but he always made a point of stopping there, whenever he passed by, [your name] was never silly and hurriedly managed to find him. She combed her hair in a ponytail and wore light clothing since the summer heat is not so unforgiving to you. She never put on a lot of makeup, the most she used was a mascara and a gloss. Soon I was ready to find the said pirate. Before leaving his house, he took a flower and placed it between the hair strands and the ear in the form of an accessory. You were young, you had never left your little world surrounded by seas and creatures that lived hidden in waters so deep. He envied him a little for so many travel experiences, a white envy, he wanted to know at least what the island next door was like if he had the chance.

When walking slowly, you noticed an agitation near the waterfront bar, the spacious ship was standing there and people seemed to celebrate with the arrival of the almost routine visitors. Her eyes lit up when she saw him there, so imposing. In a nostalgic moment, his mind wandered away, he remembered the day he met him ... You were only sixteen years old and you had never seen such a great vessel before, the most you had ever seen were fishing boats. Then he came down the stairs however what caught his attention most was that vibrant red color in his head; you always loved red. After all, it was a warm, intense color and, as he believed, the color that defined destiny.

Before you know it your boss called saying that several customers arrived at the bar where you worked. It was a small bar, slightly dark, and it smelled of alcohol with several voices standing out between each other in laughter. You took a deep breath and entered that old trade when, at last, their eyes met. Those dark irises fixed on your irises | it was like a deep chasm that emanated strange energy. They seemed to be connected by a fine line only in the eye. His boss, a short, balding man with a protruding belly, ordered him to serve his table and three other colleagues. As soon as he reached the table holding the tray where the sake and rum lay, his hands began to shake. He was careful, with a lot of effort, not to get in the way any more and started pouring glass by glass, repeating this same process in all bottles. However, when it reached the last bottle of sake, the tremor made your fingers wobble, consequently almost dropped the alcoholic drink on the pirate. By pure luck and a quick reflex he took the drink, holding you by the hands. His rough and warm skin in contact with yours | your type of hand and skin | it was a comforting shock, funny how they both seemed to fit together perfectly.

He felt his cheeks heat up to a reddish tinge, as much as the hair of the man who wore a warm smile making his heart melt. You hurriedly apologized and disappeared into the kitchen; sometimes he spied this pirate through the doorway. And without realizing it, almost magically, you had managed to approach him. Enough to know his position in that group of pirates and his somewhat exotic name: Shanks. You didn't know how to say it precisely, but something about it attracts you, like a moth is attracted to light. In a few hours I could already feel the closeness between the two of you, in addition to what your trembling had gone through, your heart however continued to beat intensely, I had never felt the blood run so fast in your veins. You could only observe it, it was like a new species never seen before, even among so many other unusual pirates; like the fat guy who loved roasted meat.

A few years after that episode you had grown up, considering yourself much more mature since the first encounter with that man. You will even start wearing makeup. He put on his favorite outfit and tied his hair in the hope of cooling you off, given the high temperature of his home island that made the smaller strands stick to the back of his neck by sweat. You didn't dress up so much to work but seeing that immense ship made you feel immeasurable and unusual, so much so that you even applied your lipstick favorite. As soon as your feet touched the floor of the bar, a few glances were directed at you, although none of them were so interesting that it would hold your attention. He, strangely, was not there, unfortunately. A slight regret and discouragement made their home in his chest, his boss called him for help to serve the tables as usual. She couldn't complain, even without his presence there, her crewmates were just as excited, able to get laughter out of her lips.

Late in the afternoon, Ben Beckman ordered some barrels of drink and bottles of a specific sake. Your boss who suffered severe back pain asked you to help the pirate take the bottles while he took care of the establishment and some who had passed the alcohol quota. That made your animation come back, after all you could see it in its “natural habitat”. Ben Beckman next to you was a big man compared to his height, his body  it was so small and delicate next to him. That man was able to carry large barrels without any problem or effort, unlike you who used a wheelbarrow to carry large quantities of bottles.

Arriving in front of the ship with scarlet and gold details, his legs swayed with such emotion. Beckman asked you to wait outside that soon he would be back to pick up the rest of the bottles, you agreed by sitting a little further back on the soft sand. Got your nails going | the way they are | while waiting. The sun was setting among the clouds as the sky turned orange, the tide was rising a little more than usual and the albatrosses were flying across the sky behind a school of defenseless fish. And in that moment of deconcentration, a slight cough made her turn her face to find that man who always instigated her. That scene, that man receiving the afternoon sun all over his body, filled his eyes with beauty and his body with mild excitement. With a jump you were on your feet wiping off excess sand with your hands.

- What are you doing here [your name]? - He asked surprised.

- Shanks! I came to help Ben with the sake bottles.

 The redhead approached her and the wheelbarrow, he looked at the bottles and took one saying how good that sake was, second only to the one in his homeland. You used to serve it yourself, you were bewildered by the words of that conversation, you didn't know what to say about the quality of the sake since you didn't drink alcohol.

- [Your nickname]! World for [your name] - Called Shanks.

- A-Ah! I'm sorry, could you ask the question again?

- Do you want to drink with me?

In the strength of his impulse and instinct to be a little closer to that man, he accepted the invitation.

-Come, let's sit under those trees, it's cooler!

With your heart in your hands you followed him, sat down together and let him serve you, from a distance you saw Beckman taking the bottles and taking them into the boat. Shanks spoke animatedly to you, sometimes mentioning an adventure or other he had experienced. Alcohol made him lethargic, causing little sobs that made that red-haired pirate laugh and tease his alcoholic inexperience. Within minutes the sun was completely hidden behind the ship.

"Shanks, why didn't you go to the bar this time?" - You asked curiously.

- I had some obligations to resolve. Things I couldn't put off until later.

- I understand...

- Come [your nickname], it's getting late and your boss will be worried.

Shanks held out the hand in which you accepted immediately, without hesitating even a second, even though he had only one arm he had incredible strength that no effort needed to be made to pull you. However, you tripped over your own feet and ended up bumping into that man's body. I could see his defined abdomen against him, the scent of the sea intensified by how close he was and when he touched his muscles he felt how stiff they were. You looked up and saw that manly features that you always loved to admire, so with the shame that was present in a reddish color on your cheeks you whispered an "excuse" and in response you received a smile.

 Shanks's hand came down from his arm to his waist, the feeling of that hand holding him was comforting and he never imagined how incredible that would be. Her mind seemed to lose focus a little, so she looked up again and saw that he was watching her too. Something inside of you started to boil, on impulse you ran your hands over the man's thick neck and slowly approached until your lips touched his; thin, dry lips tasted like sake mixed with salt. You were surprised when the kiss was returned by Shanks, he pulled your waist closer to the strong torso and further deepening the kiss.

When you were finished you slowly opened your eyelids trying to control your heartbeat. He felt his lips were slightly swollen and imagined that the lipstick was smudged because there were also traces of makeup in the redhead's mouth. Panting, her hand came down to Shanks's chest, feeling the heat that his skin emanated. Shanks was looking at you with a smile you've never seen before, so you smiled back and leaned your head against his chest.

- I waited so long for this ...

- I say the same. So I think we better take the delay.

  In the blink of an eye, you were kissed again by Yonkou. The taste of sake accompanied by the sea air, both mixed with the coastal breeze that embraced him, kept them company. You had taken time to take courage, but when you did, you didn't regret it a bit.

[pinkhairedlily]

i'll be with you (but it'll be a different kind)

pairing: yoonkook/yoonjin | rating: G | ao3 read here

a short study on moving on

Yoongi broke the vinyl like he would a plate, a quaint awareness of a disaster but the quick denial of letting it fall – on the floor, in pieces. He swept each shard, vacuumed, and threw them in the bin. He crushed his music sheets and notes, thought better of it, and lit them with a scented candle.

Well, for fuck’s sake, the candle was his gift too.

So Yoongi walked to the collection area at three thirty in the morning, against the gusts of cold November wind, carrying all the evidence of the killer and the remains of its victim. He stood in front of the stack with an impulse to do something. Say a prayer? Curse them? Curse himself and bring them back to his apartment?

Ah, he wasn’t that stupid.

He truly wasn’t.

His stupidity was drained when he decided to fall in love with his roommate and friend that couldn’t be his in this lifetime.

So he came back to his home rid of everything Kim Seokjin owned and touched. Yes, even the bedsheets he washed yesterday.

“The couch it is.” He plopped down to its uncomfortable mattress and was immediately lulled not by the comfort of sleep but by the escape it offered.

He lost track of time in the next days… or probably weeks because the next time he went out for a walk to the mart, he was greeted by imposing Christmas decorations and too tall synthetic trees that wouldn’t look good in apartments that only housed one.

He came back, still alone, but at least joined now with ingredients for proper homemade food. He won’t be lonely on Christmas, not with two bottles of wine, a variety of seafood (which Namjoon hated the most, and Yoongi would order in the largest serving just to spite him), and his good old comfy socks.

He switched on the television to watch Melancholia, a fitting holiday movie in his honest opinion, and turned it up to the highest volume to tune out the looping Christmas carols outside his window and across the hallway where other occupants have rooms over to tide away the lonesome.

It was two thirty and two disaster films later that he heard the ghost of his broken heart.

It was one of the songs he wrote for Jin, the notes not at all the same, but the melody line was correctly embodied. He started up from his drunken stupor on the floor and trudged towards his kitchen sink where he dabbled his face in water.

It wasn’t the alcohol. So it certainly must be the crazy in him… well, until he realized the notes were coming from next door. The walls were thin anyway.

He nonchalantly knocked on the door of his neighbor, not caring at all if it was the devil’s hour, not when the tenant itself did not care about public disturbance.

It opened a crack wide enough for Yoongi to sweep the whole place up in seconds. Tidy floor, unmade bed, three monitors on a desk, neon lights, a christmas tree unabashedly decorated with the most frivolous pieces beside the dining table, and a guitar on top of it.

“Did I wake you?” He was taller than Yoongi, buffer, and very decorated like his Christmas tree. Daith, lobe, and eyebrow piercings, sleeve tattoos on his right arm, and shoulder-length electric blue hair tied in half-ponytail. But what caught his attention the most was the doe eyes that seemed too innocent, but Yoongi was familiar with the pretension that hovered on the surface. This boy knew pain enough to effectively cover it.

“That was my song,” Yoongi said in his usual deadpan delivery. He couldn’t get any cheerier than this.

John Doe perked up (if it could be any more possible). “Ah so you’re the one!” Then his expression immediately shifted to wariness. “Oh wait, you might be offended. I should apologize – “

“Some notes were mismatched, yes. Couldn’t be helped when you learned it by ear.” Yoongi looked at him for confirmation, and John Doe nodded enthusiastically. “But it’s all right. You played the piece so beautifully for someone who did not know it was a love letter.”

The way John Doe changed his smile to a thin line Yoongi knew at once that this was a person who simultaneously wore their heart on a sleeve but chained it before it could truly fall.

“Is it safe to assume the letter’s non-reciprocation when you haven’t played those songs for a month?”

“What else could there be?”

The neighbor bit the inside of his cheeks before answering, “Maybe you just didn’t need love letters anymore?”

Yoongi sighed. “Just keep it down. It’s three in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas?” John Doe’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my manners! Merry Christmas Sir!”

“I don’t believe in Santa Claus. Or Jesus. Or capitalist splurges.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his sweatpants. “I have marinara surplus. Do you want a plate?”

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

When New Year rolled again, Yoongi knocked on his neighbor’s door. He slept with headphones in full volume, god be damned his hearing, on newly bought bedsheets that did not smell of Jin and pillows that did not have a strand of his hair. He really couldn’t turn down John Doe’s question of whether he could still play the cursed song or maybe he was two-bottles-of-wine-disoriented enough to put up a rather good argument why he shouldn’t.

“So will you cover your ears when you go to sleep?” John Doe asked after his second slurping of seafood marinara.

“Why should I?” Meanwhile, Yoongi surfed Netflix for his disaster anxiety fix.

“Try Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.” John Doe finished his plate clean. He let out a burp with an apologetic smile to his temporary Christmas host. “Well, I was wondering if I could still play the song. It’s yours anyway so you have all the rights.”

Yoongi’s eyes glazed over the first few seconds of the film, slightly amused at the insurance agent selling an apocalyptic package. “When music is released to the public, it never becomes the composer’s alone. It is also owned by the listener…and whatever they deem the music to be.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“I just let you eat my food.”

“I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

A beat. “Fine. Min Yoongi.”

But it was a week of listening to ragged notes and misplaced sharps, and his (still) perfectionist ass wanted to right it.

“It’s open,” Jungkook yelled from what Yoongi presumed was his computer chair.

He sauntered inside with measured caution and watched his neighbor tick away in codes on three different screens. Yoongi silently slid the music sheets on a small free space on Jungkook’s desk.

“Software developer?”

“Not really. I’m a solutions specialist, the yes-boy,” Jungkook replied with a smug grin. He hit enter and the lines start to jumble together as he swiveled to face Yoongi. “You re-wrote your notes. You must be a producer or something.”

Yoongi clucks. “Close. A film composer.”

“Do you go to Hollywood?”

“I’m not made for performative limelight. The shadows are bright enough.”

“Cool. I want to make a film someday.”

“You have a day job.”

“Can’t a man have two dreams?”

“Touche. One can never have too many.”

“What’s yours then, Yoongi?”

“Just one but it won’t be mine.”

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

March. Spring coming alive, and for the first time in months, Yoongi genuinely thought he was getting better and over him. Jeon Doe (maybe he’ll always call him this) was a light companion – not imposing, a bit fluttery, but steady in his essence. Perhaps it was the continuous wonder that ebb in his eyes or the utterly soft disregard of pain for something nonchalant.

On the eve of March 1st, he stroked again the keys of his piano, and Jungkook came into his unit and accompanied him with a guitar. It was an improvisation of chaotic notes in Yoongi’s head and by magic, Jungkook floated with that tornado. The contrast and the blend gave way to an unlikely partnership of melody and rhythm.

And on March 1st, Yoongi felt butterflies again when Jungkook joined him on the bench and giddily watched his fingers dance on white and black.

But on the second day of the month, the butterflies were replaced with quicksand.

Kim Seokjin called and wanted to meet. It was funny how in a moment of hesitancy, it was his heart who doubled and his feet that led. Their favorite bar, whiskey on the rocks for Jin, dry scotch for him, and an expanse of silence of between them.

“He’s too busy with production at the moment.” Jin downed his drink in one gulp. Yoongi didn’t even need to ask.

And I’m the only one who’s available. “At the moment is how many months?”

“For three months now.”

“You should break up.” An unsolicited advice Yoongi gave more than twice with not much success.

“If I was a music company, maybe he would do me,” Jin jested, holding the empty glass in his hand. “Should I buy one?”

“Buy his affections as well and monopolize them.” It was a banter Jin was used too and maybe by now, he should have known that Yoongi hid half-truths in them.

“They’re too intense for me alone. He’s always destined for the world.”

What could Yoongi do but surrender at the unspoken request of comfort. “There’s someone who treats you like you’re his whole world.”

“I wish I did too.”

Yoongi never had a sip of his scotch, but Jin’s languid kiss was enough to get drunk on. He lost the flutter and the lightness, and dove headfirst in heavy, steely waters. Yoongi missed the suffocating pressure and the sensation of bursting at the seams. If his heart would burst at this moment, it would shatter a hundred times more for the many touches and whispers to follow. He would gladly die in this misshapen illusion.

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

“Your door was always locked,” Jungkook greeted a month after, carrying a big tub of fermented kimchi. “My dad dropped by to give me spares.”

Two weeks before this, Jin left in a hurry to go to the airport, saying Namjoon had been in an accident, and two weeks after, Yoongi never heard back from him.

He accepted the side dish from his neighbor, but nothing went past Jungkook. Realization was plain in his face, but he chose not to comment on it.

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm.” It was danger meeting Jungkook’s eyes so Yoongi kept his downcast.

“I told you before.”

“What?”

“That I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, and Jungkook took the cue to leave.

He repeated that same line later that night when he heard Yoongi trash his place, his bare arm catching the brunt of a baseball bat just before it landed on the piano keys.

“Why would you go so far?” Yoongi sneered, anger seeping through his controlled demeanor.

“Why would you go so far?” Jungkook cradled his arm like he cradled his pain. Like it was nothing. “It’s the end of the world.”

“I need a friend.”

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

It was easier being with Jungkook – lighter, happier, with no care in the world. He was also honest in a straightforward, unassuming, and endearing way especially when those doe eyes of his were used to an advantage.

When he told Yoongi in the middle of Battle Royale, out of the blue, with no precedence whatsoever that “I don’t want to be just your friend”, it knocked the air out of the latter. And when Jungkook followed it with “You can use me, however you want”, Yoongi knew he had to get things sorted.

Lest he wants Jungkook trapped inside the vortex of unresolved feelings.

So Yoongi didn’t give him a tangible response. He just skidded closer to him on the couch and Jeon Doe took the cue to lay his head on the crook of his neck as another student was slashed to their death on the screen.

When credits rolled in, Yoongi dipped his head and found Jungkook already waiting with bated breath.

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

“Ah, you found me.”

Jin was back in his penthouse in Seoul, alone with no Namjoon in tow.

“Am I a week early?” Yoongi asked.

“I just got in today.” True enough, unopened suitcases littered his living room. Too many suitcases for a vacation. “I’m relocating back. Is there such a thing?”

Yoongi went to one luggage and punched in the password Jin used when Namjoon and him got together, it did not open, so he tried another combination. Ah, only his birthdate. Yoongi packed the first of his clothes to cabinets he was all too familiar with. He went on with this rudimentary task with Jin at the kitchen, cooking up something for the two of them.

In a parallel universe, Yoongi would have been happily contented with this.

Tidied up, folded, and free, the two went through a simple steak and pasta dinner.

“We broke up.” He twirled his fork endlessly. “It hit me when I saw him go to an award show. I could never keep up with him, Yoongi, not when I’m taking a backseat while his dreams sit in the front.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jin stared at him like he was betrayed.

“Don’t be silly,” Yoongi repeated, drawling each word. “Namjoon and his goals sit in another sports car while you drive a rundown secondhand.”

That made Jin laugh. “You’re merciless.” And then he grimaced. “I never felt this neglected. It was never this way when I was with you.”

“We’ve never had anything, Jin. You didn’t let me have anything,” Yoongi finished clean his pasta. He folded his napkin like a good guest and waited for Jin’s retort.

But he just sighed, defeated. “I destroyed what good we had. I’m afraid I also lost the friendship.”

“You know I can’t go back again to you.” Yoongi didn’t know if he threw a question or a statement.

“I saw it the instant you came through that door.” Jin put down his fork and trained his eyes on his best friend. “Happiness looks good on you.”

“You would have known already if you had just looked at me.”

Jin gave him a sad smile. “And it would have been the best sight had I tried harder.” He picked up again his fork, his lips pursed, his eyes brimming with tears. It was a foreign scene, Jin coming undone in front of him, not because of Namjoon, because of him. “So who is this guy?”

“I call him Jeon Doe.”

Jin kept brushing the side of his eyes while he twirled strands of noodles in his fork. When he opened his mouth to eat, tears brushed down his cheeks, breaking in rivulets as he chewed. “That’s a stupid name.”

Yoongi noticed the upwelling – the comeuppance of what was lost trying to mask itself as the crescent emotions. He knew it when Jungkook kissed him back that night, that he could never go back to this uncertainty. “And stupidly in love with me too.”

Jin continued to chew with salty tears. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

His hands clenched at the name that left his lips. “I got tired of being your placeholder. You couldn’t just leave and expect me to stay in one place. I also crack every time you touch me, and I shatter every time you go. I broke, Jin. I got torn apart, and I wasn’t sure whether I could still handle your overspilling love for someone else when I couldn’t even hold any for me.” Yoongi’s fingers stretched to touch the dam that escaped his friend’s eyes. “You must understand.”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Jin repeated. “And I understand it. I get it now. I see it. It’s just overwhelming – this mountain of regrets and what-ifs and utter disregard I made for my own happiness.”

“I got in the crossfire.”

“A victim willing.”

“But not anymore.”

Jin shook his head. “No, not anymore.” He intertwined his fingers with Yoongi. “I hope it works out for you and Jeon Doe.”

Not a minute longer, Yoongi pulled away from Jin’s touch. “I hope you heal.”

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

Jin saw them on the same piano bench, playing a duet in the middle of a wedding reception, hands flying about, touches fleeting but enthralling, releasing captivating, fluttery sounds – almost akin to freedom.

He was seeing now in full high-definition panorama the gravity of his consequences. He let go of his two great loves, one he loved with no fail, the other he took to fail.

And so he welcomed the splendor of pain. He had two great loves, and regardless of how they ended, they deserved a thorough journey of grief. He could only hope that at the end of it was what he saw in Yoongi.

Freedom.

[werezmastarbucks]

Whitmore Guy - the usual Mystic Falls party routine

Whitmore Guy masterlist

word count: 2290

warnings: violence

music: the birthday massacre - happy birthday

“One thing that still gives me chills, although I’ve been living here for almost ten years”, Y/N said, swaying her bottle above the table, “is how a big event can be organized here in one day. Forbes just snaps her fingers, and everything’s in place”.

Mal raised his eyebrows.

“Get dead. Get immortal. Gain super strength and intellect. Use it to make people drink at places with a name like that”, he jeered.

“And you’re fine with living in the world where supernatural things are real?” Y/N asked.

“You gotta be dumb to think they aren’t. I mean, humanity is all like… we’re the shit. You know?”

Y/N didn’t always know what exactly he meant, but managed to at least grasp the basic idea most of the time. She recalled their prolonged, interesting, heated conversation on aliens, and Mal said something similar then, too.

“It’s fascinating how you make all things easy”, she marveled, under her breath.

“How come?” he smiled.

“Usually you expect people to crumble under the weight of the realization like that. It’s one thing to believe in stuff, and another to actually get evidence one day. It breaks a lot of people”.

“Did it break you?”

“That first time I met a vampire, it did. But I got back up again”.

“Good girl”, he murmured. A moment, and his attentive face was too close to hers. Mal rested his elbows on the table, leaning towards her, playing a secret agent sharing a very important piece of information.

“Tell me about it”.

“A dude bit me when I was fourteen. It was in Arizona. I barely survived. Some people spooked him, and he escaped, but I never saw his face”.

“That’s a very short story”, Mal looked disappointed. His eyes started wandering around the bar out of boredom. He could do that sometimes – make her feel obliged, when he showed he was about to yawn. He did that when he was grumpy. Y/N wondered, how she knew so much about Mal Osbourne. And why it mattered to her right now. His eyes stopped, widening, and he raised from the table.

“Oh, crap. Oh no”.

“What?”

Y/N turned around to see where he was pointing. Mal sat back, crouching his shoulders and trying to hide himself behind her.

“Martha’s here”.

“I thought she lived in Mystic Falls, Mal”.

“She does!”

“So, why does she keep showing up in Whitmore?”

He looked up at her from the table.

“Look, your Caroline must have gathered the whole two towns here. How am I supposed to know?”

Then his eyes slowly filled with terror.

“What did you mean when you said something bad was going to happen? Did you mean killing?”

Y/N turned around again, and finally saw her. The girl from Mal’s phone. She had dark brown hair, gathered in a ponytail. She was wearing a knitted white jacket, of all things. She looked… usual, just like Damon said. Plain, even. Y/N didn’t know what kind of feeling she got. She supposed the girl a unique dude like Mal chose should be something special.

A tiny voice in her head said, you bitch. She’s a real human and times better than you, apparently.

Martha Hopps was talking to a friend and wasn’t looking in their direction at all.

“Y/N, please”, Mal’s hand grabbed her, fingers biting into her skin, “get her away from here. What if she gets hurt?”

She’s never seen him like that. He was actually concerned. There was even a line between his eyebrows. The only time Y/N saw Mal so worried was when they watched Shadow of Fear, a horrible thriller with a bad plot, which for some reason took his breath away. He sat there in his basement, shaking her palm nervously, and cursed at James Spader for being such a villain all the time.

“What am I supposed to tell her?” she hissed, trying to get his fingers off her bitten wrist. He finally let go.

“I don’t know. Kick her out. Vampires can like... hypnotize people, right?” his face lit, “Make someone enchant her to go home”.

She stood up, wincing at his drifting terminology, bitter, because he beat her.

“Should’ve had you compelled and home right now”.

He cocked his smart head, as if saying, too late now.

Y/N drifted through the bar, trying to find Stefan. He’s the gentle one. He does things right, without rushing. She started getting nervous. The plan to get everybody here was great, to accumulate all vampires in one place, fucking awesome. Suppose she was only too concerned about the basement guy to actually give a thought to what Damon was planning on doing.

Mal was sitting at the table as she left him, but the next second, when she turned her head to look back, he was gone. Music was getting louder. Clock hands were rising higher. Y/N tried to walk through clusters of people, pushing them aside as gentle as possible. She saw Stefan and waved her hand to signal him. The vampire raised his chin acknowledging her, and they headed for each other. As they went, Y/N could see Elena right behind his shoulder, and at her back, one of the fourteen students. Behind him, like a gosling, the older Salvatore. Y/N opened her mouth trying to produce a sound, just as Damon wrapped his fingers around the boy’s throat. Brett Whittings, his name was. Elena turned with a swing, watching Damon drag the student away behind the maintenance door, his eyes full of silver rage. Stefan stepped after him, and there was seeming peace for a fracture of a second. Y/N heard the quiet flop of the closing door... after that all hell broke loose.

First, there was loud scream, like a call for arms, only, drunken. Then somebody hit her on the side of the head, and she swayed, but managed to keep standing, Elena’s eyes keeping her in place. The chocolate haired vampire reached her in a jump, encircling with her arms, but somebody collided into them, sending them away in a hop. They crashed into the bar counter, and Y/N produced a yelp of pain, feeling Elena’s hand pressing her head low. From the floor, she watched a couple of people grabbing each other and biting into each other’s flesh. Gushes of blood shot through the air, sprinkling people around. There were shrieks of horror as another couple went at each other.

Y/N tried to get up. released from Gilbert’s grab, holding on a side of a table like a piece of debris in the raging ocean; the mass of bodies rushed in tides in all directions. There was a loud crack: somebody smashed a person face down on a table and the leg broke. Glass shattered, and she heard Damon’s loud scream.

Y/N didn’t know where to move; they never had any kind of training for Kingsman church scene scenario. Vampires didn’t do that. Y/N tried to get on the bar counter, throwing herself over a row of stools, to see better and to get away. She clawed at the polished wood. Another familiar face was in front of her in a second; his rolling eyes were full of blood, mouth agape. A literature major, Ken Simmons. A good guy, a nerd, even. He looked at her like a zombie, like she was invisible. And turned away, catching a person trying to push past. Y/N grabbed him by the neck, but he was too strong. Having shaken off her hands, he walked on, a wiggling human in his arms, and bent, digging his teeth into their shoulder. The person screamed in pain.

Y/N got on the bar and observed the space, looking at fighting people, screaming, like it was the end of the world. Damon was trying to shake off a girl from his back, who bit into his neck and sucked, wrapping her legs around his waist like a monkey. Their full blindness towards Y/N was scarier than their sudden rage, which turned on as if on command, triggered by Damon’s first move.

Y/N climbed down and was pushed around immediately. People were screaming, and her heart was beating like crazy, all the instincts screaming, run away! Someone laughed into her ear deafeningly.

Finally, there was a choir of roars. Damon and Stefan, the two oldest vampires, stood up, and ran in the center of the disaster, throwing bodies around, breaking deadly kisses and bites, and breaking stiff arms that refused to let go. A sound of breaking wood and glass signaled open doors, and the whole body of the fight flooded out into the street. People crawled out and, holding on to each other, started running into the street.

Suddenly, it was quiet, like somebody snapped their fingers again, and everything stopped with someone’s dying moan. Y/N let go of some girl she’s been trying to stabilize, and she sprinted away, limping all the while.

She looked at her hands, covered in blood, and realized her face was burning, like it was cut, or scraped.

“Eight done”, Damon was panting like a dog.

“Ten”, Stefan replied from somewhere. Y/N swayed.

“Mal!” she screamed.

Something moved under a pile of shredded wood. The splinters were so yellow it looked like somebody gnawed on the table. She ran towards it, and Mal’s arm showed up, all covered in small cuts, but it moved.

The bar was silent like the street outside. A violent shock of stillness made everybody inside and alive shiver.

“Y/N!”

It was Damon. Someone was walking along the counter, but she couldn’t see. Damon showed up at her side, grabbed her by the shoulders, and even shook a little.

“I’m fine, I’m good! Mal’s there, get him out”.

Together, they lifted the pieces of the table. Mal wasn’t moving anymore.

Y/N fell down,feeling for his pulse.

“He’s breathing. He’s just out”, Damon said, looking down at him. “They must have crashed the table on him. Let him rest for a minute”.

Y/N looked into his pale face, smeared blood on his temple. Her heart shrank for a second, and a painful grasp crumpled her from the inside.

“God, what was that”, Caroline whimpered. Her face was cut, but was regenrating quickly, little cuts sucking inside and leaving behind uneven traces of blood. Her bright yellow dress was torn. Elena walked around, her quiet steps rhythmical, and her hair was just as messed up. Her face was blank, like a blind kitten’s.

Y/N moved her feet one after another absently, observing what happened to the place in five minutes. The bodies were laying everywhere. Throats torn, limbs twisted, like an army of demons came and brutalized them; they were barely recognizable. Ric sat at the bar on the sole uncracked stool, and held his bleeding head in his hands. Bonnie wrapped her hands around his palms and tried to see the wound. She gave Y/N a look of despair, her green eyes watering. A feeling of utter mortal horror froze in the air. What it took, seconds earlier, to bring that inhuman rage, now clawed them all apart like sheep. The place started reeking blood.

Something caught her eye, and Y/N felt bitter wave of blood coming up to her throat. A torn white knitted jacket was spread across the floor; her face, as she lay dead, did not seem plain anymore. Martha Hopps had a gaping hole in her chest, and her heart was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes were open, and there were exactly three specks of blood on her forehead.

“This one tried to bite my head off”, Damon murmured gravely, following her glance. He questioned the look in her eyes.

“Look again”, Y/N whispered, but the vampire was quicker than her. Standing with his hand scratching his face, he suddenly widened his eyes, realization coming to him like liquid lead. There was a deep groan and a heavy sigh.

“God dam-” Mal said, stepping up to them. Y/N looked at him, unable to move.

Mal’s lower jaw dropped, and his black eyes stared right at Martha’s body.

“You killed her”, he whispered. Damon gave him a blank look. All the color drained from Mal like he suddenly turned into a paper boy. He walked on slowly, ignorant of the necks and palms centimeters from the soles of his blood-covered Converses; he collapsed on the floor and took her head as gently as if she was made of paper, too. The muscles of his neck strained as he stared down at her bloodless face.

Y/N was paralyzed. It was the worst moment of her life, that was. She felt like her arms were about to fall off. Behind them, Caroline gasped and put her hands to her mouth, and Bonnie gave Mal a look of utter horror.

“You took her away”, Mal sat on the floor and put Martha’s head on his knee. “You took away my girl from me”.

For a second everybody, even the incredibly old vampire Damon Salvatore, with his brother, a certified ripper, at his side, thought something would happen. The way Mal looked him straight in the eye, with this severe, chilly gaze full of hatred, was almost inhuman. Y/N saw a creature before her, which transformed from a person, and into a beast. His face was triangle, his eyes were burning with blackest fire, swarming spiders in the depths of his threat; his neck pulsated with blood, as if he was ready to spring and destroy.

But as Damon stood there, without a word, Mal took a deep sigh, and sobbed a little, but then the sob turned into a laugh.

The scariest part was when he started laughing. Y/N knew this kind of thing; she discovered a weird type of defensive mechanism in her when she heard her great-grandma has passed away. She was only eleven back then. She remembered she was wearing a yellow turtleneck and a green skirt. Mum told her, sitting on her knees, that great-grandma died in the hospital. The old woman who taught her all children poetry she remembered. And Y/N started laughing. She laughed, and laughed, until she began screaming, her face like a white mask, and her own voice sounded like a wolf wail. She was laughing, tears streaming down her face, and couldn’t stop until her mother slapped her so hard she fell on her back and choked on her laughter.

Mal was laughing while staring at the Salvatores, and his crazy black eyes glimmered like two coals. Y/N rushed to him, afraid he would break her; scared he would catch her as she falls next to him, and snap her neck, like vampires do. But he didn’t seem to notice her. He was holding Martha’s body and laughing, until she grabbed him by the neck, trying not to put her knee on his girlfriend’s chest. She put his head to the nape of her neck and his laughter got muffled. Elena’s face expressed dread. She held him, while he held Martha, until he stopped laughing and sighed, like a child in their sleep. And started crying.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Take Me from the Pain

A/N: If you don’t cry, you don’t have a heart. 

I’d brought out blankets and wrapped him in them. I’d brought out a thermos of soup and another of coffee. I tried my best to make him comfortable even as I knew his heart was breaking. My own heart felt fragile at the pain he was suffering.

           Adam sat against the wall on a small pile of hay, a blanket draped around his shoulders, and Stoney’s head in his lap. The beautiful chestnut was on his side, his dark eyes half closed, his body rising and falling in spasms as he struggled to breathe. His eyes rolled with fear. He kicked feebly.

           Tears burned my eyes as Adam stroked one hand down Stoney’s neck while the other rested on the horse’s nose. “It’s okay, big guy,” he murmured softly. I could see the pain in his eyes as he watched his beloved horse slowly slip away. “You’re not alone.”

           I sank down on my knees in the hay. Stoney whickered softly, the noise coming out with a wet sort of wheeze. I settled my hand on Adam’s and ran my other along the horse’s ears. I sniffled when I saw Adam’s blue-green eyes glassy with unshed tears.

           “Is there anything we can do?” I asked him softly

           Adam looked up and I saw for the first time how blotchy and red his face was. “No, nothin’ I’m willin’ to do anyway.” His voice was weak and feeble.

           God, I hated how broken he seemed. I wished more than anything that I could take it away. That I could fix it.

           “Do you want me to—”

           He shook his head firmly. “He’s almost gone. It won’t be long.”

           I nodded and settled in beside him. I let my head fall onto his shoulder even as I kept my hand on top of his hoping that he would know that I was there for him. I held him and I cried with him as Stoney heaved a few more breaths and went still.

           It seemed to take a moment for Adam to process that Stoney was no longer moving. Everything happened in slow motion as he collapsed against the horse’s neck, sobbing with heartbreak. I rubbed his back, feeling helpless against the roaring tide of his grief. My mind cast out for something to say even though I knew that nothing would make this moment any easier for him.

           Something clicked into place in my thoughts as I started making a list of things to do. I knew that Adam wouldn’t be in the right mind to start thinking about what needed to be done for Stoney. He already seemed to be falling apart at the seams. No, I would take care of things. I made a mental note to call the local hardware place to rent a backhoe and hire somebody to bring it down to dig a grave. I’d figure out a place for him. I wondered if we had any wood and paint to make a marker. I’d clean out his stall when everything was over.

           The sun was coming up over the trees when Adam moved again. He wriggled his way out from beneath Stoney’s head and gently placed it on the pile of hay. When he got to his feet he wobbled, whether from exhaustion or heartbreak I didn’t know.

           I tucked my arm around his waist to support him. For a moment, he stood there staring at nothing. Then he turned and snatched me against him. His arms wrapped tight around me as he hid his face in my neck and cried. I hated the way his body shook and trembled with his sobs and how I could feel his tears seeping into my shirt. I hated how he was shattering inside. I squeezed him as hard as I could, pouring every ounce of love I had for him into the embrace.

           “You need to sleep, Adam,” I started, soothing my hands up and down his back. “Let’s go inside. Just for a while.”

           He sobbed harder even as he let me disentangle his arms and guide him out of the stall. He kept one arm tight around my shoulders as if he was afraid that I was going to leave him. “I need to get started diggin’,” he moaned miserably.

           “Shh,” I soothed. “It’ll take you a week to do it by hand. I’ll call Roberts Brothers and see if one of them can haul that backhoe out here. Just tell me where.”

           His boots dragged on the steps as he climbed up the side porch. The screen door smacked loudly as it swung closed behind us. He tried to toe off his boots, but nearly fell over in the process. I took him by the hand and pulled him gently into the living room. It didn’t matter that he was covered in hay or that he smelled like the barn. All that mattered was that he needed rest.

Adam sank down onto the sofa with his arm over his eyes. I knelt and pulled off his boots, sitting them by the coffee table. “Rest a bit. Please.”

           I turned to find my phone, but he caught me by the hand before I could go too far. The smile on his face was one of sadness and desperation. “Em…” I leaned down and kissed his knuckles. “By the big oak. That’s where he should go.”

***

           The sky was going pink and orange as we stood beneath the branches of the oak tree in the field. Johnny Roberts had driven his backhoe down and spent a good part of the morning digging out a hole for us to bury Stoney. He’d even brought his wench and bucket arm to carry the horse from the barn to the grave. There was quicklime in his truck, too. I let him do as much as he could before I brought Adam out of the house.

           The freshly turned earth made the air smell sweet. Adam looked haggard and pale as he stood beside the mound of dirt that covered Stoney’s body. I stood beside him, my arm curled around his waist and my head on his chest. There was nothing I could say to make it better. I didn’t have the words to soothe the hurt that he was feeling in that moment. I might never have them, but I could hold him and tell him that I loved him. That would have to be enough.

           We sat out beneath the oak until the stars began popping out into the velvety black sky. Adam sat looking up through the branches of the tree, his feet crossed at the ankles in front of him, his fingers curled around mine in a vice-like grip. I was exhausted beyond measure. It’d been more than twenty-four hours since I’d last slept. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had anything to eat.

           Adam gave my fingers a squeeze and stood up, pulling me to my feet. He drew me close and hugged me tightly, burying his face in my hair. I heard the sound of him breathing deeply. “Thank you, Em.”

           I settled my palms on the curves of his ribs. “It’s what I’m here for, Adam. You need me. I wish I could make it easier, that I could take the pain away.”

           He leaned back and tucked my hair behind my ear, letting his palm rest against my cheek. “You’re here. That makes it easier.”

           We stood breathing the crisp night air for a moment more before he curled his palm around mine and lead me off through the field back toward the house. My stomach growled as we walked. “Go on in the house, Em. Take a hot shower and get in the bed. I’ll bring up something to eat.”

           “You don’t have to…”

           He drew my hand to his mouth and kissed the back. “I want to. I need to. Let me take care of you for a minute.”

***

           I tied my damp hair back into a ponytail and climbed into the bed. The scent of laundry soap and Adam’s bodywash fluffed out of the fabric. I sighed as I settled in, breathing in the soothing scent of him. Just as my mind started drifting off, our bedroom door opened. Adam seemed to have taken a shower as well—probably in the downstairs bathroom—and dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his damp hair in a knot. He balanced a wooden tray on his hand. Steam curled up from two bowls.

           He sat the tray on my bedside table and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not that great a cook, Em. But everybody likes tomato soup and grilled cheese, right?”

           I smiled and nodded, glad to see his lips tip up a little. “It’s my favorite.”

           “You’re a bad liar,” he replied as he handed me a bowl of soup and settled another plate bearing a triangle cut grilled cheese on the bed beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

           “Don’t you dare. There’s nothing for you to make up anyway.”

***

           “Adam?” I called out, dropping my keys on the counter by the side door as I toed off my Mary Janes. I put my work bag on the kitchen table and dug through it for a manilla envelope. It was a Friday, so I knew he’d be home. But maybe he was out in the field with Stoney. He’d spent a lot of time out there in the last week.

           I called his name again as I moved through the house. His sleepy voice called from the bedroom. A moment later he came down the stairs tugging a t-shirt over his head. “Hey, Em.”

           “Hey, cowboy,” I said affectionately, holding the envelope out in front of me. “I’ve got a present for you.”

           His blond brows shot up as he took it from my grasp. He leaned over and kissed me by on the temple before crossing into the living room and plopping down on the sofa. I followed behind him, curling up next to him with my feet tucked underneath me.

           I watched Adam as he released the clasp on the envelope and pulled out the pile of papers. His blue eyes went glassy with tears. One by one, he went through the carefully drawn pictures and cards—each one featuring a five-year old’s rendition of a brown horse.

           “We practiced letters today. That’s why some of them have the word written a lot on them.” I’d gone in to work that morning and decided that we would have morning art and practice our letters. They had special practice with S-T-O-N-E-Y. I dug my phone out of my pocket. “There’s something else.”

           I opened the video and put it in his hands before pressing play. Twenty-seven five-year olds stood in a group in front of a white board with a carefully drawn horse and large letters. They looked at the camera and smiled. “Stoney was a good horse,” they all said together, although you could hear my voice prompting them at the beginning. “He was a pretty horse. And he was the best horse in the whole world.”

           Adam handed me my phone once the clip was over. He threaded our fingers together and brought them to his lips, kissing each of my knuckles. He took a moment to breathe in, to get himself together.

           “When’s the next day for a story time volunteer?” he asked with a small smile. “I’ve got a book or two they might like.”

           I smiled, knowing he meant the children’s books he, Cody, Matt, and Nick had written. “There’s a spot open on Thursday.”

           He nodded. “How much trouble will I get in if I bring cupcakes, too?”

           “As long as you bring some for the teacher, I think you’ll be okay.”

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @easyobsession​

[rike-with-love]

Melody of our Hearts (chapter 2)

Author’s notes: Here’s the second chapter as my apology for being MIA for so long!!

Pairings: Okikagu, Gintsu (minor), Takaban (minor)

Rating: M for mature content, bad language, fluff, light angst, enemies to friends to lovers

Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama or it's characters, Sorachi Hideaki does. I only own this story.

Chapter 2

<- Previous Chapter ~~  Next Chapter ->

”So the stage is reserved for us from 4pm to 6pm.”

”Okay,” Gintoki said to his loyal assistant, Shimura Shinpachi as he presented a piece of document in front of the silver haired CEO.

”And Kawakami-nim will take care of the soundtracks as we spoke earlier,” Shinpachi said and placed another paper on the desk.

Before Gintoki could answer him, third, fourth and even fifth paper was gently swiped to rest on the wooden surface.

”Here are the receipts we need to copy for our accountants – here's the official approval from the city to hold the concert – here's a bill of the advertisement for the concert.”

Shinpachi's words spiralled through Gintoki's ears, so much to remember and so much more to do. ”Oi oi,”, he wailed. Then, from the corner of Gintoki's eye, he saw yet another paper coming. ”Ne! Shinpachi!”

”What is it Sakata-nim?” Shinpachi asked and straightened his almost oval-shaped glasses.

”Please, you can call me Gintoki”, the man said, discreetly guiding the conversation to somewhere else. ”I'm not that into the honorifics.”

”But Sakata-nim, you're my boss now. I don't want anyone to think that I'm disrespecting you.”

Gintoki turned with his chair towards the young black-haired man. ”Shinpachi, we've been friends for years, you don't have to worry about that”, he said. ”Just leave the honorifics for the public stuff, ne?”

Shinpachi smiled and his brown eyes sparkled. ”I guess I can do that...Gintoki”, he said.

There was no-one who could call the young man rude in any way. He was a polite and hard-working person, someone Gintoki could really count on.

Shinpachi was also quite good with computers. Actually he was a lot better than Gintoki could ever imagine. In addition to his diligentness and computer skills, he had a decent sense of style. Actually he was the one who made Gintoki dress like a boss should.

Gintoki's taste in clothes was pretty casual, so he went with a white dress shirt and a light grey suit. A tie was an enigma he wasn't ready for, but maybe someday in the distant future.

Shinpachi on the other hand liked to dress up. He wore a light blue dress shirt with a beige cotton vest. He also claimed that his pants were dark blue rather than black, but no-one really cared.

Gintoki felt like he had successfully turned the tides of the conversation. But he was wrong, oh so wrong.

”Now, can we get back on the preparations of the concert?” Shinpachi asked, he knew very well his bosses lazy agendas.

”Haha, certainly”, Gintoki said with a forced smile.

Shinpachi flashed his shiniest smile and began to bombard Gintoki with documents. As the papers kept piling up, the easy-going CEO got lost in his thoughts.

Gintoki had always known it wasn't a cakewalk to run a business, especially not a record label, but that was the exact reason he had hired people to work for him. For Gintoki's salvation and headache, his employees worked faster than his mellow brain could adapt.

Maybe I could hire someone to be the boss so I could just jump on a plane and enjoy some parfaits under the sun in Bahamas, Gintoki thought to himself.

Not that he could afford a trip to the Bahamas. Or a plane. Or a parfait for that matter. More importantly, if Gintoki would distant himself from the company, he wouldn't be able to help Kagura in achieving her dreams as an idol. He was his manager after all.

When the Yorozuya Entertainment was founded, it was difficult to just get by. It took time to find idols, it took time to make music. There wasn't a possibility to hire more people and that was the exact reason Gintoki decided to become the manager for the label's idols. Just for the time being anyway, he had said. To get things started you know, he had also added.

The voice of Shinpachi finally snapped Gintoki out of his trip down memory lane and the pressing worry of the massive loan he had taken for the company.

”A bill from the security firm – a bill from the equipments we bought for the concert – a bill from the fabrics...”

Shinpachi's words sounded all the same to Gintoki. Why am I so lousy with these things, Gintoki thought to himself.

”GINTOKI!” A loud shout came from the door, startling both Gintoki and Shinpachi momentarily.

At the door was non-other than Shimura Tae, the head of public relations of YE, the older sister of Shinpachi and the one keeping Gintoki's laziness in check. ”I need you to sign these papers right now,” she said with a ominiously calm smile.

Tae, who more commonly went by Otae was a sharp young woman. After moving to Seoul she had graduated from business school with impressive papers.

Otae was one of the first persons Gintoki wanted to hire, she was a ball of endless ideas with an unwavering drive to make them happen. There wasn't anyone who could have been a better fit for the head of PR than her.

She looked very similar to her little brother, aside from her brown hair and her not needing any glasses. She liked to wear a tight pencil skirts and a matching blouse. Today's colors were purple and white.

Otae had shoulder length hair, often worn in a neat ponytail. She had bangs to frame her petite face nicely. Also, she wasn't shy with accessories, usually sporting a tiny scarf around her neck with a matching color as the rest of her outfit.

”Hello ane-ue*!” Shinpachi said. The siblings were originally from Japan, so they liked to refer to each other in Japanese. Sometimes it was funny to observe when the two got into an argument and the language switched immediately back to home shore.

”Hello Shin-chan*, did you give Gintoki all the papers?” Otae asked and pushed a dark brown strand of hair behind her ear.

”Almost there”, Shinpachi chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck a little.

As the Shimuras chatted, Gintoki was halfway sliding down from his chair.

”Uh, Gintoki?” Otae asked.

A single call of his name froze Gintoki right up. Otae had a flair in her voice, soothing but chilling at the same time. A perfect voice for tortu-...uh...negotating with people.

”Yes, Otae?” Gintoki asked and magically sat up while casually fixing the sleeves from his shirt.

”Would you mind signing this?” Otae asked and tapped a piece of paper with her pen. ”It's a permission to-”

Gintoki raised his hand at Otae, who stopped talking out of surprise. It was rare for Gintoki to act all bossy and condescending towards employees, friends – towards anyone really.

”Me and Shinpachi here,” Gintoki said and began to fondle the documents on his desk. ”We're a little busy at the moment.”

Gintoki didn't have anything against the adamant woman, he just wasn't in the mood to handle another important matter. It was probably something urgent as it came from her.

Shinpachi glanced at his boss with wide eyes. All of a sudden Gintoki was very into the paperwork.

”Yes, thank you for taking things seriously for once,” Shinpachi said.

Gintoki looked at the young man standing next to him. ”But I always do.”

”No you don't.”

”Nope, not even little bit.”

Gintoki huffed. He knew they were right, but he also wanted to be the boss. ”I'll forgive you this time, okay?” he said. Both Shimuras nodded as they were trying to take him seriously and Gintoki took what he got.

”Alright Shinpachi, give me all the details,” Gintoki said and actually took one paper into his hands.

”Ah, wait,” Shinpachi said and searched the stack of papers he was holding. ”Just one more.”

Gintoki elevated one hand, ready to receive the last document. ”Take your time Shinpachi.”

”Hah! Here!” Shinpachi cheered and offered the paper to Gintoki. ”Here's the rent-”

Gintoki moved like a shadow the second he heard the word 'rent'. Before anyone could say another word, Gintoki had grabbed his gray jacket from his chair and suddenly stood next to Otae, carefully examining the permission note she tried to offer him a moment later.

”I'm in a meeting right now Shinpachi, take care of those for me”, Gintoki said and walked out of the office with Otae.

”Heeeyyy!” Shinpachi yelled after them, a vain effort that he pretty much new from the start. ”You can't run from the rent forever!”

*

*

It had been a busy week at the YE building. After the release of Kagura's first single, Eli & Zura and Sugar Addicts released their first singles as well. Otae's PR plan for the company was to come out to the k-pop scene with a bang. Three new artists debuting at once was a real bang to say the least.

On top of everything, the free outdoor concert was well on its way. Almost everything had been taken care of, but Gintoki was a ball of stress on every single little detail. Yes, he appeared that he didn't care or had any interest on the matter, but that was just his defence mechanism. Honestly, he felt a little overwhelmed by the paperwork and stuff like that, but he cared.

Luckily he had Otae and Shinpachi. They were a power house together - and separately. They took care of running errands, permissions, equipments, all of that. This way Gintoki could focus better on the idols or as he so endearingly called the 'moneymakers'.

Gintoki helped everyone to prepare with the best of his ability. He wasn't a singer or a dancer, but he was a long time fan on k-pop. Yes, he was a grown man in his late twenties, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the music.

Gintoki understood showmanship, he was good at looking at the big picture, but he needed help with all the separate parts to build the idols into a functioning package.

Sugar Addicts had a member called Tsuu, going by the stage name Otsu. She had been dancing for several years. She sort of became the unofficial choreographer of the group and pretty much a choreographer for the whole company.

Apart from Sugar Addicts, none of the other idols had any prior professional dancing experience. However with Gintoki and Otsu's help, the rest of the idols; Kagura and Zura & Eli were able to add enough movement for their performances to pop.

Kagura had the rhythm and she had the spark, but learning steps wasn't really her strong suit. Still, she was better in dancing than Eli & Zura, a duo consisting of Katsura ”Zura” Kotarou and Elizabeth ”Eli” Dragonia.

Zura was a peculiar rapper/singer and an old childhood friend of Gintoki's. He was...how to put this nicely...he was a total corky lovable weirdo. Zura did all the vocals for the duo and Eli, well Eli played a synthesizer*. He couldn't really participate with the vocals as the man was mute.

When Gintoki was trying to get Zura to join his label, he explained that all the music could be produced by computers, but Zura didn't really care. He had only one condition before signing any papers, Eli and him would form a duo together, no matter how weird it sounded to anyone.

Gintoki knew it was a risk, there wasn't anything like that in the k-pop scene, but Zura managed to convince Gintoki that they would become the next big thing, the k-pop version of Modern Talking*. It sounded too interesting for Gintoki to pass by, so he agreed to debut the duo.

It was still a mystery where Zura had found a mute man named Elizabeth, but they seemed to be inseperabtle friends despite it all.

After Kagura's demand on finding someone to help with the costumes for the idols, Gintoki found Tsukki. She was a talented stylist who never told anyone her full name, she just went by with Tsukki. She was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and sharp purpleish eyes. She also had a scar on her left eye , but no-one dared to ask anything about it.

Tsukki was a woman shrouded in mystery.

And what it came to making music, Gintoki was totally at loss. Luckily the company found a musical genius to work for them.

Kawakami Bansai, a graduate from Korean National University of Arts. He was a prodigy. The young man was courted by many big companies when he was close to graduating. His future promised great things for him, he could have worked for anyone in the entire music industry, that's how talented he was. But...after graduating, he simply vanished.

No-one ever knew why did he go or where did he go. Well, there was one person who knew why he disappeared, but that's a whole another story.

So how he ended up working in a new, rather unsure record label? Gintoki and Shinpachi didn't know Bansai or his background in music when they met him for the first time. The man was playing a shamisen* in a park, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, expression telling of his fondness for the instrument he was playing.

Gintoki liked his music and he asked if the man wanted a job. Bansai paused his song and looked into the silver-haired man's maroon eyes. There was nothing suspicious in the way the man looked at him. For some reason Bansai felt like trusting this man, thou he wasn't even sure what trust even meant anymore.

Only after Bansai signed his contract in Gintoki's office, he casually mentioned his degree in music. Gintoki practically and literally fell off his chair, how could he have known the man was a mastermind in music.

Otae suggested on upgrading his contract and salary, but Bansai refused. The only thing he desired was to make music without crazy expectations and no questions from his past. Gintoki and Otae both agreed to his terms, they would have been fools to decline.

And there it was, the group of people who together formed the Yorozuya Entertainment and Gintoki couldn't be any prouder.

*

*

In a nice cozy office/work space of Tsukki, a final fitting was well on its way. Kagura twirled in front of a mirror and admired her outfit for the concert.

”Well, what do you think Gura?” Tsukki asked.

Kagura had her long vermillion hair done with her signature look. Two small buns on top of her hair. It was like she had small round ears made from hair. The rest of the her puffy hair was flowing free, reaching all the way to her lower back.

The outfit Tsukki had sown for her was a perfect fit. Kagura had a red, off-shoulder shirt with long sleeves. Tsukki styled a high-wasted black cotton skirt to accentuate her small frame.

The skirt reached just over Kagura's knee, the length matching nicely with her black ankle boots. No heels was Kagura's only wish for Tsukki when the design for her outfit was being created.

”It's really pretty Tsukki, I love it,” Kagura said as she played with a black  velvet collar around her neck. It even had a cute golden heart in the middle.

Tsukuyo crossed her arms and smiled. ”I'm glad to hear that,” she said and walked to her desk.

It was hard to tell it was a desk from all the sewing equipments and drafts of clothing covering the whole thing. She really needed a bigger room to work in, Kagura thought, but she very well knew this was all they could afford at the moment.

”You were the last one to do a fitting, every costume is now done for the show.”

”You're very efficient, yes,” Kagura pointed out to the blonde woman wearing a black form-fitting suit, hair cut into a short bob to fit the look.

Tsukki hummed happily. ”It wasn't that big of a project, there's only eight idols to dress after all.”

”That's true,” Kagura said and returned to posing for the mirror.

Tsukki began to dig out some papers to deliver for Gintoki. Probably more bills to pay for the poor CEO.

”Tsukki?” Kagura asked and looked at the ever elegant woman through the mirror.

”Yes Gura?”

”Don't tell A-Gin...but I'm a little nervous about the concert.”

Tsukki lifted her gaze up. ”Why would you be nervous?”

”It's just that...the interview for the radio went well, but...”Kagura paused.

”But what?” Tsukki asked. She seemed to be seriously nervous. Sure, Tsukki hadn't known Kagura for a very long time, but the girl was like an open book when it came down to reading her emotions. She was one of the most confident and robust personalities Tsukki had ever seen, so seeing her falter worried her.

”You can talk to me,” Tsukki said and connected eyes with Kagura through the mirror.

”Well...this is the first time I'm performing live and...what if I screw it all up...”

Tsukki abandoned her papers and walked straight to Kagura. She placed her hands on her bare shoulders. ”Listen to me Gura”, Tsukki said in a really empowering voice. ”Look at the mirror.”

Kagura did as Tsukki said, and looked at her reflection. She sure looked like an idol...it felt almost surreal. ”What do you see?” Tsukki asked her.

”I see...me and you.”

”Yes, that's true. What else?”

”I see...your pretty clothes, yes.”

Tsukki shook her head a little. ”Those are not my clothes anymore, they're yours to wear, yours to feel confident in.”

”O-okay...” Kagura answered unsurely.

”You don't have anything to worry about Gura, you know you were born to command a stage.”

A smile sneaked on Kagura's pink lips. ”Uh-huh...”

”Just be yourself and sing the crowd into a bliss, okay,” Tsukki said and squeezed Kagura's shoulders slightly before letting go.

Kagura turned to look at Tsukki as she returned to her desk to get back to work. ”Hey...” Kagura said.

”What is it now?” Tsukki asked. She didn't even spare a look at Kagura, but that didn't bother the young starlet. Tsukki was all about keeping up a tough exterior, rarely allowing many feelings out.

”Thanks for the pep talk,” Kagura said.

Tsukki glanced at the redhead. She had a pleased look on her face, but it lasted only for a second. She's a complete softie inside, Kagura giggled to herself.

A knock on the door drawed the attention of both women in the room. ”Come in,” Tsukki said.

It was Gintoki coming in. ”Ne, how are we doing in here?” he asked and rolled his shoulders a little.

Kagura cocked an eyebrow. Was the ever lazy Gintoki being nervous. A thought of something being seriously wrong immediately crossed her mind. It was the day of the oblivion when Sakata Gintoki would stress openly about something.

Suddenly Tsukki turned her face away from the door. "We're doing perfectly fine here Sakata-nim," she almost mumbled.

”Uh, great...” Gintoki said and gulped a little.

Kagura stared at Tsukki for a moment. Where did the ever calm Tsukki went, she wondered. ”A-Gin...can we talk a little?” Kagura asked and walked closer to Gintoki.

”Oh, Kagura...I didn't see you there,” Gintoki said.

”What?” Kagura almost laughed.

”I-I mean of course I saw you there, that's not what I meant jeez...”

”Let's go already, yes”, Kagura said pulled her foster-father towards the door.

Tsukki cleared her throat behind her desk and tried to get up quickly. ”Before you go-” Tsukki said before she bumped her knee on the wooden table. "Tsk!"

"Tsukki!" Kagura called.

Gintoki moved by instict as he rushed to check on Tsukki. He went to her side to see if he could help in any way. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing," she hissed and turned to Gintoki, who was closer to her than she had expected for him to be.

Kagura watched in complete silence as the usually super serious stylist slithered away from her desk, with a flushed face. Her completely black suit just made her blush more apparent.

"I-I'm fine," Tsukki said and tried to compose herself. "Uh, there's some documents for you on my desk Sakata-nim."

Kagura noticed a sudden shift in Gintoki's behaviour.

”Ne, Tsukki...when will you drop those unnecessary last names and stuff like that,” Gintoki said and leaned his right arm's elbow against the wall. ”You can call me Gintoki.”

Tsukki rolled her eyes at the surprisingly suave boss. Kagura felt equally amused by him as Tsukki was agitated.

Without any warning Tsukki grabbed Gintoki by his open jacket, never breaking eye-contact with Gintoki. ”Listen Sakata-nim,” she said, face still adorably pink. This felt like the right time to take a step back for Kagura.

”I-it's Gintoki.”

”For gods sake, do you understand you are my boss? I don't want to raise any rumours by calling you anything else than Sakata-nim."

Gintoki opened and closed his mouth like a confused goldfish in its glass bowl.

"Do you understand?" she snapped and shook him a little.

Gintoki laughed nervously at the woman. ”Ahaha...I know, I'm...I'm just joking...haha...” he said and slowly quieted his laughter down.

Tsukki let the man go and pointed her finger at the documents she was talking about.

Kagura was waiting outside Tsukki's office. She had seen and heard just about everything and all of it tickled her funny bone. ”Let's go A-Gin!” Kagura shouted to draw his full attention.

”Ah, yes! We have to go now. Have a nice day Tsukki!” Gintoki said and shut the door behind him as fast as he could.

Gintoki exhaled deeply through his mouth. Kagura crossed her arms and waited for him to say something and to try to explain himself out of everything that just happened.

”Well...?”

”Well what Kagura? We should be going already?” Gintoki hissed a little. ”We need to go and check out the stage at the park and-”

”No no no...wait”, Kagura grinned at the man. ”Do you have anything to tell me...anything at all?”

Kagura was a young woman with a quick mind. She was excellent at picking up on things, not that anything about Gintoki's behaviour was hard to read. She had known him for most of her life after all.

Gintoki squinted his eyes at Kagura. ”What are you talking about brat?”

Kagura rolled her eyes. ”Well you obviously have the hots for Tsuk-” Kagura's statement was muffled out by Gintoki's hand blocking her mouth.

”Shhhhhhhhhh! Shhhhhhhh! Someone could hear you”, Gintoki whispered. He wasn't actually blushing...but there was a some kind of glow on his cheeks.

”Mmmffhghmmmmm!” Kagura tried to point out.

”What?”

Kagura pushed his hand off her mouth and frowned at him. ”You heard me.”

”I don't know what you're talking about”, Gintoki brushed her words right off. ”You kids nowadays think you know everything.”

Kagura was familiar with Gintoki's ways of handling difficult situation. He wasn't old, but he was an old(er) soul to say the least. He began to blame the youth when it was about remote controllers, computers or crushes.

”So are we going to the park now?” Kagura asked, graciously pretending she hadn't pointed out anything.

Gintoki smiled at her. ”Yes, we definitely are”, he said.

”Great, let me just change clothes,” Kagura said and pointed out her new outfit. ”I don't want anyone to see this yet.”

”Of course,” Gintoki said and walked Kagura to her dressing room.

Before closing the dressing room's door Kagura couldn't help but to tease Gintoki just a little bit more. "Oh, A-Gin!"

"Hmm?"

"I'm pretty sure she's into you too," Kagura said and vanished before Gintoki could do anything.

"H-hey!!!"

* *

Kagura stopped teasing Gintoki about the Tsukki thing, he seemed to prefer not to talk about it. Maybe some other time he could confess his crsytal clear feelings, but now he had so much more on his mind.

When Gintoki and Kagura got to the company's car, Gintoki had a simple question for Kagura before they entered the vehicle.

”Can I ask you something Kagura?”

”Uh-huh, ask away.”

”The concert is only one week away”, Gintoki said to her, voice remaining as calm as he was talking about puppies. ”How do you feel about it?”

Kagura smiled. ”Well...I'm very excited.”

”Good...good.”

”Yeah.”

”You're almost a fully debuted idol.”

”I guess I am,” Kagura felt like Gintoki was tiptoeing about something and it annoyed her. ”Where are you getting with these questions A-Gin?”

”Kagura, you're like my daughter...do you really think I'm not worried about your well-being? This industry is very stressful.”

”Worried?”

”Yes, I feel like you're not telling me everything.”

Kagura knew what he meant. So he had seen her nervousness through her smile, she thought.

”I...I'm just afraid.”

Gintoki's eyes sharpened at her words. ”Afraid?”

”...I know how much effort you've put into me, this company and everything...”

”That's true...but what are you afraid of Kagura?” Gintoki asked.

Kagura could feel her eyes getting watery. This was one of her biggest fear and talking about it made it feel more real. ”Well what if I screw the show up or something else? I don't want to let you down and-”

Kagura's rambling quieted down as Gintoki pulled her into his arms.

”Silly girl...” Kagura listened to Gintoki's voice. It was deep and endearing. Also fatherly. It was just what she needed to hear.

”You could never let me down, no matter if things won't work out the way we planned.”

Kagura answered his hug by latching her fingers into his gray jacket. Even the stupid soft fabric felt comforting.

”I'm still going to work my ass of, yes”, Kagura said and sniffed quietly.

”I know that already Kagura..I know,” Gintoki said and patted the back of her head.

”Can we go to the park already A-Gin?” Kagura asked and tried to calm down her voice. She didn't want to cry over stupid things, she was too busy to do that.

”Yes, let's go then.”

A/N:

*ane-ue: a honorific for a sister in the Japanese language *chan: a honorific for someone younger in the Japanese language *Modern Talking: a German duo consisting of singer Thomas Anders and arranger, songwriter and producer Dieter Bohlen *synthesizer: an electronic musical instrument that generates audio signals that may be converted to sound *shamisen: a three-stringed traditional Japanese musical instrument derived from the Chinese instrument sanxian

[starfata]

Perseus and Annabeth

The only way I can see Percy willingly becoming a God, is if he gets pulled out of the line to judgement after he dies of old age, and is once again offered godhood. He hesitates because *Annabeth* but he knows he could do some good. He won't be leaving anyone any more than he already did by dying.

His thoughts are so obvious that Hera sighs and tells him Annabeth, upon her death, will be offered immortality as the patron of New Athens, minor Goddess of Architecture and Will, Patron of Demigods.

Percy asks if he can maybe discuss this with her before giving his answer- it's a big decision to make without his partner's input. Hera approves so Zeus gives permission, and drachma changes hands as bets are settled.

Perseus Waveson, God of Sea Rescue, God of Aquatic sports, Patron of those Lost at Sea.

Sometimes called The Hero of Manhattan. The Tide that takes one by Surprise.

Perseus is a friendly god, if prone to snark and sarcasm when faced with other gods. You might meet him on a beach, cleaning the trash that's washed up. You might meet him on a riverbank, because not all those who need his help reside in the seas.

If you're spectacularly unlucky, you might meet him on The Oceanaid (his ship of drowned souls, serving time before going on to judgement).

The most likely place to meet him, as a God performing his duties, is on a small craft. It changes form, but it's usually a lifeboat of some kind, and the names change as often as the tides.

The Blaufisch, the Wild Protector, the General Tyson, you never know what it'll be. You'll know it by the black Pegasus on the bow.

He's always dressed to sail. Sometimes that means workboots and layers of thick sweaters, sometimes that means a bright yellow Mac like out of a children's book. In warmer climes, he wears a tank top and cargo shorts.

He often has incredible tattoos, the most common to see being his father's trident between a band of waves and a band of seaweed.

If you see him without a shirt, there are days his entire body torso seems covered.

On his back, directly opposite his naval, there is always an ornate anchor and banner tattoo- the name Annabeth blazoned across it.

Sometimes he doesn't have any tattoos save his anchor, sometimes he has something completely different. A god can appear as he wills.

As a God, he appears with a half wreath of seaweed for a crown, in battle with seaweed decoration on his arm bracers. Otherwise, he may wear his 'laurels' as they are, but more often they are a necklace or bracelets. He still bears Riptide, the celestial bronze sword created by the Huntress, Zoe Nightshade, and given to him on his first quest by Chiron.

Annabeth Chase, Goddess of Architecture, Guardian of New Athens, Patron of Demigods.

Titled as The Architect of Olympus, The Finder of the Mark, and Wisdom's Daughter.

Annabeth is an intimidating figure. At first glance you wouldn't think she was scary, curly blonde hair held in a ponytail, some kind of drawing implementation behind her ear, or in her hair, usually dressed casually and for warm weather. She usually wears three necklaces of different lengths, one made of leather cord with 11 clay beads, another with a college ring, and the third a coral pendant on a silver chain. She loves playing with her dog, Mrs O'Leary.

Her storm gray eyes look at you as if judging your skill in a fight. She rarely laughs, and her smiles aren't commonplace. Her hair is streaked with gray, a legacy of when she held the weight of the sky for six hours (as a mortal!). Mrs O'Leary is a hellhound her half brother tamed and left to her husband.

As a Goddess, she frequently wears an orange dress, with a belt with her symbol- the Architectural sign for a double door that opens outward, looking slightly like a stylised 'W'. He beaded necklace is always around her neck. In battle, it's the only adornment she has, and she wields a drakonbone sword granted to her by the Giant Damasen in Tartarus, with a bronze dagger in her belt.

And to those that meet her? She's busy. From meeting new arrivals to New Athens, constantly designing on her tablet, going to meetings about projects other gods want her to take on, checking in on the construction of her designs, teaching classes at one of the New Athens Colleges (technically there are two, Aristos Fine Arts and Lester College), consulting on additions to New Athens or Camp Half Blood...

Not to mention her mapping trouble spots for demigods on the run, or sending out rescue/escorts for half bloods on their own.

The only time she's publicly seen to relax is on days sports tournaments are hosted in the New Athens pool or on the lake at CHB. When her husband, a young looking god with sea coloured eyes and dark hair streaked with gray will appear by her side, laughing and joking and talking in a way that startles anyone who's met them individually.

She takes pride in her duties, in doing them well. She likes teaching, and living in the city she's helped build, and helping young runaways like she once was. But it's all so much better when he's there to share it with.

He knows what they can do separately is more than they can do together, but he misses her and is always delighted to spend time with her.

They remain a terrific team on the battlefield, and a happily married couple. In the event a Camp is in danger, both of them send help even if that means bending the rules. If the ships come from the sea, it's technically a Sea Rescue, right? And as the Patron of demigods, she has the right to respond to any threat against them.

Their best friend, not quite a God but a power in his own right, the Lord of the Wild Grover Underwood, says they aren't so different from when they were mortal.

Their only immortal child is a saltwater naiad, of the spring Poseidon granted New Athens. Salina was born centuries after her mortal siblings passed.

In the event anything happens to Annabeth, Salina will be the Guardian of New Athens. If anything happens to Percy, his ships and rescue centres will go to the nature spirits running them, and Kymopoleia will take the patronage (and ships) of Those Lost at Sea.

It is not in a God's nature to make failsafes, but then, they were not always Gods.

Previous

Annabeth

Percy

[gameofwolves]

i was chilling in the couch a little tired and tHEN I SHOT UP AWAKE WITH THIS IDEA like i just got hyper excited and started walking around thinking...........

imagine that adora and catra don't go to the whispering woods when adora gets promoted - adora never gets that first contact with the sword of protection.

she lives up to shadow weaver's expectations for her, becomes the best force captain in the horde, but theres a catch for our dearest sw - she doesn't go without catra, even with sw saying that catra isn't worth for her team adora goes ok and takes her behidn sw's back and wins her first battle as force captain with praises - but she didnt alone of course, while adora was the one planning the perfect attack catra lead the small strike team that made sure the resistence couldn't escape. hordak promotes catra and sw seethes.

they raise through the ranks together as they promised, adora is cold calculation and catra is vicious but precise attacks, they are better together because adora will make sure they use less tropes than the others captains, knows where to hit and catra makes sures they hit hard.

just - just imagine, after years general adora from the horde, full armor, visible scars, a woman of few words and always on attention - everyone is scared of her, but when the big guys aren't looking she's kind to the cadets, pats their heads and tells them 'good job' and where she goes there's general catra with her own scars and lighter armor to fit her role as stealth leader, she got a permanent smirk that says 'i know more than you', her hair is fuller and people are also scared of her cause while adora carries more victories in battle, catra has more kills - she causes uneasy, but like adora she was a soft spot for the younger cadets, she fixes their stances and ruffles their hair to annoy them....

as they rise, shadow weaver tries to pull them apart, tries to persuade hordak against catra but hordak isn't having none of it cause they are the most successful soldiers under his command and even him recognizes they do better when put together but when adora hears about it she marches to the black garnet room and stares sw down with a snarl and 'we both outrank you now so you have no power over us... and if you ever try to hurt her again i will kill you myself - yknow hordak wouldn't mind if i did' she ain't playing.

but even as captains, commanders, generals or w/e catra and adora still keep old habits ofc - they sleep in the same bed every night. first they would hide it cause WEAKNESS but as they rise, as their influence grows they stop giving a damn - who would move against hordak favorites? their lord values efficiency over anything and if there's something they are it's efficient - so when they stand too close and share whispered words before a battle, a quick hand squeeze before catra goes off do her job.

their affection to each other is contained when they are out, but when they are safe inside their little world they touch each other so deliberately - catra helps adora out her armor, adora changes catra's bandages after a battle, scratches her ears as catra read through their orders, catra pulling adoras hair out its ponytail when she falls asleep cause shes exhausted after hours of strategize (they do more than that of course, one meeting in the middle of summer adora is wearing a scarf and scorpia asks why and she says shes cold but scorpia is like but youre sweating do you have fever?? catra can't stop grinning - adora remembers that and in the other day catra is walking funny for some reason)

they are the bane of the rebellion. they take kingdom after kingdom for the horde - capture princesses (never kill princesses, way too valuable) and leave brightmoon for last - the headquarters and last bastion of the rebellion, hordak is estatic - he calls for his best generals before the last battle to congratulate them for the good job.

but there's a catch.

at her first mission as force captain - the one where she sneaked catra to go with her - she finds out about the evil the horde is doing. she thinks about running away, tells catra for them to run away together but catra is like where would we go? the rebellion won't take us, we are horde soldiers and adora is like fuck youre right and shes having her identiy crisis cause she doesnt want this, she thought she was doing good but the horde is killing innocents - but then catra reminds her of their promise and adora stops

'we can destroy them from inside out'

'it will take time, a really long time'

'we can do it, together.'

'together.'

and they start it - add another vow to their promise.

they start small and on the inside - reduce the abuse on the cadets to 'maximize efficiency', make life better for the ones in the bottom of the chain of command - that wins their loyalty, catra and adora as feared they are they are the generals that their troops would die for /them/, not hordak nor the horde, for adora and catra. they go bigger - send info to the rebellion to evacute the max of civilians before a attack to minimize the blow and the casualities through scouts that sometimes get caught but always take the blame and the sentence for themselves (adora mourns their lost soldiers for days, shes her mighty self out there to the eyes of shadow weaver and hordak but at night she cries as catra holds her and whispers promises of vengeance) - they keep the games tide for the horde but never let it tip to let it him, but they cant keep it forever - they can let just enough info leak before suspicion arise so when its time to put a end in this war they decide its now or never

hordak calls his generals, delivers his victory speech and asks for adora and catra to stay so he can talk with them - he praises them (he knows how praises makes a soldier fight harder) they thank him, catra leaves, adora stays and thanks him in particular for his teaching and command, he is taken back but glad and then as soon he turns his back to adora she drives a blade though his back - hes conscious long enough to hear the alarms ring and the rebels screams in the halls outside - catra went to liberate all the princesses that are now tearing his base apart

before the final battle, for weeks adora and catra meet with glimmer in secret to debate a deal where soldiers and minors command officers would get pardon from the rebelion once hordak fell - big bad officers would get death sentence - glimmer bitterly agrees and catra makes her swear on it or else she would get the same end as hordak - she agrees and thats the say adora needed

hordak dies, the horde falls and catra and adora as big commanding officers would get death sentence, but due their actions the rebellion agrees only in life in prison, but - as soon its over, they are gone.

adora wins the war without needing the sword of protection, she only needed catra by her side.

[ohthatbunnygirl]

I’ll Always Come Back For Your Sweet Pie

(A Reylo Diner AU Drabble that is one exit away from being too damn fluffy)

                                                ________________

At the Flyover Diner in Resistance, Alabama, a rather severe-looking out-of- towner named Hux dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin. A few crumbs scattering before a clearing of his throat acts as a subtle plea for more coffee to wash down that heavenly taste of chicken fried steak sandwich sitting so heavy in his mouth. Lucky for the handsome stranger, his waitress Rey catches his meaning. Ah yes, she’s heard that needy noise thousands of times before, and so she promptly stops rearranging pies in the dessert case in order to stroll over with a piping hot cup of caffeine relief.

The end of her ponytail swishing when she asks, “Can I get you anything else?”

“How about that slice of strawberry rhubarb?” Hux suggests, eyeing the dessert that best matches his hair.

“Oh shoot,” Rey’s drawl thickens, layered with some added sweetness to help an apology go down, “we’re all out, sugar. How about chess pie, I make a mean chess pie.”

He blinks twice, stammering as he points,“But, but it’s right there.”

“That’s just the display one, sorry.”

In Hux’s mind, it doesn’t make a lick of sense to have a display pie out for a pie that isn’t available for eating. No, the businessman doesn’t appreciate that teasing scenario one bit, and he means to tell the young woman, with her strong jaw and the perky nose, that the situation doesn’t sit right in his slightly bursting belly. Oh yes, he’s gunning to voice his displeasure, already firing up to wear a crown of mighty indignation since the customer is always king. But then he meets her bright-eyed stare above twenty adorable freckles, her encouraging smile tipping a bit up, and what was he thinking? 

Pie.

Pie?

I need some? And some chess pieces?

Even after shaking his head to clear away the brain fog, Hux can’t remember for the life of him why in the heck he was feeling feisty, but he does now feel strongly about something called chess pie, and trying it. Oh yes, he must have it! Lowering his accusatory finger back to the table, Hux grumbles with a crooked smile. “Let’s try that mean pie of yours then.”

“You’re gonna love it!”

“What’s in it?”

Rey’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “It’s jes’ pie.”

“Oh, I see what you did there.” Hux laughs. “Punny.”

By noon the lunchtime rush is in full swing, but Rey skillfully navigates the tile floor to the opposite side of the diner. Not a drop of her coffee sloshing out of the pot, no smiles unanswered as she makes all feel special on her perilous journey to the dessert case. Assuring everyone that she passes that she’ll be right back, and as Hux watches her killing it in sneakers, his beaming smile refuses to dim until an imposing mass entering the diner suddenly blocks his view.

All six feet and too many inches in Hux’s way, and judging by Rey’s wave, she recognizes the massive customer in his dark grey landscaping overalls. “Sit anywhere you like,” she sings out, tongue poking between her teeth as she moves a pie wedge onto a plate that she then carefully sets down on the businessman’s table, the bill underneath.

“Here we are,” Rey coos, topping off his coffee, “and if you need something, just holler!”

That first bite is heaven, the second pure hell. No hope for future comfort for Hux’s eternal soul after he realizes that he’ll never have this same pie again. One blissful bite already gone, three at most left, and it’s the first chess pie that he’s ever had, but he’s sure it’s the best.

“Kill me now,” he murmurs, licking his lips, tucking a thirty percent tip under his dish. The last creamy bite down the hatch when he pays up, and after checking the time, he’s picking his briefcase up with the happiest wave to this Little Miss Rey of Sunshine. “Thanks.”

Out in the parking lot, Hux glances back at the diner before getting into his rental car. A belly full of Southern comfort inside of him, a good day started on his way to the airport, and it continues to be so because he didn’t catch the moment the man that he almost mistook for a muscular mountain sat down at a counter stool. A slow smile offered up to Rey, and a quicker one sent back.

“Good shift so far?”

“Mmhmm,” Rey hums, sliding a menu over to him.

“You fixin’ to go on break?” he asks.

“I dunno,“ she shrugs, smile turning sly as she tucks a pen behind her ear, “you know anybody who’d want to keep me company?”

Never a big talker in the morning, Kylo shifts his stare towards the menu pages, grunting when reminded that his hair is way past getting too long. The head tilt brushing his black curls along his neck, the ends tickling his jaw. Every last strand begging for a cut when Kylo spends all day in the swampy heat that’s too humid to maintain a stylish down look, and the town remains far too conservative to attempt a man bun. It’s a simple fix, but recently, he can’t convince his boots to make the trip to the barber. Yep, he’s seasonally screwed. No relief in sight until he hightails his near-hippie hair to the city for at least a trim, but that visit isn’t in the cards anytime soon since he happens to be dating a rather frisky female who’s simply wild about running her hands through his hair when she sees him.

And Lord if he doesn’t enjoy satisfying her in every way possible.

Yes, the biggest dimple in his girlfriend’s cheek has a lovely habit of showing up when she’s absently playing with his long locks while they watch TV, driving around town, and lucky for him, she’s equally as generous with those hands when she’s urgently tugging on his hair in bed. Grabbing handfuls between whimpers. Drawing his mouth to her’s and below, holding him just where she wants him again and again and again until Kylo makes that low noise of pleasure in the back of his throat. The needy purr that she claims is her favorite sound outside of thunder in July. That near moan that belongs to her as much as if she’d stuck a flag into it and Kylo would let her if he could. Because yes, the bearded brooder with his striking, Bible Belt Byronic features softens right up into affectionate pudding for his sweet, sweet girl. He wouldn’t dream of letting her down, and so he rakes a hand along the side of his head, gives her a hair swish worth coming home for.

"So, just how many men fell in love with you this morning?” Kylo teases, his dark eyes lit with smug pride when he catches her licking her lip.

“Only the gardening entrepreneur in my bed this morning,” Rey winked, filling his coffee, unnecessarily brushing her fingers against his. “And possibly that last guy.”

“What did him in?”

“The chess pie.”

“You hussy,” Kylo tsks, shaking his head. “Was he even able to walk straight after you’d finished with him?”

“Just barely.”

“Awww, poor city boy,” After a glance around the diner to make sure that nobody is watching, Kylo lifts Rey’s hand to his lips, nips at her finger. “I feel his pain,” his voice skims into trouble, gives her a work inappropriate shiver when he holds her gaze like that, nips her again. “It is damn near impossible not to love you after the first bite.”

That drawl is unfair. It’s too much for any girl to take with all his added handsome, and although a crimson tide crosses Rey’s cheeks, she recovers enough of her senses to roll her eyes. "Is that what reeled you in,” she laughs, dropping her mouth in faux incredulity, “my pie?”

“Not just any pie,” Kylo corrects, squeezing her hand, “your strawberry rhubarb.”

“Hmm, must be why I keep a slice for you then, huh?” Rey muses. Not caring if anybody is watching when she leans over the counter, planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek before removing a pie plate from the dessert display. 

The best piece from her just for him. 

[gilbirda]

I’m working on fixing mistakes and posting this fic here!

<<Previous Chapter / Next Chapter >>

Chapter 2: Knowing you    

Marianne blew a strand of hair that refused to stay in place out of her face. Her once “too-short-for-a-girl-like-you” pixie cut had grown into a quite messy mane of hair, too long to stay out of her face but too short to gather up in a ponytail. It was exhausting having to take it from her eyes every five minutes.

“Tired already?” she heard a deep voice behind her, but she didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. That stupid librarian. They had been working together for two days and he had only spoken to her to make a snarky remark about her lack of style or how she was not doing her part of the job correctly.

“Shut up, Bog King,” the girl had decided to call him like that since he carried himself with certain altiveness, like he was above everyone surrounding him. She thought that maybe he was rich - he always came to school in fine clothes. Always a shirt and a nice pure wool gray vest, both of brands she was aware weren’t exactly cheap, and jeans. The combination was quite odd, but strange enough it suited his lean form really well.

“I love it when you call me that, kid,” he said back. She snorted.

The pace between them had settled in casual banter, something both seemed to be comfortable with. He didn’t ask her any questions about her wounds apart from a soft “how are you feeling today?” when she arrived at the Library, which was way more than anyone on the school seemed to care. In exchange, she didn’t ask about the big scar on his chin or why did a big man like him end up as an library assistant.

“Sure you do,” she smirked, “old man.”

He snorted.

Marianne turned back to the books in front of her, a big pile of old, dusty books to sort and catalogue, as Bog had instructed her the day before. The task was way too much for only one person, and even with her helping hands it may still take a week or more. It was no surprise that she had been selected to help as a punishment for getting into fights constantly.

Unconsciously, as she piled the books by author and genre, she started to hum a tune she liked, simple notes in rapid succession, a song she lately had been obsessed with and had driven her sister mad. “Why don’t you just change that song sometimes?” she said that morning after hearing it for the third time in a row through the wall between their rooms.

“Is that…?”

“Huh?” she stopped humming and lifted her head with a little smile on her lips.

“Were you singing Toxicity?” Bog had turned from his place a few tables away, a heavy looking book on his hands.

“Yeah. You know that song?” she blinked, surprised that such a rich looking guy knew System of a Down.

“Are you kidding me? I love that song! And the entire album too!” he smiled at her.

Marianne blinked again really taken aback by his enthusiasm. He didn’t seem the type to like that kind of music, but well, she didn’t either until a few years ago after the whole Roland incident. It was then when she decided that she was going to be herself and like what she wanted to like, after realizing that a big chunk of her personality had been lost in the tides.

“Do you like System of a Down?"

“Well, is not really my favorite but I enjoy a lot of their songs. I have ears, you know,” he snorted as if not liking it was a foolish matter.

Tell that to everyone on this wretched place, the girl thought. All the empty headed idiots listened to was the latest hits and “modern” music. Not that she didn’t like a commercial song or two, but she was aware that it was just designed music to impress the masses and the real talent had to be looked for. But hey, she was the “weird kid” for listening to music from before 2010.

It was so rare to find someone else that listened to real music anymore. The fact that it has to be a man a lot older than her should irk her, but welp. It kind of did. Not that it surprised her.

“What else do you usually listen to?” Marianne tasted the waters.

“Let me see…,” Bog abandoned the giant book on another table and put one hand on his chin in a pensive gesture. She briefly wondered if the barely grown beard scratched his skin and if it bothered him. “Queen?”

“Classic.”

“Kiss?”

“Cliché.”

“C’mon, don’t be so picky.”

“I’m not-!” she blushed when she realized that she was speaking really loud. What a good first impression he was having of her. “I’m not being picky,” Marianne repeated in a lower tone.

But instead of scolding her like every adult she knew, the librarian laughed and turned back to his work, resuming their comfortable pace, this time with random comments here and there about music tastes.

She liked this. Here she wasn’t being looked at with a magnifying glass, waiting for her to do something she shouldn’t do or that wasn’t socially accepted. She could get used to this.

It was shame that this could only last until they finished with their work.

***

Later that day, while Bog closed the Library and went to his car to return home, he pulled out his phone and looked for the few songs he hadn’t heard before that Marianne had mentioned on their conversation.

Unsurprisingly, as the first guitar riffs started to play he liked them already. Marianne had a good taste in music, he had to concede, even if she didn’t strike him as someone who enjoyed this kind of music. She had that gothic style going on, yeah, but he could see the pretty face and delicate hands under all of that expensive make-up she usually wore.

Still, the whole “getting beaten” issue should have given it away once she crossed the Library door. His first thought was “Ugh” as well as methods to avoid her and the incoming headache. He didn’t like kids. In fact, he avoided them as much as he could. That’s why he had been happy with his temporary job in the Library while they looked for another librarian to succeed the old woman that was there before.

In the Library he only had the company of silent books and his music. He could work like that. He enjoyed solitude. So when he was told that he was going to have help from the detention kid he wanted to complain. His peace and quiet, his order, was being compromised by a misbehaving child. They only brought chaos.

But Marianne wasn’t like that. On the first day he gave her a task and expected her to shout and throw the books around, but she did it without much fight apart from weird faces from time to time; but that may be because of her hurting arm. When they had to interact she had been polite and calm, and looked at him in the eye without hesitating. She was so calm and silent that he almost forgot she was there until she came to him to ask where she could put some books.

On the second day he found himself looking forward to working with her. Marianne was quick and efficient, and didn’t ask any unnecessary questions or tried to make conversation to ease the mood. Also, she didn’t comment on his appearance either, and that was something he enjoyed the most.

He knew he wasn’t much to look at and that the scars on his face made all kinds of rumours start to form without much input on his end. On a school full of kids those kind of things always ignited a flame of pain and destruction, capable of breaking even the strongest people into dust. He tried not to remember his time in school for this same reason. The scars produced by those horrible years ran deeper than the ones on his skin. The worst one being in his last year…

He still remembers the cold feeling inside when the girl he thought was the love of his life left him alone to suffer the rumours and shameful comments. She denied dating him at all and made him feel not only used but hideous.

“I’m sorry,” she had said, crying and putting as much distance as she could between them, “I just can’t love you...”

I can’t love you because you are too ugly, he completed on his head, not really needing to hear it out loud. He simply turned and got out of there before getting the final stab in his heart.

He was no fool back then. He knew what everyone said behind his back about him, about his face, about his strange body with too long limbs and big hands. They said he was a freak and that he belonged in a circus. Bog managed to survive all of that without crumbling, pouring himself into books and fantasy and videogames; but when he fell for this girl only to get his heart stomped on… it was the final nail on his coffin.

Coming back to the present, the librarian shook his head and looked around, noticing that he had been standing in front of his car for a while now. It was cold and his exposed skin was starting to hurt, so he rushed to the inside of his car and started the engine.

Bog scoffed. It was no use dwelling in the past. Not when he had made something useful of his life in this time. He studied what he wanted and managed to get a friend here and there, and he never ever had suffered what he did in high school. People simply matured out of that hive-like mindset of ridiculing the different and the unusual. In time, he accepted what happened and moved on with his life.

But he swore off love and relationships. He was better off alone and without having to open his heart to anyone, to give them the power to break what little self-esteem he had managed to work on in these years. He wasn’t going to be vulnerable again.

***

Marianne sighed and twirled the pen on her right hand again, not really feeling like doing homework right now. She had come home late after doing her work hours in the Library and then she had to eat something and finish her homework. Hey, being the outcast from school didn’t mean she had to stop caring about her grades.

But today her mind wasn’t focused at all, too many song lyrics going around her head, memories triggered by those songs playing in black and white behind her eyes. The conversation she had today with the librarian had returned dear memories from beloved songs to the front of her mind; some memories about her deceased mother, who passed on her love for the classics to her.

She missed her. With her mother around everything would be going to be okay, Marianne would have someone to turn to despite having everything against her. If her mother was here she was sure she would be a different person altogether, without so much make-up and a thick skin and a tough persona to resist all the crap she suffered at school.

But her mother had died ten years ago and she couldn’t dare tell her sister about what really happened with Roland. She only knows that he cheated on her sister and that’s it, so Dawn couldn’t understand why Marianne decided to swear off love so rashly. Sure, what he did was despicable and all of that, “but you can’t really judge every man by that bias!” she usually said when they argued.

How wrong she was. She wanted to tell her a lot of times that it wasn’t just Roland, that she shouldn’t trust any man, and that girls that defended them were as horrible as any of them. All the girls at school that denied any fault in Roland’s behavior, that said that it was “just natural” for him to look for a woman that would satisfy him; those were the dangerous ones.

Dawn’s friends were like that, too. Marianne had heard them whisper behind her sister’s back sometimes, usually trash talking and rumours about the fallen Queen, things they didn’t dare say in front of the blonde. It was sad. She couldn’t trust anyone.

She couldn’t give anyone the power to crush her heart into dust.

***

Next day caught Marianne looking forward to working with the weird librarian that liked good music and wasn’t judging her (or pitying her, like most adults did on school). Probably he hadn’t heard yet the rumours about her and all about the Roland incident but a tiny part of her wished that he didn’t. It was stupid, because his opinion of her shouldn’t be distorted by what other people thought they knew about her; but… well, she wanted to be the one that told him, if she ever did it, that is.

And it was even more stupid that she cared about what he thought of her. He was nice to be with, yeah, but she still was her own person and if Bog decided that the troubled kid was what people thought she was, then it was his loss. Another shallow man to despise and fight with.

She vaguely wondered if she would win in case it got to that situation.

“Earth to Marianne!” she heard her sister’s voice, making her snap out of it. “Are you okay, sis? You have been spacing out since we got out of home!”

Marianne blinked and realized that they were, in fact, already parked on the school grounds. Kids were walking to the big cristal doors like they had nothing to worry about. Like they didn’t destroy her life two years ago.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking. She hadn’t spoken at all that morning. “I’m fine, Dawn.”

She tried to smile, but she had forgotten how to do it properly a long time ago. Her sister sighed and let it go, for now.

“Let’s go or we are going to be late.”

Marianne nodded and got out of the car putting on her headphones. Dawn once asked why she did that, but she was answered when they encountered their classmates that first day of school when Marianne came back to school as her new persona.

All kinds of comments could be heard. Most of them weren’t coated in malice, at least not anymore, but it was like everyone had the right to have an opinion about what happened almost two years ago with Roland, even if those opinions weren’t exactly well informed and based on what had been accepted as the truth. She was used to it by now, but that didn’t mean she actively wanted to hear it.

Hence the music.

She scrolled aimlessly on her saved songs, not really knowing what she wanted to listen to right now. It was then when she stumbled into a song she didn’t remember saving on her phone. She tapped on it and started to hear the familiar guitar over the hurtful whispers around her.

“Pressure, pushing down on me, pressing down on you, no man ask for...”

The teenager smiled sadly, feeling strangely comforted by David Bowie’s soft voice and Freddie Mercury’s signature one.

It was not, absolutely not, because Bog had mentioned he really liked this song the day before.

[misterewrites]

So you discovered a terrible secret and you regret it (title pending)

Hello everyone, Mr.E here and I am finally finished with my original work! YAY! WOOO! Sorry I was using this to get back into the swing of things before I start writing pirates part 3. 

So I love me my supernatural, gothic horror. I’ve made that very clear during the monster hunter au I wrote and I didn’t want to bog that all down with the ideas i kept coming up with so I decided I would make my own series so I didn’t clog that au up. I don’t know if I’m going to keep this going (in true fashion I have written a whole plot for this) but if you like what you read, let me know. I am more than happy to keep writing this story especially if I need breaks from writing other stuff.

So the story: Viktor Von Issac is the classic vampire hunter. Veronica is a huge fan of his work and his stories and loves reading every story she can about him even if she’s a Junior in High School and working on keeping her grades and social life alive. But one day, she stumbles upon a well kept secret about her school and she realizes maybe she was wrong about a few things. 

That’s basically it. I made my own Van Helsing.Umm yeah let me know what you all think, if I should keep it going, if you enjoyed it. Have an amazing week everyone, see you soon with the part 3 of the pirates au and I hope you enjoy my crazy story! 

Notification Squad: @artgirllullaby @hipster-rapunzel @ladyxgilex @thefandombytes @minthia-ren @axis2700 @burst-zen @isolated-frequencies @toon-addicted (Sorry you’re on the list, it’s easy just to add you here too) @nerdymetalhead 

Estella's heaving and huffing could scarcely be heard over the booming thunder, the violent rattle of the slowly crumbling church that shook to its very core, rain pouring through the broken, decaying structure like moonlight.

She strained her ears for any sign of the monster that chased them but between the bleeding Henryk's gasps for air and the rhythmic pounding of rain against the flooded wooden floor, nothing could be heard.

“Come on” she whispered hopefully to the dying man she carried around her shoulders “Just a bit further.”

Henryk groaned in response but gave no words.

Fear began ebbing into Estella's resolve, her boots sloshing against the slowly rising tide.

“We'll be okay” She whispered to herself in a blind hope “We'll be okay”

A chilly wind swept through the abandoned place of worship, a numbing frost spread throughout her body. She could feel her legs wobble and sway uneasily, Henryk's body growing heavier each passing moment and the syrupy urge to give in tugged at her, beckoning sweetly.

Estella bit her lip hard, the sharp pain awakening her instincts, renew vigor flowing through her and the will to press on overcame the terror that had been quietly growing.

The door was just a few feet away. Just a few more feet and she could escape deeper into the forest with Henryk.

Her heart stopped when she heard the moaning of the old oak doors open, the rusty hinges shrieking into the night while a silhouetted figure stood in the door frame menacingly.

“Vampyre” Estella murmured under her breath, her body tensed for battle as she reached for a knife tucked away in Henryk's coat pocket.

“I am afraid you are mistaken my dear” the shadow replied with a reassuring tone “I am no vampyre, I am...”

“Von Issac!” a warm feeling ignited within her despite the frigid rain as famed vampyre hunter Viktor Von Issac stepped forth from the shadows and into the moonlight.

He was no different than last she saw the slightly older man: His handsome youthful face brimming with a cocksure confident that contrasted with his well kept black and gray hair, his hazel eyes narrowed with both worry and conviction. A soothing grin graced his lips. His long frayed black coat and white collared shirt soaked from the rainfall. He wiped at his black dressed pants, his matching loafers dully echoing the splashes of water as he made his way closer.

“Von Issac.” Estella began but he rose a hand to silence her.

“We haven't any time. You and my brother have foolishly followed an ill fated plan and now Malikiah rouses from his slumber. You two must make haste and leave.”

“Viktor...” Henryk crocked, his hand weakly reaching for his kin.

Viktor took his brother's hand, clasping it tightly in his grasp “I am here my brother but you must not be.”

Viktor turned to Estella, a grim determination ablaze in his eyes “Take him to a doctor for if I fail at least the Von Issac name does not end with me.”

“Viktor...” Estella whispered softly, her heart aching with longing “I cannot just leave you here to face that....thing.”

Viktor cupped Estella's face gently “What has happened has happened and regrets have been made but I am afraid this is not the time. You cannot remain. You must leave.”

“But...”

“GO!” Viktor shouted without warning.

Startled and against her own wishes, Estella bolted through the door, her frame swallowed whole by the shadows.

Viktor let out a saddened sigh as the echo of footsteps approached from beyond the church altar.

“Malikiah” he growls furiously as he pulled out his trusty crucifix and cane.

A sweet whistling fills the air, piercing effortlessly through the pouring rain and deafening thunder. It is a slow melody of a song Viktor's mother once sang to him long ago. A treasured memory twisted and corrupted.

“I so loved the Hall of the Mountain King.” Viktor spoke calmly “But you knew that didn't you, Malikiah? Darkly attempting to taint my childhood.”

Two irises of red filled with amusement appear from the swirling, shifting night.

“Indeed but now that you have traveled deep into the darkness, into my kingdom, did you like what you found little Gynt?”

“Hardly” Viktor spat viciously.

“Oh well.” A toothy smirk gleamed through the dark.

Von Issac held his breath as, for the first time in nearly a decade, his most hated foe stepped into the moonlight: His black and white hair were short and impeccably groomed, his eyes a hungry red. He wore only the finest clothing, black as his soul and the interior of his cape as red as the blood he sought to drain. His skin was a deathly pale but still possessed an inhumanly timeless face much like a statute from an ancient empire long since passed. His fingernails were long and beastly as the steady dripping of crimson fell from them.

Malikiah glided across the water, soundless and without disturbing the surface, the shadows clung to him and trailed behind like a cloak.

Viktor held his crucifix high, its outline glowing with a heavenly bright light that grew brighter with each moment.

Malikiah raised his claws, a twisted smile etched on his face as he inched closer, bloodust singing in his eyes as he lunged forward, fangs bare and....

The scene changed and instead of an epic fight to the death Veronica was hoping for, a well dressed man appeared onscreen, some soda product in his hands and a forced smile on his lips.

“Oh come on!” she cried, angrily growling at the television “It was just getting to the good part! I didn't finish my homework at school for this crap!”

“Are you yelling at the television again sweetie?” Her mother called from the other room.

“Yes!” Veronica answered truthfully “This is the last movie in the classic 1950's Von Issac series and they always cut it off during the big fight between him and Malikiah.”

“It's fiction sweetie.”

“It's annoying is what it is.” Veronica huffed, angrily plopping on her bed “Ugh I hate when it's getting good and suddenly without warning, boom! Commercials.”  

“Shouldn't you be asleep?”

Veronica coughed softly as she dove under the covers, feigning sleep when her mother's footsteps drew closer.

RIIIIIIIING.

Veronica let out a sleepy yawn, rubbing tiredly at her hazel eyes. Her medium length brown hair was tied in a hastily put together ponytail. The 16 year old was rocking her usual fashion of a pink collared dress and black dress pants.

Her tiredness slowed her efforts to open her locker and bolt before a certain person arrived. Normally she wouldn't even have to see him if she was quick enough but between her late night movie binge watching session and her English homework, her mind was too fatigued to properly focus. She resisted scoffing in annoyance as Richard Todd lazily strolled up to the neighboring locker, his gray eyes shooting a quick glance to the book she held in her hand.

True to typical Richard fashion he was wearing that stupid black beanie over his reddish brown hair, a leather jacket over his black t-shirt, faded denim jeans tucked into the most stereotypical boots to be found in every single teenage drama show ever. The very picture of a boy trying too hard to be bad.

“You know.” Richard began, his hands twisting and turning at the knob “It's weird to see you still here. Running late?”

“None of your business” Veronica shot back.

“Snippy as ever” Richard rolled his eyes in irritation “And still reading that fictional crap?”

Veronica slammed her locker door angrily “Hey! It's a good series. One of the better Von Issac stories. You don't see me mocking any of your favorite books.”

Richard scoffed in response “You know nothing of Von Issac.”

She stuck out her tongue “I know more than you! You probably have never read a Von Issac story in your entire life!”

“I prefer his original work” Richard admitted, his hand shifting through his locker contents “But I doubt you ever read it. It is extremely rare. “

“Oh please you're just saying that to get a rise out of me” Veronica frowned.

“I do no such thing”

“Oh? Is that why you keep mocking me?” her eyes flared furiously “Provoking me by judging my book choices. You don't even read! You wouldn't know a good book if it hit you over the head!”

Richard closed his locker and cracked his fingers nonchalantly “Of course I would. Books are the best for blunt force trauma.”

Veronica scoffed, eyes narrowed in a glare as Richard left without a word.

“I can't believe him” she murmured quietly to herself “Judging me on my book choices.”

“Yeah I totally ship it.”

Veronica turned and openly glared at her approaching best friend.

Sally Hawkins was the same age as her bestie with long black hair often tied in a braid that hung off her shoulder. She had a few freckles sprayed across the bridge of her nose that drew attention to her light brown eyes. Today's outfit of choice was a dark navy blue shirt with the slogan “Will art for food” with various ink and paint stains all over her jeans, her feet comfortably exposed to the chilly morning air in their flip flop shelter.

“Don't you start Sally” Veronica threatened, finger poised to further her point

“I'm just saying he's cute, you're cute. That's like a third of the shipping cornerstone.”

“He is not cute!”

“Just a little Ronnie?” Sally asked, gesturing with her finger and thumb nearly touching one another.

“Not even a little.” Veronica smacked her bestie's hand away “He is the worst.”

“I don't know” Sally replied gently “I mean he just teases you. I've met guys that are far worse than that. And it's not like he's cruel about it. Everyone knows how defensive you get about your books.”

“I like to read.” Veronica huffed

“What kind of popular girl are you? Reading like you enjoy it. Psst.”

“I do enjoy it Sally.”

Sally shook her head in disappointment “For shame.”

“Besides” Veronica went on “It's not just the books. It's his whole attitude towards me.”

“Oi vey. Here we go again.”

“It's true Sal! He seems to be out to personally annoy the hell out of me.”

Sally shook her hands mockingly “Watch out. You said hell. You must be sooooo right about your assumptions”

“Look, if he isn't making fun of my books....”

“We all do sweetie but go on.”

Veronica glowered at Sally through gritted teeth “Like I was saying, if he isn't making fun of my books, he actively bars my path”

Sally stopped, lost for a moment “Bars? Did you really just say bars? Like impede? Why didn't you use impede? That's a much better word.”

“Sally, focus sweetie.”

“....Bars?” She mouthed once again but her fuming best friend continued with her rant

“Anyway, I can literally count the times he has either forced me out of a room or blocked me from entering a room or actively shooed me away from some dark corner of the school. I don't care what he does but it's my right to travel wherever I want! He doesn't the own the school and he sure as hell can't tell me where to go! I tell me where I go!”

“Mhm” Sally murmured “Did you ever think that maybe it was for the best? I mean he's the resident stereotypical bad boy. Doesn't talk to anyone.”

“Almost always ditching class” Veronica added

“No one really knows anything about him or where he disappears off too.”

“Friends with the stoners that smoke in the third floor boy's bathroom.”

“Cute” Sally tried to sneak in but was quickly silenced by a gentle smack to the arm “Oww! Okay okay. But seriously he hits all the check marks. Clothes, attitude, general lack of...okay no that's every teen trapped in school. ”

“He's just a wannabe.” Veronica fumed “He's acting out because it's cool or something. You know what?”

“No but I bet you're going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

“I'm not going to let him push me around anymore.” Veronica continued

Sally sighed in response “Yeah that's what I thought.”

“The next time he tells me to leave the room or tries to stop me, I'm just going no to him! And do whatever I was planning on doing! Yeah! This is a good plan.”

“If it's a good plan, why do you need to confirm to yourself that it in fact is a good plan?”

“Oh shut it Sally. It's called positive reinforcement.”

“Is that what you call it? I usually call it denial.”

“I hate you so much.'”

“Love you too sweetie.”

To say that Veronica was distracted by her fantasy of vengeance through first and well into second period would've been an understatement. The proper term would've been consumed.

She dug up half buried memories of all her fellow Junior's slights against her: The time he refused to let her into the chemistry room to retrieve her notebook, knocking her food off her tray without a second thought (he did it to other people as well but started with hers), that weird flower he left in her locker that made her violently ill.

And with each passing moment, her anger grew and grew to an uncontainable fury.

She was not going to take this anymore! She refused to let this carry on any further and this time Richard was going to answer for all he had done, whether he remembered or not! And given the fact his seat was currently empty which meant he ditching class once again, he was probably off doing something stupid and Veronica wasn't really sure where this was going but it gave her a smug satisfaction nevertheless that she was a diligent student who tried her best even if school wasn't the most engaging!

“Miss Rizal, is there any particular reason you are trying to destroy your pencil?”

Veronica blinked once and instead of being wrapped in the joyous rapture of finally standing up to her most hated foe, she found herself staring at a very unamused English teacher, gray eyes searching hers for an answer.

“Oh!” she instinctively straightened up “Miss Seybold, I'm sorry! I...I was distracted”

The 28 year old pursed her lips, pressing her glasses further on the bridge of her nose “I can see that. Any particular reason why? It isn't like you to wander during English.”

Perhaps it was due to her unrestrained anger or perhaps because he was the last thing on her mind but Veronica couldn't help glancing over to the empty desk.

Miss Seybold caught her gaze at once “Mr. Todd is not here and none of your concern. To each their own and Mr. Todd has chosen not to be here.”

“Why doesn't the school suspend him?” Veronica asked quizzically “He's missed more than the appropriate amount of days.”

Miss Seybold's brown eyes widened for a moment before becoming indifferent, cold.

“I believe that is not your decision Miss Rizal. Besides I am sure Mr. Todd has his reasons for not being here. Regardless, you should probably focus on your work. It is the more pressing issue”

Veronica pouted for a moment, the embers of her rage still burning despite the conversation “May I use the bathroom?”

“Of course.”

“Deep breaths Ronnie.”

Veronica stopped a moment, taking the deepest breath she could muster.

She forgot how easy it was to get angry, to let loose her emotions in an uncontrolled torrent.

Leaning against a random locker, she could hear the noises of the school: The scraping of sneakers against the sleek tile floors, the murmuring of teachers at work, the scratchy noises of chalk against a solid surface.

Veronica paused for a moment, thinking to herself “Chalk?”

She glanced around, ear straining to find the source of the noise.

It was soft, nearly inaudible but definitely something being scribbled upon.

Veronica frowned: Should she investigate further? It's only been a minute since she left the classroom and while she had no intention of actually going to the bathroom, if she took too long Miss Seybold might not be happy when she returned.

More scratching. Patient and controlled. Whoever was doing this was in no rush to finish whatever it was they were working on.

“I'll check it out” she decided “I can just see and tell Miss Seybold. She'll call the janitor and proctor and it'll all be good. Awesome.”

Veronica inched closer to the source of the noise, tip toeing as to not alert whoever was breaking the rules.

The scrawling barely grew in volume the closer she got. Lockers turned to pale bare painted walls and barely functional lighting as she realized she was heading to the utility  storage room used by the janitorial crew. She rounded the corner and before she knew it, she was looking at the back of a familiar looking jacket.

“You! That's vandalism and against school rules” She growled, the flames of anger ablaze once more.

Richard paused for a moment, twisting his head from his work only to say “You should go.”

Veronica huffed despite herself “You...”

“Me.” Richard replied before standing to full height “You can go ahead and leave.”

Veronica opened her mouth to retort but he just walked into the room and closed the door shut without another word.

3

2

1

“That little” she snarled “I am done with this.”

There was nothing but red. A white intense fury that dug deep into her being and refused to go out. She saw his 'work', some sort of tacky circle with strange symbols outlined around it, and she smeared it. She ruined the poor excuse for graffiti and just wiped and wiped until it was an unrecognizable smudge on the faded metal. A petty satisfaction filled her with pride but she wasn't done yet. Oh not even close. The dam had been broken and there was no stopping it now.

She pushed open the door and strolled in without pause.

There was a soft click of the door closing behind her that sounded thunderous in her ears as she was plunged into darkness. Streaks of sunlight broke through the uneven bent blinds that covered the windows but all she could see were specks of dust floating lazily in the air and silhouettes of towering cabinets. No sign of the troublemaker or his goal.

There were no murmurs of lessons or squeaking sneakers on smooth tiles. Instead there was a thick silence that blanketed this place far heavier than the shadows and even her own timid footsteps seemed to be muted by the quiet of the room.

The rage drained out of her and instead a deep sense of dread came. She could feel her hairs stand on end, the fear of breaking this unnatural silence loomed over as she ventured within. Something was wrong here. Something was....angry.

She stopped for a moment and that's when she heard the noise that had set her body on edge: It was low, animalistic growl that hummed with a savage hunger.

And then without warning, the most unexpected thing happened.

“Hey buddy” Richard spoke in a casual yet soft tone “You're not supposed to be here.”

There was a snort like a dog breathing through its nose.

“I know we have a test today but you shouldn't have come. Your rune is broken and we can't have you wandering about. If someone saw you....”

A shameful grunt was the response.

“Walter.” The name tickled Veronica's memory but she couldn't think of what it could mean “Walter buddy, you need to go home. Once we fix your rune, you can come back and I'm sure we can get make ups for your tests. Okay?”

Veronica strained her ears as this Walter murmured quietly, too low for her to catch his reply.

Richard sighed tiredly “Look, I got these same tests. You gotta think of other people. You are being really selfish right now.”

'Walter' snarled, knocking over some supplies that boomed uncomfortably in the silence.

“He must've brought his dog” Veronica muttered “Is there no end to his civil disobedience?”

That was the last straw and the fury reignited. No more outs. No more being polite. It was time to take this self absorbed jerk down a peg!

She stormed out of her hiding place, confidence and determination filling her steps as she made her way to the back of the room.

Richard turned around but rather than fear or surprise, it was a mild annoyance that danced in his eyes.

She didn't care. This was her moment and she was being petty but it was totally justified and she was going to...

“Veronica? Is that you?”

She stopped. She had never heard him speak her name outloud in the three years she'd been dealing with him. It felt and off, awkward and strange. She lost her thought for a moment and then she lost her breath as two red eyes glimmered in the darkness, fixated on her and her alone.

“Veronica” Richard repeated, the full weight of the situation dawning on him “What are you doing here? I told you to leave.”

She barely registered the controlled ire in his voice. The red eyes twinkled, its elongated snout sniffed the air as if trying to determine who had dared interrupt the two. Two fangs dully gleamed as the shadows themselves shifted and moved.

Whatever it was stood up and unlike the two teens, it was tall far taller than that what she had expected. Its muscles were lanky yet lean and what she previous thought was just an awkwardly shaped silhouette was its body. Jet black fur covered its frame, blending it with the surrounding darkness. Even at full height, it was bent low as to not hit its head on the ceiling.

Richard realized his mistake at once. He turned quickly back to the beast, arms raised as if to calm it

“Walter, WALTER CALM DOWN OR ELSE YOU'RE GOING TO...”

'Walter' lost it.

He rose his arm, pulling back before lashing out with surprising speed.

Richard managed to dive under the attack, skidding across the floor for a moment before jumping to his feet. He ran at the beast who hesitated for a moment and tackled it with his full weight.

The beast hardly budged and attacked once more, swiping at the grappling troublemaker. Richard leaned into the attack before being violently shoved sideways. He stumbled a moment and the creature took its chance to escape. He dropped down onto all fours and raced towards Veronica who was still paralyzed with fear.

Richard held onto a nearby cabinet to steady himself when he caught sight of the frozen girl. He let out a frustrated groan before pulling down the furniture onto the escaping beast.

Its dog-like ears perked up and it tumbled sideways, crashing into and knocking over the rest of the cabinets that lined the room to avoid being trapped, their spilled contents unbearably loud to the frightened Veronica.

It scurried out the door, its sharp claws digging into the school tile deeply.

“Hey” Richard rushed over Veronica “Hey, what did I tell you?”

“What...” She muttered, the shock of it all still not wearing off yet.

“Focus” Richard snapped his fingers “What did I tell you?”

“I...I...”

Richard pressed on “I told you to leave. I told you to go. For someone so smart you are awfully bad at listening.”

“Werewolf....” Veronica managed to get out “Th-that was a...”

“A Wulver” Richard corrected, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly “Thematically similar but not the same.”

“It..it...claws....and...and fangs!”

“Yes as wolf-like creatures tend to be. Alright I'm going to leave you here...”

“NO!” Veronica cried, grabbing onto his sleeve tightly “No no no please don't I...I...”

“You are in shock” he explained carefully, gently prying off her grasp on him “You need to relax. I will be back once I calm Walter down and get him off school grounds.”

“H-he ran.” she stammered “into the hall. I...he's....he's...”

“Don't worry” Richard calmly answered “I set a magic circle on the door. He's just outside, paralyzed and completely harmless.”

Magic circle? Veronica thought to herself before realizing he was taking about his strange art he drew on the door “Oh.”

Then it hit her.

“Oh”

Richard looked at her then back at the door then back to Veronica, a sheepish grin slowly forming on her face.

“Seriously?” He muttered before breaking off into a sprint, not even questioning what her response meant.

Veronica ran after him, the fear of being left alone while whatever it was roamed the school halls was far too overwhelming “It's not my fault!” “I told you to leave Veronica!”

“That was vague!” Veronica shot back as the two burst into the hallway “Maybe if you told me what was going on, I would've listened”

“It's a secret for a reason” Richard replied, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of the creature “I was keeping you safe because it's my flipping job and you are such a nosy person!”

“I am no...wait, I am?” Veronica questioned but Richard had broke off into another sprint “Hey wait! I HAVE QUESTIONS!”

“Well, run and talk! I got work to do!” he shot back irritably

“.....Whoops” Veronica murmured to herself before chasing after him “Well how was I supposed to know?!”

“You weren't. That's the point. Hard left.”

In a single graceful movement, Richard slid effortlessly across the floor, rounding the corner with ease and speed.

Veronica nearly tripped over the sudden directional change and flailed to keep up.

“What do you mean I'm not supposed to know? I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW IF THERE'S WEREWOLVES RUNNING AROUND MY SCHOOL!”

“Keep your voice down” Richard glared openly at her “The idea is to keep it a secret, not blab it down the hallways!”

“Why are there werewolves in our school?” she asked softly.

“Wulver” Richard corrected before coming to a stop.

“Is there a difference?”

Richard looked at her, unable to believe what she just said “Yes. A big one. That is very insensitive.”

Veronica gasp in disbelief “Did you just call me...”

“Yes” Richard answered “Now no more question until we find him.”

“I hate you.” Veronica said

“I am well aware of that. Come on, he likes to go to the football field.”

“Why?”

“Well he is the captain of the team.”

“What?” Veronica halted in her tracks “I'm sorry, what?! Walter?! Wait tiny short Walter whose super shy and like freaking strong Walter?”

“Did I stutter?” Richard took off once more “Why do you think he's so good at tackling people?”

Veronica rubbed her eyes tiredly.

“Well shit.”