veebeeboo109

[veebeeboo109]

Infold refuses to give me the cards I want because they KNOW I write smut out of pure SORROW AND DESPERATIOn.

Of course the only card I got was FUCKING Rafayel. That man wants my cookie so bad 🥲

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Coming together to...come together.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, 0rgy, Polycule, FMMMM, MxM, Switch!Caleb, Switch!Sylus, Six-way, All the tags associated with terrible smut lol

Chapter 27: Coming Together

When life makes drastic changes, it takes a while for all the parts of you to catch up. After spending a year trying to adjust to Caleb’s absence, you found yourself sitting in this confusing mess of feelings with him back by your side. 

You felt like an overstretched rubber band, recoiling back into shape. Like waking up in an unfamiliar place that you had to remind yourself where you were. Caleb was here. Caleb was alive. Zayne was here. Zayne remembered. 

You didn’t mean to space out so hard, lost in the void of your adapting mind as you sat on the couch early that morning. Knees pulled up to your chest, the TV is playing some infomercial on a new haircare line but you haven’t been paying attention at all. 

This place. This house. This life. Within these four walls lie six souls– displaced and rewritten. With memories of a world beyond this one. Was it before? Adjacent? You were struggling to cope with where it all lie. If you were to map out the universe, where were you now? And where were the past versions of you? 

Contemplating the multiverse, the complexity of dimensions, and redundancy of time was making your head ache. It didn’t help that everything felt a little up in the air at the moment. 

Zayne recalling his memory was a celebratory, joyful thing. It certainly eased some anxiety on your part, and the hole in your heart in the shape of Zayne was finally, fully filled. However, this restoration was not without its drawbacks. 

Firstly, the Zayne who founded the sanctuary was a very quiet man. Words were something to be shared sparingly and only very precisely. A side effect of his fickle foresight. However, your modern Zayne was forthright with his feelings and his thoughts, and this disparagement seemed to be leaving him tongue tied. Fighting against the desire to speak and the fear of what it might do to the future. 

Next, it brought up the confounding realization that you were one of six people who– for all intents and purposes– didn’t belong here. With memories of a world beyond, were you creatures of displacement? Had the spell created this world? Or simply dropped the six of you into it?

Lastly, the others didn’t quite know how to act. 

Rafayel was the first to arrive home, and the moment he stepped into the living room he could sense something was amiss. You weren’t sure if it was written plainly in your face or he somehow scented it on Zayne’s skin. 

The sea god crowded you and Zayne, demanding answers. Demanding to know how this happened. After you managed to explain, Rafayel nearly collapsed in a mighty sigh of relief. 

“Finally.” Rafayel groaned, running his hand over his face, “I’m sorry Zayne, but this tip toeing around your amnesiatic butt has been exhausting.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart flutters to see the fond look in Zayne’s eyes. The slightest shift in Zayne’s arm invited Rafayel in, and the siren let his head fall against the other man’s shoulder. 

Another heavy sigh left Rafayel’s lips, tension dissolving from his shoulders as he let himself sink his weight against Zayne fully. 

“This is going to make the next couple of weeks so much easier,” Rafayel mumbles, and with a slight shake of his head he nuzzles a bit closer, “You can request time off around the end of April right?”

Zayne blinks and looks to you, silently searching for answers to Rafayel’s non sequitur. Even after you ponder it, you can only shrug.

With a small, amused snort, Zayne replies, “I can.”

“Good.” Rafayel hums and lifts his head. He pats Zayne’s arm twice, “It’s good you’re all put back together, Zayne. You were kind of boring otherwise.”

You give Rafayel a firm poke in the forehead, “He was not. He was perfect either way.”

Rafayel hisses and backs off, “C’mon cutie, you never call me perfect. Do you only sing my praises when I’m not looking? So cruel to me.”

“Oh yeah, I’m so cruel.” You tease, and you find yourself distracted by Rafayel drawing you over to the couch. His whines of his latest headache with his manager are muffled into the fabric of your shirt as he lies his head in your lap. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting from Rafayel— excitement? Maybe a few tears? But with his head nestled on your thighs, you realize that isn’t really Rafayel’s thing.

Despite the relief or the joy he might be feeling, Rafayel only lets it show through his hands. Hiding away that vulnerable reaction like an oyster hides a pearl. Though, through his nimble fingers you feel him tremble. Shaking with the release of tension from the core of his body. 

A sentiment you share, as the final pieces of your crumbling fresco mystically come back together. 

Zayne and Rafayel shared a skill of singular focus. The ability to let the world around them dissolve away and lose themselves in the task in front of them: painting, surgery, or some other nefarious deed. It made them kindred in a way, only each other understanding the loss of senses when drowned in passion.

When Xavier arrives home, he finds Caleb in the kitchen (the only place in the house the brunet is truly comfortable besides your bed). It’s nearly supper time and there’s slabs of marinated skirt steak sizzling in a cast iron skillet.

Zayne is sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning against the arm. His glasses sit lower on his nose as he reads through a thick medical journal. You lean against his chest, snoozing soundly with his arm wrapped around your waist. 

His hand rests atop Rafayel’s mop of plum colored hair, fingers wound in the wavy strands. Rafayel rests on his stomach with his head in your lap, arms up and draped across your hips and lightly holding onto Zayne’s shirt. 

Zayne looks up from the journal for a moment and drops the bombs of his restored memory in the most casual inconsequential way. 

Caleb, from the kitchen, nearly drops the knife he was using to cut mushrooms. Why did he say it so nonchalantly? Like an update on dinner plans and not some life-altering change to their entire relationship. 

Xavier didn’t react largely. Only approached the trio lounging on the couch in the quiet, jaguar prowl. Kneeling at Zayne’s feet, Xavier just looked at him for a while. Searching his partner’s hazel eyes for signs of deceit or jest. When none was found, the blond smiled softly and nodded. 

“My oath remains the same.” Xavier informs, “In all lives. In all worlds. I will keep that promise.”

Zayne lowers his booklet and lets it fall closed, “Your debt has been paid ten fold at this point. Surely that oath is not the only reason you stay?”

A vulnerable crease appears in Xavier’s brow, drawn together with the tight sting of uncertainty, “No, of course not.”

When you stir, you’re surprised by the soft affection Xavier gifts you with. Soft kisses that feel like a gentle thank you, and simultaneously like a welcome home. He pushes into you like he might try to climb up into the pile you’ve formed on the couch with your other lovers, but is stopped when Rafayel whines at him and pinches him in the side. 

Xavier laughs and the sound it sparkles like starlight. Pure, gorgeous joy, unfiltered by atmosphere or darkness. Your prince cradles the sides of your face and thanks you softly, whispers his gratitude against your lips for something you’re not quite sure of. 

Zayne’s hand tightens on your waist, and the cool shimmer of his evol leaks through your shirt. It feels like sparks with the way it seeps into your skin and makes your incendiary heart light up. You are nothing but dry straw to their light– wretched and waiting like a pyre to be burned in their honor.

What starts as sweet steadily becomes warmer. A little frog in a pot surrounded by snakes. Zayne draws you into his chest, letting you sit fully in his lap while Rafayel sits up and holds tightly onto your knees– drawing them apart so Xavier can slot in between them. 

As Xavier’s lips leave yours to drag down your neck and to your collarbone. The expanse of your throat is an unmarked parchment that he writes love notes to you with his tongue. A contract he signed with his teeth that sells his soul. 

Zayne pulls your head to the side to kiss you, the turn is a slight strain but you like it. You like feeling twisted up in them, stretched to your limits to please them. Your beloved doctor is hungry, and he craves the little whimpers you make when he slides his hand across your waist and under your shirt.

With your heart pounding your ears, you don’t notice Rafayel moving. A salacious, villainous smirk on his lips as he leans back to admire the show. Like a work of art, you’re slowly revealed to him. Clothes drawn from your body like petals from a rose, and as Xavier slides your clothing from your supple form his mind sings She loves me…..she loves me not….

From the other side of the room, Caleb is frozen. Stuck in time as he is drawn into the intoxicating display of desire. 

Rafayel, noticing the glazed look in Caleb’s eyes and the way he not-so-subtly keeps pressing his hips into the side of the counter, has the worst kind of impulse. A lash of desire to see the large man beg, and the idea is strong enough that Rafayel decides to indulge it. 

“Puppy….” Rafayel coos, leaning over the back of the couch. The puppy in question jerks in surprise, nearly doubling over the counter as he realizes he’s been caught.

“I’m sorry.” Caleb says quickly, hiding his face behind his arm.

“Come here.” Rafayel says a bit firmer, beckoning him over with the crook of his finger. He doesn’t let even a drop of desperation leak into his voice. It wouldn’t do to let Caleb know how much he wants him over here. 

Caleb chokes softly and remains stuck behind the counter. His eyes darting over to where Zayne now has you leaning back further into him– your breasts cupped in his hands while he gently pinches the rosy peaks. Xavier has disappeared from Caleb’s view, but the wet slurping noises that fill the room are enough for his imagination to fill in the gaps. 

It’s a high pitch whine from you that has Caleb moving, jolting forward and around the counter to close the distance between himself and the debauchery. 

Rafayel grabs Caleb and pulls him down onto the couch, making the large man sit down next to Zayne. The doctor glances over for a single moment before he turns his attention back to you. 

You’re a panting, wanton mess. Gripping Xavier’s fair tresses between your fingers as he devours your weepy cunt. The poor prince barely moves to breathe, too drunk on the syrupy taste of your slick to even think of parting.

And Caleb can’t look away, eyes stuck on the wet mess on Xavier’s nose and chin. There’s a determined but hazy look in Xavier’s eyes, and Caleb aches with envy. The memory of your taste haunting his tongue. 

“Uh uh.” Rafayel tuts as he climbs into Caleb’s lap, straddling the pilot’s wide hips with his legs. “Be a good pup and look at me.”

Caleb whimpers and draws his gaze away and up to the siren before him. There’s destruction in Rafayel’s multicolored eyes, a ravaging storm hellbent on seeing Caleb’s ship overturn and shatter. 

“That’s it.” Rafayel says low in his chest, resting one hand on Caleb’s shoulders and the other at the base of his throat., “You don’t get to look until I say.”

Caleb’s jaw clenches, and with a sudden sharp glare, he grabs Rafayel’s forearms tight and pulls them away, “And why should I listen to you?”

Rafayel’s eyes widen for a half a second, before his lashes lower and a dark, amused look paints his lovely features. With his chin raised slightly, he pushes his arms back towards Caleb– despite the vice grip the pilot has on him. Caleb falters, stunned by the strength Rafayel so easily shows. His prosthetic arm can keep Rafayel at bay, but his other one not so much. 

With the faintest shimmer of aqua in his eyes, Rafayel’s chest rumbles in a laugh, “Bad dog. I thought you were learning to behave.” 

The word ‘behave’ comes out as a low, guttural growl, and Rafayel watches as Caleb’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow. The brunet’s face might be stern, but Rafayel can smell the want on his skin. Dopamine thick in the sweat that beads across his forehead and his chest, rich and spicy. 

An apple pie– sliced and diced and baked, ready for Rafayel to cut into. 

“You should try harder and make it up to me, puppy.” Rafayel says as he twists his arms out of Caleb’s grip and grabs ahold of his throat maybe a little too harshly. Caleb’s breath hitches, and his eyes widen in shock. It could be construed as fear, but the jolt in Caleb’s cock begs otherwise. 

“I already said–” Caleb grunts out. His face turns red as the blood flow to his head starts to slow. “I a-already a-apolog-ized.”

Rafayel clicks his tongue, glancing over to the side as Zayne, you and Xavier move to the floor. Xavier’s pulling you on top of him, moving you so you're sitting astride his face– a wicked smile on his lips. High, pitchy moans leaving your kiss-bitten lips as you roll your hips, riding his terrible tongue. 

Zayne kneels between Xavier’s legs, unbuckling Xavier’s belt and pulling out his leaky, red cock. It jumps when Zayne’s hand grips it firmly, and a shuddering moan is muffled into your cunt from Xavier’s mouth. 

A small whine of disbelief leaves Caleb’s lips as he watches with rapturous eyes as Zayne places his cock alongside Xavier’s, holding them both in his large palm and rutting them together in the most obscene way. 

“Did you?” Rafayel hisses, grabbing Caleb’s chin and forcing him to look away. “Did you apologize for trying to take away my bride? A thief is still a thief– even if he’s caught.”

Caleb’s eyes flicker across Rafayel’s face, half-lidded and growing hazy. He keeps trying to look over at you, to watch the ecstacy on your beautiful face. It was only hours ago he got to have you, but god it feels like forever. 

Rafayel glances over one more time, and hums, “Is it torture?” He whispers in Caleb’s ear, dragging his hand down the middle of Caleb’s chest, past his navel and into his pants. He cups the hard bulge of Caleb’s cock through his briefs and sighs, “Watching can be fun, but it’s never the same as the real thing. Did you get a taste, puppy? Did it leave you satisfied, or just… hungry for more?”

Caleb grits his teeth and rolls his hips up into Rafayel’s warm palm, “Y-you’re kind of a bastard…you know that?”

Rafayel laughs at his petulance. Such bravado from a man one good squeeze away from drooling. With a small smirk. Rafayel removes the pressure of his hand from Caleb’s throbbing cock, and the brunet's hip flex to follow him. 

“Whine, whine whine…” Rafayel drawls, “I should tie you up. Keep your filthy hands behind your back and your eyes covered so you can’t even try to take what’s mine away again.”

The moment Sylus enters the house, he can taste the salt in the air. Lingering like someone spilt a bottle of thick perfume, Sylus is bombarded with the scent of salt, slick and arousal. 

The lights are off, and so the living room and kitchen are only illuminated by the moon. There’s signs of a struggle on the couch and across the floor– blankets strewn and pillows out of place. If not for the heady aroma, Sylus would think a fight broke out. 

However, the tang of cortisol is not what burns in his nose. A trail left for him to follow down the hall, up the stairs, and into your bedroom. 

The door is ajar– a sign of the rush you’d been in to reach the bed– and the sounds that leak into the hallway are obscene. Breathless, panting moans. The slap of wet flesh. The grunts and groans of animalistic coupling. 

Sylus is already unbuttoning his shirt when he enters the room, but halts just inside the door. He’d been able to pick out your scent– your sweetness dancing on the tip of his tongue. Rafayel’s scent was potent and unmistakable, and Sylus surmised that perhaps Xavier or even Caleb might also be involved.

But all of you? 

Xavier has you in a headlock, pumping into your dripping heat from behind. Your face is mere centimeters away from Caleb’s, who is writhing in cross-eyed overstimulation as Zayne pumps his cock and Rafayel slowly rolls his hips into his ass. 

The arousal that lashes through Sylus is so intense it hurts. His cock jumping from flaccid to throbbing in such a little amount of time it’s a wonder he doesn’t come completely untouched. 

In his rush to undress– drawn in like a moth to flame– Sylus tears his shirt and a couple buttons come undone. 

“What’s the occasion?” The usual easygoing tone in Sylus’ voice is gone, replaced by a tight strain as his mouth goes dry. 

Your pretty cheeks are so flushed, eyes glazed over as Xavier takes hold of your every sense. When Sylus approaches, he sees the way Xavier’s arm flexes tighter around your throat– a near imperceptible act of possession. 

“There you are.” Zayne says. His voice is hoarse, and his palm is wet when he grabs at Sylus. The white-haired man is all too happy to be moved, pressed onto his back like an obedient beast. “It’s been a while, Stayrus.”

The giddy excitement that had been bubbling inside Sylus’ chest like fizzy champagne suddenly freezes over. A cold, sinking sensation in the middle of his chest as his eyes go wide. 

“W-who–” Sylus grunts through gritted teeth as Zayne continues without hesitation, unbuttoning Sylus’ pants and pulling them down. “Who told you that name?”

Zayne doesn’t reply– too busy distracting the dragon with a tight hand around his cock. The icy temperature of his palm is so deliberate and Sylus’ mind blanks. Cracked apart with the overwhelming sensation. 

Sylus hears you gasp raggedly and nearly collapse as Xavier finally lets you free of the tight lock. You lean forward into Caleb, and the brunette welcomes you with his mouth. His trembling hands cupping your breasts as he mumble incoherent, reverent praise against your lips. 

You find within your power to look his way– Zayne’s laugh is sinful as he feels Sylus throb in his hands. Your gaze alone making droplets of precome dribble from his red tip. 

“H-he–” You stutter as Xavier shifts from hard, pounding thrusts into slower rolls. The blond is close, but unwilling to finish just yet. “Zayne…. remembers.” 

Sylus’ breathing catches harsh in his chest, and when he looks up at Zayne, the doctor is smiling smugly.

“How?” Sylus growls as he grabs Zayne’s wrist, halting his torturous pumping. 

“Do you want me to explain, or do you want me to continue?” Zayne retorts. His fingers waggle gently, a tantalizing dance. 

Another low, dangerous growl comes from deep within Sylus’ chest. Too guttural any human throat to create. He grabs Zayne and flips them, pushing him down into the messy sheets and rutting their cocks against each other. 

“Later.” Sylus snarls as he takes both cocks into his large palm and frots, “You’ll explain later.”

Lost in the inky blindness of pleasure, you press back into Xavier mindlessly. Floating in a subspace made of pink cotton and feathers, you’re mildly aware that you have all of your lovers here, but it doesn’t register logically. 

Your hands grip onto the sheets, tight fist fulls of egyptian cotton that will most certainly need to be thrown away or incinerated after this. Caleb’s lips are wet against yours, and you feel the cool metal of his prosthetic hand find yours. 

“ So pretty.” Rafayel groans, a particularly hard thrust pushing Caleb forward so that your faces mash together. “C’mon puppy– don’t come yet. I’m not done with you.”

“I don’t think–” Xavier's voice cuts off as he chokes on a low moan, “ Mmh… I don’t think he can hear you…”

In truth, Caleb doesn’t hear Rafayel. There’s an awareness of the sea god– obviously – but the deepspace pilot isn’t in any better state than your. Mind melting with the cacophony that is being able to watch your face crumple in pleasure, while simultaneously being taken apart himself. 

There is rapture in being handled indelicately by something stronger than you. Caleb has been the strong one. The Queen on the chessboard, able to move in every direction and the largest line of defense for his lovely, perfect King– you. A constant demand to be tall and strong… 

Letting himself be vulnerable was hard at first, but oh… being pressed into the mattress has tickled some long forgotten part of his brain. A part that the Toring chip doesn’t seem to be able to reach. The part that wants to be held, cradled, and protected.

Rafayel spits degradation at him that feels justified, but his touch falls like praise against his skin. He grabs the back of Caleb’s neck and pushes him face down, keeping his hips up and providing an even deeper angle to fuck him with. 

“ Good pup,” Rafayel hisses. Dark like the bottom of the sea, but inviting like the allure of the open horizon. “Do you want me to make you come, is that it? Tell me. Tell me.” 

The command is replied with muffled babbling. Pleas for release falling from Caleb’s lips as easy as his panting breaths. Later, Caleb will flush hot with shame at the eagerness with which he begs.

Rafayel is struggling. He hides it well, but he’s having to chant in his mind. Do not come. Do not come. Do not come. Over and over again. 

This was supposed to be a punishment for the traitor, but Rafayel had woefully underestimated the effect Caleb would have on him. How sweltering and sublime being inside him would feel. How sweetly he submitted. 

Rafayel is one wanton moan away from blowing his load deep inside Caleb and thanking him for the pleasure of doing so. It doesn’t help that ebb day is mere weeks away, and that primal part of his brain is louder than normal when it requests– no demands –  to come inside. Inside. Inside. Inside. It begs. 

Rafayel meets Xavier’s eyes and they share a look. A look of We’re totally screwed aren’t we? 

Xavier is an overachiever. A prodigy even. Deeply competitive even with himself, and so he’s not satisfied with having you come once, twice or even three times. He’s done that before. He needs to make you come again before he’s allowed to finish– a little goal he’s set for himself to beat his previous record. 

Only, you’re not making it easy. It’s not that you’re difficult to please, or that you’re struggling to come again– no. No, it’s the fact that in the throes of pleasure you are the most intoxicating and arousing thing he’s ever seen. 

The way you cling to Caleb in front of you is debauched, and so very very sweet. It scratches an almost domestic itch inside his mind, and something altogether unholy. 

The way neither of you can catch your breath, but are desperate for more. Even if it hurts. Even when it hurts. You push back onto his cock with such fervent need that Xavier has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting then and there. 

Caleb, with his face pressed into the sheets, still holds onto your hands– an anchor he maintains between you two. He twists slightly to look over his shoulder, and pleads, “I wanna come… please nngh– can I come inside her? Can I come inside pips again?”

Xavier couldn’t tell you why that’s what does it for him. Maybe it's the way Caleb’s voice cracks as he begs, or the shimmer of tears in the corner of his violet eyes. It’s probably the way you keen and clench at Caleb’s words, clamping down like a vice around Xavier’s cock. 

You come again, for that destined fourth time, and Xavier barely registers it because he’s coming to. Pumping you full as he moans, loud and visceral. 

Rafayel smacks Caleb’s ass– punishing him for being too good and for asking so nicely. He smacks him one more time and then pulls out, “Get up then. C’mere cutie.”

With your bones feeling like jelly, you crawl over to him. Caleb rises up to his knees and sticks to your side, drawn into the two of them like a pearl between the clasps of an oyster. 

Rafayel kisses you sloppily, keeping a heady eye contact with Caleb while he does, and then whispers into your mouth, “You hangin’ in there, princess? Think you can take both of us?”

You lick at your lips, tasting the slight tartness of Rafayel’s saliva as you nod, “I-I can…I can do it.”

Rafayel groans as he wraps his arms around your waist and falls onto his back, letting you rest against his chest. “Good girl. My perfect girl. My lovely bride. You know what to do…”

A high whine leaves your lips as you shift on top of him. Straddling his hips, you reach behind you to grab his wet cock and place it at your lips. You sigh softly as you sit fully on him, satisfied to be full once more.

“I like this puppy of yours,” Rafayel hums as he pulls you back into another kiss.

You moan into Rafayel’s mouth as you feel Caleb’s body heat approach. His sweaty palm starts at the base of your spine and slides upwards. “Is this okay?” Caleb asks, but he doesn’t pause in his movements. Gripping the base of his cock to let the tip kiss at your hole. “Oh god…. Is this really okay?”

Rafayel’s fingertips are hot, nearly scalding your skin as he grabs the flesh of your ass as spreads you. A ragged moan is punched out of Caleb at the sight, and the sea god laughs. “Go slow. Don’t want to hurt her right?”

Caleb nods furiously, “I would never. I’d never– oh fuck!” He curses loudly as he starts to push inside. “ U-uuh…Pips…”

Rafayel’s jaw is tight, and his grin is feral. “I’m here too, puppy. Don’t forget me.”

You’re struggling to breathe, caught up in the stretch and the pressure of both men pressing inside you. Eyes nearly rolling back in your head as you cling to Rafayel below you. 

Caleb’s hips jerk in little half thrusts, pushing in a little further every time. He groans and leans forward, hands braced on either side of Rafayel’s head as he rolls his hips. Mouth open and practically drooling, “ So tight…does it hurt?” Caleb kisses your shoulder blade and then bites softly, “ Tell me. Tell me if it hurts.”

You’re not sure when Caleb finally bottoms out, or when he starts to thrust in earnest. Your moans are soft and breathless, tears beading in your eyes and trailing down your reddened cheeks from the complete overstimulation. It hurts in the most perfect way, but you don’t have enough control over your tongue to tell him that. 

Rafayel leaves marks along your neck and collarbone, adding his own to the litany of marks left by Zayne and Xavier earlier. A necklace of bruises you wish would stay forever. 

It’s too soon when your orgasm approaches, a cresting wave on the swell of the ocean. You don’t want this to end, you don’t want them to leave. But Caleb is begging you to come the moment he feels your walls flutter. 

“I can feel– oh nnh – I can feel you g-getting close, pipsqueak .” Caleb grunts out as he continues his torturous pace. “I need– I need you to come. Please, please, please, please !”

Rafayel curses and grips the curve of your waist tightly, “ I’m gonna’ come. Fuck, you beg so pretty Caleb.” 

The sea god beneath you finally stops trying to pretend like he isn’t just as fucked-out as the rest of you. His eyes fall closed as he tries in vain to keep his hips still. 

Teetering on the edge, you look over your shoulder, turning your neck enough to make brief eye contact with Caleb.

To your, and Caleb’s, utter shock. Xavier returns. Coming up behind Caleb to drag his hands up the pilot’s back and around his waist. The prince brushes his fingertips across his nipples before pinching them harshly. 

“When I’m done counting, okay?” Xavier hums, looking like a conquering king. “Five.”

Caleb yelps and his hips slam forward, nearly pushing you off of Rafayel completely before you can correct it. Rafayel, displeased, smacks Caleb’s arm, which he hardly notices. 

Xavier continues his torture of Caleb’s chest, “Four.”

“I'm not gonna’ make it.” Caleb gasps, slowing his hips to nearly stopping, “I’m gonna come.”

“Don��t stop.” Xavier commands, removing one hand to slap Caleb’s ass harshly. “Three.”

“Xavier!” You squeal, clenching tightly around the men inside you. You’re not going to make it either, trying to come when told is walking a wire tightrope that you haven’t quite perfected yet.

“Two.” Xavier says with a devilish grin, looking altogether too pleased. Even Rafayel is struggling, his grip on your waist is painful as he tries to stave off orgasm. 

You’re holding your breath now and so is Caleb. However, that breath is punched out of you when Xavier finally whispers, “One.”

Like the snap of an overstretched rubber band, you break. Coming undone and jolting with waves of near painful pleasure. It streaks down your spine and back up again, pulsing in time with the flutters of your cunt. “ Ah! Ahh god!! Caleb! ”

Caleb chokes on his orgasm, a strangled noise leaving his lips as he fucks hard through it. Pushing his come as deep as he can. The feeling of his fat cock throbbing as it spills inside you is indescribable, and only heightened by the matching pumps of Rafayel’s.

Rafayel grabs a mouthful of your neck and bites down when he comes, groaning through his peak as he rolls his hips. Using his hold on your waist he moves you up and down, burying himself to the hilt as he empties himself.

The combination of your come and slick drips obscenely down your thighs, splattered against Caleb’s hips and down his legs, and nearly covering Rafayel’s  lower half completely.

You collapse on top of Rafayel, panting and dizzy. 

You hear Xavier behind you faintly, “Good…That was good. Shh…it’s alright. You didn’t hurt her.”

When you glance behind you, you see Xavier is whispering into Caleb’s ear. Rubbing around his shoulders and smiling softly. 

Caleb sniffles and leans down to press breathless kisses along your spine and shoulders, “God that was so good, pipsqueak.”

Rafayel reaches up to wind his fingers into Caleb’s hair and lift his chin, “Don’t be dumb. I wouldn’t let you hurt her. Now get up, it’s bath time.”

“ Not yet.” Come the harsh growl from your right. 

Turning you see Sylus on his belly, resting on his elbows as he stares at the performance before him. His eyes gleam a sharper ruby than usual– burning with barely tempered desire as Zayne pushes into him from behind. 

Zayne has his arms braced on either side of Sylus’ waist and his pace is slow and languid. Almost lazy as he takes his time. They must have been too busy watching you to really focus on their own pleasure, and now that the show is over?

Sylus’ hand reaches out to grab your ankle, and you notice the tips of his fingers are a little darker than normal. “Come here…kitten…”

Xavier places his hand flat against Caleb’s navel to push him back, forcibly pulling the brunette out of your syrupy cunt. 

Rafayel huffs and wraps his arms around your shoulders, “She needs rest. She needs a bath.” 

“This won’t take long…” Sylus’ voice is wrecked. A ragged growl laced in his tone that makes your skin rise up in goosebumps. “I promise…”

Lured into the woods by the wolf himself, you lift from Rafayel with a kiss and promise of bathing soon. The moment you’re not attached to anyone else, Sylus drags you over to him by his ankle. 

Zayne hisses behind him as Sylus pushes himself up higher. There’s such pure determination in Sylus’ eyes that you’re helpless to his manhandling. With less effort than should be possible, he gets you under him. On your back with your thighs on either side of him. 

You recall this position, with sudden vivid clarity and gasp. Sylus must have grown envious of the pleasure Xavier exhibited when squished between bodies like this, because he wastes no time in pressing inside you. 

Sylus groans, so deep in his chest and nearly drops his weight onto you. Rolling his hips mindlessly, he gasps sharply as pushing forward pushes him further into you, and pushing back slides Zayne deeper inside him. 

“So greedy.” Zayne snaps out, thrusting harder.

An uncharacteristic moan leaves Sylus’ lips, and you watch in awe as the pleasure crinkles his face. Drawing him in with gentle hands on the side of his face, you kiss him, and it makes him keen just as much as Zayne’s cock had. 

Like playing a game of catch, you and Zayne volley starry-eyed Sylus back and forth. Indulging in the large man’s crumbling pleasure. 

Sylus had been right. It didn’t take long. You could always tell when Sylus was close because he grew quieter, gritting his teeth against his own swelling arousal. Like he was always desperately trying to prolong the inevitable. 

When you come, it’s lazy. Nothing more than death throes as your body begs to give out. More pleasure has been wrung from you than you thought possible, and you cling to Sylus, drawing lines across his back with your nails as you hold on for dear life. 

The pinpricks of pain send Sylus over the edge. He’s got his arms wrapped around your shoulders and his face hidden in your neck as he whines and gasps with the force of it. Wretched, delectable, and sweet. 

You’re nearly suffocating with the pressure of the bodies on top of you as Zayne comes. Like he can’t get close enough either, he presses his face into Sylus spine and groans, slowly rolling his hips and watching the white-haired man jolt.

The air in your bedroom is thick and hot. Sticky with humidity and cloying with the scent of bodies. 

You have to tap Zayne to get him to let up, and he jerks as if he’s forgotten the sheer weight he and Sylus are on top of you. 

Peeling away from one another is a melancholy thing, the gaps between breaths filled with soft kisses. Exhaustion seems to be the shared sentiment at the moment, and a desire for rest finally overcoming the desire for another round. 

Your hips ache and your cringe as the deluge of come that drips down your inner thigh when you stand– helped to your feet by Caleb’s gentle hands. 

Xavier uses his thumb to open your mouth, draping your bottom lip open to press a bendy straw onto your tongue. A glass of water held up for you, that is then quickly followed by a kiss. He smiles into it, and then turns to Caleb, pushing the straw to his lips as well. 

Caleb looks a little stunned but takes the drink, meeting Xavier’s eyes and humming in contentment. 

Rafayel draws you from the pair and into the bathroom, into the bath he had drawn when Sylus and Zayne finished you off. He wipes you down with a warm rage before helping you climb in and sitting behind you. 

You sigh as you sink into the heated water, listening to the rest of your lovers bustle about in the bedroom. 

“Don’t even bother,” Sylus’ voice drawls, “ We can get more sheets. Just throw these away.”

“That’s such a waste though,” Caleb argues, and there's a loud rustle of fabric before a heavy flop– the sheets being torn from the bed and being thrown to the ground. “ I’ll clean them.”

Xavier enters the bathroom shortly after with a little plate of cut fruit, and spends the next ten minutes insisting he feed you by hand. “You’re exhausted.” He says as he places an orange slice to your lips, “You can’t do it, so I will.”

Rafayel laughs at him while he finishes rinsing the bubbles from your shoulders, “Just say you wanna feed her, weirdo.”

When you climb out of the bath, Caleb dries you off. Gently patting your body with a soft towel, “I finally found those dryer sheets you liked so much. I had to go to two stores to find them, can you believe it? But you were right, the towels are much softer.”

You giggle softly as he brushes the towel across your tummy, “You didn’t have to do that, and I can get dressed myself you know?”

“Yeah, of course you can,” Caleb says with a small scoff. Tossing the towel into the hamper he grabs the sleep shirt and lifts it over your head, “but that’s no fun. You’re gonna make me feel bad, pips. Let me do this, ‘kay?”

It’s not like them helping you dress is new, but you still don’t fully understand the desire. With a shrug, you submit to Caleb’s assistance, and he smiles so happily it's a wonder he doesn’t blind you. 

When you go back to the bedroom, the bed is made, and the string lights over the headboard are on. They are the only light in the room as the sun has somehow set. You’re not sure what time it is, and right now, you don’t care.

Zayne leans against the headboard, Xavier’s head resting in his lap as he scrolls through his phone. When the doctor sees you, he beckons you closer with an outstretched hand, “Come love, you’ll have to explain to the others what happened.”

You take his hand and sit down next to him, nestled into his side with your hand going to pet Xavier’s fluffy hair. 

Sylus is at the windows, drawing the curtains closed so that the rising sun doesn’t bother him. He’s already gone and came back and is wearing his pajamas. When he turns, you see a lightness in his eyes. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder that even he didn’t realize was there, “I knew you would have something to do with it, sweetie. I should have rewarded you better.”

He crawls onto the bed. Sliding onto your free side and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I feel thoroughly rewarded, don't worry.” You coo softly. “There’s not much to tell. Zayne woke up last night — like he did that one night he attacked you, but it wasn’t the same guy. It was our Zayne, and he remembered everything.”

Zayne lifts his head, “Excuse me? I attacked you?”

You jump a little at the iciness in his voice, “Oops. I thought you knew that. Sorry, but sometimes you wake up and you aren’t… you.”

“Don’t look so horrified, doctor Zayne.” Sylus rumbles in amusement, “You’ve already been through the battery of tests. It’s not brain related.”

“ Anyway,” You sing-song, “I figured since resonating with some janky protocore made me remember, that resonating with me might make him remember.” 

Caleb laughs heartily as he rolls onto the bed, coming to lay sideways near your feet. Resting on an elbow he looks like the cat that got the cream, “The Liminal Core. That’s that janky protocore. Ever couldn’t find a use for it that didn’t just disintegrate everything, so they gave it to Riston.”

You blink, “Seriously? Were they trying to kill me?”

Caleb’s still smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He shrugs, “Not sure, and to be honest I don’t care. It’s all under rubble now.”

You can’t help but notice Sylus has perked up slightly, the mention of some rare protocore catching the dragon's eye. You’re aware of his less-than-legal protocore trading, but he’s never brought it home before.

“Settle something for me,” Rafayel interjects as he returns, wearing a lavender silken sleep set. He throws himself down onto the bed and picks Xavier’s legs up to slide beneath them and up against Zayne’s side, “If we had told you about the Sanctuary and the spell and all that, would you have believed it?”

Xavier frowns and lifts his head, “I stand by what I believed. If you’re trying to get me in trouble, it won’t work.”

Rafayel pokes the disgruntled prince on the forehead, “I’m just curious. You two were so adamant one way or the other— this way we can know for sure.”

Zayne’s brow creases in thought as he debates this, “I’m not sure…”

Sylus huffs, barely hiding his pout while Xavier lays his head back down with a small, almost smug, smile.

“I would like to think I would believe it.” Zayne says almost in a whisper, “But it would be difficult to.”

Your heart aches for him, and you know what he means. In your confusion, you’d been furious they hadn’t just told you, but the reality of that is very different than the ideal. Would you have believed it? This story, written to bring you all together? 

Nice as it might be, but it sounds too good to be true. 

“Psshhh,” Rafayel breaks you from your reverie, “Such a non-answer. What was it the refugees called you? The Mediator?”

Zayne’s huffs and amusement replaces the melancholy in his eyes, “The Foreseer.”

“I liked that one.” You comment with a cheery smile, remembering the way some of the refugees would bow in deference to the fabled ‘ foreseer’ .

“I never asked them to refer to me like that.” Zayne says with a crinkle of his nose. “I never intended to lead them.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Rafayel says with a huff, drawing his hands behind his head to lean back, “What will all the leading you were doing.”

“It feels like yesterday…” You say wistfully, “And yet a million miles away…”

Caleb’s smile fades, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you– nor the others it seems. 

“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispers, but is quickly shushed by Rafayel’s annoyed click. 

“Ugh, don’t ruin the glow, puppy.” Rafayel groans, leaning forward to pat the top of Caleb’s head before drawing back, “Be sorry tomorrow, or something. But not tonight.”

“Hm,” Sylus grunts in agreement, and sits up. He  stands from the bed and goes over to the dresser near the door, where a small box sat that you don’t remember being there. 

It’s not until Sylus sits back on the bed that recognize the box, and at the sight of the expensive packaging, your heart does a little flip. 

Caleb looks terribly confused, and that only doubles when Sylus grabs his wrist without a word. The dragon opens the box and pulls out the bracelet that matches yours, his, and the rest of you. This one is in silver, with a single, tiny, red-orange gemstone. 

Sylus places the bracelet on Caleb’s wrist with such tenderness it almost feels like an engagement ring, and you can’t help but sit up in excitement. Lifting your arm where your own bracelet sits and holding it next to his.

“Now we match!” You say cheerily, twisting your hand back and forth so the bracelet jingles. 

There’s a beat where Caleb doesn’t move, and simply looks between your matching jewelry with widened eyes. Like he’s trying to study them for flaws, and finding none. Gently, he pinches the delicate metal of your bracelet in between his chrome fingers– checking once more to make sure it’s real. 

Sylus hums in amusement and grabs Caleb’s hand with his left hand, showing the brunette his own matching bangle. 

Caleb’s mouth falls open slightly, and you can’t help but laugh lightly. It’s too cute. Like a little kid getting a love note for the very first time– like this act of devotion is somehow so much more meaningful than the lurid acts that took place mere minutes ago. 

You return to Zayne’s side, and he wraps an arm around you. Lifting his wrist, he shows Caleb his own– thinner and lighter– bracelet. Caleb crawls closer to examine it. And in a rush of eagerness, he moves from Zayne over to Xavier, pulling back the long sleeve of his sweater to find yet another matching piece. 

Rafayel laughs and lifts his arm before Caleb can go searching for it. 

You rest your head on Zayne’s shoulder and sigh serenely. Sylus returns to his spot behind you and you can feel the pleased rumble in his chest with all the jewelry in plain sight. When he’d given yours to you, you had joked that it was a friendship bracelet– or a gang marking, but when your five loves nestled in your bed you know it feels like much more than that. 

An exclusive token. An earned badge of acceptance. A brand. A mark. A wedding band.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake up as Zayne shifts to lay on his back. Caleb’s hands on your shoulders guide you down, and Sylus quickly takes his spot behind you to curl around your back.

A weight lays across your stomach, and when he sighs you realize it’s Caleb. 

Sleep draws you with weights on your limbs, but it’s the little signs of your lovers around you that sends you down down down into dreams.

<- Previous Next ->

[veebeeboo109]

Caleb Sanctuary!AU

(Some details: his prosthetic arm glows that green because it’s powered by Zayne’s magic. He dabbled too much in astral projecting and still struggles with sleep, which is why his eyes are so dark.)

[veebeeboo109]

The Sanctuary

{The high fantasy prequel to "Cleaning Up the Timeline" Combining all limited myths. Polycule. Reader-centric.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Slow Burn, Rafayel's glorious arrival! I was buzzin writing this!

Chapter Four: The Heart Shaped Pool

That first night turns into routine. Zayne has terrible sleeping habits, and avoids resting for as long as he physically can. You, however, are not so repulsed by rest and have claimed one side of the bed. When he does finally succumb to exhaustion, he takes the free side, acting as a barrier between you and the room. 

You don’t talk about it. You want to. You want to ask why he doesn’t make you sleep on a roll on the floor, or in the tent you’ve all but abandoned. Curiosity at what this new breach of closeness could mean buzzes at the tip of your tongue everyday, and yet remains unspoken.

Reading lessons are slowly replaced with magic lessons. After learning to read, now you read to learn. Large texts that weigh heavy on your lap as you sit in front of the fire, trying to understand what the author could mean by ‘equivalent exchange’.

Less than a month after his last venture, Zayne sets out again. A heavy bag and even a change of clothes he takes with him. There's less rush this time, and he’s oddly secretive with the details of the journey when you ask.

“Can I come?” You finally gain the courage to ask. 

Zayne pauses for a moment, his back to you. It’s only when his eyes were away from you that you found the ability to speak. He turns and there’s a gentle smile playing on his face. “Not this time, little one. Perhaps next time.”

“But I could help.” You sound childish even to your ears. “I know how to do more than this. I can…I’m savvy.”

“A most clever apprentice you’ve turned out to be.” Zayne approaches and places his hand on the top of your head. Patting once and then drifting down the back and down your hair. “Tis not your skill I worry about, but your lack of footwear.”

You sigh and shift, “I’ve almost convinced some folk to trade with me, but no one is willing to take an IOU.”

Zayne’s eyes squint and he tilts his head, “And what were you trading for?”

“Patrick has leather scraps left over that I wanted, but he’s so stingy.” You huff softly and rise to your feet. “I found a spell in one of the books that makes plants grow. If I can use it, then I can trade some fruit or something come springtime.”

The whimsicality faded from Zayne’s eyes, “Spells of such manner require their price, little one. You have yet to summon the slightest bit of magic, and you plan to perfect an advanced spell such as that?”

He’s not wrong. Zayne is never wrong, but his words irritate you all the same. Over this past fortnight, you’ve grown antsy to start actually doing something. More than research and reading, you want to aid with the runes and summon magic to your fingertips like he does. Zayne is too cautious, you think.

As if Zayne can read your mind, he says, “Do not try and rush these things. Study the runes I showed you while I am gone, and when I return you can try writing them, yes?”

You simmer silently, knowing he’s being generous but still peeved. Your displeasure makes you too prickly to embrace his offer and so you pout, crossing your arms like a child. And this must amuse Zayne, because his eyes crinkle and his laughs softly. 

The soft leather of his gloves caresses your hair again, and he leans down to place his face in your eyeline. “I will be gone for a few days this time. Three at least.”

“Hm,” You say with a small nod. Zayne rises to his full height and just stares at you for a moment, before patting the top of your head once and turning towards the door. 

Your determination to not watch him leave crumbles the moment his foot steps outside the door. Rising to your feet, you catch him by the hand. And into the worn creases of his glove, draw out the rune for protection once more. Tracing that intricate pattern with your fingertip without a word. 

Zayne lets you do this, and you realize this is becoming routine. Next time, you think, he’ll expect it. He closes his hand, holding the invisible rune tight. “When I return, that will be the first one you learn.”

You are neither an educated person, nor a fool. Your skills and knowledge have been hard earned up until recently. Bartering, fire making, foraging. You could sew, patch, and embroider with some skill too. 

This new skill however, is conceptual. The actions of it reside only in your mind because they began as words on a page. 

You wait until it’s been a few hours after Zayne left, just in case he came back and found you. You’ve never been scolded by him before, and you’re not interested in hearing the disdain in his voice should he discover you disobeying his wishes like this. 

A book of runes tucked under one arm, and a satchel in the other. A little snack for after your practice. You’re far too excited and brash for someone with zero experience, but your optimism rings high and you find a secluded place far away from the cottage and the settlement.

From the satchel you pull out a bamboo storage tube and from it a stalk of charcoal. With the potential for anything between your fingers, you debate where to start. 

From the beginning feels right, and so you turn to the very first page of the book. Four runes are listed, corresponding to the four elements. The chapter drolls on for several pages about their many applications, and you’ve already read it twice. 

You prop the book up on a nearby crystal cluster, which illuminates the text and the area around you. The soft trickle of the water shifting in the pools nearby is the only other sound besides your breathing. 

You find a small stone near the water, barely the size of your palm. It’s cool, and heavy and you turn it over once to put the flatter side up.

Zayne has taught you to write a few things. Your name. His name. But never runes, never. 

The first stroke of the charcoal against the stone is smooth, and you glance between your hand and the book several times to make sure you get the symbol right. 

Fire. Your mind repeats, over and over. Intention for the rune is more important than the carving itself. The spirit you push behind is what turns it from useless scribbles to dangerous magic. 

Fire. Fire. Fire. 

You finish the last stroke and pull your hand away, uncertain what happens next. You’ve only ever seen Zayne use the defensive runes, and so you’re not sure what to expect. 

The stone slowly warms. Heat swelling like it’d been placed atop hot coals. It goes from being barely discernible, to pleasant, to stinging and burning your skin. You hiss and drop it, finding your palm reddened.

It trembles on the ground for a moment, sizzling against the dampened earth. You take a small step back, just as the rock bursts into flames. Bright, hot and orange– the flames grow in size, swelling with the fuel of your intention. 

You gasp and stumble back, the heat of the inferno growing closer and closer. An embarrassing screech leaves your lips as you scramble for what to do next. Instincts take over and you jump into action, kicking at the stone and punting into the water. 

Cringing at the lingering sting on your foot and leg, you watch as the stone sinks into the water. The fire is extinguished with a loud sizzling, and the remnants of heat make it bubble as it descends to the bottom. 

You catch your breath, feeling like you can still feel the heat of the flames. Ow, you think. The pain isn’t letting up, only getting worse. Glancing down to examine your potential injury, you're met with the tiny licks of flames at the hem of your skirt. 

Another squeal and you nearly fall on your behind in an effort to get away, except the fire follows you. Clamoring to the water, you toss yourself into it. Splashing as you sink into the icy surface, and sputtering as you come back up. Water shot up your nose and down the back of your throat, adding insult to injury as you grab onto the moss at the water’s edge and pull yourself out. 

For a few minutes you just lay there, legs in the water, and catch your breath. A few things were learned today. First, you can summon magic. Two, fire runes should be used very carefully. And three, listen to Zayne.

As you haul yourself out of the water and soggily drag you and your things back to the cottage, you swear you hear cackling laughter echo off the cavern walls. 

There are less than ten children in your sanctuary– that’s what you’re officially calling it now. Your Sanctuary. A bubble made of stone and crystal that begins to feel more like yours with each passing day.

The children vary in ages. From an infant less than a year old, strapped to their father’s back more often than not. Another is a toddler, still learning to walk but somehow still finding themselves in mischief often. 

The older children are adventurous, and don’t like to listen to their elders. You’d be more cross with them if you didn’t remember what it felt like to be so young, and to feel trapped. One of the older boys, nearly a young man, is particularly unruly. 

He refuses to obey his grandmother when told to stay within the cavern. You’ve heard rumors of him coming back nearly frostbitten after spending the day playing in the snow outside. His warm brunette hair stirs something like memory in your chest, and despite his unruly behavior, you have a fondness for him.

“You wanna’ know a secret?” The boy, Cosme, whispers at you. He sits down on the bench next to you, a bowl of thick stew in his hands, identical to yours. 

You pause before taking a bite. With Zayne gone, you decided to join Yvonne and the others for a meal instead of eating alone. You give Cosme an incredulous look, and lean down closer to him, “Are you keeping secrets from your grandmother again?”

Cosme scoffs, his mischievous smile fading, “Course not. Granny doesn’t believe me when I tell ‘er things, anyway. But you, you’ll believe me, yeah?”

You smile softly, “I suppose it depends on this secret of yours.”

The giddiness returns to Cosme’s smile, “There’s a monster in the sanctuary.”

You reel back, stunned, “What? A monster?”

Cosme nods emphatically, “The pools. One of ‘ems haunted. Me and Jilly went over there a few days ‘go. Grabbed me! Nearly took my life, it did!”

“I see…” Your previous concern fades. Jilly is Cosme’s younger sister, and a timid yet brave little girl. If she went to the pools so far away from her mother, it was because Cosme dragged her. 

“Look, look!” The boy sets aside his untouched stew and pulls up his pant leg, lifting it high to make sure you can see. “It bit me! Took a chomp!”

Leaning back as his little foot is suddenly in your face, you set aside your bowl to take a closer look. You expect to see a bruise, maybe a scuff of dirt he can pass as a bite, but what greets you is red. Four long scratches along his ankle. They’re not deep, but they stand out against the boy’s pale skin. 

Frowning, you gently nudge his leg back down to the ground, “That looks like a scratch, not a bite.”

“Scratch, bite, who cares? There’s a monster in one of the pools!” Cosme is failing to keep his voice quiet, overcome with childish eagerness. “You have to tell the Foreseer, so he can slay it!”

Ah, that’s why he came to you. With Zayne gone, you’re the next best thing, at least to the folk you are. No one knows yet about your abysmal failure with the fire rune earlier, and you hope to keep it that way. Cosme was entrusting you with this secret because he believed you the Foreseer’s emissary. 

You debate telling the boy it’s nothing, dismissing this outlandish tale, but instead say, “Which pool?”

Cosme grins, “The one in the corner. It’s big, and still. Shaped like a heart.”

You’re not familiar with it, but nod anyway. Tucking away this information for later. You give Cosme your best reassuring smile, “I’ll inform the Foreseer. I’m certain there are no monsters here, but we can check for you, alright?”

The boy nods with his whole body and picks up his stew again. With a heavy, theatrical sigh he says, “I’d take care of it myself, but I can’t lift Papa’s spear yet.”

A pleased laugh bubbles from your chest, and you smile into your stew. He reminds you of someone. Someone close to your heart, if not nestled within it. Trying to remember them makes that poorly healed wound on the back of your head ache, and your heart twists painfully. 

Zayne returns. Alone, but not empty handed. He looks tired when he enters your home, but there is lightness to his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. From his back he retrieves a large pack and drops it onto the floor. 

You turn to stand, but he stops you. Not a single word given in explanation as he comes to where you sit at the worktable, and kneels in front of you. He’s smiling gently– proudly – as he shows you what he brought. 

A pair of simple shoes. Ankle height and lined with cream colored fur. His gloved hand comes up to cup the back of your leg, drifting down to hold you while he slips the shoe onto your foot. The fur is softer than anything you’ve ever touched, and you shiver as the frosty feeling in your toes immediately starts to dissipate. 

“I found some stockings too.” Zayne whispers as he moves to your other foot, “And a pair of boots.”

Words escape you. Lost completely from your mind and your lips. Thanks feels like too weak a word for what you feel, and your heart is hammering inside your ribs at the sight of such a man on his knees before you. 

A sharp sting knocks you back to life as his fingers find the tender spot where the flames had left their mark. Zayne’s eyes narrow and lifts the hem of your skirt to examine what he’s found.

“What’s this?” He asks, sharply. 

“Nothing.” You hastily reply, pulling back your foot and tossing your skirt to cover it. “Nothing at all.”

Zayne says your name firmly, and goes to grab your ankle again and you hurriedly stand. “Is that a burn? Little one, how did you get hurt?”

The endearment is bit out, barely softening the ice in his voice. 

“It’s nothing.” You repeat, tucking hair away from your face and scurrying to the other side of the room. “I was foolish, and I paid the price.”

Zayne is silent for a moment. He rises up to his full height, a towering feeling after not seeing him for days. He’s never looked at you the way he’s looking down, but he’s not really looking at you is he? He’s staring at your hands, and then to your feet. And then, over to the hearth. 

“I’ll ask again,” Zayne says from deep in his chest, “What happened?”

A shiver runs down your spine as shame slinks down into your core. You’re not afraid of Zayne, but you are afraid of upsetting him. Seeing the slight wrinkle between his brows unsettles you, and you have to look away.

“I tried writing runes.” You blurt your embarrassment into the air, “The fire rune…”

You watch as Zayne’s nostrils flare. He’s absorbing your words, chewing on them, but saying nothing. His lips remain tightly sealed as several emotions pass over his face. 

“I see…” He finally says, taking a deep breath, “So you were successful in summoning the magic then?”

You’re a little surprised. You’d expected anger. Resentment, or bitter, foul disappointment. With a small nod, you reply. “On a stone. I set the intentions, just like you said.”

“And the burn?” He turns to the workbench, and gently touches the book of runes lying atop it. 

“The flames got too high, and I had to kick it into the water.” You sheepishly laugh, and then trail off, looking up at Zayne with wide, expectant eyes, “Are you upset with me? I…I know I should have listened–”

“You are not a child.” Zayne says like he’s speaking to himself more than you. “I can hardly scold you for taking action on your own, despite my warnings. Though, I ask you not to do so again.”

You smile. Zayne’s voice has returned to his normal cadence, and you’re amused by the amount of pride and disdain mixing there. He returns to unpacking his bounty, and you find yourself walking in circles around the room to feel the shoes.

“Cosme told me something interesting,” You say after Zayne has settled back in and you’ve shared a warm meal. “He insisted I tell you there’s a monster in one of the pools.”

Zayne pauses momentarily as he organizes the sachets of herbs he brought. He looks at you over his shoulder, “A monster?”

“He was quite certain of it. Told me that it took a bite out of him, though I thought it looked more like a scratch.” You shrug, “I promised to tell you, so you could slay it.”

Zayne is quiet for a moment, gathering his mortar and pestle and scooping some dried beetles into it. They crunch under the weight of the stone, but quickly become a smooth, green paste. You wonder what he’s making this time, as he pulls a jar filled with dried orange flowers down from the shelf. 

“I suppose it is a sign of security, for a child to make up such tales.” Zayne says thoughtfully, musing as works. “Cosme has always been excitable.”

“I thought as much.” You reply, leaning back on your hands from your spot near the fire. “I think he got hurt and was embarrassed.”

“There are large aquatic animals that he could have mistaken for a monster.” Zayne explains, “A seal perhaps, or even a large fish.”

“Could it be trapped here?” You ask, worried for this imaginary creature. 

“It’s possible, though hardly our concern.” Zayne scoops his ochre poultice into a wooden bowl and brings it over to you. He shifts his robes to sit beside you on the floor at your feet, and silently reaches for your ankle.

It’s rare he doesn’t wear gloves, and so all the more sacred to be touched by his bare fingertips. He swipes the cool poultice across your burn, stinging slightly at first and then soothing into a decadent cool. 

The amber glow of the fire diminishes the deep green of his eyes, and yet you can’t look away from them. Your poor heart feels ensnared in a wire net, cut up as it struggles against what you cannot understand. Words are weak when you find yourself without thought. 

“Zayne…” You whisper, and he looks up at you for a single moment before back at his work. As he begins to wrap your injury with a roll of gauze, your mind and mouth align. Speaking aloud the questions that bubble to the surface. “Why? Why do you take such good care of me?” 

His movements slow for a moment as your words hit him, and Zayne’s expression hardens. “Such a question…Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not…” You whisper back, “I feel indebted to you, and I cannot help but wonder why you bother with me so. Why do you spend so much time teaching me, and patching me up for my failures?”

Zayne finishes his work and ties the bandages up securely. He sits up straight and looks at you for a moment, and you search his eyes like one divines the stars for answers. He reaches out to you, and your breathing halts as you prepare for his touch. 

However, he pauses– holding his arm in between you and lifting his sleeve up to the shoulder. Like the unveiling of some rare artifact, you can’t look away. Burns are distinctive. They differ from scars from blades or arrows. They swirl and pucker almost organically, like the shape of the flames remain in the skin. Beautiful in the way they persevere. 

They cover the majority of his arm, reaching higher and higher and higher up until they disappear behind his robes. Following that trail, you lean forward and find more hidden beneath his color, and the faintest ripple along the side of his jaw.

“Our magic can turn against us in the blink of an eye. It was my failure that led to this, and I had very few willing to assist me.” Zayne explains as you examine him. His gut twists as he sees the concern tilt your brow. The desire to pull away is strong, but he holds firm– letting the shape of his scars imprint into your mind. “I teach you, not to put you in my debt, but because I want to. I will tend to any wound you suffer because you deserve to be cared for. Wondering about motivations is senseless, as I have made mine clear.”

Had he? Your mind whirls, crackling like the kindling in the hearth under the rush of heat that swallows you. Your cheeks warm, and you must be wearing the most amusing expression because when you manage to meet Zayne’s eyes, he’s smiling softly. 

Somehow, the two of you have drifted close. When Zayne drops his arm, and removes that barrier between you, you’re startled by the proximity. A part of your mind reels, urging you to back away. You’re mere inches from each other, and though you sleep this close– it’s hardly appropriate. 

However, you linger. Hovering in this air of personal space for a moment as something shifts in your mind. A chemical change that has you, abruptly, seeing him differently. He no longer towers above you, divine and untouchable. You can see the tiny wrinkles beneath his eyes. The split in his lower lip from the cold. The way his irises flicker back and forth as he studies, just the same as you study him. 

“It’s late.” Zayne whispers, just as a log cracks in the hearth, sending incandescent sparks up into the chimney. And your heart feels like it does the same– split down the middle and overspilling with something hot, flickering, and unknown. 

Crawling into bed that night feels almost scandalous, and you have to focus on breathing as you feel the mattress dip with his weight. Worried that somehow, this night of all nights, you’ll accidentally roll right into him. 

You don’t, of course, as nothing is technically different tonight. However, you find yourself warmer. Feeling a flush across your skin that buzzes like an instinct, long awaiting and dormant. Does Zayne feel this too? Is the tightening knot in your belly an affliction of some kind? A fever festered from your wound?

If it is, it’s not entirely unpleasant. And its symptoms flare, when– half asleep– Zayne reaches out and places his hand over yours. No more than a simple point of contact to bind you. What an odd illness, you think. To make your gut twist almost painfully and then shiver into pleasant tingles….

It is remarkably easier to navigate your sanctuary with shoes, and you say as much– several times, in fact– while you and Zayne round the next morning. The stockings he’d found are warm and soft, and it’s shocking how warm you are the entire time. 

Zayne looks pleased, proud even, as he works. He glances at you every so often, the sight of the shoes feeling too much like a victory for his ego. If seeing you cozy and warm does this to his psyche, then what will the deep blue fabric he procured do when he finishes fashioning it into a cloak for you? 

It’s gotten hard to hold his tongue. To control himself around you. The dreams Zayne once had of you are all but gone, but now replaced with the living, breathing version. Which, somehow, is even more vexing. In the dreams he could touch– he could taste– with abandon. In life, he must restrain himself. Maintain that delicate balance of student and teacher.

You’re not that much younger than he is, but the gap feels large sometimes. Life has been cruel to you both, and Zayne has unconsciously taken it upon himself to keep you from whatever cruelty remains. A staunch, abstinent protector. 

So, he needs some space. A moment to breathe after waking up to the feeling of your skin against his nose. He’d sought you out in sleep– something that was becoming more and more common as of late. Thankfully, you remained oblivious of this reprehensible habit of his, and he was able to escape from the bed before you noticed. 

After finishing your rounds together, Zayne made easy excuses of assisting some of the plainfolk with chores and assigned you a lengthy reading. Not to punish you, but to punish himself. An afternoon with your absence should give him ample time to correct his behavior. 

Which is how you found yourself back at the pools. The book was tucked inside a satchel strung across your shoulder, but likely going to remain unread. In your hands, you carry a wide basket filled with a few dried fish neither you nor Zayne found palatable. 

The idea that some misbegotten creature might be trapped here plucked at your heartstrings. You’d never seen the ocean before, and so sea creatures were a fantasy to you. Images poorly depicted in faded illustrations. You remembered living next to a river at some point, but you had a hard time recalling much of the aquatic life there. 

The heart-shaped pool lies at the furthest corner of the sanctuary. Separated from the rest of the water sources and remarkably still. There was no faint ripple in the water, no current, or even the occasional bubble. It’s the largest of the pools here, so its glossy surface is all the more unsettling. You kept your distance, at first, waiting to see if the beast the boy told you about made an appearance. 

Sitting the basket down a few feet away from the edge, you tiptoe across the sparse moss– careful not to slip on the smooth rocks in between. You peer into the water, finding its surface black and reflective as glass. You can see your own face staring back at you, and the sparking stalactites hanging high overhead. 

A sudden rush of shadow has you reeling back. It was fast and huge. It carves through the water close enough to the surface to bend it, but not break it. You stumble back, prepared for some sea serpent to come bursting out, while your heart recovers from the scare. 

Curiosity wins out over fear, and you pluck a crispy dried fish from the basket. You toss it out to the center of the pool. It floats atop the surface, drifting lazily and leaving tiny ripples in its wake. 

You wait, keeping your eyes locked on the fishy offering. 

Thwip.

Faster than a blink, the mackerel is snatched. Plucked beneath the water by something so fast and precise it barely disturbs the surface. Such a large creature, but so quick! You eagerly bounce in place, excited to grab another fish and toss it to your new pet. 

You nearly squeal in excitement when that too is snatched up. It must be so hungry! Trapped here in this pool all alone. Now, you grab two more fish, scooting closer to the edge on your knees to toss them out. 

This time you watch the inky depth, and see the long serpentine shadow circling the perimeter of its pool. Though the pond could fit twenty men comfortably for bathing, this creature is so long it’s a wonder it fits at all. 

The fish are snatched once more, and you’re too busy trying to catch a glimpse that you don’t see the mackerel until it’s slapping you in the face. Tossed harshly at you like it was an offense.

The water ripples and you swear you hear low, echoing laughter. Can a seal laugh? You toss the fish to the side and crawl to the side of the water, bracing your hands at the very edge and leaning over it, “So unkind! Is that how you thank someone who fed you?”

You didn’t prepare yourself for what you might see when you finally faced the depths, too caught up in your disbelief of being slapped in the face with a fish to think things through. 

Serpent, squid, seal. All of these creatures are mere imaginations to you, but what looks back at you is all too familiar. 

A face. A man. Floating a foot below the surface and shadowed by the wine-black water. A sharp cry escapes as you throw yourself back, scuffing your hand slightly on the slippery rocks and falling onto your behind. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, breath struggling in its fast effort to escape your lungs. Frozen in your spot, you struggle to comprehend what you just saw, and try to convince yourself it was a trick of the light.

Except, the surface of the water gives way and the man rises up. His pearly skin shimmers as the water cascades from him, and his hair somehow does not stick to his like normal wet hair would. The color of it is a dark aubergine, but as the soft glow of the light hits it, you realize it’s actually a softer violet, accented with rose and lavender. 

Beautiful is this creature from the depth. Unnatural in his ethereal grace, that even the anger that paints his brow is lovely. His upper lip lifts, and the sharp shine of his canine rivals the beauty of a sharpened blade.

“I have no need of the aid from mortals.” The man snarls, and it sends fear racing down your spine. He braces a hand on the moss and his pointed, dark colored nails dig harshly into it, “Cheap cuts of fish are hardly a worthy offering to me.”

You wish you could find your voice, but every time you try to move your tongue it wiggles ineffectively. What do you say to the ocean incarnate? Should you beg for your life? Despite the violence that coats the air, you don’t feel danger. 

The fish man stares at you for a moment, sizing you up with his teeth still bared. He tosses the remaining fish at your feet, and the slap against the stone. You flinch, finally finding the ability to move.

“Where is your piety? Your reverence?” He hisses, “These offerings are not befit for a thrall, and you seek to give them to the god of the sea? The king of the swells and the tides?”

You look down at the soggy fish, and then back up. Swallowing your trepidation, you place the fish back into the basket and sit on your knees. His words are nonsensical to you, and he seems to await your response. 

A god? Here? Locked away in the sanctuary with who knows how many miles between here and the sea.

“It’s just a little pool,” You say, peering at the contained pond he calls home, “Are you the god of it?”

The rage on his face flickers away for a moment, replaced with utter disbelief. His brow lowers, and his eyes burn an icy cerulean, “Such insolence. I should take you as a sacrifice for your audacity, but I know you would taste of gristle and bone.”

You draw back slightly, “Did you try and eat Cosme? The little boy who came here before?”

The pond-god sneers, crossing his arms to rest on the edge, “The youth tossed rocks into my pool, he is lucky I did not drown him.”

“You hurt him.” You counter, feeling indignation at this being’s rudeness.

“Just as he attempted to hurt me.” He snaps back. “His sire should thank me for teaching the boy a lesson in manners.”

You rise to your feet, and prop the basket up on your hip. This creature math wear the face of a man, the torso of one, but his spirit is sour. Perhaps he is just a beast that learned to speak some millennia ago, for you aren’t inclined to believe his claims of godhood while he spits such coarseness. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, taking a half-step back, “Should the god of the sea not reside in it?”

He lifts his chin, soft strands of lavender shifting to frame his face, “Bring me worthy offerings, and I will tell you the story of the sea god.”

You frown, and in an elegant display of your lack of self-preservation, say, “You are not the god of much right now, sir, the god of ponds sounds more apt.”

The sea god chokes, sputtering on his own shock and he growls. It vibrates the water around him and he looks as if he might follow through on his promise of devouring you. However, there is a subtle blush across his cheeks, a violet hue that stains the skin around where shiny scales reveal. 

“Be gone from this place!” He snarls and dives back into the water. You’re only able to glance that flash of periwinkle scales and the sound of metal chains before a massive splash knocks you off your feet. 

<- Previous Next ->

[veebeeboo109]

He’s too dainty. I made his slutty waist too thin 🥲

[veebeeboo109]

So…..I went to play Lads last night and it won’t open. I tried everything. I lowered the graphics to the lowest they will go, I restarted my iPad. I redownloaded it. My game, for some reason, is unplayable.

I genuinely might crash out.

[veebeeboo109]

Hello!! I haven’t updated anything in a while and it’s because I’ve taken a little break from writing to start drawing again! ❤️

I’m participating in ArtFight this year and giving myself a little break from writing (both fanfiction and original stuff). I hit a huge wall and writer’s block I just couldn’t get over so instead of forcing it I’m gonna try and give myself some time to breathe. Let the dirt rest so I can’t start the garden again!

I’m not stopping and this isn’t a hiatus!

[veebeeboo109]

Sukuna baby~😘

(I can fix him!!)

[veebeeboo109]

*Heavy, delirious, sweaty breathing*

Brat Sylus & Brat Tamer Zayne

https://x.com/ekaymnslvs/status/1939893388083700194?t=zqsIaKmpZ71dMdsBYc6rEg&s=19

[veebeeboo109]

A Tidy Timeline

[Read on AO3]

Continuation of Cleaning up the Timeline

[5k words - Poly!Lads x Reader: some fluff and sweetness, beach house shenanigans, Protective Caleb and Xavier, Sassy Rafayel]

[Part One]

Tags: Fluff, Love, Polyamory, Island life

A New Addition

During your last stay at the beach house, you hadn’t seen much more than the bedroom, the living room and the beach. Now, during this trip, you’re determined to explore. You have a few days left until you all have to head home, and you’re planning on making the most of it. 

There’s a small town nearby, a decent drive away to keep your little bungalow isolated and private. The island is tiny and so shopping there is restricted to local goods and overpriced imported items brought in by boat. 

Caleb looks out of place in his white tank top and aviator sunglasses. Like a streetwear model instead of a beachy tourist. He browses the stalls of the market street, admiring the trinkets made of shells and bundles of sea salt. 

Xavier lingers at your side, having claimed your hand the moment you stepped out of the car and keeping it. His large sunhat partially shades you, and his pale blue flip flops tap tap tap with every step. He doesn’t seem very interested in the stall of coconut knick knacks you’ve stopped to look at, and instead seems to be surveying the street. His sharp eyes scan the nooks and crannies with more intensity than you think necessary. 

“Pipsquaeak look!” Caleb calls from the next stall over, picking up a large jar of sea salt he’s just purchased. “The woman said she harvested it just yesterday, won’t this be great on those filets we got?”

Rafayel had offered Caleb a string of large mahi mahi as an apology for scaring him. He reiterated that he had no intention of drowning anyone– that was, unless Caleb was into that sort of thing. 

You examine the large salt crystals for a moment, “Isn’t this like ten years worth of salt here?”

“With how much this family eats? Hardly.” Caleb replies with a warm laugh. He tucks the jar into his shoulder bag and turns, taking your free hand to lead you down the row. 

Your heart blooms in warmth at the mention of family. Of course you’ve thought about what to call this web you’ve found yourself in. This group that you’ve forged and chosen. A polycule is the technical term, but it doesn’t sit right in you. It’s too cold, too clinical. 

The effortless way Caleb says family slots like a missing piece inside you, and you realize that’s it. It’s a family.

Caleb leads you like the engine, while Xavier stays the caboose in this little choo-choo train you make. He stops in front of a fruit vendor, baskets overflowing with vibrant tropical fruits. Some you recognize, and some you don’t. 

“Oh~” Caleb sing-songs as he plucks a large mango from the display and lifts it to test the ripeness with his thumb, “These would be good as a snack, yeah? They’re homegrown and organic.”

Silently, Xavier lets go of your hand, walking across the open street to a stall. You linger next to Caleb, examining fruit that he offers you before filling a bag with them.

You add a few other fruits to the bag, and giggle softly when Caleb eagerly talks about how he might prepare them. He’s more carefree right now than you ever remember him being. 

“Sylus likes fruit salad, but nothing too sour.” You mention while Caleb pays. The brunette looks over his shoulder at you and then purses his lips as he thinks for a moment. 

“He mentioned not like spicy things either.” Caleb says as he places one arm around your waist as you walk to the next stall. “Where’d Xavier go?”

Speak of the devil, your blond paramour reappears. Two straw hats in his hands. He lifts on and places it on the top of your head and then lifts the other onto Caleb. Xavier seems pleased with the look he’s put together, and nods, “The sun is strong here.”

You adjust the hat to sit better on your head and smile, “Now we match. So, if we get separated, I’ll just look for the sunhats in the crowd!”

So, you got separated. It’s not your fault. You know that much, and you stew in your smugness as you sip at a plastic bag filled with some brightly colored juice. The bendy straw is a whimsical spiral and the flavor is oddly tart yet perfectly sweet.

How you managed to get lost from arguably the clingiest of your lovers is a feat, truly. Xavier got enlisted in helping an elderly couple bring in boxes inside their store, and, of course, Caleb couldn’t be shown up. He handed you his bag and his juice and told you to wait there. 

It’s not your fault that a shop across the street started shouting about a sale, and waving around necklaces sparkly enough to blind you. You had the bag, and therefore the money and wouldn’t they love it if you got them some matching necklaces to go with your matching hats?

Your perfectly pure intentions lead you to buying six necklaces made of sea glass and pearls— saving a few bucks by buying in bulk. That leads you a little further down the road, to a stall with some adorable little sculptures made from coconut shells. They had one of a mermaid, and you couldn’t not buy it. 

By the time you returned to the spot you were supposed to wait, both Caleb and Xavier were gone. You stayed there for a few minutes, but quickly got bored and decided to search for them. Not the best idea, but this was hardly a dangerous place. 

Now, nearly an hour later, you’re tired, hot, and want to go home. The bag on your shoulder is heavy and digging into you. You’ve taken refuge in a small alleyway between buildings, one of the few shady spots here at the market. 

You watch as people walk by, fewer and fewer as time passes. Many stalls have closed for the midday heat, and have signs letting patrons know when they’ll reopen. You’re not worried, not yet. 

It’s odd, being alone. You haven’t been alone in a long time, and it’s starting to build slowly inside you. Even when your boys aren’t home, Mephisto is. The crow’s absence is felt. Despite how often you complain, you like Mephie…and if he were here, at the very least you know Sylus isn’t far behind. 

For a moment, you think you’re hearing things. A figment of your wandering imagination wishing for that avian nuisance following you around, because you hear a small coo. Almost a croak, and instinctively you look up. Searching the edges of the rooftops, the powerlines, and the canopies. 

You scoff at yourself. Mephisto is back at home, in the care of Luke and Kieran and probably loving every minute of it. You’re being silly. 

Except, you hear it again. And this time you’re not lost in thought and you realize it’s coming from behind you. Tossing the empty drink in the trash, you turn. Waiting to hear it again. 

It’s quiet, and only audible because the crowd has dwindled down. There’s a stack of crates midway down the alley, next to a metal door. As you approach, you hear the sound again and realize you recognize it now that it’s close. 

A cat. A kitten. It’s a tiny thing, with pointed ears and patches of white, brown and black. Its little, green eyes assess you sharply as you crouch down nearby, and it lets out a warning hiss.

It’s not a baby. Old enough to be away from its mother, but barely. You can tell it’s malnourished, the lines of its hips too sharp. 

You click your tongue a few times, offering your hand gently, “Poor baby…” You coo, “ You hungry?”

The kitten draws back at first, mewing softly, and then slowly, tentatively creeps forward to sniff you. You can feel the soft puffs of air as it grows more confident sniffing you. 

From your bag, you pull out a little trail mix packet. Who knows how long it’s been sitting at the bottom of the tote, and it’s hardly a good treat for a cat, but it’s something. 

The little kitten watches you, eyes wide and eager as it hears the crinkle of the packaging. You hold out a little piece of almond, hopeful. They sniff it once, and then look up at you with an almost unimpressed look.

“Don’t give me that look,” You giggle, wiggling the nut closer, “It’s all I got right now, c’mon. If you let me pick you up, I’ll take you somewhere you can get a real feast.”

It’s silly to think the little kitten will understand you, and you realize that you may have underestimated their hunger. Because they nibble weakly at the almond, scraping it with their tiny, baby teeth. 

You frown, heart panging in pity. Moving as slowly as you can, you reach out and pet the top of their head. They feel scratchy and coated in dirt, which almost twists the knife deeper.

It takes a few moments for the kitten to let you pick them up. You tuck them close to your chest, trying to make them feel secure because who knows if they’ve ever been held before?

You return to the street with more purpose, looking one way and then turning to look the other. With fewer people, it’s easier to see down the long length of the marketplace, and to your palpable relief you see Xavier’s large sun hat. 

Your relief is short lived when you see the Lightblade in his hand, and he’s got this dangerous, predatory look in his eyes. Caleb is only a few feet away, stalking through the dispersing crowd, peering down alley ways and pausing at poor passerby’s to speak harshly to them. 

Their harsh aura is dwindled by the hats on their head, but you figure they kept them so you would be able to find them easier. 

“Caleb!” You shout happily, “Xavier!”

Struck simultaneously with a shock of lightning, their gazes snap to you. Caleb bolts towards you, running full tilt until he’s practically crashing into you. 

“Careful!” You cry, holding out an elbow to prevent the massive man from hurting the little bundle in your arms. 

“Where did you go!?” Caleb draws away from his momentary hug to grab your shoulders, leaning over to put his face level with yours. “Are you trying to kill me? You want me to have a heart attack and die, is that it?”

Xavier doesn’t let his Lightblade dissipate until he’s within reach. You hear his relieved sigh just as you feel his palm touch the side of your face, “Why didn’t you stay put? What happened?”

”Geez!” You hiss, scowling slightly, “I went to look at some stuff! I didn’t realize it was such a crime!”

Caleb huffed and let go of you, running his hands through his hair like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “We were worried sick! Pips, the last time you disappeared like that Ever had you! I thought Xavier was gonna’ commit mass homicide!”

“They all could be working for them.” Xavier’s voice was quiet, but cut through the air as he explained his motivation.

Your spark of irritation fades as you realize the horrible mistake you’ve made. “I’m sorry…I…I wasn’t thinking.”

Caleb reaches back out to you, pulling you into another embrace. He grabs you with his left hand first, squeezing you and then following it with his right. Surrounding you with the trunk of his arms.

He smells faintly of sweat, but that underlying musk that you’d recognize anywhere. It was the smell that would lull you back to sleep after nightmares– when you’d sneak out of your bed and climb into his. The smell on the collar of his jackets that he’d drape across you whenever you were cold. 

There’s a part of you that still can’t believe he’s real. That he’s here. 

A soft mew from your arms has Caleb pulling away, he looks down in confusion at you– like you were the one that meowed. 

“Who’s this?” Xavier asks the minute the kitten lifts their head. The blond reaches out and gently scratches the top of the fluffy baby’s head. 

“I found them in an alley.” You explain, shifting them slightly to show them better, and they even meow softly. “Poor baby is hungry and filthy. I thought– maybe - we could bring them home?”

Xavier’s face lights up, and bends down to examine the kitten closer. “Of course we can. Do you want me to carry them?”

“I can,” You reply, and then shift the bag, “If one of you can take the bag?”

Caleb reaches out with his right hand and easily takes it from you, sliding it onto his shoulder and then reaching out to adjust your hat a bit. “I’ll put a bell on you next time, pips. Now c’mon, let’s head back.”

“No!” Rafayel barks out the second you step inside. He lurches up from the couch and points at the cat in your arms accusingly, “No beasts allowed in the house!”

Caleb took your hats and your goods to put them away while Xavier headed upstairs. 

The kitten stiffens slightly at Rafayel’s hollering, and you cradle it closer. “It’s just a baby, Rafayel.”

“You were at the market for a while,” Zayne comments as he walks over to greet you. A gentle hand on your back and then a kiss pressed to your temple, “I see why now.”

You laugh gently, “Well, I got lost for a little bit there, but I found this little guy. You wanna help me give them a bath?”

“Let me see them,” Zayne says, lifting his hands and taking the kitten. He holds them up, examining them from side to side, under their belly and along their tail. “They’re quite thin, and probably have fleas. Also, it’s a girl.”

“Aww!” You squeal, gently taking the kitten back and resisting the urge to nuzzle your face against hers with every fiber of your being. “A little girl! So cute!”

“This is mutiny!” Rafayel says from the other side of the room, standing behind one of the chairs and frowning at you. “We should hold a vote. I vote the monster leaves, who’s with me?”

“I think you’re on your own there,” Caleb responds as he reenters the room. “But we can vote if you want to.”

Xavier scurries back down the stairs holding a large fluffy towel, “I filled the tub with some warm water, and I found some of the scentless soap we can use.”

Your heart swells like an oversoaked sponge with how gently Xavier bundles up the kitten and holds her close to his chest. He wraps the towel around her and begins to rub away the worst of the dirt around her head and ears. 

“That won’t remove the fleas, but it’s better than nothing.” Zayne says as he tilts his head to look at the softly mewing kitten.

“I’ll boil some chicken or something, or is fish better?” Caleb asks, coming to stand behind you. 

“Hey! What’s with the welcome wagon?” Rafayel whined, coming out from behind the chair to stand a bit closer. “We haven’t voted yet.”

You give Rafayel a look, “I vote we keep her.”

“Hear, hear.” Caleb concurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair. “I’ll get started on something to eat for her.”

Xavier looked over to Rafayel with a challenging smirk, “I also vote we keep her.”

You follow the blond when he walks back towards the stairs, and you hear Rafayel’s scoff of disbelief. “That’s only half the vote, it’s still undecided.”

Zayne just shakes his head and heads to the kitchen to help. You’re not sure where Rafayel’s aversion to felines came from, as you can’t remember him having issues in the Sanctuary with the little cats that would roam about. 

Over time, it feels like more and more memories are coming back. At night, you dream about the sanctuary, the smell of the wet stones and moss. The sound of the crackling fire. Some mornings, before you open your eyes, you’re not sure what world you’ll wake up in. 

You want to bring it up to the others, and you will– you will– but not yet. You don’t know whether it’s simply missing that life from before, or something else. And, knowing your lovers, they’ll worry over it when it might be nothing at all. 

Giving a kitten a bath is an equally frustrating and hilarious experience. You and Xavier take turns holding the poor kitten while the other runs a rag over its poor sodden fur. The water tints into a sandy taupe color and you have to empty it twice before you’re satisfied the kitten is clean. 

You’ve got mementos for the experience. Tiny little scratches on your arms and hands as the kitten fought back. You can hardly blame her. Although the water was warm, it was likely the first real bath she’d ever had. 

Xavier dries her off while you hold her, and he’s frowning firmly, “That was no way for a young lady to act. Hurting my bunny like that would get some others in big trouble.”

His words would be a threat if they weren’t said in such a cute tone. The kitten mewls in response, like she is saying she’s sorry as Xavier rubs her head with a dry towel. When he pulls it away, the kitten is fluffed up, almost a ball with all the fur standing up. Xavier makes small cooing sounds as he rubs behind the kitten’s ear.

“She was just scared, weren’t you baby?” You coo, lifting the now clean kitty to your cheek. “Poor little thing.”

Once she’s dry, you hold the little calico close to your chest and head back downstairs. The scent of cooking food meets your nose and you can tell she can smell it too because her head perks up, ears pointing upwards. 

“What’s this?” Sylus says with a playful smirk, somehow silently coming up from behind you. “A kitten for the kitten?”

You grin lift the kitten up to Sylus’ eyeline, “Isn’t she cute? I found her in the market!”

“I heard,” He says, tilting his head to the side to size up the little girl in your hands. “I also heard that you gave our prince quite the scare.”

You huff softly and cradle the kitten once more, “Caleb’s such a snitch.”

“Not a snitch!” Caleb chimes in from the kitchen, finishing shredding up a bland chicken breast into tiny pieces. “I’m a loving, caring member of this family who prioritizes communication. I was practicing my communication skills by telling Sylus what a troublemaker you are.”

Sylus looks over his shoulder, a fond sort of amusement playing in his carmine eyes. The dynamic between the two tallest members of your love pack has been interesting to watch develop, to say the least. They both take up a large amount of space, both physically and in sheer presence. However, there’s something soft about them. Like two gentle giants that treat each other with tenderness instead of teeth. 

“Look at her though!” You say defensively, pouting your lower lip, “If I hadn't wandered off, I never would have found her, and who knows how long she’s been all alone out there.”

“Appealing to pity will only work so far, sweetie.” Sylus lifts his hand, gently scratching the kitten under her chin. His eyes crinkle slightly, and you know he’s hooked.

Avoiding a punishment for now, you go to the kitchen and sit the calico down onto the counter, where her plate awaits. Caleb used one of the saucer from one of the teacups. A little floral dish with baby blue and orange flowers decorating the rim. 

Caleb folds his arms on the edge of the counter and leans on them, watching intently as the kitten sniffs at his creation. Tiny bits of chicken and a little scoop of rice, with a tiny garnish of blueberries. 

“So, I assume we are keeping her?” Zayne asks, coming to stand behind you and Caleb. Another addition to the calico’s eager audience. 

“Of course, look at her.” You coo, leaning next to Caleb so your shoulders touch, “I would die for her.”

Caleb’s head snaps to look at you and he laughs a little nervously, “Let’s not get too carried away pipsqueak.”

“She’ll need to see a vet sooner rather than later.” Zayne says thoughtfully, “If she’s a stray then she hasn’t had any vaccinations, and we should get her microchipped too.”

You smile happily, buzzing with excitement. Ever the caretaker, Zayne has immediately jumped at opportunity, and rambles on about the new necessities you’ll all need for the newest addition. 

“We can get her a little collar too.” Xavier adds as he walks to the other side of the counter. He places a small bowl of water slowly in front of the kitten, and smiles warmly when she diverts from her examination of the chicken to begin drinking eagerly. 

“We should name her first,” You say, resisting the urge to reach out and pet her. “She’s a sweet girl. It didn’t take much convincing to get her to trust me.”

“We’re not naming it.” Rafayel huffs from the couch, slouched and pouting. He’s got his arms crossed, and he refuses to look at you or the cat. “Because we’re not keeping it.”

You stand up and go over to him. Despite his sour, frowning expression, he instinctively opens up for you. Letting you climb into his lap with open arms that wind around your waist. “Don’t worry Raf, we’re not replacing you.”

Rafayel scoffs against your neck, and leans in to nip at you. “Don’t be dumb. You could never replace me with something like that. They can’t be trusted. They’ll show you affection one minute and then turn around and try to kill you the next.”

You giggle at his grumbly response, “This one is just a baby. We can raise her to be nice, can’t we?”

Rafayel’s arms tighten around you, and he’s quiet for a moment. You can feel the heat of his breath as he exhales heavily against your throat. He mumbles, giving you a small kiss, “Don’t say it like that…it’s not a baby.”

The last few days of your trip are spent taking turns caring for your newest additions. It’s hilarious, all their different kitty-parenting styles. You found some cat food, litter, and some toys at one of the small stores on the island, and it’s enough to get you until the flight home.

Xavier talks a big game but he’s a complete pushover. He’ll scold the little calico for being too rough when they play and then, when she looks up at him with those large, green eyes, he’s the one that ends up apologizing and feeding her little treats. 

His frequent naps make him a favorite for the kitten, and you’ve found her hidden under his chin, snoozing happily twice. 

Zayne is a strict, no-nonsense cat parent. He sets up a veterinary visit for the day after you return home, and even performs his own little physical. You had to hold your breath to stop from keeling over as you watched Sylus hold the kitten up, exposing her belly so Zayne could press his stethoscope there. 

The doctor doesn’t seek out the kitten very much, but you can see the eagerness in his eyes whenever she gets close. A sort of shimmery excitement whenever she gets close enough to pet. He’s never been good with animals before, and so the first time the kitten rubs against his leg and mews for attention Zayne is shocked. 

Sylus likes playing with the kitten. His favorite is the stick with feathers dangling from the string. You swear, he could spend hours dragging it along the floor and snatching it away just as she pounces. At times, he laughs– completely enamoured with the kitten’s cuteness– and others, he’s very serious. He looks very determined as he dangles the toy just out of reach, like he’s teaching her how to hunt. 

His broad shoulders make a perfect perch, and you worry that Mephisto will get jealous if he sees the kitten sitting so comfortably there. It’s quite a sight, and you’ve maxed your storage with how many pictures you’ve taken these past couple days. 

Caleb is doting and attentive. Despite the kitten eating her kibble like a champ, he worries about her nutrition. The floral saucer has become her plate, and every meal time you see an extra pot on the stove– another chicken breast for the little girl, he says. 

He’s a worry-wort too. That first night, when you all went to bed, the kitten decided it was the perfect opportunity to explore. You could feel Caleb’s anxiety from beside you. Every little noise, he would lift his head, “Is she okay? Do you think she’s lost? What if she’s not sleeping?”

After about the tenth time, Sylus grabbed Caleb’s head, pushed it back down to the pillow, and climbed out of bed. A few minutes passed, and Sylus returned, carrying the less-than-happy kitten. 

Caleb tucked the kitten in the miniscule space between yours and his head, and finally settled. Petting her gently until she fell asleep. Despite your own exhaustion, you stayed awake to watch. The sleepy tenderness in his eyes is mesmerizing, like the slow, lazy spiral of a galaxy. 

As for Rafayel, it’s like the kitten can tell he’s not sure about her. She doesn’t approach him, but she’s always in the same room. Lingering like a threat. You worry all she’s using the hunting lessons from Sylus to stalk the resident fishie. 

So it’s surprising, when on your last day at the beach house, you come inside from an afternoon at the beach to find Rafayel napping on the couch, and the kitten curled up on his chest. He’s laying flat on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes and snoring ever so slightly. 

The kitten must have jumped up after he fell asleep. She’s curled up tight into a ball, right on his diaphragm, and so with every inhale she lifts and every exhale she falls. Her little rounded ear twitches as you approach, and she lifts her head. Blinking up at you slowly, you give her a few pets and then head to the kitchen. 

Sylus enters just after you. The bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders are rosy and red, having evaded Zayne and his dreaded sunscreen. “That didn’t take long.”

You chuckle as you drink from a water bottle, “She’s such a charmer isn’t she?”

Sylus hums softly, and places an arm around your waist. When you turn to look up at him, he’s wearing a rare expression. One that lifts his usually furrowed brow, and lightens the danger in his eyes. It’s open, warm, and so full of adoration that you can feel it in your chest like a physical touch. 

“She takes after you, sweetie.” Sylus says, almost a whisper, and lifts your chin to kiss you. A brief press of the lips, meant to be chaste, but he’s a gluttonous man. A greedy fiend, and he can’t help himself but go back for more. One more taste. One more lingering touch. 

Sylus is warmed by the sun, and tastes faintly of salt from the sea. You miss the days when his kisses held the flavor of smoke– bitter almost with the linger of oak and pine. 

From the couch, you hear Rafayel stir. You lean against Sylus’ chest while you peek over. The sea god hums in his sleep and moves to roll over, and only realizes the kitten is there at the last second. He freezes, on hand on the little ball of fur. With little deliberation, he pulls the calico close like a stuffed animal and rolls onto his side facing the back of the couch. 

You hear a soft meow of protest, but the kitten doesn’t fight his hold any more than that. 

“Like I said,” Sylus whispers in your ear, “It’s the spitting image of you.”

Playfully, you smack his chest, and feel the sand sticking to him there. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Let’s go get cleaned up, I wanna’ make dinner tonight.”

Sylus’ smile could topple empires, and he obediently lets you take his hand and drag him towards the bedroom. “Of course, kitten.”

You feel a little bad for Caleb, because while the rest of you sleep off the rather exhausting holiday in the cabin, he’s piloting. The kitten refuses to sit anywhere besides Zayne’s lap for some reason, and he takes the job very seriously. He keeps one hand curled around her bottom, while the other rests protectively over her back. Oh, to be that little kitten, curled up in the doctor’s hands. 

When you arrive home, you eagerly show the kitten around. Showing her all the different bedrooms, the places she can hide and play. You show her your bedroom and the massively oversized bed. You know Sylus has probably already ordered some ostentatious bed for her, but you doubt she’ll use it. 

As if you couldn’t adore her more, she talks to you. Of course not words, but she’s a chatty little thing. Meowing and mewing like she’s responding to you. When you ask a question, she answers. A short little chirp here, or a longer more drawn out meow there. 

The only issue is that no one can decide on a name for her, it seems. Xavier offered the name Andromeda, but Rafayel vetoed that– claiming it was far too fancy for a cat. The sea god countered with Tuna, which was met with a tepid response. 

Zayne offers insane names like Metoprolol and Verapamil. It doesn’t surprise you, knowing the little squirrel named Clopidigrel. You assume those names are also heart related medications, and you seriously debate using one of them. 

Caleb vehemently vetoes them though, arguing that it should be something simple. Something cute, like Melon or Snowflake. You agree that those names are cute, but they don’t really fit her. She’s not fully white, so no Snowflake. 

You don’t mention the list of names you know Caleb has on his phone. 

Sylus tries his best to convince the group to use the name Belia. It takes a moment for you to realize where it came from, but eventually Sylus mentions Mephisto and it clicks. Belia. Belial. Another prince of hell. 

Holding the kitten, you look at her and she looks at you. You know it’s silly but you can really imagine her saying Can you believe this? The names they pick don’t fit her. You imagine calling her by them, and they just feel weird. 

You make a comment as much, and she echoes your sentiment. Another little meow, and it clicks. 

You know her name, she’s been telling you it the whole time. Two days later, your newest addition is sporting a sparkly pink collar with a little silver tag in the shape of a heart. On it is engraved the name you and your lovers could finally agree on, Echo.

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[veebeeboo109]

The Sanctuary

{The high fantasy prequel to "Cleaning Up the Timeline" Combining all limited myths. Polycule. Reader-centric.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Slow Burn, Rafayel's glorious arrival! I was buzzin writing this!

Chapter Four: The Heart Shaped Pool

That first night turns into routine. Zayne has terrible sleeping habits, and avoids resting for as long as he physically can. You, however, are not so repulsed by rest and have claimed one side of the bed. When he does finally succumb to exhaustion, he takes the free side, acting as a barrier between you and the room. 

You don’t talk about it. You want to. You want to ask why he doesn’t make you sleep on a roll on the floor, or in the tent you’ve all but abandoned. Curiosity at what this new breach of closeness could mean buzzes at the tip of your tongue everyday, and yet remains unspoken.

Reading lessons are slowly replaced with magic lessons. After learning to read, now you read to learn. Large texts that weigh heavy on your lap as you sit in front of the fire, trying to understand what the author could mean by ‘equivalent exchange’.

Less than a month after his last venture, Zayne sets out again. A heavy bag and even a change of clothes he takes with him. There's less rush this time, and he’s oddly secretive with the details of the journey when you ask.

“Can I come?” You finally gain the courage to ask. 

Zayne pauses for a moment, his back to you. It’s only when his eyes were away from you that you found the ability to speak. He turns and there’s a gentle smile playing on his face. “Not this time, little one. Perhaps next time.”

“But I could help.” You sound childish even to your ears. “I know how to do more than this. I can…I’m savvy.”

“A most clever apprentice you’ve turned out to be.” Zayne approaches and places his hand on the top of your head. Patting once and then drifting down the back and down your hair. “Tis not your skill I worry about, but your lack of footwear.”

You sigh and shift, “I’ve almost convinced some folk to trade with me, but no one is willing to take an IOU.”

Zayne’s eyes squint and he tilts his head, “And what were you trading for?”

“Patrick has leather scraps left over that I wanted, but he’s so stingy.” You huff softly and rise to your feet. “I found a spell in one of the books that makes plants grow. If I can use it, then I can trade some fruit or something come springtime.”

The whimsicality faded from Zayne’s eyes, “Spells of such manner require their price, little one. You have yet to summon the slightest bit of magic, and you plan to perfect an advanced spell such as that?”

He’s not wrong. Zayne is never wrong, but his words irritate you all the same. Over this past fortnight, you’ve grown antsy to start actually doing something. More than research and reading, you want to aid with the runes and summon magic to your fingertips like he does. Zayne is too cautious, you think.

As if Zayne can read your mind, he says, “Do not try and rush these things. Study the runes I showed you while I am gone, and when I return you can try writing them, yes?”

You simmer silently, knowing he’s being generous but still peeved. Your displeasure makes you too prickly to embrace his offer and so you pout, crossing your arms like a child. And this must amuse Zayne, because his eyes crinkle and his laughs softly. 

The soft leather of his gloves caresses your hair again, and he leans down to place his face in your eyeline. “I will be gone for a few days this time. Three at least.”

“Hm,” You say with a small nod. Zayne rises to his full height and just stares at you for a moment, before patting the top of your head once and turning towards the door. 

Your determination to not watch him leave crumbles the moment his foot steps outside the door. Rising to your feet, you catch him by the hand. And into the worn creases of his glove, draw out the rune for protection once more. Tracing that intricate pattern with your fingertip without a word. 

Zayne lets you do this, and you realize this is becoming routine. Next time, you think, he’ll expect it. He closes his hand, holding the invisible rune tight. “When I return, that will be the first one you learn.”

You are neither an educated person, nor a fool. Your skills and knowledge have been hard earned up until recently. Bartering, fire making, foraging. You could sew, patch, and embroider with some skill too. 

This new skill however, is conceptual. The actions of it reside only in your mind because they began as words on a page. 

You wait until it’s been a few hours after Zayne left, just in case he came back and found you. You’ve never been scolded by him before, and you’re not interested in hearing the disdain in his voice should he discover you disobeying his wishes like this. 

A book of runes tucked under one arm, and a satchel in the other. A little snack for after your practice. You’re far too excited and brash for someone with zero experience, but your optimism rings high and you find a secluded place far away from the cottage and the settlement.

From the satchel you pull out a bamboo storage tube and from it a stalk of charcoal. With the potential for anything between your fingers, you debate where to start. 

From the beginning feels right, and so you turn to the very first page of the book. Four runes are listed, corresponding to the four elements. The chapter drolls on for several pages about their many applications, and you’ve already read it twice. 

You prop the book up on a nearby crystal cluster, which illuminates the text and the area around you. The soft trickle of the water shifting in the pools nearby is the only other sound besides your breathing. 

You find a small stone near the water, barely the size of your palm. It’s cool, and heavy and you turn it over once to put the flatter side up.

Zayne has taught you to write a few things. Your name. His name. But never runes, never. 

The first stroke of the charcoal against the stone is smooth, and you glance between your hand and the book several times to make sure you get the symbol right. 

Fire. Your mind repeats, over and over. Intention for the rune is more important than the carving itself. The spirit you push behind is what turns it from useless scribbles to dangerous magic. 

Fire. Fire. Fire. 

You finish the last stroke and pull your hand away, uncertain what happens next. You’ve only ever seen Zayne use the defensive runes, and so you’re not sure what to expect. 

The stone slowly warms. Heat swelling like it’d been placed atop hot coals. It goes from being barely discernible, to pleasant, to stinging and burning your skin. You hiss and drop it, finding your palm reddened.

It trembles on the ground for a moment, sizzling against the dampened earth. You take a small step back, just as the rock bursts into flames. Bright, hot and orange– the flames grow in size, swelling with the fuel of your intention. 

You gasp and stumble back, the heat of the inferno growing closer and closer. An embarrassing screech leaves your lips as you scramble for what to do next. Instincts take over and you jump into action, kicking at the stone and punting into the water. 

Cringing at the lingering sting on your foot and leg, you watch as the stone sinks into the water. The fire is extinguished with a loud sizzling, and the remnants of heat make it bubble as it descends to the bottom. 

You catch your breath, feeling like you can still feel the heat of the flames. Ow, you think. The pain isn’t letting up, only getting worse. Glancing down to examine your potential injury, you're met with the tiny licks of flames at the hem of your skirt. 

Another squeal and you nearly fall on your behind in an effort to get away, except the fire follows you. Clamoring to the water, you toss yourself into it. Splashing as you sink into the icy surface, and sputtering as you come back up. Water shot up your nose and down the back of your throat, adding insult to injury as you grab onto the moss at the water’s edge and pull yourself out. 

For a few minutes you just lay there, legs in the water, and catch your breath. A few things were learned today. First, you can summon magic. Two, fire runes should be used very carefully. And three, listen to Zayne.

As you haul yourself out of the water and soggily drag you and your things back to the cottage, you swear you hear cackling laughter echo off the cavern walls. 

There are less than ten children in your sanctuary– that’s what you’re officially calling it now. Your Sanctuary. A bubble made of stone and crystal that begins to feel more like yours with each passing day.

The children vary in ages. From an infant less than a year old, strapped to their father’s back more often than not. Another is a toddler, still learning to walk but somehow still finding themselves in mischief often. 

The older children are adventurous, and don’t like to listen to their elders. You’d be more cross with them if you didn’t remember what it felt like to be so young, and to feel trapped. One of the older boys, nearly a young man, is particularly unruly. 

He refuses to obey his grandmother when told to stay within the cavern. You’ve heard rumors of him coming back nearly frostbitten after spending the day playing in the snow outside. His warm brunette hair stirs something like memory in your chest, and despite his unruly behavior, you have a fondness for him.

“You wanna’ know a secret?” The boy, Cosme, whispers at you. He sits down on the bench next to you, a bowl of thick stew in his hands, identical to yours. 

You pause before taking a bite. With Zayne gone, you decided to join Yvonne and the others for a meal instead of eating alone. You give Cosme an incredulous look, and lean down closer to him, “Are you keeping secrets from your grandmother again?”

Cosme scoffs, his mischievous smile fading, “Course not. Granny doesn’t believe me when I tell ‘er things, anyway. But you, you’ll believe me, yeah?”

You smile softly, “I suppose it depends on this secret of yours.”

The giddiness returns to Cosme’s smile, “There’s a monster in the sanctuary.”

You reel back, stunned, “What? A monster?”

Cosme nods emphatically, “The pools. One of ‘ems haunted. Me and Jilly went over there a few days ‘go. Grabbed me! Nearly took my life, it did!”

“I see…” Your previous concern fades. Jilly is Cosme’s younger sister, and a timid yet brave little girl. If she went to the pools so far away from her mother, it was because Cosme dragged her. 

“Look, look!” The boy sets aside his untouched stew and pulls up his pant leg, lifting it high to make sure you can see. “It bit me! Took a chomp!”

Leaning back as his little foot is suddenly in your face, you set aside your bowl to take a closer look. You expect to see a bruise, maybe a scuff of dirt he can pass as a bite, but what greets you is red. Four long scratches along his ankle. They’re not deep, but they stand out against the boy’s pale skin. 

Frowning, you gently nudge his leg back down to the ground, “That looks like a scratch, not a bite.”

“Scratch, bite, who cares? There’s a monster in one of the pools!” Cosme is failing to keep his voice quiet, overcome with childish eagerness. “You have to tell the Foreseer, so he can slay it!”

Ah, that’s why he came to you. With Zayne gone, you’re the next best thing, at least to the folk you are. No one knows yet about your abysmal failure with the fire rune earlier, and you hope to keep it that way. Cosme was entrusting you with this secret because he believed you the Foreseer’s emissary. 

You debate telling the boy it’s nothing, dismissing this outlandish tale, but instead say, “Which pool?”

Cosme grins, “The one in the corner. It’s big, and still. Shaped like a heart.”

You’re not familiar with it, but nod anyway. Tucking away this information for later. You give Cosme your best reassuring smile, “I’ll inform the Foreseer. I’m certain there are no monsters here, but we can check for you, alright?”

The boy nods with his whole body and picks up his stew again. With a heavy, theatrical sigh he says, “I’d take care of it myself, but I can’t lift Papa’s spear yet.”

A pleased laugh bubbles from your chest, and you smile into your stew. He reminds you of someone. Someone close to your heart, if not nestled within it. Trying to remember them makes that poorly healed wound on the back of your head ache, and your heart twists painfully. 

Zayne returns. Alone, but not empty handed. He looks tired when he enters your home, but there is lightness to his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. From his back he retrieves a large pack and drops it onto the floor. 

You turn to stand, but he stops you. Not a single word given in explanation as he comes to where you sit at the worktable, and kneels in front of you. He’s smiling gently– proudly – as he shows you what he brought. 

A pair of simple shoes. Ankle height and lined with cream colored fur. His gloved hand comes up to cup the back of your leg, drifting down to hold you while he slips the shoe onto your foot. The fur is softer than anything you’ve ever touched, and you shiver as the frosty feeling in your toes immediately starts to dissipate. 

“I found some stockings too.” Zayne whispers as he moves to your other foot, “And a pair of boots.”

Words escape you. Lost completely from your mind and your lips. Thanks feels like too weak a word for what you feel, and your heart is hammering inside your ribs at the sight of such a man on his knees before you. 

A sharp sting knocks you back to life as his fingers find the tender spot where the flames had left their mark. Zayne’s eyes narrow and lifts the hem of your skirt to examine what he’s found.

“What’s this?” He asks, sharply. 

“Nothing.” You hastily reply, pulling back your foot and tossing your skirt to cover it. “Nothing at all.”

Zayne says your name firmly, and goes to grab your ankle again and you hurriedly stand. “Is that a burn? Little one, how did you get hurt?”

The endearment is bit out, barely softening the ice in his voice. 

“It’s nothing.” You repeat, tucking hair away from your face and scurrying to the other side of the room. “I was foolish, and I paid the price.”

Zayne is silent for a moment. He rises up to his full height, a towering feeling after not seeing him for days. He’s never looked at you the way he’s looking down, but he’s not really looking at you is he? He’s staring at your hands, and then to your feet. And then, over to the hearth. 

“I’ll ask again,” Zayne says from deep in his chest, “What happened?”

A shiver runs down your spine as shame slinks down into your core. You’re not afraid of Zayne, but you are afraid of upsetting him. Seeing the slight wrinkle between his brows unsettles you, and you have to look away.

“I tried writing runes.” You blurt your embarrassment into the air, “The fire rune…”

You watch as Zayne’s nostrils flare. He’s absorbing your words, chewing on them, but saying nothing. His lips remain tightly sealed as several emotions pass over his face. 

“I see…” He finally says, taking a deep breath, “So you were successful in summoning the magic then?”

You’re a little surprised. You’d expected anger. Resentment, or bitter, foul disappointment. With a small nod, you reply. “On a stone. I set the intentions, just like you said.”

“And the burn?” He turns to the workbench, and gently touches the book of runes lying atop it. 

“The flames got too high, and I had to kick it into the water.” You sheepishly laugh, and then trail off, looking up at Zayne with wide, expectant eyes, “Are you upset with me? I…I know I should have listened–”

“You are not a child.” Zayne says like he’s speaking to himself more than you. “I can hardly scold you for taking action on your own, despite my warnings. Though, I ask you not to do so again.”

You smile. Zayne’s voice has returned to his normal cadence, and you’re amused by the amount of pride and disdain mixing there. He returns to unpacking his bounty, and you find yourself walking in circles around the room to feel the shoes.

“Cosme told me something interesting,” You say after Zayne has settled back in and you’ve shared a warm meal. “He insisted I tell you there’s a monster in one of the pools.”

Zayne pauses momentarily as he organizes the sachets of herbs he brought. He looks at you over his shoulder, “A monster?”

“He was quite certain of it. Told me that it took a bite out of him, though I thought it looked more like a scratch.” You shrug, “I promised to tell you, so you could slay it.”

Zayne is quiet for a moment, gathering his mortar and pestle and scooping some dried beetles into it. They crunch under the weight of the stone, but quickly become a smooth, green paste. You wonder what he’s making this time, as he pulls a jar filled with dried orange flowers down from the shelf. 

“I suppose it is a sign of security, for a child to make up such tales.” Zayne says thoughtfully, musing as works. “Cosme has always been excitable.”

“I thought as much.” You reply, leaning back on your hands from your spot near the fire. “I think he got hurt and was embarrassed.”

“There are large aquatic animals that he could have mistaken for a monster.” Zayne explains, “A seal perhaps, or even a large fish.”

“Could it be trapped here?” You ask, worried for this imaginary creature. 

“It’s possible, though hardly our concern.” Zayne scoops his ochre poultice into a wooden bowl and brings it over to you. He shifts his robes to sit beside you on the floor at your feet, and silently reaches for your ankle.

It’s rare he doesn’t wear gloves, and so all the more sacred to be touched by his bare fingertips. He swipes the cool poultice across your burn, stinging slightly at first and then soothing into a decadent cool. 

The amber glow of the fire diminishes the deep green of his eyes, and yet you can’t look away from them. Your poor heart feels ensnared in a wire net, cut up as it struggles against what you cannot understand. Words are weak when you find yourself without thought. 

“Zayne…” You whisper, and he looks up at you for a single moment before back at his work. As he begins to wrap your injury with a roll of gauze, your mind and mouth align. Speaking aloud the questions that bubble to the surface. “Why? Why do you take such good care of me?” 

His movements slow for a moment as your words hit him, and Zayne’s expression hardens. “Such a question…Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not…” You whisper back, “I feel indebted to you, and I cannot help but wonder why you bother with me so. Why do you spend so much time teaching me, and patching me up for my failures?”

Zayne finishes his work and ties the bandages up securely. He sits up straight and looks at you for a moment, and you search his eyes like one divines the stars for answers. He reaches out to you, and your breathing halts as you prepare for his touch. 

However, he pauses– holding his arm in between you and lifting his sleeve up to the shoulder. Like the unveiling of some rare artifact, you can’t look away. Burns are distinctive. They differ from scars from blades or arrows. They swirl and pucker almost organically, like the shape of the flames remain in the skin. Beautiful in the way they persevere. 

They cover the majority of his arm, reaching higher and higher and higher up until they disappear behind his robes. Following that trail, you lean forward and find more hidden beneath his color, and the faintest ripple along the side of his jaw.

“Our magic can turn against us in the blink of an eye. It was my failure that led to this, and I had very few willing to assist me.” Zayne explains as you examine him. His gut twists as he sees the concern tilt your brow. The desire to pull away is strong, but he holds firm– letting the shape of his scars imprint into your mind. “I teach you, not to put you in my debt, but because I want to. I will tend to any wound you suffer because you deserve to be cared for. Wondering about motivations is senseless, as I have made mine clear.”

Had he? Your mind whirls, crackling like the kindling in the hearth under the rush of heat that swallows you. Your cheeks warm, and you must be wearing the most amusing expression because when you manage to meet Zayne’s eyes, he’s smiling softly. 

Somehow, the two of you have drifted close. When Zayne drops his arm, and removes that barrier between you, you’re startled by the proximity. A part of your mind reels, urging you to back away. You’re mere inches from each other, and though you sleep this close– it’s hardly appropriate. 

However, you linger. Hovering in this air of personal space for a moment as something shifts in your mind. A chemical change that has you, abruptly, seeing him differently. He no longer towers above you, divine and untouchable. You can see the tiny wrinkles beneath his eyes. The split in his lower lip from the cold. The way his irises flicker back and forth as he studies, just the same as you study him. 

“It’s late.” Zayne whispers, just as a log cracks in the hearth, sending incandescent sparks up into the chimney. And your heart feels like it does the same– split down the middle and overspilling with something hot, flickering, and unknown. 

Crawling into bed that night feels almost scandalous, and you have to focus on breathing as you feel the mattress dip with his weight. Worried that somehow, this night of all nights, you’ll accidentally roll right into him. 

You don’t, of course, as nothing is technically different tonight. However, you find yourself warmer. Feeling a flush across your skin that buzzes like an instinct, long awaiting and dormant. Does Zayne feel this too? Is the tightening knot in your belly an affliction of some kind? A fever festered from your wound?

If it is, it’s not entirely unpleasant. And its symptoms flare, when– half asleep– Zayne reaches out and places his hand over yours. No more than a simple point of contact to bind you. What an odd illness, you think. To make your gut twist almost painfully and then shiver into pleasant tingles….

It is remarkably easier to navigate your sanctuary with shoes, and you say as much– several times, in fact– while you and Zayne round the next morning. The stockings he’d found are warm and soft, and it’s shocking how warm you are the entire time. 

Zayne looks pleased, proud even, as he works. He glances at you every so often, the sight of the shoes feeling too much like a victory for his ego. If seeing you cozy and warm does this to his psyche, then what will the deep blue fabric he procured do when he finishes fashioning it into a cloak for you? 

It’s gotten hard to hold his tongue. To control himself around you. The dreams Zayne once had of you are all but gone, but now replaced with the living, breathing version. Which, somehow, is even more vexing. In the dreams he could touch– he could taste– with abandon. In life, he must restrain himself. Maintain that delicate balance of student and teacher.

You’re not that much younger than he is, but the gap feels large sometimes. Life has been cruel to you both, and Zayne has unconsciously taken it upon himself to keep you from whatever cruelty remains. A staunch, abstinent protector. 

So, he needs some space. A moment to breathe after waking up to the feeling of your skin against his nose. He’d sought you out in sleep– something that was becoming more and more common as of late. Thankfully, you remained oblivious of this reprehensible habit of his, and he was able to escape from the bed before you noticed. 

After finishing your rounds together, Zayne made easy excuses of assisting some of the plainfolk with chores and assigned you a lengthy reading. Not to punish you, but to punish himself. An afternoon with your absence should give him ample time to correct his behavior. 

Which is how you found yourself back at the pools. The book was tucked inside a satchel strung across your shoulder, but likely going to remain unread. In your hands, you carry a wide basket filled with a few dried fish neither you nor Zayne found palatable. 

The idea that some misbegotten creature might be trapped here plucked at your heartstrings. You’d never seen the ocean before, and so sea creatures were a fantasy to you. Images poorly depicted in faded illustrations. You remembered living next to a river at some point, but you had a hard time recalling much of the aquatic life there. 

The heart-shaped pool lies at the furthest corner of the sanctuary. Separated from the rest of the water sources and remarkably still. There was no faint ripple in the water, no current, or even the occasional bubble. It’s the largest of the pools here, so its glossy surface is all the more unsettling. You kept your distance, at first, waiting to see if the beast the boy told you about made an appearance. 

Sitting the basket down a few feet away from the edge, you tiptoe across the sparse moss– careful not to slip on the smooth rocks in between. You peer into the water, finding its surface black and reflective as glass. You can see your own face staring back at you, and the sparking stalactites hanging high overhead. 

A sudden rush of shadow has you reeling back. It was fast and huge. It carves through the water close enough to the surface to bend it, but not break it. You stumble back, prepared for some sea serpent to come bursting out, while your heart recovers from the scare. 

Curiosity wins out over fear, and you pluck a crispy dried fish from the basket. You toss it out to the center of the pool. It floats atop the surface, drifting lazily and leaving tiny ripples in its wake. 

You wait, keeping your eyes locked on the fishy offering. 

Thwip.

Faster than a blink, the mackerel is snatched. Plucked beneath the water by something so fast and precise it barely disturbs the surface. Such a large creature, but so quick! You eagerly bounce in place, excited to grab another fish and toss it to your new pet. 

You nearly squeal in excitement when that too is snatched up. It must be so hungry! Trapped here in this pool all alone. Now, you grab two more fish, scooting closer to the edge on your knees to toss them out. 

This time you watch the inky depth, and see the long serpentine shadow circling the perimeter of its pool. Though the pond could fit twenty men comfortably for bathing, this creature is so long it’s a wonder it fits at all. 

The fish are snatched once more, and you’re too busy trying to catch a glimpse that you don’t see the mackerel until it’s slapping you in the face. Tossed harshly at you like it was an offense.

The water ripples and you swear you hear low, echoing laughter. Can a seal laugh? You toss the fish to the side and crawl to the side of the water, bracing your hands at the very edge and leaning over it, “So unkind! Is that how you thank someone who fed you?”

You didn’t prepare yourself for what you might see when you finally faced the depths, too caught up in your disbelief of being slapped in the face with a fish to think things through. 

Serpent, squid, seal. All of these creatures are mere imaginations to you, but what looks back at you is all too familiar. 

A face. A man. Floating a foot below the surface and shadowed by the wine-black water. A sharp cry escapes as you throw yourself back, scuffing your hand slightly on the slippery rocks and falling onto your behind. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, breath struggling in its fast effort to escape your lungs. Frozen in your spot, you struggle to comprehend what you just saw, and try to convince yourself it was a trick of the light.

Except, the surface of the water gives way and the man rises up. His pearly skin shimmers as the water cascades from him, and his hair somehow does not stick to his like normal wet hair would. The color of it is a dark aubergine, but as the soft glow of the light hits it, you realize it’s actually a softer violet, accented with rose and lavender. 

Beautiful is this creature from the depth. Unnatural in his ethereal grace, that even the anger that paints his brow is lovely. His upper lip lifts, and the sharp shine of his canine rivals the beauty of a sharpened blade.

“I have no need of the aid from mortals.” The man snarls, and it sends fear racing down your spine. He braces a hand on the moss and his pointed, dark colored nails dig harshly into it, “Cheap cuts of fish are hardly a worthy offering to me.”

You wish you could find your voice, but every time you try to move your tongue it wiggles ineffectively. What do you say to the ocean incarnate? Should you beg for your life? Despite the violence that coats the air, you don’t feel danger. 

The fish man stares at you for a moment, sizing you up with his teeth still bared. He tosses the remaining fish at your feet, and the slap against the stone. You flinch, finally finding the ability to move.

“Where is your piety? Your reverence?” He hisses, “These offerings are not befit for a thrall, and you seek to give them to the god of the sea? The king of the swells and the tides?”

You look down at the soggy fish, and then back up. Swallowing your trepidation, you place the fish back into the basket and sit on your knees. His words are nonsensical to you, and he seems to await your response. 

A god? Here? Locked away in the sanctuary with who knows how many miles between here and the sea.

“It’s just a little pool,” You say, peering at the contained pond he calls home, “Are you the god of it?”

The rage on his face flickers away for a moment, replaced with utter disbelief. His brow lowers, and his eyes burn an icy cerulean, “Such insolence. I should take you as a sacrifice for your audacity, but I know you would taste of gristle and bone.”

You draw back slightly, “Did you try and eat Cosme? The little boy who came here before?”

The pond-god sneers, crossing his arms to rest on the edge, “The youth tossed rocks into my pool, he is lucky I did not drown him.”

“You hurt him.” You counter, feeling indignation at this being’s rudeness.

“Just as he attempted to hurt me.” He snaps back. “His sire should thank me for teaching the boy a lesson in manners.”

You rise to your feet, and prop the basket up on your hip. This creature math wear the face of a man, the torso of one, but his spirit is sour. Perhaps he is just a beast that learned to speak some millennia ago, for you aren’t inclined to believe his claims of godhood while he spits such coarseness. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, taking a half-step back, “Should the god of the sea not reside in it?”

He lifts his chin, soft strands of lavender shifting to frame his face, “Bring me worthy offerings, and I will tell you the story of the sea god.”

You frown, and in an elegant display of your lack of self-preservation, say, “You are not the god of much right now, sir, the god of ponds sounds more apt.”

The sea god chokes, sputtering on his own shock and he growls. It vibrates the water around him and he looks as if he might follow through on his promise of devouring you. However, there is a subtle blush across his cheeks, a violet hue that stains the skin around where shiny scales reveal. 

“Be gone from this place!” He snarls and dives back into the water. You’re only able to glance that flash of periwinkle scales and the sound of metal chains before a massive splash knocks you off your feet. 

<- Previous Next ->

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Caleb & Dacryphilia

Caleb hates to see you cry. It doesn’t matter what it’s about: a sad movie, a bad day, or (Astra forbid) him. Any tears you shed are rain on his best day. Little crimes against his sanity that drip so horrifically down your perfect cheeks.

So it’s peculiar— the most odd, unfathomable thing— that your tears send the most wretched, twist in his gut. He’s got you flat on the floor, laying on your tummy and fucking you harshly from behind.

He likes fucking you sweetly. Some of his favorite nights are the ones where the two of you are silly with it. When he can make you giggle and feel the rhythm of it from inside you.

But tonight is a special night. He can still taste the tang of the lemon candy on his tongue, coupled with the twist of your slick that he’d spent far too long dining on until you begged - pleaded - with him to stop.

From one position to another. Furniture is nothing but an obstacle in his way. This is not his first choice— fucking you from behind, but god does it get you to make the most unhinged noises. Pants and whines that punch out of your hoarse throat in time with his harsh thrusts.

So, he doesn’t notice at first, when the tears start to leak from your eyes. Overstimulated, overloaded to the point that you’re weeping.

The tickle of something down his skin. Across the flesh of his left forearm that he has hooked around you neck, bending your back with in a mean headlock- a gentle, loving headlock. One where you can feel his love for you as the blood to your brain get's cut off.

He slows his ravenous thrusts, slows down to examine this bizarre feeling. Are you drooling? You've done that before, and you have whined like a some wounded animal when he'd licked it up. Anything from you is perfection, and he'd taste it happily.

Wet. His arm is wet. Little crystalline tears that leans trails down your cheeks. They curve around your face and to your jaw like a caress, and- in the most inexplicable turn of events, Caleb's hips jut forward. His mind isn't connected anymore to his body. Cock jolting, arousal spiking. Something broken inside him is feeding on the visual stimuli of your tears, and while his heart wrenches in worry, he's fucking you harder.

More. He needs to see them more.

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Sylus and Echo

Had to draw my boy and our child ❤️😂 from the newest chap of a Tidy Timeline.

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Caleb Sanctuary!AU

(Some details: his prosthetic arm glows that green because it’s powered by Zayne’s magic. He dabbled too much in astral projecting and still struggles with sleep, which is why his eyes are so dark.)

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Finally finished Caleb!!

(Just his linear for now but aren’t my boys so pretty???) ~Sanctuary AU is taking over my life

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Made these spacers real quick and though I'd share them. They're by no means unique so feel free to steal and use however you want 💖

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The Sanctuary

{The high fantasy prequel to "Cleaning Up the Timeline" Combining all limited myths. Polycule. Reader-centric.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Slow Burn, Rafayel's glorious arrival! I was buzzin writing this!

Chapter Four: The Heart Shaped Pool

That first night turns into routine. Zayne has terrible sleeping habits, and avoids resting for as long as he physically can. You, however, are not so repulsed by rest and have claimed one side of the bed. When he does finally succumb to exhaustion, he takes the free side, acting as a barrier between you and the room. 

You don’t talk about it. You want to. You want to ask why he doesn’t make you sleep on a roll on the floor, or in the tent you’ve all but abandoned. Curiosity at what this new breach of closeness could mean buzzes at the tip of your tongue everyday, and yet remains unspoken.

Reading lessons are slowly replaced with magic lessons. After learning to read, now you read to learn. Large texts that weigh heavy on your lap as you sit in front of the fire, trying to understand what the author could mean by ‘equivalent exchange’.

Less than a month after his last venture, Zayne sets out again. A heavy bag and even a change of clothes he takes with him. There's less rush this time, and he’s oddly secretive with the details of the journey when you ask.

“Can I come?” You finally gain the courage to ask. 

Zayne pauses for a moment, his back to you. It’s only when his eyes were away from you that you found the ability to speak. He turns and there’s a gentle smile playing on his face. “Not this time, little one. Perhaps next time.”

“But I could help.” You sound childish even to your ears. “I know how to do more than this. I can…I’m savvy.”

“A most clever apprentice you’ve turned out to be.” Zayne approaches and places his hand on the top of your head. Patting once and then drifting down the back and down your hair. “Tis not your skill I worry about, but your lack of footwear.”

You sigh and shift, “I’ve almost convinced some folk to trade with me, but no one is willing to take an IOU.”

Zayne’s eyes squint and he tilts his head, “And what were you trading for?”

“Patrick has leather scraps left over that I wanted, but he’s so stingy.” You huff softly and rise to your feet. “I found a spell in one of the books that makes plants grow. If I can use it, then I can trade some fruit or something come springtime.”

The whimsicality faded from Zayne’s eyes, “Spells of such manner require their price, little one. You have yet to summon the slightest bit of magic, and you plan to perfect an advanced spell such as that?”

He’s not wrong. Zayne is never wrong, but his words irritate you all the same. Over this past fortnight, you’ve grown antsy to start actually doing something. More than research and reading, you want to aid with the runes and summon magic to your fingertips like he does. Zayne is too cautious, you think.

As if Zayne can read your mind, he says, “Do not try and rush these things. Study the runes I showed you while I am gone, and when I return you can try writing them, yes?”

You simmer silently, knowing he’s being generous but still peeved. Your displeasure makes you too prickly to embrace his offer and so you pout, crossing your arms like a child. And this must amuse Zayne, because his eyes crinkle and his laughs softly. 

The soft leather of his gloves caresses your hair again, and he leans down to place his face in your eyeline. “I will be gone for a few days this time. Three at least.”

“Hm,” You say with a small nod. Zayne rises to his full height and just stares at you for a moment, before patting the top of your head once and turning towards the door. 

Your determination to not watch him leave crumbles the moment his foot steps outside the door. Rising to your feet, you catch him by the hand. And into the worn creases of his glove, draw out the rune for protection once more. Tracing that intricate pattern with your fingertip without a word. 

Zayne lets you do this, and you realize this is becoming routine. Next time, you think, he’ll expect it. He closes his hand, holding the invisible rune tight. “When I return, that will be the first one you learn.”

You are neither an educated person, nor a fool. Your skills and knowledge have been hard earned up until recently. Bartering, fire making, foraging. You could sew, patch, and embroider with some skill too. 

This new skill however, is conceptual. The actions of it reside only in your mind because they began as words on a page. 

You wait until it’s been a few hours after Zayne left, just in case he came back and found you. You’ve never been scolded by him before, and you’re not interested in hearing the disdain in his voice should he discover you disobeying his wishes like this. 

A book of runes tucked under one arm, and a satchel in the other. A little snack for after your practice. You’re far too excited and brash for someone with zero experience, but your optimism rings high and you find a secluded place far away from the cottage and the settlement.

From the satchel you pull out a bamboo storage tube and from it a stalk of charcoal. With the potential for anything between your fingers, you debate where to start. 

From the beginning feels right, and so you turn to the very first page of the book. Four runes are listed, corresponding to the four elements. The chapter drolls on for several pages about their many applications, and you’ve already read it twice. 

You prop the book up on a nearby crystal cluster, which illuminates the text and the area around you. The soft trickle of the water shifting in the pools nearby is the only other sound besides your breathing. 

You find a small stone near the water, barely the size of your palm. It’s cool, and heavy and you turn it over once to put the flatter side up.

Zayne has taught you to write a few things. Your name. His name. But never runes, never. 

The first stroke of the charcoal against the stone is smooth, and you glance between your hand and the book several times to make sure you get the symbol right. 

Fire. Your mind repeats, over and over. Intention for the rune is more important than the carving itself. The spirit you push behind is what turns it from useless scribbles to dangerous magic. 

Fire. Fire. Fire. 

You finish the last stroke and pull your hand away, uncertain what happens next. You’ve only ever seen Zayne use the defensive runes, and so you’re not sure what to expect. 

The stone slowly warms. Heat swelling like it’d been placed atop hot coals. It goes from being barely discernible, to pleasant, to stinging and burning your skin. You hiss and drop it, finding your palm reddened.

It trembles on the ground for a moment, sizzling against the dampened earth. You take a small step back, just as the rock bursts into flames. Bright, hot and orange– the flames grow in size, swelling with the fuel of your intention. 

You gasp and stumble back, the heat of the inferno growing closer and closer. An embarrassing screech leaves your lips as you scramble for what to do next. Instincts take over and you jump into action, kicking at the stone and punting into the water. 

Cringing at the lingering sting on your foot and leg, you watch as the stone sinks into the water. The fire is extinguished with a loud sizzling, and the remnants of heat make it bubble as it descends to the bottom. 

You catch your breath, feeling like you can still feel the heat of the flames. Ow, you think. The pain isn’t letting up, only getting worse. Glancing down to examine your potential injury, you're met with the tiny licks of flames at the hem of your skirt. 

Another squeal and you nearly fall on your behind in an effort to get away, except the fire follows you. Clamoring to the water, you toss yourself into it. Splashing as you sink into the icy surface, and sputtering as you come back up. Water shot up your nose and down the back of your throat, adding insult to injury as you grab onto the moss at the water’s edge and pull yourself out. 

For a few minutes you just lay there, legs in the water, and catch your breath. A few things were learned today. First, you can summon magic. Two, fire runes should be used very carefully. And three, listen to Zayne.

As you haul yourself out of the water and soggily drag you and your things back to the cottage, you swear you hear cackling laughter echo off the cavern walls. 

There are less than ten children in your sanctuary– that’s what you’re officially calling it now. Your Sanctuary. A bubble made of stone and crystal that begins to feel more like yours with each passing day.

The children vary in ages. From an infant less than a year old, strapped to their father’s back more often than not. Another is a toddler, still learning to walk but somehow still finding themselves in mischief often. 

The older children are adventurous, and don’t like to listen to their elders. You’d be more cross with them if you didn’t remember what it felt like to be so young, and to feel trapped. One of the older boys, nearly a young man, is particularly unruly. 

He refuses to obey his grandmother when told to stay within the cavern. You’ve heard rumors of him coming back nearly frostbitten after spending the day playing in the snow outside. His warm brunette hair stirs something like memory in your chest, and despite his unruly behavior, you have a fondness for him.

“You wanna’ know a secret?” The boy, Cosme, whispers at you. He sits down on the bench next to you, a bowl of thick stew in his hands, identical to yours. 

You pause before taking a bite. With Zayne gone, you decided to join Yvonne and the others for a meal instead of eating alone. You give Cosme an incredulous look, and lean down closer to him, “Are you keeping secrets from your grandmother again?”

Cosme scoffs, his mischievous smile fading, “Course not. Granny doesn’t believe me when I tell ‘er things, anyway. But you, you’ll believe me, yeah?”

You smile softly, “I suppose it depends on this secret of yours.”

The giddiness returns to Cosme’s smile, “There’s a monster in the sanctuary.”

You reel back, stunned, “What? A monster?”

Cosme nods emphatically, “The pools. One of ‘ems haunted. Me and Jilly went over there a few days ‘go. Grabbed me! Nearly took my life, it did!”

“I see…” Your previous concern fades. Jilly is Cosme’s younger sister, and a timid yet brave little girl. If she went to the pools so far away from her mother, it was because Cosme dragged her. 

“Look, look!” The boy sets aside his untouched stew and pulls up his pant leg, lifting it high to make sure you can see. “It bit me! Took a chomp!”

Leaning back as his little foot is suddenly in your face, you set aside your bowl to take a closer look. You expect to see a bruise, maybe a scuff of dirt he can pass as a bite, but what greets you is red. Four long scratches along his ankle. They’re not deep, but they stand out against the boy’s pale skin. 

Frowning, you gently nudge his leg back down to the ground, “That looks like a scratch, not a bite.”

“Scratch, bite, who cares? There’s a monster in one of the pools!” Cosme is failing to keep his voice quiet, overcome with childish eagerness. “You have to tell the Foreseer, so he can slay it!”

Ah, that’s why he came to you. With Zayne gone, you’re the next best thing, at least to the folk you are. No one knows yet about your abysmal failure with the fire rune earlier, and you hope to keep it that way. Cosme was entrusting you with this secret because he believed you the Foreseer’s emissary. 

You debate telling the boy it’s nothing, dismissing this outlandish tale, but instead say, “Which pool?”

Cosme grins, “The one in the corner. It’s big, and still. Shaped like a heart.”

You’re not familiar with it, but nod anyway. Tucking away this information for later. You give Cosme your best reassuring smile, “I’ll inform the Foreseer. I’m certain there are no monsters here, but we can check for you, alright?”

The boy nods with his whole body and picks up his stew again. With a heavy, theatrical sigh he says, “I’d take care of it myself, but I can’t lift Papa’s spear yet.”

A pleased laugh bubbles from your chest, and you smile into your stew. He reminds you of someone. Someone close to your heart, if not nestled within it. Trying to remember them makes that poorly healed wound on the back of your head ache, and your heart twists painfully. 

Zayne returns. Alone, but not empty handed. He looks tired when he enters your home, but there is lightness to his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. From his back he retrieves a large pack and drops it onto the floor. 

You turn to stand, but he stops you. Not a single word given in explanation as he comes to where you sit at the worktable, and kneels in front of you. He’s smiling gently– proudly – as he shows you what he brought. 

A pair of simple shoes. Ankle height and lined with cream colored fur. His gloved hand comes up to cup the back of your leg, drifting down to hold you while he slips the shoe onto your foot. The fur is softer than anything you’ve ever touched, and you shiver as the frosty feeling in your toes immediately starts to dissipate. 

“I found some stockings too.” Zayne whispers as he moves to your other foot, “And a pair of boots.”

Words escape you. Lost completely from your mind and your lips. Thanks feels like too weak a word for what you feel, and your heart is hammering inside your ribs at the sight of such a man on his knees before you. 

A sharp sting knocks you back to life as his fingers find the tender spot where the flames had left their mark. Zayne’s eyes narrow and lifts the hem of your skirt to examine what he’s found.

“What’s this?” He asks, sharply. 

“Nothing.” You hastily reply, pulling back your foot and tossing your skirt to cover it. “Nothing at all.”

Zayne says your name firmly, and goes to grab your ankle again and you hurriedly stand. “Is that a burn? Little one, how did you get hurt?”

The endearment is bit out, barely softening the ice in his voice. 

“It’s nothing.” You repeat, tucking hair away from your face and scurrying to the other side of the room. “I was foolish, and I paid the price.”

Zayne is silent for a moment. He rises up to his full height, a towering feeling after not seeing him for days. He’s never looked at you the way he’s looking down, but he’s not really looking at you is he? He’s staring at your hands, and then to your feet. And then, over to the hearth. 

“I’ll ask again,” Zayne says from deep in his chest, “What happened?”

A shiver runs down your spine as shame slinks down into your core. You’re not afraid of Zayne, but you are afraid of upsetting him. Seeing the slight wrinkle between his brows unsettles you, and you have to look away.

“I tried writing runes.” You blurt your embarrassment into the air, “The fire rune…”

You watch as Zayne’s nostrils flare. He’s absorbing your words, chewing on them, but saying nothing. His lips remain tightly sealed as several emotions pass over his face. 

“I see…” He finally says, taking a deep breath, “So you were successful in summoning the magic then?”

You’re a little surprised. You’d expected anger. Resentment, or bitter, foul disappointment. With a small nod, you reply. “On a stone. I set the intentions, just like you said.”

“And the burn?” He turns to the workbench, and gently touches the book of runes lying atop it. 

“The flames got too high, and I had to kick it into the water.” You sheepishly laugh, and then trail off, looking up at Zayne with wide, expectant eyes, “Are you upset with me? I…I know I should have listened–”

“You are not a child.” Zayne says like he’s speaking to himself more than you. “I can hardly scold you for taking action on your own, despite my warnings. Though, I ask you not to do so again.”

You smile. Zayne’s voice has returned to his normal cadence, and you’re amused by the amount of pride and disdain mixing there. He returns to unpacking his bounty, and you find yourself walking in circles around the room to feel the shoes.

“Cosme told me something interesting,” You say after Zayne has settled back in and you’ve shared a warm meal. “He insisted I tell you there’s a monster in one of the pools.”

Zayne pauses momentarily as he organizes the sachets of herbs he brought. He looks at you over his shoulder, “A monster?”

“He was quite certain of it. Told me that it took a bite out of him, though I thought it looked more like a scratch.” You shrug, “I promised to tell you, so you could slay it.”

Zayne is quiet for a moment, gathering his mortar and pestle and scooping some dried beetles into it. They crunch under the weight of the stone, but quickly become a smooth, green paste. You wonder what he’s making this time, as he pulls a jar filled with dried orange flowers down from the shelf. 

“I suppose it is a sign of security, for a child to make up such tales.” Zayne says thoughtfully, musing as works. “Cosme has always been excitable.”

“I thought as much.” You reply, leaning back on your hands from your spot near the fire. “I think he got hurt and was embarrassed.”

“There are large aquatic animals that he could have mistaken for a monster.” Zayne explains, “A seal perhaps, or even a large fish.”

“Could it be trapped here?” You ask, worried for this imaginary creature. 

“It’s possible, though hardly our concern.” Zayne scoops his ochre poultice into a wooden bowl and brings it over to you. He shifts his robes to sit beside you on the floor at your feet, and silently reaches for your ankle.

It’s rare he doesn’t wear gloves, and so all the more sacred to be touched by his bare fingertips. He swipes the cool poultice across your burn, stinging slightly at first and then soothing into a decadent cool. 

The amber glow of the fire diminishes the deep green of his eyes, and yet you can’t look away from them. Your poor heart feels ensnared in a wire net, cut up as it struggles against what you cannot understand. Words are weak when you find yourself without thought. 

“Zayne…” You whisper, and he looks up at you for a single moment before back at his work. As he begins to wrap your injury with a roll of gauze, your mind and mouth align. Speaking aloud the questions that bubble to the surface. “Why? Why do you take such good care of me?” 

His movements slow for a moment as your words hit him, and Zayne’s expression hardens. “Such a question…Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not…” You whisper back, “I feel indebted to you, and I cannot help but wonder why you bother with me so. Why do you spend so much time teaching me, and patching me up for my failures?”

Zayne finishes his work and ties the bandages up securely. He sits up straight and looks at you for a moment, and you search his eyes like one divines the stars for answers. He reaches out to you, and your breathing halts as you prepare for his touch. 

However, he pauses– holding his arm in between you and lifting his sleeve up to the shoulder. Like the unveiling of some rare artifact, you can’t look away. Burns are distinctive. They differ from scars from blades or arrows. They swirl and pucker almost organically, like the shape of the flames remain in the skin. Beautiful in the way they persevere. 

They cover the majority of his arm, reaching higher and higher and higher up until they disappear behind his robes. Following that trail, you lean forward and find more hidden beneath his color, and the faintest ripple along the side of his jaw.

“Our magic can turn against us in the blink of an eye. It was my failure that led to this, and I had very few willing to assist me.” Zayne explains as you examine him. His gut twists as he sees the concern tilt your brow. The desire to pull away is strong, but he holds firm– letting the shape of his scars imprint into your mind. “I teach you, not to put you in my debt, but because I want to. I will tend to any wound you suffer because you deserve to be cared for. Wondering about motivations is senseless, as I have made mine clear.”

Had he? Your mind whirls, crackling like the kindling in the hearth under the rush of heat that swallows you. Your cheeks warm, and you must be wearing the most amusing expression because when you manage to meet Zayne’s eyes, he’s smiling softly. 

Somehow, the two of you have drifted close. When Zayne drops his arm, and removes that barrier between you, you’re startled by the proximity. A part of your mind reels, urging you to back away. You’re mere inches from each other, and though you sleep this close– it’s hardly appropriate. 

However, you linger. Hovering in this air of personal space for a moment as something shifts in your mind. A chemical change that has you, abruptly, seeing him differently. He no longer towers above you, divine and untouchable. You can see the tiny wrinkles beneath his eyes. The split in his lower lip from the cold. The way his irises flicker back and forth as he studies, just the same as you study him. 

“It’s late.” Zayne whispers, just as a log cracks in the hearth, sending incandescent sparks up into the chimney. And your heart feels like it does the same– split down the middle and overspilling with something hot, flickering, and unknown. 

Crawling into bed that night feels almost scandalous, and you have to focus on breathing as you feel the mattress dip with his weight. Worried that somehow, this night of all nights, you’ll accidentally roll right into him. 

You don’t, of course, as nothing is technically different tonight. However, you find yourself warmer. Feeling a flush across your skin that buzzes like an instinct, long awaiting and dormant. Does Zayne feel this too? Is the tightening knot in your belly an affliction of some kind? A fever festered from your wound?

If it is, it’s not entirely unpleasant. And its symptoms flare, when– half asleep– Zayne reaches out and places his hand over yours. No more than a simple point of contact to bind you. What an odd illness, you think. To make your gut twist almost painfully and then shiver into pleasant tingles….

It is remarkably easier to navigate your sanctuary with shoes, and you say as much– several times, in fact– while you and Zayne round the next morning. The stockings he’d found are warm and soft, and it’s shocking how warm you are the entire time. 

Zayne looks pleased, proud even, as he works. He glances at you every so often, the sight of the shoes feeling too much like a victory for his ego. If seeing you cozy and warm does this to his psyche, then what will the deep blue fabric he procured do when he finishes fashioning it into a cloak for you? 

It’s gotten hard to hold his tongue. To control himself around you. The dreams Zayne once had of you are all but gone, but now replaced with the living, breathing version. Which, somehow, is even more vexing. In the dreams he could touch– he could taste– with abandon. In life, he must restrain himself. Maintain that delicate balance of student and teacher.

You’re not that much younger than he is, but the gap feels large sometimes. Life has been cruel to you both, and Zayne has unconsciously taken it upon himself to keep you from whatever cruelty remains. A staunch, abstinent protector. 

So, he needs some space. A moment to breathe after waking up to the feeling of your skin against his nose. He’d sought you out in sleep– something that was becoming more and more common as of late. Thankfully, you remained oblivious of this reprehensible habit of his, and he was able to escape from the bed before you noticed. 

After finishing your rounds together, Zayne made easy excuses of assisting some of the plainfolk with chores and assigned you a lengthy reading. Not to punish you, but to punish himself. An afternoon with your absence should give him ample time to correct his behavior. 

Which is how you found yourself back at the pools. The book was tucked inside a satchel strung across your shoulder, but likely going to remain unread. In your hands, you carry a wide basket filled with a few dried fish neither you nor Zayne found palatable. 

The idea that some misbegotten creature might be trapped here plucked at your heartstrings. You’d never seen the ocean before, and so sea creatures were a fantasy to you. Images poorly depicted in faded illustrations. You remembered living next to a river at some point, but you had a hard time recalling much of the aquatic life there. 

The heart-shaped pool lies at the furthest corner of the sanctuary. Separated from the rest of the water sources and remarkably still. There was no faint ripple in the water, no current, or even the occasional bubble. It’s the largest of the pools here, so its glossy surface is all the more unsettling. You kept your distance, at first, waiting to see if the beast the boy told you about made an appearance. 

Sitting the basket down a few feet away from the edge, you tiptoe across the sparse moss– careful not to slip on the smooth rocks in between. You peer into the water, finding its surface black and reflective as glass. You can see your own face staring back at you, and the sparking stalactites hanging high overhead. 

A sudden rush of shadow has you reeling back. It was fast and huge. It carves through the water close enough to the surface to bend it, but not break it. You stumble back, prepared for some sea serpent to come bursting out, while your heart recovers from the scare. 

Curiosity wins out over fear, and you pluck a crispy dried fish from the basket. You toss it out to the center of the pool. It floats atop the surface, drifting lazily and leaving tiny ripples in its wake. 

You wait, keeping your eyes locked on the fishy offering. 

Thwip.

Faster than a blink, the mackerel is snatched. Plucked beneath the water by something so fast and precise it barely disturbs the surface. Such a large creature, but so quick! You eagerly bounce in place, excited to grab another fish and toss it to your new pet. 

You nearly squeal in excitement when that too is snatched up. It must be so hungry! Trapped here in this pool all alone. Now, you grab two more fish, scooting closer to the edge on your knees to toss them out. 

This time you watch the inky depth, and see the long serpentine shadow circling the perimeter of its pool. Though the pond could fit twenty men comfortably for bathing, this creature is so long it’s a wonder it fits at all. 

The fish are snatched once more, and you’re too busy trying to catch a glimpse that you don’t see the mackerel until it’s slapping you in the face. Tossed harshly at you like it was an offense.

The water ripples and you swear you hear low, echoing laughter. Can a seal laugh? You toss the fish to the side and crawl to the side of the water, bracing your hands at the very edge and leaning over it, “So unkind! Is that how you thank someone who fed you?”

You didn’t prepare yourself for what you might see when you finally faced the depths, too caught up in your disbelief of being slapped in the face with a fish to think things through. 

Serpent, squid, seal. All of these creatures are mere imaginations to you, but what looks back at you is all too familiar. 

A face. A man. Floating a foot below the surface and shadowed by the wine-black water. A sharp cry escapes as you throw yourself back, scuffing your hand slightly on the slippery rocks and falling onto your behind. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, breath struggling in its fast effort to escape your lungs. Frozen in your spot, you struggle to comprehend what you just saw, and try to convince yourself it was a trick of the light.

Except, the surface of the water gives way and the man rises up. His pearly skin shimmers as the water cascades from him, and his hair somehow does not stick to his like normal wet hair would. The color of it is a dark aubergine, but as the soft glow of the light hits it, you realize it’s actually a softer violet, accented with rose and lavender. 

Beautiful is this creature from the depth. Unnatural in his ethereal grace, that even the anger that paints his brow is lovely. His upper lip lifts, and the sharp shine of his canine rivals the beauty of a sharpened blade.

“I have no need of the aid from mortals.” The man snarls, and it sends fear racing down your spine. He braces a hand on the moss and his pointed, dark colored nails dig harshly into it, “Cheap cuts of fish are hardly a worthy offering to me.”

You wish you could find your voice, but every time you try to move your tongue it wiggles ineffectively. What do you say to the ocean incarnate? Should you beg for your life? Despite the violence that coats the air, you don’t feel danger. 

The fish man stares at you for a moment, sizing you up with his teeth still bared. He tosses the remaining fish at your feet, and the slap against the stone. You flinch, finally finding the ability to move.

“Where is your piety? Your reverence?” He hisses, “These offerings are not befit for a thrall, and you seek to give them to the god of the sea? The king of the swells and the tides?”

You look down at the soggy fish, and then back up. Swallowing your trepidation, you place the fish back into the basket and sit on your knees. His words are nonsensical to you, and he seems to await your response. 

A god? Here? Locked away in the sanctuary with who knows how many miles between here and the sea.

“It’s just a little pool,” You say, peering at the contained pond he calls home, “Are you the god of it?”

The rage on his face flickers away for a moment, replaced with utter disbelief. His brow lowers, and his eyes burn an icy cerulean, “Such insolence. I should take you as a sacrifice for your audacity, but I know you would taste of gristle and bone.”

You draw back slightly, “Did you try and eat Cosme? The little boy who came here before?”

The pond-god sneers, crossing his arms to rest on the edge, “The youth tossed rocks into my pool, he is lucky I did not drown him.”

“You hurt him.” You counter, feeling indignation at this being’s rudeness.

“Just as he attempted to hurt me.” He snaps back. “His sire should thank me for teaching the boy a lesson in manners.”

You rise to your feet, and prop the basket up on your hip. This creature math wear the face of a man, the torso of one, but his spirit is sour. Perhaps he is just a beast that learned to speak some millennia ago, for you aren’t inclined to believe his claims of godhood while he spits such coarseness. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, taking a half-step back, “Should the god of the sea not reside in it?”

He lifts his chin, soft strands of lavender shifting to frame his face, “Bring me worthy offerings, and I will tell you the story of the sea god.”

You frown, and in an elegant display of your lack of self-preservation, say, “You are not the god of much right now, sir, the god of ponds sounds more apt.”

The sea god chokes, sputtering on his own shock and he growls. It vibrates the water around him and he looks as if he might follow through on his promise of devouring you. However, there is a subtle blush across his cheeks, a violet hue that stains the skin around where shiny scales reveal. 

“Be gone from this place!” He snarls and dives back into the water. You’re only able to glance that flash of periwinkle scales and the sound of metal chains before a massive splash knocks you off your feet. 

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