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5lazarus · 3 years

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The Old Gods of Serault

Wanderingly aimlessly through life after death, Felassan is offered a series of bad choices. Imshael guides his way through. A @black-emporium-exchange gift for RosellaWrites. Read the other works in the AO3 Collection here! Read the story on Archive of Our Own here.

Death, Fen’Harel has always said, is but the next adventure, which is the wonderful sort of thing immortals say but do not truly mean. Felassan, being dead, is mostly bored. There is not much to do when you are sundered from your body. Felassan drifts across Thedas and wonders: why the fuck did the Forbidden Ones lose a whole war for this. He sorely misses his physical form.

In the Crossroads he attempts to get Briala’s attention from his place stuck between Fade and Waking Plain, but alas! The People are sundered from their own senses since Fen’Harel raised the Veil. She does not notice him. He amuses himself for about a week, following her around. Then she picks up a new lover, this time thank Mythal not a human, and he decides it’s time to leave her alone.

In the Dales he runs into Mihris. She spits on him and shoots him with lightning, which hurts, and laughs when he screams. He can taste the ozone in the air as she readies another thunderbolt, which would surely shatter the last remnants of his spirit-consciousness. For all that he misses his body, he likes being around to watch things happening.

Felassan thinks fast, and then moans loudly. “Oh!” he cries. “Do that again.”

Mihris lowers her staff. “By the Dread Wolf, you like that?”

Felassan moans to hide the laugh building in his throat. “I just want to feel alive again!” It comes out more plaintive than pleading, but it does its job. In disgust Mihris leaves him, and prays that the Dread Wolf takes him.

“Been there, done that,” Felassan says to her back. “Nothing to write home about.” That is, of course, a lie, but a dead man has his pride. Besides, having no flesh, he is no longer concerned with the demands of the flesh. He sighs, considering what joys he has lost, and moves on.

In Serault he has more fun. The Veil is thin there, so it is easier to interfere with daily life, and Felassan has always enjoyed being a public menace. He whispers revolution in the very exciting dreams of the Well-Read Pig-Farmer. He makes the shadows dance in the Serault glass the Scornful Sorceress attempts to unlock. She has the taint of Mythal in her, he notices: poor soul. However much she plays at making eluvians, she will never have control over where they take her.

In the workshop, Felassan remarks, “Don’t worry, da’len. The Dread Wolf will set you free, and you’ll live to complain about it.” She does not even look up. Mortals are so very dull sometimes. The interest lies, of course, in how they grow and change, over countless generations. Felassan hadn’t been as interested in the petty wars of the dwarves and men as Fen’Harel had been, and it is funny in a deadly sort of way that this is the hill he chose to die on. He looks at the Scornful Sorceress and murmurs, “Come on. Be a little more fun.”

She gets herself banished from Serault but runs off with the glassworks anyway, and Felassan laughs the whole while, following her trail into the Applewood. The Tirashan has always been weird. The apples guarding the outskirts are new, and not nearly as intoxicating as the ones Sylaise’s people cultivated, but still Felassan trails a hand through the leaves and the giddy red fruit. He can almost taste them. He cannot, of course, so he sits down next to Mythal’s odd daughter and watches her chomp down on apple after apple with vicarious enjoyment.

“Oh, you’re going to make yourself so sick,” he says, amused. “Too much knowledge, da’len. You can’t binge it like that.”

The Fade-memories of the Applewood take her at once, and she shrieks as she begins to hallucinate through all the different hunts. Felassan watches for a bit. The memories leave her sensible enough to drink and shit, and once she begins to recover, he wanders deeper into the woods. Fade-touched fruit has always been used for initiates; the Scornful Sorceress seems to be tripping over rituals that will always overwhelm her. It is a shame that the preparation has been lost. It means the knowledge is gone, too.

Deeper in the woods the Veil thins, and Felassan begins to feel skin again. The leaf litter of the forest is springy under his feet. He draws in an impossible breath. The air tastes hungry, sucking greedily at his lungs. He flickers, aching, and then shakes his hands out. There is another person’s will at work here, threatening his thoughtform.

“Hey,” he calls into the deepening woods. “Who’s there?”

Imshael comes sauntering out of the twilight. He wears the body of the Seneschal of Serault: hair close-shaven, face unremarkably middle-aged, the frame fleshy but not in the way. Felassan groans. He likes Imshael, he really does, he’s always enjoyed partying with the Forbidden Ones—but it’s better when sacrifice is codified. This age ignores all their laws, and Imshael is happy to exploit those loopholes.

Imshael cocks the body’s eyebrow and says, “Dread Wolf got your tongue?”

Felassan says gloomily, “A fucking lightning strike.” He does not tell him that Fen’Harel is still too weak to banish and disintegrate spirits in the Fade. He likes Imshael, he really does. He’s always enjoyed how the disembodied spirit manages to claw his way through history, better than the rest of them from Arlathan, really. He respects the impulse for chaos—but the wanton destruction, the entrain-arrangement, and general lack of empathy? If Fen’Harel deems it necessary to disintegrate the will that is Imshael, Felassan will not complain.

Imshael says, “Tut, tut. Serves you right for believing the Old Wolf’s lies. This age is so much meaner than when we were young.” He stretches the body’s grin a little too wide for its face, pulling the edges of its mouth back as if he had stuck fishhooks in the corners. “I love it. People are so much more desperate than they were under Mythal’s justice. And there are so many new ways to entice them—not just the old ‘power, riches, virgins’ trick, I can offer them ‘lost knowledge.’ Like crop rotation.”

Felassan says, “You know about crop rotation?”

Imshael shrugs.

Felassan begins to laugh. Of course Imshael doesn’t know about crop rotation. Felassan doesn’t know anything about crop rotation. They’re spirits now, why the fuck would they know about crop rotation? He says, admiringly, “By the Dread Wolf, you are such a dick.”

Imshael says, “I don’t even need to try anymore. With your old master breaking out of the Fade, I just get to kick back, relax, and let the choosers come to me.” He forces the left eyelid of the corpse he inhabits to twitch a wink; the muscles pull at the distorted smile. Imshael lets the face relax. “Bodies—so many choices, so many little muscles to twitch! How did you handle it, having one all the time?”

Felassan says truthfully, “I didn’t think about it much.” He misses the choices he could make, to stretch his legs by the fire in the heady woods at night, to stick his fingers into loamy soil and smell the hungry earth, to edge his teeth along another person’s bottom lip. He places a finger where his lips once were, but of course he has no fingers anymore, just his own thoughtform.

“Careful,” Imshael says, dead eyes glinting. “Too much thought and you’ll break.”

Anxiety laces through him, because thought is all he has and thought keeps him whole, and in the worry he feels himself disintegrating in the old wood of the Tirashan. The scent of apples grows stronger, alcoholic, sick fermentation in blood that he no longer has—and then he remembers: Imshael is fucking with me. He wants to strike a deal. All that I have are my choices; Imshael shall not take those away. Flurrying into himself, Felassan stretches out his edges and feels the forest shift around him. The Tirashan is older than he is. The wood whispers: mine.

Felassan says, “Is that why you stuck yourself in that body? To keep the Tirashan from taking you? I quite like the Applewood, actually. Feels a bit like home.”

Imshael says, “Home that eats us alive, yes. Some of the old gods still linger, my friend.” There is a smile in his voice but he leaves the body alone. “Fen’Harel isn’t the only big thing coming. You can feel it, can’t you. That’s what drew you to the Applewood. What was once lost is no longer Forgotten.”

Felassan really has had enough of egregious poeticisms. He says, a bit testily, “What do you want, Imshael? Why are you here? Are you saying I was drawn here? Nothing compells me.”

Lacing roots ground him and the woods expand with one earthy exhale, and even Imshael’s body react electrically as the leaf litter wraps around its ankles. The Horned Knight eases out of the old tree.

Felassan breathes, “Daern’thal.”

The Horned Knight inclines his head and says, “One aspect.” The Forgotten Ones were driven to the edges of the map long before Fen’Harel raised the Veil and threw the world into catastrophe. This aspect of the old god, Daern’thal, has found refuge in the Applewood. Felassan is afraid. He would have been afraid even if he had a body, even if the Veil had not been raised. He never met the gods without Fen’Harel to protect him. Imshael is an interesting substitute.

Daern’thal has chosen the shape of a wooden man, echoing the humans who have driven his worshippers into the shadows of the glens. Halla horn bursts from his forehead. Rather than deal with the issue of mortal mucosity, the Forgotten One has placed eyes of fish scale and snakeskin into the indentation of his sockets. Thin bands of fungal mycelium bind his limbs together. Lust stirs in Felassan’s heart. He can make himself a body like that, if only he could learn how.

Imshael smiles.

One does not refuse an invitation from a god, even a Forgotten One. Felassan pushes against Imshael’s receptical’s shoulders, testing the electric nervous system of the dead flesh, but Imshael pushes against him.

“Only room for one,” he says flatly. “Unless?”

“Nah,” Felassan says. “I’m good here, thanks.” He follows the shambling corpse to the hall of the Horned Knight, a round tower in a narrow glen, dark and wet with green.

“Heartwood Court,” the Knight says, and bids them enter. The upper floors have partially collapsed into each other like dominos after they have been flicked, and Felassan stares nervously at stars glimmering between the leaves of the flowering roof. Of course, these mortal worries are beyond him. Wood and stone can do him no harm. At the center, indeed of the heart of the hall, grows a great tree, whose autumn-colored canopy provides some cover. Felassan sees a star twinkle, and then burn out: not enough.

The grass shines, dusted with shards of an old mirror. The Horned Knight has laid blankets of moss over toppled pillars, a facsimile of a great table. His servants gather, enthralled to his Will. Moss grows within their eyes and flowers bloom from their skin, patterned in the same tattooed ropes of the vallaslin.

Felassan touches the plush moss and is surprised when the moss pushes back. The Veil is thin here. He sits, suddenly ravenous. Daern’thal has hacked his way from the Void and back into the Waking World and made himself a body of earth and scale. If he can learn, he can stretch again. He can taste. He can bite. Imshael settles next to him, monstrously smug.

Felassan says, “You did this on purpose.”

“You’re welcome,” Imshael says. “Consider it a thank-you gift, for making sure I didn’t waste my time tormenting little Mihris. Here, it’s so much more fun. Subtler choices to make, with a much longer reach.” Their arms brush. Felassan starts at the touch.

He says, desire in his voice, “The Veil is very thin here.”

At the center of the great table the Horned Knight arranges himself, in a throne hewn of apple-wood. Glorious smells intoxicate the air: meat fresh-roasted over a well-loved fired, basted in its own blood. Saliva comes to Felassan’s mouth, and he swallows and licks his lips. Silent servants shuffle woodenly by the table, bearing a grotesque boar with its death scream still echoing in its mouth. Imshael reaches for the apple in its mouth and plucks it out. He offers it to Felassan.

Felassan says, “No. Not yet. No.”

Imshael smiles. “Not yet. But soon.” He lays it between Felassan’s hands, slowly gaining solidity. Felassan clenches his fists. Imshael is looking at him up from through his eyelashes. It would have a more charming effect if the body he occupies weren’t clearly dead.

There are rules of hospitality that must be followed. One does not eat before one’s host. Imshael wants him to; Imshael enjoys violation, the breaching of taboo. Felassan likes the bend and breach too, but it is easier to navigate in the Fade, where everything is up for debate. He watches his host. The Horned Knight burns with the old fire of the Forgotten Gods. The Veil warps around him, and the discordance of the waking and the dreaming syncopates into the beat of a living, muscled heart. Daern’thal figured it out. He lives, without a body, a thing of muscles and spells. He does not need to will every pump of blood. Imshael and Felassan gaze upon him with mutual lust.

“My guests,” he says. “Old countrymen from a country that exists only in our worst dream-rambles. Imshael Choice-Bringer I know has poached in my wood these two season. Small prey I grant him.”

Felassan sneaks a glance at Imshael. The corpse looks sour.

“Small prey,” Imshael rumbles. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

If Felassan had a consistent face, he would grin at that. He does like Imshael, after all. Who else would think to take on a remnant of a Forgotten One, in his own hall? What is he going to do, offer him a choice?

“And you, Slow Arrow, dropped from the Dread Wolf’s quiver, broken but undecayed. Piecemeal but awaiting restoration. Unbodied the both of you. Living not-death, I welcome you the same.”

Talk why do you do like that, Felassan thinks. Not even Solas got that bad. A flash of anger runs through him, and he is surprised to see his hands clench, and then they are gone. The moss lays undisturbed on the ruined pillar that is the table. He smells the dinner, he does not smell it. One does not need sensation for an appetite. He hungers. Imshael smiles.

Out of the corpse’s mouth Imshael says, “You’ve guarded the Tirashan well against the Evanuris and their lapdog. A shame this hall’s in ruins. What happened? Don’t you miss your temples?”

“The People worship us enough,” the Horned Knight says calmly. He carves a slice from the spit and places it on a golden plate. “Those the Evanuris would have seen erased have writ themselves large on the landscape. I am, in eternity, lord of these woods.” He has started speaking subject-verb-object again, Felassan notes. He is irritated. The Forgotten Ones were always easy to wind up. Then he realizes—

“What meat is that?” Felassan asks faintly. “Boar?” He hopes it is not halla; even the most degraded of their descendants still hold their kin sacred.

The Horned Knight’s fish scale eyes gleam in their own dark fire. He repeats, “The People worship us enough. They understand sacrifice, how to wear and tear ’til blood seeps into the Dreaming and yanks it awake.”

The Horned Knight passes the plate to Imshael, who passes it stiffly to Felassan. He catches it, flesh rapidly outlined, and places it onto the moss-tablecloth. A servant across the room smiles vacantly; the same moss that adorns the table covers her eyes. Onion flowers dot down her face in the slash of an X. Her skin is coated in red ochre. She does not taste of the Tirashan. She stinks, but not terribly, of Mythal. It is the Scornful Sorceress, Mythal’s troublesome little daughter. That means there is a limit to the Horned Knight’s reach; while he can eat and he can drink, he cannot smell. He does not know the presence of other gods.

Imshael and Felassan look at each other for a long moment. Wordlessly they agree, and let the girl be.

The Horned Knight cuts himself a prime slice and takes a bite. His teeth are the spiraling arms of living crinoids, tearing at the cooked flesh. His tongue is a flash of autumn leaf.

Imshael whispers, “Well? Aren’t you going to eat?”

Felassan whispers, “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t have a digestive system anymore.”

“Well, I’m dead. I don’t either.”

Imshael says, “Do you really think Daern’thal is living? Death eating death. How much of him is simply the Tirashan’s mycelium? Sacrifice won’t keep you whole for long.”

The dryad servants sway in time with the rustle of the leaf-wind. A woman with willow for hair pulls out a bone flute and begins to play. Richly the notes come like a sunset, winding around him like a drink. He is hungry for a body. Daern’thal has one. Perhaps he can share. It is about time he begins killing gods, rather than letting them kill him.

Imshael says, “Good choice.”

Felassan says fondly, “Get the fuck out of my thoughtform.”

The Forbidden One laughs, a rictus of death. The sacrifice steams on the plate over the altar. Neither of them eat. The servants are singing now, in the tree’s breath. First a rumble comes deep from their throats, then the rising chorus of sun and sugar, salt and carbon, bark and heart’s wood. They sway like young birches in the bite of winter’s breeze. He knows the steps and would dance it, if he had feet.

“Dead man’s shuffle?” Imshael offers.

Felassan says, “No.” He can do better than piggybacking off a decaying corpse, tricking mortals into giving up their form and discarding them as soon as they begin to rot. He watches the Horned Knight eat. It’s horrible, but it is living. He says, “I want that body.”

Imshael says, “Good choice.”

The Scornful Sorceress is not quite swaying in time with the others. The moss covering her eyes is thinner. A flower has fallen from the X-shaped vallaslin. Quick, Felassan thinks. Quick. Make your choice before it’s made for you. Don’t be like me.

The Horned Knight says, “My horn. Let us drink, and trade a story for a story, a boon for a boon.” The living wood comes forth bearing a lyrium-laced drinking horn in the shape of a silver halla, legs folded. Around the rim a scene is wrought, of a dying god clawing his way out of the Void to return to the Tirashan. The god becomes the wood, his body woven by the network of fungal decay that keeps the hivemind of the trees living and speaking. He says, “I was a spirit and I was a god and once I was a mere elf, running to the shelter of a Tirashan. The woods took me into their heart. Daern’thal made this horn, to safeguard against the Old Wolf’s tricks. I drank from it. We persist. What are your stories, my countrymen?”

Imshael says, “I refused to be limited by the boundaries of a body. A singular outline defers choice. I am Opportunity and I am Envy. Without a body, I can be both. The choice is yours.”

Felassan says, “Yes. I was the Dread Wolf’s Slow Arrow, the last-ditch plan he broke. I lost my body, but where there is thought, there is form. I am still living. I will persist. What do I need to do, to drink from that horn?”

Imshael smiles. The ochre woman is not even swaying at all.

The Horned Knight says, “You may drink of it only if you stay to the truth of your name. The Veil is breaking. Old magic returns, beyond what we have hidden in the Applewood. I grant you both this life if you stay true to it. Remain Imshael, the impossible choice. Stay the Slow Arrow, which flies the course.” The bark-cut mouth twists into a smile, fossil-teeth bared. “But know this. Once you drink of it, you are of it. The Tirashan has its due. You may remain distinct, but the mycelium persists. You are Felassan, but you will become the Tirashan too.”

Felassan pushes away the plate of flesh. He says, “Would I be able to leave the woods?

The Horned Knight smiles again. He says, “We know what is to come. What is to say that in the end, there will be anything but the woods?”

Fen’Harel is coming to break every chain. Fen’Harel is taking down the Veil and restoring Arlathan and its dark woods. The time of the quicklings is coming to an end. Slow magic, eating away at life, survives, neither flora or fauna.

Felassan says, “No,” and the ochre-servant snatches the horn from the Horned Knight’s wooden hands and sprints out of the hall, shifting into a massive bear. Imshael cackles with laughter. He says, “That’s no choice at all. Careful, there. You’ll put out Imshael out of a job.”

Imshael smiles. “And that’s no choice at all.”

#the old gods of serault #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic #the last court #the masked empire #felassan #imshael #mihris #morrigan #the horned knight #felassan/imshael #horror #comedy #fanfic

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

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Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 4

Masterlist 🌿 (check for previous chapters) / Playlist

In this chapter, the reader fully joins Eivor’s clan and takes part in the celebrations before the raid. Talking with Eda does not go as planned.

Content Warnings for food & alcohol, mentions of physical abuse, lesbophobia, light smut and vomit.

Inspo Picture by @anaakeart

The Sting of Rejection

You had already slept for a few hours when Eivor returned from her council meeting late at night. Even though she tried to be quiet and not to wake you, you were awake as soon as you heard her steps on the path outside.

Birna had curled up in your arms and raised her head when the warrior entered, not moving from her warm and comfortable spot. You remained still, your eyes closed as you listened to the woman’s movements. Her fur coat fell to the ground almost inaudibly, the wood of her trunk creaked quietly as she sat down to take off her boots, her leather pants rustled when she pulled them off and threw them in a corner.

Then you finally felt her motions, too as she lifted a corner of the quilt covering you and slipped in the bed, immediately scooting close to you. She gave Birna a few gentle strokes until the cat started to purr softly and Eivor lowered her head next to yours with a satisfied sigh. She smelled like beer and smoked meat, accompanied by that faint, wonderful scent of tree bark.

You must have stirred because Eivor lifted her head again, whispering: “Little bird… there are good news for you.”

Careful not to disturb Birna, you turned slightly and looked at her with raised eyebrows. She smiled.

“You are now one of us. Mine.” She watched your face attentively for a reaction. You closed your eyes and swallowed. So it was decided.

“Are you happy?” Eivor asked, drawing her fingertips over your healthy cheek.

“Yes, I am,” you answered, turning back around and scooting back against her.

“Mmhh. We’ll talk in the morn.” She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close, then you both drifted off to sleep.

You were woken by Birna's demanding meows at the door. She had not left the hut since yesterday and was probably hungry and in need of a quiet corner. Eivor grunted, then she untangled herself from your limbs and cursed in her mother tongue when she stumbled over her clothes on her way to let the cat out.

“You won’t like it outside, little lady. The snow has stayed,” she grumbled as she opened the door. Indeed, Birna was not amused at the prospect of stepping into the cold, wet powder that painted the village in beautiful white and whirled into the room as soon as the door stood ajar. You pulled the blanket over your head to escape the stinging cold air, listening to Eivor and Birna bicker about the cat’s options for the day.

It really sounded like they were having a conversation, one that ended with Birna leaving with a last, angry cry and Eivor shutting the door with a thankful sigh. She let herself fall back on the bed and crawled under the covers. You stuck your head out.

“So, I’m one of you now?”

Eivor needed a moment to process your question, then she sat up and nodded.

“The council was thankful for your offer to help us prepare the raid and accepted your proposal. You’re going to come with me later so you can have another look at the map and tell us everything you know. In return, you will receive a wooden bangle declaring you part of this clan and my personal servant as soon as we return.”

You sat up as well and leaned against the headboard, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as you tried to find the right words.

“I am very grateful for your trust. I know it normally does not come easy,” you said. “May I ask something else of you?”

The blonde raised her eyebrows with a questioning look.

“My- the people who came with me. How are they?”

“Oh, they are all well.” Eivor got up and started putting on her clothes. “Three of them have decided to stay with us freely and work in the stables and the longhouse. Two have yet to decide and your lady friend is refusing to speak to us. I hear she is eating, at least.”

A wave of relief washed over you. You were not the only one to change sides. You were fairly sure you knew who had taken up work in the village; the two remaining prisoners were probably the squires to Lord William. They had endured harsh treatment at his hands, but he had promised them a future as knights and held them in higher regard than his own daughters. It made sense that Eda was not willing to speak or change her mind. She blamed Eivor for the death of her entire family.

“Eivor?”

“Yes, little bird?”

“Do you think I could have a word with Eda? Maybe I can reason with her,” you suggested, holding your breath as you waited for her reaction. She considered it for a moment, then she shrugged and put on her coat.

“I guess it would do no harm. You can speak with her before we meet the others in the map room, maybe she will tell you something helpful.” She turned around. “Do you want to join me in the longhouse for breakfast?”

The question surprised you, but she was right. You were healing fast, and there was no reason for you to stay in bed any longer. You agreed and swung your legs out of bed, slipped into your wooden clogs and put on your new coat over the linen tunic. Hopefully, you would be able to acquire some more fitting and functional clothes soon, but now was not the time to worry about looks. Your face was still swollen and blue anyway, your bruises now starting to fade to green at the edges.

You quickly rubbed the salve Valka had given you on your tender cheek, then Eivor held the door open for you and you stepped outside into the snow. The air was hard and cold, but clear and when it filled your lungs, you could feel it chase out the last remains of smoke and illness. Walking down to the longhouse, two dogs ran toward you and circled you with excited barks and wagging tails, apparently delighted to see Eivor. She laughed and chased them around for a bit, then she told them she had other things to do and they let her be and ran off towards the stables.

When you entered the longhouse, Eivor was immediately greeted by cheers and excited comments regarding the coming raid. She smiled and acknowledged everyone’s words before leading you to a side part of the house. There was a fireplace in the center of the area, a hole in the roof directing the smoke outside. A kettle and a metal grid were hung over the fire and an old woman was stirring porridge with a gigantic wooden spoon. You both stepped closer.

“Sfáva, dette er Y/N,” Eivor introduced you, gently placing a hand between your shoulder blades. “She is from Williamsburg and has decided to join us. She is a cook, too."

The old woman slowly came closer, squinting her eyes at you until her face was almost directly beneath yours. Then she suddenly gave you a warm, almost toothless smile, deepening the crows’ feet around her eyes and stretching the leathery, weatherbeaten skin on her cheeks.

“Velkommen, Y/N,” she croaked and took your hand, patting it lightly. She chattered something in Eivor’s direction and the warrior translated: “She’s glad to have you here and hopes you can show her some English cooking. She does not speak your language, but she understands a few words and can grasp your meaning if you speak slowly. Our tongues are not too different.”

You smiled back at Sfáva, gently squeezing her hand.

“I’m honored to work by your side, Sfavá.”

The old cook let out a delighted laugh at your proper pronunciation of her name and gestured for you to take a wooden bowl. You and Eivor both took bowls and spoons from a table and Sfavá filled them with porridge. Eivor loaded up her meal with several sausages from the grill, to which you passed.

“I’m afraid we can’t eat together. My place is up there” - she mentioned to the table at the back of the room, standing orthogonal to the rest of the tables - “with my brother. I see your old companions have found themselves over there, maybe you would like to join them?” She motioned over to where the three men that had been released as well sat and ate their breakfast.

You nodded and wished the warrior a good morning, then you walked over and sat down with the others. Aelfric and Hal had been the stable masters back at Williamsburg and were excited about the variety of horses and possibilities here. Eivor had apparently put a lot of money and work into the stables, making them a much more enjoyable place than the dark, moldy ramshackle hut William’s old mares had spent their days in. Lewin was also content with his situation; he had joined the butcher and his son in preparing meat for winter.

They were all happy to see you, thanking you for your quick thinking and cautious behavior during and after the attack. Lewin was even convinced they owed you their lives. While they went on discussing the possibilities of hunting at this time of the year, you stared into your porridge and tried to find the words and the courage for a conversation with Eda.

What could you say that would explain to her your disloyalty to her name, your treachery to England, your betrayal against her after everything you had gone through together? How could you ever change her mind or her situation, what were your possibilities in this? Would she stay locked into a cell for the rest of her life? What would the Vikings do with her if she was nothing but a nuisance?

The others took their leave and you were still none the wiser. Absorbed in your thoughts, you let your gaze wander through the long hall. Your eyes finally got caught on the she-wolf at the elevated warriors’ table. She was deep in conversation with Sigmund and tapping her finger on the table as she made her point to him. He seemed to agree with everything she was saying, consistently nodding his head as he devoured his sausages.

Suddenly, Eivor caught your gaze and while she kept talking, her finger stayed pressed to the wooden tabletop. You could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her face as she turned back to her brother to ask him something. Shaking your head, you got up and brought your empty bowl back to Sfáva’s side table.

Even though her eyesight seemed to be terrible, she immediately recognized you and repeated your name with a joyful fondness in her voice that made your heart swell in your chest. What a wonderful woman.

As you wandered around the hall to collect the dirty bowls people had left on the tables, you felt someone’s eyes on you. Smiling to yourself, you relished at the feeling a little bit longer before turning around to return Eivor’s look. To your surprise, she had stood up and turned her back to you, speaking with someone behind the table.

Slightly bewildered, you finished your round and carried the stash of bowls and spoons back to the cooking area. Just as you turned to ask Sfáva where you should wash the dishes, you saw something blue in the corner of your eye. You looked up and had to force yourself to keep your composure as you saw Randvi leaning against a wooden pillar across the hall and watching you from afar, her arms crossed and her face smooth and expressionless.

She did not move or look away when you saw her, standing perfectly still and continuing to look at you as you finally lowered your gaze and asked Sfáva about your tasks for the day. The old Viking explained her wishes to you with a mix of slow Norwegian and sign language, making it clear you should wash the bowls outside in a big trough and bring her another few sacks of flour. You felt uneasy as you left the longhouse to do your washing up, still followed by Randvi’s piercing gaze.

Eivor caught you outside, glad you had already settled in with your new work and thrilled for the raid. She was practically buzzing with excitement and her restlessness made you laugh, taking your mind off the strange moment with Randvi.

“What are you laughing at, eh? You are looking at a proud drengr, not a jester!” she exclaimed, furrowing her brows in feigned outrage and making you laugh even harder.

“You remind me of Eda and Delia on the eve before Christmas. They were so excited for the next morning, they could barely sleep.” Your gaze lost itself in the dirty water in the trough before you. You had some good memories with the two girls. They had been so innocent and happy. A hand on the small of your back drew you back to the present. Eivor had stepped closer.

“I will sleep like a bear in winter so long as you lie by my side,” she said quietly.

Her words and touch sent chills up your spine. Before you could reply, Eivor stepped back.

“But first, we will plan our glorious raid. And then we will celebrate. Oh Y/N, you will love it. Mead and food and great songs - we will be in good spirits tonight. And tomorrow will be even better!” Her eyes lit up at the thought of the joy and glory to come. “I need to look at a few things in the stables. Take this time to speak with your friend. I will come and get you when it is time to meet over the map.”

You watched her as she walked away, a spring in her step as she headed for the wooden building at the far end of the village. The dishes were clean, so you took them back inside and left them on the table for Sfáva. She was deep in conversation with two other Norse women when you filled another bowl with porridge and two sausages and quietly made your way to the cell in the back of the longhouse.

Eda sat on the floor where you had left her last. Her dress was dusty and stained, her hair was matted and her face looked grey and old. Dag, who was keeping watch again, let you in with a grumble and sat back down on his chair. Eda refused to look at you as you knelt down before her and offered her the food.

“Eda, please. You must eat. You look like death itself.”

“I don’t fear death,” she mumbled, still staring at her hands, “I fear traitors and backstabbing snakes.”

Her words knocked the air out of your lungs. You had not expected her to be this hostile. What now?

“I do not claim to know the pain you feel and the losses you are bearing. I am simply trying to live with dignity instead of wasting away,” you explained, tears welling up in your eyes. “Do you not see my face? Were you not there when I learned I was worth nothing at Williamsburg, nothing but dirt on your father’s shoe? Eivor has offered me a place in this world. She-”

“You and your precious Eivor!” Eda snapped, her gaze now burning right through your head and her face screwed up into a hateful grimace. “You fell to your knees the second you saw her, begging for her to take you. I will not be lulled into submission by a filthy little sapphic whore!”

This blow hurt worse than William’s fist. There was nothing left to say. You put the bowl down next to her, then you stood up and left the cell. Dag gave you a strange look when he locked the door again.

Just as you rounded the corner, you bumped into Eivor. She knew something was wrong right away, pulling you into her warm embrace and letting you cry into her chest for a long moment until she pulled back and lowered her head to look at you.

“What is it, my little bird? Will your friend neither soften nor think clearly?”

You just nodded and pressed your lips together, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Eivor turned to look over her shoulder for a moment, then she pulled you into an alcove.

“You stay here and collect yourself. I will tell them you got held up and will be there soon.” She pulled you in for a last, quick hug, then she vanished from sight.

You took a few deep breaths and slapped your chest and torso, trying to fully return to the present, to your body, and to your rational thoughts. If Eda wanted nothing more to do with you, so be it. You had other things to worry about now.

When you entered the map room there were five men waiting for you alongside Eivor and Randvi. One of them was Sigurd, Eivor’s brother and the official chief of her clan, even though you felt like a lot of people cared for Eivor more strongly. You had just found out today that he was also Randvi’s husband. The other four you had seen before but you did not know their names.

Eivor looked up from the map first, smiling widely and rounding the table to introduce you.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She was the cook at Williamsburg and has visited Fort Winton several times. She will tell us all she knows about the area and the castle.”

“What happened to your face, Y/N?” One of the warriors gave word to what everyone was thinking. You straightened up, trying to brace yourself against Randvi’s icy expression.

“Thank you for this opportunity to make myself useful here. My cheek made acquaintance with Lord William’s fist the day of your attack, but I am healing now and he is not, that is all that matters. And I have you to thank for it.”

Your answer seemed to satisfy everyone and you got to work. You spent the next hours telling them about every path and entrance to the castle you knew of, every person working there when you last visited, and everything about the Stewart that had taken over the shire. You even drew a plan of the order of the buildings and the rooms you knew of.

The Viking warriors warmed up to you quickly when they realized how much valuable knowledge you were giving them and even Randvi seemed to forget her hostility toward you after a while. The group even allowed you to stay for their debates on the right strategy, taking all your comments into consideration and thanking you for your help. Eivor reminded you at some point that you were still injured and told you to go back to the hut, put on the salve, and lay down. She would pick you up later for the feast.

Birna was already waiting for you at the door, mortally offended at having spent the day outside in the snow. She weaseled through the first crack in the door and was even more distraught when the fireplace was dead and the bed cold. You apologized sincerely and lit a fire to make Valka’s wonderful brew while you gently applied her salve to your healing cheek.

While your tea was steeping, you curled up with Birna and poured your heart out to her about Eda. She was a wonderful listener, snuggling up to you when you started crying and supporting your distraught words with agreeing meows. It was heartbreaking - the one friend you still had left did not want to be your friend anymore. You were all alone here. You had to admit that the Norse people were extremely welcoming to you and that Eivor would probably be very offended to hear you call yourself alone after two nights in her arms, but still. You were lonely. After you had drunk a cup of your herb infusion, you laid down, pulled Birna into your arms and cried yourself to sleep while the white cat silently watched over you.

A light grasp on your shoulder woke you and you opened your eyes to find Eivor crouching down before you, smiling softly at you. It was already dark outside and you had trouble finding your grasp on reality for a moment. Was it the next day? No. The feast.

Your mouth was dry and your eyelids felt heavy from crying. Eivor softly brushed the hair out of your face with her fingers.

“Good evening, little bird. Can I interest you in some excellent boar meat and warm mead?”

Birna answered in your stead, crying out as she stretched her little body on top of you. Eivor’s expression became even softer.

“For you, little lady, I have something special.” She took a small balled up bundle from her pocket and opened the stained cloth to reveal some fresh innards, probably taken from the boar. She placed the cloth on the ground in front of the fireplace and Birna jumped down from the bed to have her own royal feast.

You got up and followed the cat's example in stretching your limbs, feeling Eivor’s eyes on you as you put on your shoes and cloak and tried to comb your hair with your fingers. The blonde was next to you at once, holding your hands still.

“Wait. Let me.”

She opened her wooden chest and produced a beautiful wide-tooth comb. It was made from some kind of bone or fang. The warrior stood behind you and gently pulled all your hair back towards her. Then she began combing it out, starting at the bottom of each strand and carefully moving upwards, taking out any knots or dirt. Her fingers touched your scalp every time she took a new strand of hair, sending lightning down your spine and making the hair on your neck stand up.

“That’s better. I can braid it for you, too, if you’d like that,” Eivor said behind you. You brushed a hand over your long hair and felt its smoothness. You had never been allowed to wear your hair down at Williamsburg, always having to put it up in a knot and wear a bonnet or at least a cap. Today you had seen so many Viking women proudly wearing their hair down, some with intricate little braids and beads in theirs.

“I’d like that, yes,” you whispered, scared your voice would betray you. Every day, every hour here felt like a step closer to freedom and happiness.

“Sit down on the bed.” The blonde gently guided you to sit at the foot of the mattress so she could stand next to you. Then she began taking hair from your healthy side and braiding it along the hairline around your ear and down the back of your neck. She stepped around you to look at her work from the front.

“I think that is all you need. You’re beautiful.”

Your heart jumped into your throat, almost making its way onto your tongue. Your fingers followed the path of the small braid, admiring the perfect work of the warrior’s calloused hands. How peculiar, that these rough hands that wielded swords and axes bigger than your head could also be so gentle and precise.

A knock on the door tore you out of your reverie. It was Valka who wanted to take a look at your face and pick you both up for the feast. She was satisfied with your healing process and delighted to see Birna, having a little chat with the cat on the bed. You had to keep yourself from laughing when the thought of Birna being the true queen of this clan entered your head. She probably felt that the same way. The white cat was adored by everyone, and her demands were followed without question.

As the three of you made your way down to the longhouse, you could already hear loud singing and laughter. People were stumbling outside to relieve themselves in the bushes and others were just arriving, all being greeted with loud cheers and big jugs of mead. The same happened to you when you entered the great hall. A few warriors rushed to your side, greeting Eivor and paying you compliments and thanks for your help that day. Enthusiasm saturated the air like a humid day, filling everyone with joy and confidence for tomorrow.

Valka was quick to take the jug of ale from your hands and gave it to someone else who swore his love to her in return. She just smiled and pulled you towards the kitchen area. You had already lost Eivor in the mass of warriors jeering and singing praise to Odin. At the hearth fire, you met Sfáva sitting on a bench and enjoying a massive pitcher of mead. She cried out in joy when she saw you and hugged Valka tightly in greeting before squeezing your hands and grinning her almost toothless smile at you.

Valka asked you to stay with the older woman for a while and help her with the food; then you saw her talk to a red-haired woman and vanish in a dark corner with her. Maybe that was the woman she had spoken about with Eivor before? You wished her the best of luck.

There was not too much to do. The boar was on a spit over the great fire in the main hall and the men were responsible for cutting down the meat for everyone. You were grilling sausages and vegetables on the side and helping the boys open new barrels of ale that were consistently emptied within the hour.

Eivor came by soon, asking for more variety on her plate. It was obvious that she had already had enough mead to kill a boar, slightly swaying when she walked and getting extremely close when she tried to talk to you over the noise in the hall. Her face was red and radiating heat, her eyes had a drunk glisten to them and her laugh was rougher and dirtier than during the day. You were glad she was enjoying herself, although you could not help but wonder if this was the best idea considering her plans for tomorrow.

You spent some time outside cleaning plates at the trough and getting fresh air when you suddenly heard a noise around the corner. You debated for a moment whether you should risk a look but your curiosity got the best of you. As you stuck your head around the edge of the house, you weren’t immediately sure what you saw before you.

Two figures were leaning against the wall in close embrace, chuckling and mumbling sweet nothings to each other. As a cloud finally freed the moon and its light shone down on your village, you made out Valka’s golden headdress and the silhouette of the red-haired woman she had talked to earlier. Apparently, she had gotten lucky. You quietly moved back to your plates and smiled to yourself. Valka was a wonderful person, giving and loving and always putting others’ needs above hers. Eivor had spoken very highly of her trusted friend. She deserved to be happy.

When you came back inside and put the plates back on the sideboard in the cooking area, you noticed Eivor sitting at the front table surrounded by her men. And oh - there was Randvi sitting next to her. The two of them were leaning toward each other, their heads almost touching as they laughed about something Sigurd had said. It seemed that they had talked about their difficulties and made up.

You let yourself fall on the bench next to Sfáva and she patted your thigh, holding out her pitcher to signal it was empty. With a sigh, you got up to get her more mead and made yourself a plate of vegetables from the grid, seeing as you had not eaten since breakfast. Sfáva noticed you had not taken any meat and insisted you go get some boar meat. Upon the realization that she would not let you sit down again until you had tried the boar, you slowly went over to the big fire, hoping no one would notice you. The warrior there cut you a generous piece and you were almost back in your dark corner when someone called your name. God, no.

Aelfric, Hal, and Lewin were sitting at a table with some other stable boys and young maids. You gave Sváfa an apologetic wave which she answered with a loud, heartfelt laugh, then you made your way to your old companions. The boar was better than you had expected and you really were terribly hungry, wolfing down your food at an indecent speed and even going back for another portion. The others were talking about the two squires still sat in the cell; they were sure they would come around by the next morning. Who would really prefer the cold ground over these celebrations and the wonderful food that was shared fairly between everyone?

Looking over to the table at the back of the hall you could see Eivor and her friends conversing loudly, laughing and slapping each other's backs. At one point Dag danced on the table, but he soon lost his footing and went down in a wave of plates, jugs, rattling metal, and the yells of his fellow warriors. You stared at Eivor for a while, hoping she would return your gaze, but she was completely immersed in her conversation and never even looked up from her table. You finished your meal quietly, listening to the others talking about a new dice game they had learned and about a filly at the stable that was born in late autumn, a strange and dangerous time for newborns in the animal world. Together, they were sure they would get it through the winter safe.

Later you returned to Sfáva and leaned against the wall opposite her, warming yourself up by the fire and keeping an eye on Eivor, who was apparently in another drinking contest with one of her men. Randvi had her hands on Eivor’s shoulders and was cheering her on. A small figure stepped next to you, crossing her arms and following your gaze. Valka had returned.

You made no attempt to hide your feelings, you knew she had already seen through you. The healer put an arm around your waist and shook you slightly, looking up at you with a sympathetic expression.

“I know you saw us, Y/N.” The words took a moment for you to grasp their meaning, then you turned to Valka in surprise.

“Oh God, I swear I will keep your secret. I am a master at keeping my mouth shut.”

The smaller woman had to smile at your nervous reaction.

“I trust you. I am glad it was you that caught us and not someone else.”

“May I ask…” you hesitated, “what is going on between you?”

Valka turned her head to look at the singing warriors in the hall. There was a pain in her eyes that felt just too familiar.

“She is married. It was not her choice, but her father’s way of forging an alliance. Her husband is one of the hunters and away most of the time. When he beat her badly the first time, she came to me.”

The silence between you was heavy with meaning. When she began to speak again, her words grabbed your feet and pulled on them, getting heavier and heavier until you began to wonder why the earth had not opened underneath you and swallowed you whole.

“I know you wonder what happened between Eivor and Randvi. It is neither my place nor my ability to tell you everything, but I will say this, for fairness’s sake and because I think you already know in your heart. There was once love between them. Whether it still lives on, I cannot tell. But Eivor has told me that she is ready to leave this bond behind her because she feels something new, something far deeper and more intensive is coming. That is why she has pursued you. She felt something deeper the moment she met you.”

Valka turned to you and you fought to at least turn your feet so you could face her. Everything was spinning around you. The dark-haired woman gently placed her hands on either side of your neck and looked deep into your eyes.

“Follow your heart, Y/N. The gods will lead you. They have decided your destiny long before you were born.”

After recommending you should get some sleep, Valka left you frozen in place and dizzy. The noise that filled the room was now nothing but a single loud booming voice threatening to split your head. You needed to get some air. Maybe your bed was really the best idea.

You looked around for Eivor, but she had vanished from sight. It did not matter, you would find your way into her arms later one way or another. You said your goodbyes to Sfáva and the other servants, then you finally exited the longhouse and inhaled the cool night air.

Rounding the corner toward your hut, you were suddenly startled by a noise that sounded like an animal crying out. Maybe a cat? You tiptoed around the dark cottage to your right and suddenly stopped dead in your tracks.

Your heart dropped to your feet and all the blood left your face.

Eivor had pressed her brother's wife to the wooden wall and was kissing her passionately while her hands explored Randvi’s body under her tunic. They were so immersed that they had not heard you coming. You could not move, your feet suddenly weighing you down like boulders again.

The blonde’s knee was between the other woman’s legs and Randvi spread them for her lover, moaning into her mouth. As Eivor started attacking her neck with kisses, the auburn-haired woman opened her eyes and looked directly at you. The surprise in her gaze was almost unnoticeable, fading quickly to be replaced by malicious pleasure as she continued to stare at you while whining Eivor’s name and burying her fingers in the warrior’s hair.

Finally, your muscles started to work again. You turned on the spot and quietly made your way to Eivor’s hut. You felt sick. Closing the door behind you, you kicked your shoes under the bed and threw your coat into the corner. The cat on Eivor's pillow just gave you a questioning look.

“Oh Birna, if only you knew.” You threw yourself on the bed next to her, then you started bawling for the second time today. You cried until there was not a single tear left and you felt completely empty inside. Then you scooted close to the edge of the bed, turning your back to Eivor’s side, and tried to fall asleep.

Even though you fell into a state of absence, sleep would not come. Dread filled you when you heard teps at the door. But before Eivor could enter, you heard her cough and retch, probably throwing up into the thorny bushes a few steps from the door. A slight feeling of righteousness overcame you but it quickly disappeared again, leaving only misery and desperation.

When the warrior finally entered, you could hear her stumble through the room and curse under her breath as she hit her foot on the bed frame. She seemed to only take off her coat and let it fall to the floor before lying down next to you and falling asleep in an instant. A part of you had still hoped for her arms around you, despite everything. Now you could hear her ragged breathing and smell the smoke and alcohol on her hair and breath.

The tears came again and you silently cried into your pillow while the warrior slept soundly next to you, oblivious to your sorrow. Only Birna proved her loyalty to you by getting up from Eivor’s side of the bed and rolling up in the crook of your bent knees.

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you were woken the next morning by another salve of mumbled curses. It was still grey outside, dawn had only just begun. You stayed completely still and listened to Eivor dress herself and collect her weapons and shield from her trunk.

To your surprise, the warrior suddenly walked around to your side, crouched down, and lightly stroked your hair.

“Have a good day, my little bird. I will bring you honor and victory today,” she whispered, then she stood up and swiftly left the hut.

Let me know what you thought ❤️ (it’s okay if you hate me, I promise I’ll make it up to you in the next chapters)

#eivor x reader #lady eivor #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #eivor fanfiction #ac valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla #fluff #angst #im so sorry for the pain im putting you through #but it will be worth it in the end #never thought writing angst would be this much fun

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stayextrafrosty · 3 years

Text

I'm Dying for a Taste of You: Chapter 7

Chapter Title: Love, Sex, Death

Chapter Summary: important discussions of feelings and about where Michael was. There's a new plan to take down Caber.

A/N: This is finally coming to a head! The end is near... There's a new playlist for this story featuring all the music I used to pick chapter titles and songs that fit the mood of the story.

Warnings: heavy blood drinking, mild self injury

Read on AO3 / Masterlist / Playlist

Michael froze in his movements, blinking at Alex as though he never expected for a moment that was something he would say. Alex rubbed his thumb over the stubble on his jaw. He refused to look away from his eyes. He didn’t care what Michael’s response was. As long as he never left him again.

Then Michael was closing the distance between them, pressing his lips to Alex’s. His heart soared as he melted against him. Michael’s fingers dug into the muscles in his back, holding him as close as possible. Alex nibbled on his bottom lip gently and felt him smile in return.

Every kiss was sweeter than the last until Michael pulled himself away with what seemed like some difficulty. He only succeeded in staying away for a few seconds before nuzzling his face into the crook of Alex’s neck.

“I’ll uncompel you I promise. Just let me have you all to myself for a bit.” Alex sighed and shook his head.

“No. I don’t want you to. I love you Michael,” he insisted again. A brief expression of pain crossed his features. Alex kissed him quickly. “I would love you even if you didn’t compel me.”

“Alex. You don’t have to—” He pushed him onto his back and sat on top of him, rocking his hips gently.

“I love you, Michael.” Alex leaned down, pressing gentle kisses to his face. He listened to him sigh softly as his hands found their way to his waist. Alex placed another kiss on his lips, mumbling, “I love you.” He trailed his hands down over his shoulders and arms. He took his hands from their spot, holding them down to the mattress. “I love you,” he said again as he began to kiss down his neck.

“Alex,” Michael breathed out, his cock twitching inside of him. He just hushed him as he moved from his neck to his chest, squeezing his hands and continuing the slow rolling of his hips. Alex repeated the words between every kiss, eventually working his way back up to Michael’s lips.

“I’m exactly where I want to be, understand? I’m all yours. Have been since we met.” A moment later, Michael was pushing him back and sitting up. Alex released his hands and wrapped his arms around his neck. Michael grabbed his waist and moved him faster, making him moan softly.

“I love you, Alex. I love you so much it scares me. I have never wanted anyone the way I want you. It’s not even a want, it’s a need.” Alex whimpered as their lips connected again. They continued their steady pace as Alex traced his tongue over Michael’s teeth, pressing just hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck, Alex. You really want to be here all night don’t you?”

“You were the one who said to make up for lost time.” Michael just groaned in response and captured Alex’s lips again.

Michael did have him up the rest of the night. By the time the sun was peeking through the window, Alex still hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. Every time he started to doze off, he would feel Michael’s mouth on his neck or shoulder, leaving fresh hickies that he would need to cover up somehow.

Alex did end up falling asleep around six in the morning but still woke up again by eleven. He was wrapped in Michael’s arms, and the rest of their limbs were tangled together. He pulled his eyes open to watch Michael sleep, his curls messy as they fanned out on the pillow.

He traced his fingers over the lines of his face and jaw, remembering the wounds he had shown up with at the door. There was no mistaking them for anything but bites from another vampire. Michael groaned softly and hugged Alex tighter. Slowly his eyes cracked open and Alex just smiled at him.

Michael loved him. Wanted to be with him. This beautiful man was all his. Michael leaned in, nuzzling into his neck while his hands wandered over Alex’s bare skin. His eyes fluttered shut again as one of Michael’s hands moved to massage the thigh above his missing leg.

“How did this happen?” he mumbled. Alex didn’t know how to respond for a second. Had they really never talked about it?

“I was out on an assignment. Took a vampires ‘meal’ practically from his mouth. He retaliated by breaking my leg and trying to get at me instead.” Alex flinched at the memory. “His teeth ripped tendons and muscle and it just wasn’t repairable.”

Michael’s lips were soft against his skin as he rolled to cover Alex with his whole body. His kisses trailed lower and lower as Alex ran a gentle hand through his hair. He nipped at his hip quickly before moving on. He placed kisses down his thigh to his knee. Alex’s heart fluttered at the sweetness.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could fix it now.”

Alex tugged him back up his body, wrapping his legs around his hips. He pulled their foreheads together, holding Michael’s face tenderly.

“I love you,” he said. Michael’s mouth twitched up into a smile before he closed the distance between them. Alex sighed in bliss, tasting Michael’s tongue as it swept past his lips and over his own.

As much as he wanted to continue like this for the next eternity, there were some questions he couldn’t put off any longer. He let himself get carried away yesterday. Allowed himself to be completely consumed by everything that was Michael.

He pushed him back gently, propping himself up on his elbows. Michael seemed confused for a moment but then he just nodded and turned away from Alex and rolled off of him. He stared at the ceiling and the way his muscles tensed made Alex want to forget about it. But he couldn’t.

“Where were you?” Alex asked softly, reaching over to trace patterns on his chest. Michael took a deep breath.

“Not far. Chasing down Caber. Went all the way to Albuquerque before I was able to trace him down. Whatever your cop buddies shot him with, it did serious damage.” Alex’s nose twitched in annoyance. He was less than five hours away and he couldn’t just ask Alex for help?

“I hate that you went after him by yourself. You didn’t even tell Max and Isobel where you were,” he scolded gently, controlling his urge to yell.

“They knew. I told them not to tell you.”

The silence could have cut through steel. Alex had no response for him. He wanted to scream. Maybe cry. Curse him for days. Isobel and Max had known and they did nothing to help him. They saw him suffering and they did nothing.

“Please don’t blame them Alex. I begged them to keep you out of it.” Alex could barely contain the way his voice shook with anger.

“I don’t blame them… I was in pain Michael. Absolute agony. You left me with nothing. No information about how I was supposed to survive without you!” He ended up snapping toward the end. Alex shoved himself into a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair. The weight shifted next to him and the rough skin of Michael’s hand ran over his back.

“I know. I didn’t think—”

“Damn right you didn’t think! How could you ever think I would be better without you? You knew that I would suffer and you did it anyway.” He felt Michael’s lips press to his back and shoulders. “You were cruel.”

“I’m so sorry Alex.”

“Was it Caber that gave you those wounds?”

“No. A group of vampires controlled by an elder were after me.” Alex turned toward him, eyebrows drawn together.

“What do you mean?”

“At any one time there’s a handful of vampires that are the oldest. That group of four or five is granted special abilities. One being the ability to compel other vampires. All I know it that Alayna is the oldest. I haven’t met the others in my time alive.”

“So Alayna is sending hordes of vampires after you to what? Kill you?”

“I mean we don’t know if it’s Alayna for sure. The others could be anywhere. Maybe I insulted one without knowing it.” Alex gave a humorless laugh and shook his head. If the way Alayna acted was any indication, the elders were cruel and full of themselves. Wanting everyone to know exactly who they were. Vampire hierarchy didn’t tolerate disrespect. Alex knew that first hand.

“It’s nothing to worry about, ok? I took care of them. They seemed like they were new.” He ‘took care of them?’

“You killed all of them,” Alex mumbled out, almost in shock. New vampires that were turned for the sole purpose of hunting. Nausea settled in his stomach. Michael wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him against his chest and leaving a trail of light kisses on his neck.

“It was me or them Alex. They weren’t going to stop.” Alex let himself relax back against him. His eyes fluttered closed as he enjoyed the sweet attentions Michael was giving him.

He had always been surrounded by death, such is the nature of hunting vampires for a living. Being with Michael had just brought it to the front of his mind.

Michael’s hands drifted lower, scratching over his chest and abdomen. His tongue licked at the skin on the back of his neck before kissing and biting into the spot with blunt teeth. Alex sighed as he sucked another mark into his skin.

He let this continue longer than it should have. Michael’s hands were teasing on his waist and inching toward his thighs. Alex could feel the way Michael’s thighs squeezed together around him and the hardness growing against his back. Alex’s fingers twitched. He wanted to run them through his hair and hold his mouth against his neck.

“Is this your attempt at distracting me?” Alex mumbled.

“Only if it’s working,” he replied, nipping at his skin. He tried not to laugh but a small chuckle escaped anyway.

“One more question. For now at least.” Michael’s arms immediately moved to wrap around his waist, stopping his teasing. Alex weighed his words carefully, though there really wasn’t a different way to ask his question.

“Why now? Why come back now?”

Michael was quiet for a long time. Alex only felt his heartbeat against his back.

“I needed you. More than I ever thought.” He paused, squeezing Alex against him. “I was going crazy when I left you behind. I made it a couple weeks without feeding from a real person.” Alex’s jealousy spiked. He had fed from someone else. He tried to pull away but Michael held him close, wrapping his arms around him tighter.

“Don’t misunderstand. The blood bags weren’t working as well as they used to. I was hungry all the time. I wasn’t at full strength and if I wanted to take down Caber, I needed to be. So I went to a blood ball to feed, thinking having you around made me spoiled.”

Alex stared at a spot on his bed, fighting off the jealousy that threatened to make him explode in anger. He understood Michael’s position. He knew that if he didn’t feed, he would be weak. Alex forced himself to stay quiet.

“It was then I realized that it wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter whether it was in a bag or fresh. It wasn’t you. My body depends on you. Drinking from a bag or from someone else kept me alive. You keep me strong.”

“Why didn’t you come back then?” Alex asked quietly.

“Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t come back to you without getting rid of the reason I left in the first place. I couldn’t fail you like that.” Alex just shook his head.

“I wouldn’t have thought that.”

“Maybe. But I needed to protect you. And if Caber were to overpower me while you’re nearby? I could drive myself into bloodlust just from imagining it.” Alex let his shoulders relax. “You’re my person Alex. And I can’t let anyone else have you. For any reason.”

“None of that really answers my question you know,” he pointed out. As much as his heart was pounding after his confessions, he needed more information. He felt Michael nod.

“I started getting attacked by the newborns after about two months of tracking Caber. It started as small groups that seemed more like vampires that were high on the new power, not realizing I was stronger than them.

“But they just kept coming. More frequently and in larger groups. I found Caber about two weeks ago. He was building his strength again, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. I tried to kill him but he ran. It might have been my only chance to fight him as an equal and I let him get away. I assumed he came back here to finish his ritual so I came back. I’ve been watching you from a distance for a few days. You seemed like you were happy and I couldn’t just crash back into your life.”

“And yet?”

“A group ambushed me. One tried to inherit you from me, which is why I had all those bites on my neck.” Alex spun toward him as much as he could. The question didn’t have time to leave his lips. “It’s a process where if a vampire drains another and then poisons their heart with their venom, they can take the vampires power and anyone they have claimed. It’s not easy, and not something a new vamp would know about. So he was told about the process by someone much older and compelled to attempt it.”

“Why are you assuming he was compelled?”

“Because the power difference should have been obvious to him. He wouldn’t have dared to even try if he was sane. The only reason he got his teeth in me at all is because I was outnumbered and weak.”

Michael unwound an arm from his waist. Lifting his hand to brush the hair off Alex’s forehead, his eyes searched his face, looking for any unasked questions. His fingers trailed down Alex’s face to his neck and to the mark. Alex tilted his head to the side as his eyes fluttered closed. He heard Michael suck in a sharp breath before his lips were pressed to his throat, kissing gently.

“Why did you fall off my roof when you had already knocked on the door?” Michael’s arms tightened around him.

“Because I had a moment of clarity where I was going to run. I saw the way you reacted to me. The way your mark hurt you when it sensed I was near. I don’t want to hurt you. But I had lost too much blood and I lost consciousness. The next thing I remember is you kneeling in front of me, pulling me closer. And I just couldn’t control myself anymore.”

Alex traced his fingers over the arms wrapped around him. Control. Everything about vampires was about control. And he wanted nothing more than to push him far enough so he lost it. If Alex wasn’t human… maybe he would stop holding himself back.

“I’m still the most dangerous person for you to be around. If I lose control again…” Michael mumbled against his skin. Alex stopped his voice by pulling him closer. A hand threading through his hair and holding his mouth against his throat.

“You won’t. And even if you did, it’s you. So I wouldn’t mind.” Michael groaned and suddenly Alex found himself on his back again. Michael hovered over him, lips just brushing against his. His wrists were pinned on the bed next to his head.

“You are just asking to be devoured Alex Manes.” Alex grinned at the threat.

“Promise?”

His back was killing him the next day. Alex knew he should have taken Michael up on a bath and massage but that also came with the risk of making it even worse. Michael had kept him in bed all day apart from the necessary food and shower breaks. Though the shower hadn’t been much of a break either. So instead he sat at his work desk, trying not to bend his back. He flinched as he turned to face his computer.

“Afterglow is one thing, but maybe you should tell whatever partner you have to take it easy on you,” Kyle commented, leaning against his desk. Alex glanced up from his screen to roll his eyes at him.

“And I thought you left for Roswell already.” Kyle had showed up in his driveway this morning as he was getting into his car. He had said there was something important that he needed to take care of before leaving. Not that he didn’t appreciate the company but hiding the fact that Michael was back was much more difficult when he was actually around.

“Chief has a lead on Caber.” His fingers froze over the keys.

“Why are you telling me?” his voice steady but suspicious.

“Because he wants you to be a part of the plan to take him down.” Alex should have been elated. He had wanted nothing except to get back out in the field for months now. If only as a distraction. Now it was different. Michael was back and Caber could be stronger than ever.

Caber (as far as Michael knew) wasn’t an elder but that didn’t change the fact that he had connections to them. Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all connected to Alayna. But why would she want to hurt Michael? From what Alex could tell, she actually liked him. Then again maybe she didn’t like anyone.

“When’s the briefing?”

“Right now.” Alex shot up from his seat. Probably too fast as a sharp pain ran up his spine. Alex did his best not to flinch but Kyle chuckled at him. “Should we put you on medical leave now?”

“Fuck off,” he scolded as a smile settled on his face.

Michael hadn’t gone easy on him. But Alex had kind of egged him on more than was probably necessary. He remembered the way Michael’s hand gripped his hair, pressing his head into the mattress. The overstimulation had been too much after a while but Alex had just wanted him more.

“I think you’ve lost your touch Michael,” Alex taunted. Michael’s eyes glowed red. “I’m not begging yet.” Michael gave an evil laugh as he tightened the rope around Alex’s wrists. He yanked him down by his ankle so Alex was completely stretched out.

There was no warning when he wrapped his mouth around his cock. He had already cum at least four times since waking up and he wasn’t sure how many more he had in him. Alex moaned anyway, attempting to thrust himself deeper into his mouth. Michael held his hips still as he pulled on the ropes around his wrists.

“Lost my touch you say?” Michael teased back as he dragged the tip of his tongue over the underside of his cock up to the head before sucking him in again. His whole body shook and he bit his lip to keep his moans in.

Michael pulled his legs apart and pushed them up, exposing his hole that still dripped with cum and lube. He couldn’t hold back as Michael’s tongue started tracing the rim. Alex’s back arched as much as Michael would allow. He tasted blood from his lip as he groaned and pulled on the ropes. Michael’s fingers gripped his thighs as his tongue slipped inside his ass.

Alex tried to grind himself onto his face but being bent in half kind of inhibited that. Instead Michael tortured him, slipping his tongue in and out of his hole but never enough to be satisfying.

“You know to make it stop,” Michael taunted, nipping at the sensitive skin of his thighs. Alex took a shaky breath and smirked down at him.

“I won’t beg. You’ll eventually give me what I want anyway.”

It was then he was flipped onto his stomach, arms twisting as Michael yanked his waist up and spread his cheeks. Alex tried to push himself onto his elbows at the least, but Michael was gripping his hair, forcing his face into the mattress.

“I think you’re forgetting exactly who you’re dealing with.”

“Manes! Let’s go,” Kyle called, waving a hand in front of his face. Alex shook his head and felt the blush creeping onto his cheeks. Damn him for being his every waking thought.

Alex followed Kyle to the meeting room where a small group of officers sat around a glass table. Some drank coffee and others fiddled on phones. But they all looked up when he walked into the room.

Dan stood in front of a blank white board they used for mapping out theories and clues. His arms were crossed as he tapped his fingers against his skin. Alex ignored the stares as he stood in front of his boss.

“Welcome back to the field, Manes. I would have kept you on desk duty longer but we need information that Kyle believes only you have.” Alex didn’t know if his annoyance showed on his face but he felt his eyebrow twitch.

“I’ve told you before, Sir. I’m perfectly fine to go into the field. Have been for months.” He just nodded in response and picked up a file, handing it to Alex.

“What information do you have on Caber? Why is he obsessed with sacrifices? And why did he come after you?”

“Why would I know why he’s doing sacrifices? I know about as much as you do maybe less because you haven’t kept me in the loop. And the only reason he came after me was because I got in the way of a sacrifice.”

“There’s got to be something else. What about the Vampire that claimed you?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“What does Michael have to do with this?”

“Is he back?” Alex hesitated to answer, worried that they were looking into him as a suspect again.

“No. I haven’t seen or heard from him in months.” Dan looked Alex up and down and then nodded.

“We had reports of a group of vampires roaming the streets only to find all of them dead in a ditch. We all know that vampires are very protective of their claimed and I thought maybe he was trying to protect you.” Alex still wasn’t seeing the logic. He should have no reason to connect Michael to the case.

“I’m not following sir.”

“Caber tried to use you as a sacrifice right? Your vampire got in the way of that. As revenge he must have sent a group to find you.”

“With all due respect sir, I thought we were going to fill Alex in on the plan to take Caber down,” Kyle interjected, sounding just as confused by this line of questions as Alex felt. Dan cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yes, my apologies. In short, Alex, we want you to be the bait. Whatever reason it may be, revenge or fascination or otherwise, Caber wants you. Sorry for the interrogation, I just don’t want to go in blind or risk your vampire swooping in to protect you and ruining the whole operation.”

Michael would not be okay with this plan. Being that it was practically the same one that they tried five months ago and that one didn’t pan out right either. The difference was that they would be prepared this time. With enough back up and anti-vampire weapons to make sure they put an end to him.

“What do you need from me?” Dan gave a small, proud grin and pointed to the folder in Alex’s hand.

“A detailed action plan is laid out in there. We plan to move tomorrow. We have reason to believe that he will be performing the final sacrifice.” Alex flipped through the pages, skimming them before looking back up at Dan.

“How do you know it’s the final one?”

“It happens to be in the center of all the other sacrifices. I could be wrong of course. But better to treat it like it’s our last chance than to drag this out any longer.” Alex stopped on the page with the list of known sacrifice locations. A detail jumping out at him that he hadn’t noticed before.

“And you’re positive that these last five were sacrifices set up by Caber?” Dan raised an eyebrow.

“Almost certain. They match the pattern. Why?”

Something Michael had mentioned. He said he chased Caber all the way to Albuquerque months ago and only recently had he come back. Caber wasn’t even in town when these were performed. Alex gripped the folder.

Caber wasn’t the only one making sacrifices.

“Do we think he had help? He was critically injured from our last encounter wasn’t he?” Alex asked, still trying to keep Michael a secret.

“He’s a vampire. He must have fed shortly after and healed himself quickly. If you have another lead I’m all ears.” Alex’s eyebrows drew together. He wanted to say that Alayna might be behind it, but he couldn’t imagine her getting her hands dirty for something like that. She turned a group of vampires just to hunt down Michael. She wouldn’t perform sacrifices herself.

“No. Just a thought.”

“Absolutely fucking not!” Alex had expected this reaction. Michael stood from the couch in a huff, running a hand through his hair. “How can you think even for a second that I would stay out of it?”

“Because I’m asking you to,” Alex said firmly. Michael scoffed and shook his head. “It’s different this time. We’ll have weapons and adequate backup.”

“It’s no different! You’re going to end up dead and I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life. I can’t let you go in alone.” Alex stood slowly, inching toward Michael as though he were a wild animal that would run away.

“I’m worried about you Michael. If they find out you’re back, you might become a suspect again.” Alex took his hand gently, threading their fingers together. “My boss already suspects that you’re the one who killed that roaming group of vampires. I told him I hadn’t heard from you.”

Michael cursed under his breath and pulled away from Alex, pacing through the living room. His heart ached watching him. He appreciated the concern but this needed to end. He wasn’t thrilled about being the bait either but Caber did seem to have it out for him. Even if it was just to get back at Michael.

“Come on baby,” Alex tried. “Trust me. I won’t underestimate him this time.”

Michael just shook his head and crossed the room to stand in front of Alex again. He took his face in his hands, running his thumb gently over his cheeks. He rested his head against Alex’s and took a deep breath.

“I can’t lose you, Alex,” he mumbled. Alex covered his hands with his own and closed the distance between them. Michael kissed him back sweetly, chasing his lips as he pulled away after a few moments.

“You won’t lose me. And I don’t want to lose you either. So please stay away from the operation.” Michael kissed him again without answering, encouraging his lips to part as he swept his tongue over them.

Alex allowed himself to be distracted, opening up for Michael and running his hands down his arms to his waist, pulling him closer. Michael took full advantage of his willingness to comply. He pushed Alex back until he hit the wall, hands shifting to grab at the short hair at the back of his head. Alex’s hands slipped under the t-shirt, gripping his waist. It was when Michael nibbled on his lip that an idea came to him.

“Turn me,” Alex breathed out as Michael ran his lips down to his throat.

Michael went ridged. He pulled himself away from Alex almost violently, as though he had been shocked. His eyes were wide as he watched Alex. Red creeped in at the edges.

“No, Alex.” Alex clenched his fists and stepped toward Michael.

“You’re so worried about my safety then why not just turn me and reduce the risk?”

“Alex, I told you not to say that to me.” His voice shook as he backed up. He turned his face away, hiding his eyes. Alex remembered his warning from when they first met. Now he was betting on the temptation working in his favor.

“Why? I love you Michael. You love me.”

“It’s because I love you. I can’t subject you to a life like this.” Michael’s back hit the opposite wall as Alex continued to walk toward him slowly. He just hoped Michael wouldn’t run from him again. But based on his inability to go anywhere except backwards, he figured he was too distracted by Alex’s offer.

“So first it was because you didn’t love me and now it’s because you do?” Michael covered his mouth but not before Alex saw his fangs poking out from his lips. He groaned as Alex continued to move closer.

“I have never not loved you Alex.” His heart pounded as he stopped an arm’s length away from him. “As soon as I saw you, I knew I was fucked. Then you let me taste you… Let me claim you. It was the first time I didn’t curse my existence; didn’t hate what I was. Because I knew I found my perfect match.”

“Built from the same star some would say,” Alex mumbled, having read it in a book a long time ago.

Michael finally met his eyes again. His glowed red as Alex closed the last of the distance between them, grabbing his wrist and moving it from in front of his face.

“I told you not to hide from me.” Alex lifted his wrist to his mouth, kissing the pulse point before nipping gently. “Turn me Michael. I want to be with you forever.”

Michael slid down the wall to his knees, his arm slipping from Alex’s grip. He took Alex’s hand instead, pressing kisses to the back of it and eventually turning it to kiss his palm and fingers. Michael looked up at Alex, tears threatening to fall.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled. Alex fell to his knees in front of him, crushing their mouths together, determined to prove to Michael that this was real. That he wanted this. Wanted him.

They grabbed at each other, Michael literally tearing the shirt from his body. His nails dragged roughly over Alex’s skin, making him flinch and gasp. Michael tossed the scraps to the side as his tongue darted between his lips. Alex wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him away from the wall and eventually laying him on the ground.

He straddled his thighs as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Michael’s hands moved to his waist, pulling their hips together and rocking him gently. Alex groaned against his lips before gasping in a breath. He finally pulled the last button free and shoved the shirt off Michael’s shoulders. He sat up briefly to shrug the clothing all the way off before Alex was pinning him to the floor again.

Alex only held Michael’s arms in place for a moment before dragging his hands down to his jeans, yanking the belt open then the button. Michael sighed and ran his hands up Alex’s back, fingers digging into the muscles.

Alex leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Michael’s collarbone as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of his underwear. Michael grabbed his head, holding him against his skin. Alex wrapped his hand around his half hard cock, stroking it slowly. A low groan fell from his lips as his hips rocked up into his fist.

Alex moved his free hand next to Michael’s head, holding himself up as he moved his kisses up his throat. His own jeans were far too tight at this point but he wanted to focus on Michael and convincing him that this was what was supposed to happen. Living an eternity together.

“Turn me,” he breathed over his pulse point.

“Alex…” Michael moaned as his hand squeezed his cock, bringing it to full attention. “This isn’t fair.”

Alex sank his teeth into his skin. Michael’s whole body arched against him. His nails scratched his scalp, calling out his name again. He sucked on the spot, making sure to leave a dark mark just like Michael had done to him the night before. He pulled away to rest their foreheads together, so they felt the breath of each other. Michael panted and tried to kiss him again but Alex pulled himself back.

“I can handle it Michael. We belong together. Turn me.”

“Damnit Alex.”

Suddenly Alex was the one on his back. Michael hovered above him, holding Alex’s hand on his cock that was mostly out of his underwear. With his free hand, he pushed the fabric down his legs, kicking it to the side when he finally got it to his ankles. Completely naked and Alex still had to keep himself from drooling at the sight.

“You never get tired of pushing me into bloodlust do you?” His eyes glowed as he allowed the movement of Alex’s hand again. He unzipped Alex’s jeans and pulled them down but only enough that his cock was free of the fabric.

The air made Alex gasp and the cool touch of Michael’s hand didn’t help. They stroked each other, Michael inching closer so they could rub against the other. Alex cursed under his breath as his eyes fluttered closed.

He only heard the sounds of their panting and small whines. Eventually Michael’s lips found his, swallowing the groan that slipped out when he started rubbing his thumb over the tip. He spread the pre-cum over the head and down the sides. Michael pushed Alex’s hand away, instead holding them together and jerking them both off. The wetness leaking from the tips eased the friction.

Alex reached around Michael’s waist, dragging his nails over his back. Michael’s eyes glowed as he leaned over him, his breath brushing over his lips. Alex pushed himself up on his elbows, pressing their mouths together. Their hips rocked together, steadily increasing the pace.

“I need more,” Alex mumbled out, clenching his hands into fists.

“More of what?” Michael taunted back, breathless.

“Of you. I need all of you.” He felt Michael’s grin against his lips. He pulled away, releasing his cock and grabbing the waistband of Alex’s jeans instead. He yanked them down to his knees and Alex scrambled to turn onto his stomach.

He pressed his face into the wood, ignoring the discomfort that came with it. He reached behind him, spreading himself open for Michael’s hungry stare. He reached out and teased a finger over Alex’s hole before running his hand over his ass and thighs.

“Fuck me Michael. Use me. And don’t hold back,” Alex pleaded. A low groan escaped Michael’s lips as he leaned forward, pressing his tongue against his ass. Alex pushed himself back against his face with a whine. Michael traced the rim, pushing the tip just past the entrance, letting his saliva coat the opening. Alex tried pushing himself back again but Michael was pulling away.

“I oughta get a gag for that pretty mouth. You have this tendency to rush me,” he said, trailing kisses up his spine. Alex’s cock jumped at the suggestion. “You want me to stop holding back? Is that why you want me to turn you?”

He pressed his leaking cock against his hole. Alex didn’t dare respond to the question. Just bit his lip and tried to push back onto him. Michael kept himself settled right at his entrance.

“You want me to turn you so I can ruin you? So I can fuck you for days and never have enough? So you can get high on my blood and venom?” He pushed the head in slightly. Alex could only moan in response.

A loud banging on the front door had both of them jumping. Alex’s eyes darted to the locked entrance and then to his torn shirt on the floor. He felt his face heat up as he tried to crawl away from where Michael was still pressed against him. The pain from the pressure on his knee became noticeable as sense re-entered his brain. Michael grabbed his hips before he could move too far, pressing the head of his cock just past the rim of his ass

“Ignore it,” he growled. And god Alex wanted to. Michael teased him with his cock, just barely pushing in before pulling back out. Alex’s legs shook and his cock was harder than ever. But just as he closed his eyes to let Michael take control again, the knock returned, more insistent.

“Michael, I have to answer it.” Another three knocks and a muffled voice.

“Alex, open up.” Kyle’s voice brought him back into the real world, pulling away from Michael no matter how much his body screamed for him to do the opposite.

Alex scrambled to his feet, pulling his pants up as he went. He looked back at where Michael sat on the floor, seeming unconcerned with the fact he was naked and more annoyed that they had been interrupted. He looked Alex up and down, tracing his tongue over his fangs. Alex twitched in his jeans and tore his eyes away from him. He didn’t trust his body to resist him when he looked like that.

“Go upstairs and hide. I’ll see what he wants.”

“You’re going to answer the door like that?” Alex heard the jealousy laced through his voice.

“You ripped my shirt. And it’s just Kyle. Now go upstairs.”

He heard the shuffling of his body and then his hardness was pressed against his lower back. Michael licked a teasing trail up his neck and nipped his ear. Alex barely let out a sigh before Kyle’s knocking became panicked.

“Come on Manes this isn’t funny! I will break down this door.”

“Don’t make me wait too long,” Michael whispered next to his ear. Then he vanished.

Alex chanced a look behind him and he was nowhere to be seen. His clothes and the scraps from Alex’s torn shirt were gone. Alex shook his head and rushed to the door, unlocking and pulling it open.

“Breaking the door is not necessary,” he said as his eyes met Kyle’s.

“Damn dude. You’re seriously going to give me a heart attack one of these days.” Alex stepped to the side to let him into the front room. He watched his eyes as they ran over everything, making sure nothing was out of place.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Alex asked when he started pacing the room. Kyle stopped and took one more glace around. His shoulders seemed to relax as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Nothing. Just worried about why it took you so long to answer the door.” Alex looked away to hide the blush.

“Well I was going to get in the shower when you started threatening to break down my door. I don’t exactly move very fast when I don’t have my prosthesis.” Kyle looked him up and down and a grin settled on his face.

“Right… can you tell whatever bed buddy is here that we have some things to discuss and to come back later? Not that I don’t appreciate the view Manes, but you never answer the front door with unbuttoned jeans and fresh scratch marks.”

Alex looked down at himself for the first time. Kyle was right. His jeans were unbuttoned and his arousal was still plainly obvious. Light pink lines were forming on his waist and hips where Michael had grabbed him. Alex sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which he now realized was probably messed up too.

“Look,” Kyle started, lowering his voice. “It’s not my business who you sleep with or how often. But if you’re using this as a way to replace Michael, I promise it’s not going to work. Find someone who cares about you.” Alex was touched by the concern. He smiled and nodded at Kyle.

“Who, like you? Change your mind about being straight, Valenti?” he teased. Kyle snorted.

“Dude, the way you look right now, I might have to bend just to put you out of your misery. You seriously look wrecked.” Alex only had time to roll his eyes before a low growl reached his ears and arms wrapped around his waist.

Michael yanked him back, away from Kyle who’s eyes were blown wide as he recognized him. Alex squirmed in Michael’s arms, trying to see exactly what Kyle was seeing.

“I suggest you stay there or you can kiss your chances of ever having children goodbye,” Michael threatened lowly. Alex watched the way Kyle clenched his fists to stop himself from trembling. Michael held him tighter, slowly pulling him backwards.

“Michael stop. What’s going on,” Alex tried asking. Kyle’s hand inched toward the gun at his hip. He struggled in Michael’s arms again finally succeeding in turning around.

His eyes glowed in a different way than before. His pupils slit and the red bright instead of muted. Anger rolled off him in waves. His fingers dug into Alex’s skin as he hyper focused on Kyle. His teeth we on full display, longer than Alex had ever seen them. Low growls slipped from his mouth.

Alex grabbed his face, forcing his attention to shift. He pressed their foreheads together, making soft hushing noises.

“Hey, everything is fine. I’m fine. He wouldn’t hurt me.” Michael’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to see around Alex. He held him steady, brushing his lips against his.

“He said wanted you…” Michael mumbled out. Alex sighed and pressed his mouth to Michael’s briefly.

“No baby. It was a joke. I’m yours, ok? I’m all yours,” he whispered comfortingly. Michael tried to pull away but he held him steady. “All yours. I’m yours and you are mine. I don’t want anyone else.”

Michael’s grip on his skin loosened slowly. He slowed his breathing to match Alex’s as his eyes dimmed back to their normal shade of brown. Michael closed the distance between them, kissing him firmly and teasing his tongue over his lips.

Alex didn’t know how long they had been standing there, but the sound of Kyle clearing his throat suggested longer than he should have allowed.

“Well this explains some things,” Kyle said, trying to sound nonchalant. Alex turned back toward him, holding onto Michael’s hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” he offered.

“Why? I get it. The chief wasn’t exactly subtle about considering Michael a person of interest again.” His eyes shifted from Alex to the man standing behind him. His eyebrows narrowed as he crossed his arms. “But I won’t pretend to not be pissed at the guy who quite literally ruined your life for five months.”

“Stay out of it Valenti,” Michael snapped.

“Screw you! You weren’t here! You didn’t have to see the way he was falling apart. Literally. He could hardly get out of bed most days. You didn’t have to see the physical pain you put him through. So no. I’m not going to stay out of it. And let me be clear that if you ever do something like that to him again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Alex felt Michael grip his hand but he didn’t respond. He squeezed his hand back briefly and rubbed his thumb over the skin. They would have to talk about this more later.

“Just keep this between us ok? I don’t want the chief knowing he’s here.”

“Because you’re worried he’ll be targeted as an accomplice,” he stated matter-of-factly. Alex nodded. “The chief thinks Caber has help. And when you brought it up in the meeting… it was obvious you had outside information from somewhere.” Alex cursed under his breath.

“Caber wasn’t even in the area when the sacrifices were performed. Someone was acting in his place.” Kyle nodded.

“But without any leads you can’t exactly bring it up.”

“Exactly.”

Kyle started to pace, running a hand over his jaw. Alex looked back at Michael, trying to gauge his reaction to all of this. His face was emotionless as he watched the other man. He glanced down at Alex. His face didn’t change but he squeezed his hand.

“Chief claims he doesn’t have any leads either but I think he might be considering Michael.”

“But why?” Alex demanded.

“I wish I knew. All those questions about him today… He’s definitely considering him for something.” Kyle stopped pacing and looked at Michael again. “Which is why you need to stay far away from the mission tomorrow.”

“You don’t get to just waltz in here and tell me how to protect my claimed,” Michael growled, stepping in front of Alex. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“I’m not. But you showing up tomorrow would ruin the whole plan. And I don’t need you being taken in by police and throwing Alex into another spiral.” Michael took a threatening step toward him, a low growl just barely audible.

“Oh knock it off, both of you,” Alex snapped, yanking Michael back. He sighed as he looked between them. “Look, Kyle it won’t be a problem. Michael won’t be there to mess it up.”

“When the hell did I agree—”

“Michael, we will talk about this later,” Alex cut him off. He glared at Michael, daring him to argue.

“Alex, I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were walking into. There’s a very real chance you could get seriously hurt.” Alex smiled at him and stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“This is my job Kyle. Just like it’s yours. I know the risks and if it’s to protect people then I wouldn’t choose anything different.”

“… Did you read the operation plan yet?” Kyle asked hesitantly. Alex glanced to where the manila folder sat on an end table. He had flipped through a few pages but hadn’t looked in depth.

He moved to grab the file but Michael was there faster, practically ripping the paper trying to open it. His eyes scanned the pages and Alex watched as they flashed red. He took a deep breath before shutting the file and shoving it into Alex’s chest. He stormed upstairs as Alex watched his back.

“You’re bait Manes. You knew that. What the Chief didn’t tell you, was that you would be alone. That he’s going to let Caber begin the sacrifice with you and while Caber is high on your blood, then we would move in and attack.”

“Why is he so certain that Caber will drink my blood at all?”

“He’s not. But if our theory is correct in assuming he wants revenge, he’ll most likely revel in it. Be too distracted with theatrics to pay attention to us.”

“Vampires are stronger after they feed. Caber could wipe out the whole team.”

“Which is why you’re going to drink a poison our lab created. Remember that girl you saved? Liz? She’s working with us now. Turns out she’s a biomedical engineer. The poison won’t harm you but any vampire that drinks your blood will, in theory, enter a state of paralysis.”

Alex glanced over the papers in his hand and swallowed. They crinkled in his hand as he gripped them tighter with every word he read. He looked back up at Kyle.

“So I ask again. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Alex stared at his own closed door. He knew why Michael was pissed. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the situation himself. He always had the bad habit of jumping into things without thinking them through first. He laughed at himself. That was exactly what got him into this situation in the first place. But then again, if he wasn’t like that… he wouldn’t have Michael.

He grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open. He looked around the room and found Michael standing and staring out the window. The sun was setting but still shown directly into the window. Michael was gripping the window sill and his skin was red, as though he was burning.

Alex blinked before he realized what was happening. He jumped toward the vampire, pulling him away from the window and yanking the blinds shut.

“Michael! What the hell are you thinking?” Alex grabbed his shoulders, looking over his bare chest and arms as the red started to fade as his body healed itself.

“I needed something to control myself,” Michael mumbled. Alex’s eyebrows drew together as he shook his head.

“You don’t need to hurt yourself!”

“I did.” Alex ran his hands up to rest on his face, holding him gently. “I wish I could properly convey the anger I feel when you have complete disregard for your own life.”

“It’s to help people.”

“Why are they more deserving of life than you?” Michael snapped. Alex flinched back as Michael’s gaze pierced through him. He watched as tears pooled in his eyes and his jaw clenched to keep them from falling. “I can’t lose you. Not to something as stupid as trying to stop a piece of shit like Caber.”

The tears spilled over and Alex wiped them away as they fell. Michael’s hands found their way to his waist and pulled him closer. Alex pressed his forehead to his. They stood for a while, breathing each other in. Their lips occasionally bushed together but neither pushed for more.

“You won’t lose me. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. Not with a plan that puts you at the mercy of a revenge hungry vampire.”

Alex wouldn’t deny being nervous. Things could so easily go wrong but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t back out when lives were at stake. And if Caber was gone, that would be one less threat to Michael.

“Michael. Please just trust me.”

“Alex—”

He kissed him then, stopping any further protesting. Mouths slipping over each other. Hands wandering over his bare skin. Alex pushed him back slowly, nipping at his lip and tangling his fingers in the untamed curls.

Michael’s fingers dug into his skin as he sighed. He pulled Alex on top of him as he stumbled back onto the bed. Alex sat on his lap, trapping his head between his arms as he held himself up. Michael’s hands ran up his back, grabbing at his skin and kneading his muscles.

Alex rocked his hips against his at a steady pace. Their lips separated as they both sighed from the friction, foreheads pressed together. Rain wrapped around Alex as he breathed Michael in. He wanted to smell more of him. Alex dragged his lips over his jaw, occasionally nipping at the skin. He pressed open mouthed kisses to his throat, tongue teasing at the pulse point. Michael’s head rolled to the side to give him better access.

He couldn’t help but moan at the way the simple action drove him crazy. And maybe he was finally understanding why Michael couldn’t resist him when he did it. His most vulnerable spot, all for Alex’s taking. He could kill him and yet all he wanted was to press his lips to the skin and mark him as his own.

So he bit into the skin gently, taking Michael’s hands from his back and pressed them into the mattress. Their fingers entwined as Alex refocused on his attentions on the mark he had left earlier. Michael pressed his body up against him, a small whine sneaking out from his lips.

“Hey,” Michael mumbled out. Alex removed himself slowly, sitting up so he could see his face. “Go get that knife on the dresser.” His voice shook with barely contained need. Red creeped in at the edges of his eyes, fangs poking out from his lips.

Alex looked over his shoulder at his knife that he had on the first day they met. It hadn’t moved since they used it in a situation similar to this. He pushed himself up from the bed and grabbed it. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at it.

Michael took it gently from his hands and pushed himself back until he was sitting up against the headboard. Alex turned toward him and watched as he undid the button on his pants and pushed them down before kicking them off the side of the bed. Alex looked down at his own pants and stood again. He pushed them down his legs along with his underwear. He stumbled slightly with his prosthesis but Michael didn’t seem concerned. He stood at the edge of the bed completely naked, looking down at the other man in his bed.

“Come here,” Michael demanded lowly.

Alex crawled onto the bed and toward Michael, staying on all fours until they were face to face. He pressed his mouth to Michael’s and lifted a hand to drag it down his chest to his groin that throbbed when his fingers wrapped around it.

Michael groaned against his lips but pushed his hand away gently. Alex held himself up instead, jumping slightly when Michael leaned forward into his kiss and his fingers brushed over the edge of his prosthesis. His other hand pushed Alex to the side, forcing him to sit next to him on the bed. Michael kissed him again as he started to release the pressure. He let his fingers brush against his skin at every opportunity.

He eventually tugged the metal and plastic limb off, pulling away from Alex’s lips only to set it on the floor next to the bed. Alex pushed himself up onto his knees again, swinging his leg over Michael’s, sitting on his thighs. He grabbed his face, pulling at the hair as he ran his fingers through it. Michael wrapped his arms around his waist as their lips came together again.

Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Every arch of Alex’s body, Michael mirrored with his own, keeping their bodies connected at as many points as possible. Alex slipped his tongue between Michael’s lips, tracing the point of a fang before running it over his tongue. He moaned and gripped his hips hard enough to leave bruises.

Michael pulled him closer, forcing their cocks to rub together. Alex rocked his hips, loving the feeling of it. He didn’t get to enjoy it for long before Michael was releasing him and pushing him back slightly.

Alex stared into red eyes. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and he could have giggled in delight at the way Michaels eyes followed the movement.

The sound of metal clicking drew his attention. Michael held the knife in his hand, pressing his thumb against the sharp edge. A small dribble ran down the blade and he lifted the knife to Alex’s lips. The warm liquid dripped onto his bottom lip and he immediately licked it away. Alex ran his hand over the arm holding the knife before carefully pressing his tongue against the blade where Michael’s blood dripped.

The coppery taste sent an inferno burning under his skin. His mark throbbed and he flinched, pressing too hard against the blade, opening a small cut on his tongue. Michael pulled the blade away immediately, panic crossing his face for only a moment. Then he reached up with his free hand, holding Alex’s face delicately. He brought the knife to his own throat, running the tip over the skin and then opening a small wound. He flicked the knife closed and turned his head to the side again.

Michael watched Alex as he pulled his head in to his neck. Alex checked his eyes, looking for any hint that he didn’t want this.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Yes. My life is yours.”

Alex leaned forward, kissing his jaw a couple times. He felt his own blood pooling on his tongue. He moved down and hovered over the still bleeding wound for a moment before pressing his tongue against it. Michael’s hand flew up to scratch at his back. Alex moaned as he let his lips completely cover the wound. He bit gently around the area and Michael’s nails bit into him.

Visions flashed through his mind…

Him and Michael. Bodies burning as they moved together.

Michael drinking from his wrist.

Alex, teeth prominent and sinking into Michael’s shoulder.

Both of them with glowing eyes.

Fighting.

Living…

Both as vampires.

One of Michael’s hands grabbed at his hair, holding his mouth to his throat. Alex’s hips grinding against Michael’s only moved faster as he stroked them both with his free hand. Michael moaned loudly as the blood slipped down Alex’s throat.

His mark was insisting on the roles being reversed in a different way. Michael’s blood ran through his system, overtaking everything. The fire in his veins demanded a change. Something to cool it. To complete the transition.

Alex pulled away, panting and capturing Michael’s mouth instead. They tasted each other, no clear distinction of who was who anymore.

Then Michael was pushing him back and standing from the bed. It was as though time slowed as he watched Michael. He hadn’t even finished taking a breath before Michael was back on the bed with a bottle of lube, pulling Alex on top of him again.

But he had seen every step he took. Every flex of his back and arms as he opened drawers. It was less than a second of time but his eyes were sharper now. He could pick out the individual flecks of gold hidden under the glowing red of Michael’s eyes.

Their lips came together again and Alex could only whimper at how sweet Michael tasted. He tasted like sex and the smell of rain only enhanced it. They could have been in a forest covered in damp moss and Alex wouldn’t have known.

Michael’s fingers slid over his hole, the coolness of the lube a shock to his overheated body. His fingers slipped in easily. Two stretching him comfortably as he groaned against Michael’s lips. He felt him smile as he moved inside him slowly but with purpose. He pressed against the sweet spots of his walls and Alex’s cock could only throb in response.

“You saw what I wanted right? How badly I want to keep you with me forever?”

“Forever is a long time,” Alex teased, breathy and desperate. He pushed himself back on Michael’s fingers.

“I’ll just keep finding more ways to want you.”

Michael pressed against his prostate and Alex yelled out as pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock. He swallowed his moans as he kissed him again. Michael’s fingers scissoring him open as he rolled his hips in time with his strokes.

Alex’s whole body was shaking by the time Michael removed his fingers. Their kisses had turned sloppy and desperate. Biting and licking at the other’s lips. Michael grabbed Alex’s hips, adjusting him so he was positioned over his own member.

“Head back. Hands on my shoulders,” he ordered. He began to pull Alex down so the head of his cock pressed against his entrance. Alex moaned and tipped his head back, turning it to the side slightly to expose his mark. He gripped Michael’s shoulders to stop his hands from shaking.

Then Michael was at his throat, pressing kisses and sucking more bruises into his skin. He pulled Alex down more so he slipped past his rim. Alex moaned and tried to sink down faster but Michael held him steady.

“I love you,” tumbled from his mouth, like he couldn’t control his words anymore. He whispered it again and again, with every new kiss Michael pressed into his skin.

It was when Michael finally sank his fangs into his mark that he was pulled down fully onto him. He choked out a whine and moan as he dug his nails into Michael’s skin. His venom raced through his body. More visions danced across his eyes. Visions of him and Michael far into the future and exploring the world together.

Turn me… Please… turn me so I can spend forever with you.

Michael gripped his hips and lifted him slightly before pulling him back down. Alex gasped as his legs shook. Michael repeated the motion but faster, the head of his cock rubbing roughly against Alex’s prostate. Alex’s hips jerked and he grinded himself down.

Michael’s groan vibrated on his skin. He licked the wounds closed and met Alex’s lips as he turned his head to face him again. They panted against each other, Michael controlling the speed of his hips as he bounced on him.

“I love you.... I love you… turn me,” Alex gasped out. Michael whined and groaned, dragging his hands from his waist and up his back. He yanked Alex against him, his own hips jerking up as Alex was sinking down. Alex cursed and grabbed the headboard as his head fell to Michael’s shoulder.

“Not yet. Be patient.”

Alex groaned as his cock rubbed against Michael’s abs. He teetered on the edge but Michael kept him from moving too fast. He bit into his shoulder, earning another jerk of his hips right into his sweet spot.

“I’m so close. I need more, please,” he begged. Suddenly Michael’s hands vanished from his back and were pulling his face up to rest against his forehead.

“Take what you need. And don’t stop until I fill you up.” Alex let out a shaky sigh as he was given full control of the pace.

The headboard knocked against the wall as he lifted himself and sank back down until he was as deep as he could go. He shuddered as every curve of him hit all the right places. His hips rolled and learned the rhythm to push him closer to the edge.

Then Michael started matching his pace with thrusts of his own. Harder and harder as their moans and gasps grew louder. Alex moaned out his name as the creaks of the bed only spurred him on.

Michael whispered hot encouragement against his lips. Taunts and dirty words. Heat coiled down and Alex stumbled forward, kissing Michael roughly. He gripped the headboard tighter and grinded down against Michael, his rhythm breaking with every downstroke.

“I love you, Alex.”

Michael grabbed his hips, moving him faster than he could manage on his own. Alex groaned loudly as his orgasm rushed at him full speed. His legs shook as cum spurt out between them. Michael kept him moving as the last of his fluids ran down the length of him. His moans were broken as overstimulation kicked in.

His cock twitched as Michael’s own gasps and moans filled his ears. Michael shoved himself in to the base a final time as he started pulsing inside Alex. The warmth was enough to make Alex grind down even though he was spent.

Alex collapsed against him, breathing in his scent. Michael rocked him slowly as he came down from his orgasm. He could feel the liquid leaking around his rim but couldn’t bring himself to move from his place.

Eventually, Michael started tracing mindless patterns on his skin. But even that couldn’t distract from the pain in his knees for long. As though reading his mind, Michael wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist and slid them both into a lying down position.

Alex laid fully on top of Michael, using his chest as a pillow. He listened to his steady heartbeat and he could have fallen asleep to its rhythm.

“My blood is in your system. It won’t fade for a few days. So don’t you dare die. Understand me?” Alex adjusted so he was resting his chin on his hands. He smiled sweetly at Michael.

“I promise.” Michael ran a gentle hand through his hair, brushing it off his forehead.

“I want to be the one to turn you when the time is right. But I want you to think it over more.”

Alex was confident that he wouldn’t change his mind. He wanted this. Michael was the only one he would ever want. They were made for each other and nothing could convince him otherwise.

“Caber will smell me on you. Tell him I’ll come for you. That might distract him enough to give your team extra time.”

“I said I didn’t want you anywhere near this,” Alex started to argue.

“I have to be nearby Alex. I won’t interfere and Isobel and Max will be with me. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let you do this and you died.” Alex watched his eyes and the way the never wavered away from him.

“Ok.” A surprised look crossed his face but then he nodded. “And I’m already sure of what I want. I don’t need to think about it anymore.” Michael gave a half laugh and pulled Alex in for a soft kiss. “I love you more than anything else in the world.” A blush dusted over Michael face as he smiled.

Everything was going to be fine.

#malex fanfiction #malex vampire au #roswell new mexico fic #michael guerin/alex manes #michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic

12 notes · View notes

babyybitchhh · 4 years

Note

This is the anon who commented about yami! I didn't like nozel at first but I can't lie, he kinda grew on me and he's fine asf. I couldn't look at magna in anyway until I saw him with his hair down. Now I'm like 👀👀👀. More than anything, I just want yami to ruin me. Spank me and call me a good girl pleaseee

Yessssssss

Yami was BUILT to be daddy. So strong, so rough around the edges but with a big soft heart, so beefy 💗🥴💗

Words: 3937

Warnings: daddy kink, alcohol, drunk fingering, vaginal fingering

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172960

❤️❤️❤️❤️

You probably should have known better than to start drinking with them. No, not probably. You definitely should have known better.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty though, and you could see now just how grievous a mistake it had been to accept Vanessa’s invitation without stopping long enough to consider the consequences but, well ... she was one of the only other women in the squad and she seemed to like you well enough. You wanted her to keep liking you, of course. So you’d foolishly jumped at the chance, far too eager to be included in this decidedly unorthodox team bonding exercise of theirs.

The Black Bulls were, by nature, sufficiently rowdy enough on their own but adding alcohol to the mix only seemed to fan the flames. They were the very definition of unruly. Clothes had been shamelessly discarded, more cigarettes smoked than you would have thought possible, arguments over nothing at all turned heated with alarming frequency only to be immediately forgotten and you, you were stuck in the middle of it. Thoroughly lost in your own world and floating serenely through the hazy bog of consciousness without a second thought to what chaos was going on around you.

It was kind of nice, actually. Liberating.

“Remember, ya’ gotta’ have at least three matching pairs to discard,” Magna reminds the assembled party as he quickly deals out a fresh hand. “Or you can do the same suit if ya’ want, but it has to go in order. No incomplete sets.”

The worse for wear table everyone had initially gathered around started off cramped, a tight fit for so many people and with little elbow room to spare. As the night wore on, however, most of the plucky squadron had gradually called it quits and retired until eventually only four remained. You were proud of yourself for outlasting the others but you also knew just how in over your head you were with this particular group. Yami could likely drink anyone under the table and Magna appeared to keep up with him just fine. While Vanessa didn’t exactly hold her liquor well , she could certainly put it away. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you were on your last leg here even if you were, for all intents and purposes, having a good time.

“Alright, lets see what ya’ got.”

Feeling simultaneously as light as a feather and sluggish under the weight of heavy, invisible chains, you slowly flip your cards over. It was hard to tell which way was up anymore, especially when your inner vertigo was so off kilter. You were warm, too. Almost unbearably so. Clammy in the worst possible way and you teeter forward in your chair, struggling to focus your swimming vision on the cards spread out in front of you.

It was a shit hand.

Grumbling under your breath, you distractedly tug at your clothes. A soft, fitful whine claws its way up your throat when it does absolutely nothing to alleviate just how stiflingly hot you are and, in fact, only seems to make it worse. You were absolutely burning up and this card game was its own special brand of torture, you decide with nothing short of woozy contempt.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Yami asks mildly from his spot beside you.

He was infuriatingly collected despite having consumed even more alcohol than you had, guzzling down mouthful after mouthful while you’d taken your time sipping on the fruity concoctions Vanessa made special just for you. You’d lost track of how many cups he’d emptied quite some time ago but you were still only on your third. It didn’t make sense. How were you so damn tipsy already?

“Hot.” You groan, not bothering to look up from what was possibly the worst hand you could have been dealt. Letting Magna shuffle the deck was, unsurprisingly, yet another mistake to add to the ever growing list.

Turning his head, Yami glances over at you and you catch the movement from your peripheral but still refuse to divert your attention from the cards. Maybe if you just stared at them long enough, hard enough, they’d morph into something you could actually use. You weren’t a magic knight in name only, right? Surely your grimoire was good for something .

“You’re drunk.” He suddenly announces, loud enough to make Vanessa whip her head around.

“M’not.” You grumble.

“Bullshit.”

The inebriated witch inserts herself into the fray before you can respond, wrapping slender arms around your shoulders and pulling you in against her bosom. “Awww, honey! Did’ju really like my drinks that much?” She coos at you sweetly. “I wasn’t tryin’ to get you drunk. Promise.”

“M’not drunk.” You insist, louder this time, much to Vanessa’s giggling amusement.

Heaving a clipped sigh, Yami leans across the table and taps your cards with a thick finger, slowly drawing your attention back to them. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” He says around the cigarette in his mouth. “But someone who isn’t piss drunk would probably know better than to lay their hand out on the table like this. Do you even know what game we’re playing right now?”

Mouth tugging into a frown, you wrack your muddled brain for the answer to that question. “Go fish?”

Magna inelegantly snorts at that. You can feel yourself starting to flush in embarrassment as Vanessa begins fussing over you, softly petting your head with murmured, nonsensical endearments. She definitely wasn’t helping matters and you sincerely hoped none of them could see your fluster.

Yami doesn’t seem to miss it though and he purses his lips, pinning you with an unimpressed glower. “That’s what I thought. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re officially cut off. No more booze tonight, okay?”

Both you and Vanessa groan in unison. Your head immediately starts to spin in earnest now and you slump against the other woman even as she grabs your drink and holds it up to you as if she were bottle feeding a baby. The notion that she might accidentally dump it all over your head when she was just as intoxicated as you doesn’t even cross your mind and you obediently open your mouth to accept her offering.

“Come on, captain! At least let her finish her dr-drink first! I worked really hard to -”

Yami cuts across her babbling with a huff, standing and grabbing hold of the cup so he can pull it away despite Vanessa’s best attempt to keep it in her fumbling grasp. You watch it go, feeling an odd mix of disappointment and relief. The giddy, jovial mood you’d been imbued with was nice, yes, but realistically your body probably couldn’t handle much more. It was likely for the best.

“Just knock it off.” Pointedly setting the drink down towards the center of the table, Yami turns back with a furrowed brow. “Are you trying to kill her or something? What all did you even put in that?”

Vanessa hums a noncommittal sound of guilt, winding a strand of your hair around her finger.

He scoffs and moves closer with an accompanying shake of his head. Your heart gives a little jolt when you realize he’s coming towards you, not Vanessa, and you can’t help the anxious tinge that sparks in your chest. He was probably mad at you for getting so drunk. He looked mad. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures though and you lean further into the softly swaying witch next to you in search of protection.

Much to your faltering surprise, however, Yami’s tone sounds closer to exacerbated than angry when he says, “Alright, brat. C’mere. You get to sit with me for the rest of the night so I can keep an eye on you and make sure someone doesn’t try to sneak you anything else.”

You blink, thoroughly confused, and it feels like even something as simple as a muscle twitch takes a small eternity to accomplish. Yami either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care though.

Shooing Vanessa away, he bends at the waist and curls big hands under your armpits, hauling you straight up out of your seat. You outright squawk, flailing weakly in Yami’s grasp when you suddenly find yourself much further from the ground than you were used to. But your panic lasts only a terrifyingly brief moment and you relax when he draws you close, allowing you to curl your limbs around his thick frame. With a slight jostle, he adjusts his hold and secures you to the front of him. You instinctively nuzzle further into his arms, drunkenly whimpering as you tightly lock your elbows behind his neck.

“You’re no fun …” Vanessa whines on your behalf.

He clicks his tongue. “I’m thinking ahead. You’re not.” He says, those rumbled words reverberating inside your skull and further grounding you by some margin. “But if she gets sick, you’re the one who’s gonna’ clean it up.”

With that admonition, he moves back to his own chair and sits down again. It takes you a moment to get situated on his lap, still unbearably hot and fussy now after forcibly being removed from the fun. The last thing you want is to look like a lightweight in front of your teammates but he finally stills you with a large, mindful hand against your lower back. The silent warning in that innocuous gesture is enough to make you quit while you’re still ahead and, mewling something unintelligible, you press your warm face into his neck so you can settle in to pout.

Magna says something then, successfully distracting Vanessa from the subject, and the game carries on without you. The three of them don’t seem to mind the loss one bit as they seamlessly pick right back up where they’d left off.

It's hard to shake the feeling that your presence at the table was nothing more than an afterthought to them, or maybe a simple nicety, and it stung a little. There was no denying that. But you were much too hazy and disoriented to linger on it for more than a moment, molding yourself to the firm weight against you and going pleasantly slack in Yami’s arms. He was surprisingly comfortable, given his hard physique. A little too warm for your liking when you already felt swelteringly hot, but ultimately comfortable.

The even rise and fall of his broad chest is almost enough to lull you into dozing off right then and there with your head resting on his shoulder. Yami’s rough fingers tracing nonsensical, soothing patterns across your spine is the only thing that keeps you tethered to reality and you sit there, eyes closed, just listening to the slurred conversation going on at your back. It sounded far away now. Muted, as if your ears were stuffed with cotton, but you didn’t mind that too much. Magna was loud enough when sober and even worse when he was drunk.

A long moment later, Yami removes the cigarette from his lips and turns towards you when the other two start bickering about the validity of a certain card sequence. “How you feeling, squirt?” He asks, pressing his mouth against your hair.

“Good.” You murmur dreamily.

He laughs, very quietly, and gives you the briefest squeeze. “Yeah? You’re deadweight, baby girl. Sure you’re not gonna’ pass out on me over there?”

“Mmhmm.”

With a soft click of his tongue, Yami focuses back in on the game. The hand resting on your back slips lower, inconspicuously giving your behind a playful tweak that seems to go unnoticed by the table's other occupants given that they keep talking without pause. Magna would more than likely look away, politely pretending he hadn’t seen it, but Vanessa … if she’d caught so much as a glimpse, you’d be hearing about it right now. That was at least one reason (of which there was many) why what you had with Yami, whatever it was, still remained a secret to the rest of the squad even though it was probably a miracle they hadn’t caught on already, especially when he was so damn handsy with you.

Normally you’d err on the side of caution for that reason alone but you felt just daring enough to give him little push back. Emboldened by the liquid courage sitting hot and heavy in your stomach, confident that he wouldn’t have initiated this had it not been safe to do so, you discreetly roll your hips into him. The drag of your pussy across the front of his pants makes your breath hitch and he stiffens underneath you. That’s all the reaction you get for your trouble though, prompting you to lift your head from his shoulder and lean close to Yami’s ear.

“ Daddy …”

It’s nothing more than a tiny, breathless sigh but the effect it has on him is instantly noticeable. Steel chorded arm tightening around you, he breathes out a terse exhale and pulls you more firmly against his chest until you can scarcely breathe. A wavering puff of air slips from you as your thighs flex around his waist, silently trying to urge him on. It doesn’t work though and a shudder works its way down the length of your spine when he turns towards you again, growling right against the outer shell of your ear.

“Watch it.”

You whine, bucking against him more insistently. “ Nooooo .”

Yami snorts and swivels his attention back around to the cards clasped in his other hand. Pressing your face into the crook of his neck, you take a deep breath until the naturally heady scent of him swarms your senses like a fragrant, masculine cocktail. You can taste him in the back of your throat and it just makes you want him all the more.

Another wiggle of your hips is all the incentive he needs, calloused fingers slipping further down to grab a pinching handful of your ass. Roughly nudging you to sit a bit higher up on his thighs, he reaches lower and snakes his hand under your skirt. You squirm at the first touch against your panties, whimpering softly into his skin. Yami merely tightens his arm around you as he ever so carefully pulls the thin layer of cotton aside just enough to slide those sinfully long digits past the flimsy barrier.

“Spoiled brat,” He murmurs fondly, just loud enough for you to hear. “Already so damp and needy for me.”

You bite down on your tongue to keep yourself quiet, shuddering when he casually traces the length of your slit with abrasive fingertips.

Magna abruptly cackles about something and the sudden noise makes you jolt. Yami, to his credit, remains perfectly still though and merely waits a torturously long beat before continuing in rumbling hushed tones. “How long were you sitting over there in your own mess, hmm?”

“I - it’s not a mess.” You warble into his shoulder, your cheeks flushing hot.

“Oh? This certainly feels like a mess to me …” Pausing, Yami dips a finger into the meat of your labia and the slick quality of your pussy suddenly makes itself known. You hadn’t noticed until now, either because you were too caught up in your inebriated stupor or simply too focused on pouting to pay it any mind, but you were absolutely soaked. It wasn’t exactly surprising. Your body always responded eagerly to being manhandled by the captain but even this seemed a bit excessive.

Whining low in your throat, you decide you don’t want to play this game after all and try to angle your defenseless little cunt away from his searching hand. But Yami puts a stop to that quickly enough and shifts his legs further apart, forcibly spreading your thighs until you can’t find the leverage needed to wriggle out of his hold. You lip quivers when he takes advantage of this vulnerable position to worm a finger into the tight, squeezing heat of your body, gummy walls contracting around the intrusion with a pleasant flutter. It takes everything you have not to throw your head back and unabashedly moan up at the ceiling.

“Can’t you feel that, baby? You’re so wet I didn’t even have to work you open.”

Hiccuping, you shove your face against Yami’s neck again. “Dah - daddy … please .”

“Shh.” He warns even as he starts up a slow pace, sedately pumping into you. “Keep quiet or I’ll have to stop.”

As if on cue, Vanessa says something to him then and Yami effortlessly diverts his attention to the slurring witch as if nothing about the situation were out of place. You dig your nails into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades and bite back a groan, suddenly feeling ten times hotter than before. Even with all your concentration focused on keeping as still and quiet as possible, you find yourself imperceptibly arching to give him better access to your sticky cunt. It was certainly a blessing in disguise that she was just as drunk as you were, otherwise she might have given the whole thing a second thought. The way you were sitting on his lap. The smallest twitch of your hips to accompany the shallow quality of your breathing. It was so obvious what you two were doing. How had they not noticed already?

The table.

Neither Magna or Vanessa could see over it unless they came around and stood right next to the chair. You were essentially safe from the waist down and a fresh spark of confidence alights throughout your whole system with this realization, doubling and then tripling your arousal. It was still risky doing something so brazen right in front of them but you were just drunk enough not to care.

Loins twisting and curling, you carefully rear back to meet his shallow thrusts. You’d never felt more uninhibited in your whole life. “Oooh, daddy,” You whisper, choking on it. “Right there.”

Yami doesn’t miss a beat, easily keeping up with the conversation as he allows a second digit to slide in with the first. You feel the stretch in your bones and you quietly seeth, lashes fanning against the apples of your cheeks when it pushes you to just this side of discomfort. Even being as wet as you are, his fingers were just too thick for your eagerly clenching passage to accommodate them without some resistance and you hedonistically bask in the searing burn. It felt good. Almost good enough for you to lose yourself to the pleasure but, somehow, you manage to keep your wits about you instead of shamelessly writhing in his lap.

You may as well have thrown caution to the wind though. Discretion hardly mattered anymore. You already felt like a blatant little slut and the shock of how much that turns you on has your pussy drooling obscenely all over Yami’s hand.

“Hah - harder, daddy … nnghh, harder, please.”

Rather than obliging, he actually pauses his ministrations and you quietly mewl at the loss of friction. You squirm on top of his muscular thighs and desperately try to fuck down on his digits, panting like a bitch in heat against the captains neck. He shifts underneath you, says something to Vanessa that makes her direct a chiding tone at Magna. Their bickering starts up again and with the rise in volume, Yami gives his wrist a good twist that shoves his fingertips into your upper wall. Static electricity shoots through your system at the sudden pressure on that pulsing sweet spot and the tension in your gut immediately starts to toe the line of unbearable.

Your mouth drops open in shellshocked ecstasy but nothing comes out. It’s hard just to draw breath when the dizzyingly sharp jolt of arousal has your toes flexing uselessly in the air and you tremble, quaking in his arms. Unperturbed by the effect this is having on you, Yami takes his time caressing the velvety soft lining of your insides with sedately smooth motions. Those worn fingertips gradually curl up in the general direction of your belly button and press in deeper, harder, making your cunt absolutely gush around him. You weren’t going to last much longer at this rate.

“Oooh god !” You gasp, clutching him in a death grip.

Turning your head, you press your cheek against Yami’s shoulder and fix your gaze to a random spot on the far wall. The room looked like it was tilted on its axis - - spinning, spinning, spinning - - and all you can do is whine and shake when he scissors his fingers, making more room for himself within you.

You weren’t just overheated anymore. It was as if you’d caught flame, burning from the inside out, and it only gets worse when he flexes his hand, jabbing at the spongy soft spot again and again.

A choked off squeal rises in your throat, just barely held back by tightly clenched teeth. You’re almost positive you can hear the greedy, slopping clicks of your pussy sucking him in deeper just below the surface of the enthusiastic argument going on behind you but they don’t seem to notice. They just keep shouting back and forth at each other, oblivious to what was going on at the other end of the table. You have no idea how you’re getting away with this - aren’t even really sure if you will get away with this when all is said and done - but that’s the very last thing on your mind anymore as you haltingly roll your hips into the blinding pressure.

“Ah - ahh - d - dah - ahh - ddyyy !”

“Do it.” Yami murmurs, his mouth pressed tight to your ear. “Come now , baby. Do it while you have the chance. Come on.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and you give your pelvis one good little twist. The drag of your throbbing clit across the front of his rough pants is the last push you need, the resulting friction searing your veins. It sends you spiraling right over the edge into doped out bliss and you squeak, jerking against him when full bodied tremors grip you in earnest and make you shake.

Riding out the cresting waves as discreetly as you can, you blink back an onslaught of reflexive tears. Your pussy squeezes tight, milking your orgasm on his fingers, even though the effort of forcing yourself to remain quiet nearly breaks your resolve. But you manage, somehow, to breathe through it even as your hips weakly buck in unmitigated pleasure, subduedly twisting in his arms. It felt like you were drowning in it, choking on immense, all encompassing relief.

But Yami doesn’t immediately let up on his concerted attack, continuing to work you over until the spasms start to subside and you whine in frazzled distress. Digits finally stilling inside you, he offers a brief kiss to your hair and it makes you breathe out a tired sigh. You immediately slump, going boneless on top of him, now even clammier than when you’d started. The sweat clinging to your skin has you feeling worryingly damp but you were also satiated and comfortable. It was an acceptable tradeoff, as far as you were concerned.

“Such a good girl. You even managed to stay quiet for me. I’m proud of you.”

Smiling at the hushed approval in his tone, you snuggle further into Yami’s musclebound frame. You were floating on cloud nine, no longer concerned about being removed from the card game; not when the pleasant afterglow and the reassuring presence of your captain - your daddy - had you feeling so at peace. There would always be a next time.

#Black Clover #yami sukehiro #yami x reader #self insert bullshit #My writing

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writers-blogck · 4 years

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The Cat and the Crow ( Tengu!Hinata Shoyo x Bakeneko!Reader )

Warning(s): This is based on the yokai universe for Haikyuu on Tumblr. That was where I got the decision to make Karasuno Tengu. :>

Title: The Cat and the Crow Pairing: Hinata Shoyo x Reader Fandom: Haikyuu! Word Count: 2,272

You stretched your limbs, tail curling toward the sunny sky. The rock you were lounging on was just the perfect temperature for a nap. The sun was high in the sky and there was just the right amount of clouds to keep it from getting too hot. It was a perfect day and you were prepared to take a perfect nap. It was rare that you got any time alone so you were going to enjoy it to the max. The promise of a nap without being interrupted.

As a Bakeneko, you were lazier than your counterpart, Nekomatas. Unlike your more violent mirror image, your kind didn't eat humans. Sure, you liked to mess with them at times and play pranks but your kind tried to stay as peaceful as possible. In the rare case that a Bakeneko kills a human, they still do not consume them. The Nekomata on the other hand were hunters and humans weren't safe from being on their list of prey.

You still were unable to understand why the colony of Nekomata took you in as one of their own. Normally, Nekomata and Bakeneko fight with each other, often due to the human issue. But Kuroo, the leader of the colony, had saved you when you were younger. A group of yokai hunters had killed your mother and were planning on giving you the same fate but multiple pairs of yellow eyes appeared in the dark night. Before you knew what happened, the humans were dead and you were being surrounded by other cat creatures. You wouldn't learn until you were older that you weren't the same type of creature as the pride.

The clan tried to feed you some human meat after one of their hunts but it must be engrained in Bakeneko's DNA to dislike the taste as you refused for no apparent reason. It had been a hard and frustrating time but in the end, they just decided to feed you other meat like fish and beef. Fish was your favorite, though birds were good too. You licked the small fangs in your mouth, wondering how long it would be until it was time to eat. That was one of the strict rules of the colony: you only eat when everyone eats. Everyone must be taken care of before you were allowed to eat. The exception to that rule was Kuroo. How many times had you seen him skip a meal because there wasn't enough? Perhaps you should try hunting on your own to help the pride. You weren't fully matured yet, still being called a kitten by the other members. You were the youngest member and you doubt that they will ever call you anything else. You were the baby.

A black feather fell from the sky, brushing against your nose which caused you to let out a sneeze. Your eyes opened, looking up at the top of the trees to see where the feather had come from. All you could see were the hint of talons disappearing in the green leaves but that was enough. Perfect, your prey was just being delivered to you. Maybe hunting wasn't as bad as the others made it seem.

You were on your feet and up the tree in less than a second, ready to track whatever this creature was. Perhaps it was a big bird like a vulture? You could take something like that on. Instinctively you flexed your claws as you thought about how the pride would be so proud of you if you brought back prey. It was a rare occasion that you were given hunting duty. You would prove that you were just as strong as the other members.

Leaping from branch to branch, your keen ears followed the sound of the creature in front of you. It was big, you could tell that without even seeing it. Twigs were breaking and leaves were torn from their stems as it moved forward with the grace of a drunk kappa. This wasn't even a fair fight as you landed on the tips of your feet, hands simply whispering against the bark before you were jumping to the next branch. The creature was panicking. You could smell the fear in the air, though there seemed to be another scent that you couldn't place.

With a final push of your legs, you pounced on the creature you were chasing. Two bodies crashed through the tree's canopy before landing hard against the soft grass. The first thing you noticed was that the creature you were on top of was much bigger than you had expected. Shaking your head to focus your vision, what you saw once you opened your eyes again was shocking, to say the least.

Your golden eyes the color of daffodils fell upon a mixture of orange and black. Messy orange curls that had leaves sticking from them. Black wings that were stretched awkwardly under its body. You could feel an athletic build under your hands which were pushing against the creature's chest. It....No, he was another yokai like yourself. Your nails pierced the fabric that covered the boy, not pushing hard enough to draw blood. You could hear the blood in your ears as you felt your fur begin to stand on end.

"H-Hey!" A squawk escaped his lips, bringing you back into the present. You had never seen someone like this before. Normally other yokai stayed away from your territory. It was at that moment that you began to realize you may have traveled a bit too far away from home. Everything seemed to begin to close in on you: all the different smells you hadn't noticed, the lack of any familiar sounds, the strong sense of being utterly and completely alone. A small whimper slipped past your lips as you scrambled off of the boy, leaving him even more confused than he had been moments before.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't think you were attractive. The fur of your ears and tail looked so tempting to touch and he had a passing thought of whether you purr or not if someone pets your hair. His wings puffed out to make him look larger than he actually was as he sat up. His ribs were sore and would most likely be bruised by the morning but there were more important things at hand. A moment ago, he had been pinned down to the ground by a vicious predator and now he was staring at a quivering form that was more like prey than anything else.

If it were any of the others in his own colony, you would be dead where you were sitting. Karasuno's Colony of Tengu were fiercely protective of their own and any sign of a threat would be taken seriously. The image of your skin stained a blood red flashed in Hinata's mind and it was at that moment that he knew he couldn't bring you back to the nest. Not only would he get in trouble for bringing someone to their hidden home but there would be a very high chance that he wouldn't even be able to explain the situation before one of the others had sliced your throat with their talons. Harsh, but Hinata just knew they were being protective. He was one of the younger members, just recently learning how to fly. He had been out practicing when you had caught sight of him.

"Are you okay?" Hinata slowly extended his hand out to you but halted his movements when he was met with sharp hissing. Your ears were pressed flat against your head and your tail was puffed out in fear. Normally he would be scared of anything threatening him but somehow, he could see how scared you were. Maybe it was because you seemed to be around the same age as him. Maybe it was because you were way too cute for your own good. He had no clue.

"Leave me alone!"

"Hey, you were the one that tackled me to the ground. It isn't very fair to be getting upset at me when all I was doing was passing by. You shouldn't even be here anyway. Don't you know that this forest is the territory of the Karasuno Clan?" Everyone knew that people who went into that forest didn't come out. The rumors were only proven true by the bodies of Yokai hunters strung up in the trees as harsh warnings to other humans and yokai alike. If you had been slinking around when you entered their territory than you could have missed the hanging corpses, but how could you miss the scent of death? Weren't cats supposed to have a strong sense of smell? What were you anyway?

The red-haired boy actively made his feathers go back to normal, sensing no threat at the moment. What would Sugawara do if he were here? Tanaka and Noya would just kill you...Daichi too. Even Suga's brown eyes had held malice toward creatures that accidentally stumbled into the woods. He was very protective of his family and he wasn't going to allow anyone the chance to hurt them.

"I...!" You started but closed your mouth when you realized you had nothing good to say. He was right, you were the one that pursued him. If you had been playing around with Kenma or Lev, this would be the part where they would bite at your skin - nipping the exposed flesh gently. Each and every member of the pride just had to remind you that you were the baby. You would always be the member who needed the most protection. You had howled in protest many times before but at this moment, you were starting to think they were right.

"I'm not going to hurt you...As long as you don't hurt me. My name is Hinata, I live here." The boy offered you a small smile and you felt your stomach leap in a way it had never done before. It was rare that you interacted with anyone outside of the pack, especially people around your age. Part of you wanted to let your guard down while another side of you knew that would be a terrible idea. How long would it take for the others to realize you were in trouble? They still thought you were just out relaxing somewhere. When would they decide that it was long enough and that you must be in trouble if you weren't home yet?

Hinata offered his hand slowly, eyes soft as the freshly laid snow. Seconds passed by as the two of you simply kept staring right into each other's eyes. Was this a trap for you to lower your guard so he could attack? Even if it was, what was your other plan? You were stuck in a foreign territory and had no information on how to get out. You needed to get out before any of the other Tengu members found you.

"Please, let me help you. I can lead you out of the forest safely and you can go back to your house. I know this forest like the back of my ow hand. I'll be able to get you out without any fuss. I just need you to trust me for a little bit and then we can go back to being enemies or whatever afterward. I'm sure this is all some type of accident. We all make mistakes, believe me. I can't even count how many mistakes I've made."

Your eyes moved from his own to glare at his hand. His nails were a bit long but nothing in comparison to your own. He had his talons to hunt with while your own kind relied on your claws. If this boy did decide to betray you, you doubt you could end up on top. As soon as he got you pinned down with those sharp talons, it would all be over.

"Fine..." Slowly you took the boy's hand with your own. It was surprisingly soft in comparison to the ones you were used to. If the two of you were meeting in better circumstances then perhaps you would study the grooves of his hands but now was not the time. For now, you had to keep your attention sharp around this crow-like Tengu. The sooner you were back with your pride, the better. You knew you would have a scolding waiting for you when you told the others what happened but you would prefer that to being alone in new territory.

But you weren't alone. You were trailing behind a ginger-haired boy who was holding your hand like a delicate lotus blossom. Was he afraid he was going to hurt you? The pride had told you stories about other yokai but this was nothing like any of them. They had said that yokai were dangerous creatures even to other yokai and would never pass up the chance of killing one another. Yet, in front of your stood a gracious bird who seemed to genuinely want to help. Subconsciously, you tightened your grip on his hand.

"Follow me. I promise I'll get you out of here in no time."

Hinata was growing to trust you, something you didn't understand. You may want to lower your walls a bit but that was how yokai always got caught. You had to keep your guard up and be ready for anything to happen. Still, it was nice to get to hold a cute boy's hand, if only for a little while.

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freddysbunny · 4 years

Text

Amanda - Bloodplay + Bondage

For @slashervvave

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I want to play a game."

Your head throbs. You blink a few times, trying to figure out just what the hell is going on. Fluorescent bulbs hum overhead, dimly lighting the room. You're almost positive you're in the old packaging plant, if the green tint of the room and the smell are anything to go by.

A pig-headed creature looms in front of you, clad in black and red. Everything starts to make sense. You had come home and found Amanda missing. Your hunt for her ended abruptly when something grabbed you from behind and a needle hit your throat. You had blacked out. Now you understood.

You were slowly aware that you were tied to a rack that was tilted at an angle, your hands and feet pinned to the wheels that once were used to dislocate and rip limbs away. You also realize you're nude, and a streak of panic pierces through you.

"Amanda", you half plea, half ask. You think its her. She's never hidden her time with John from you, and while you did not necessarily support her endeavors, you couldn't deny agreeing that some people really did deserve their traps. You had hoped you would never wind up in one.

Was this a trap? Or was it something else?

The pig head is pulled off, and you find yourself smiling at the shaggy-haired woman who stole your heart. Amanda grins at you, her dark eyes flashing in a way that makes goosebumps break over your skin. You writhe against your bindings. "What game is this?", you dare to ask. Amanda smirks, drawing a curved dagger from beneath the red cape.

"The kind where you lose", Amanda purrs. She sets her foot on the rack, and the board lifts you higher. You watch as the blade is dragged over your skin, dull side first. Your lower belly pulls as desire begins to rise far too quickly. What exactly did she inject you with?

Did you really care?

"You can beg", Amanda tells you, "and you can cry. But I won't stop until you figure out the right safe word. If you manage to before time runs out, I will reward you. Otherwise, I will leave you here."

You whimper at the prospect, wiggling beneath the blade. Your skin feels like fire. You curl your fingers and toes, the straps biting into your ankles and wrists starting to feel good. "Amanda please", you cry. Amanda clicks her tongue. "Wrong word."

The blade spins and slices into your chest. You arch in pain and pleasure, gasping at the conflicting sensation. The blade draws away and falls back down, this time at your stomach. It cuts enough to draw blood, but not enough to damage severely. Amanda isn't after your death.

Not yet, anyway.

The knife falls again and again so rapidly that you don't have time to think. Small cuts cover your chest and waist, blood oozing from the wounds. The upright angle has the warm liquid running straight down your body, drizzling down your groin and thighs. You cry out each time, forgetting to think of words, forgetting you can even talk.

"You have to try, love", Amanda reminds you, tucking the blade away briefly. She leans forward, licking at a cut on your belly. You whine weakly. "H-hamster", you stammer, trying to remember things that Amanda likes, "banana, pineapple, rosemary!" Amanda laughs, licking her way down your belly. She pulls off her gloves, running a hand up your crimson streaked thigh toward that special center.

You lift your hips eagerly. It feels as if whatever blood isn't pouring from you is gathered there, making you throb with need. Amanda leans closer, her breath tickling you with a promise she never fulfills. You groan in frustration when she steps away.

"Keep trying", she states, and you let out a spiel of words off the top of your head. Amanda ignores them, throwing the rack back so it's flat and locking it in place. The jarring motion earns a quick "fuck me!" from your lips, your world spinning. Amanda laughs, stepping out of your line of sight.

"Monkey", you all but scream, straining your neck and trying to see her. "Car, phoenix, heart, love, the moon, mercury!" You thrust your hips at the air, trying to relieve the endless need nestled between your legs.

"Perfect!" Amanda exclaims, and you're treated to the sight of her naked form approaching you. "You guessed it!" You don't know which word did it, but you aren't about to complain. "You'll let me go?", you ask, tugging at the straps. Amanda laughs again, and you can't help thinking how beautiful she is when she does.

"Not at all", she replies as she climbs onto the rack. You start to think there never was a safe word, but you don't care. Amanda places a thigh on either side of your face, her wet cunt right against your lips. "Here's your reward."

You don't waste any time, using tongue and lips to draw illicit moans from your captor. It doesn't take long to have Amanda grinding against your face, and you loathe your straps for not giving you the chance to add your hands into the game. Amanda calls your name as she runs her hands through your blood, admiring the work she's done as your tongue pushes into her over and over again.

Her thighs quiver as she grips your stomach, her nails biting into your wounds as her orgasms washes over her. You eagerly lap at her until Amanda is whimpering and shaking, a soft plea for you to stop falling from her throat. You ignore it, eager to make her climax again, your chin grinding into her clit.

Amanda cries and claws at you to stop, but you refuse until you draw a second orgasms from her. Her body rocks above you, trembling hard. Shaking, Amanda climbs off you before you can keep pushing your luck.

"That.. That was against the rules", Amanda states, her naked body wet with sweat and her eyes wild with lust. She unlocks the rack and tilts it back up, then lowers herself to her knees.

Your desire is a wild beast, ripping at your senses. Seeing Amanda kneel makes you buck with anticipation.

"I'm going to have to punish you", Amanda whispers, licking her lips, "and give you twice of what you gave to me."

Sometimes losing could be a good thing.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #amanda - saw #pighead amanda #blood kink #blood #Tw blood

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dhawkesnest · 4 years

Text

DUPLICITY

Warning: Violence, Adult Language. Also features betrayal and manipulative behaviors. Mentions of slavery/enslavement.

Years earlier...

“Rune! You have to come quick! Dacien has been taken! They have him on a boat bound for La Noscea! We have to leave and we have to go now!”

Abelaux's words haunted her the entire trip to this strange landscape. As they made their way through what the map called 'Lower La Noscea'. They had not made ground until several hours after Dacien's captors, and by then it was daylight, but they were closing the distance as rapidly as they could. Her lover had indicated he could see the stolen cart in the distance. “They've stopped. I wonder if there has been trouble. We must hurry!” Rune was exhausted and sore from the chocobo ride and being tossed about in the boat, but this was her family. The Viera encouraged the chocobo still faster as they made for their destination. Upon reaching it, they each brought their birds to a stop, but at first Rune was the only to dismount. She looked frantically around. The cart had appeared to have lost a wheel, and the axle was damaged, but there appeared to be no sign of the kidnappers or Dacien. Her search became more frantic, and she trembled out of a mixture of anger and concern, tears threatening to roll down her face. She had promised her adopted father she would bring him home safely. Where were they? How would they find them now? “Don't worry, my love. We'll find him for you.” Abelaux reached up and stroked her cheek in a gesture that he had done so many times before, but there was a different look in his eyes, and something sinister in the way he had said 'we'. A feeling settled over Rune in that moment that caused her to pull back from him cautiously. It was only then that she noticed they were surrounded. Rune recognized the men as the ones who had heckled her in the Shroud some time before while she was helping to cut wood for an elderly woman who lived nearby. They had jeered and called her names and whistled at her. Back then, she had merely done the best she could to ignore them. Now she wished she had warned her family. For a moment, words caught in her throat as she merely looked at the face of the man she had come to trust with her life and her heart, watching his expression transform into a sneer of satisfaction as he stepped back behind the encircling men. “Abel... what have you done?” She muttered quietly. “Just looking out for number one, my love. As always. They promised to pay me immensely well when I said that I could lure you here alone. Don't worry, these men will take good care of you, and we'll see to it that your brothers join you very soon.” There was laughter as the others grew closer. Five of them in all, not including Abelaux. Two were towering mountains of men, covered in muscle. Roegadyns. They would be the most trouble getting clear of. The others were two Hyur, one a Highlander and one a Midlander. The last was a paler skinned Miqo'te that Rune recognized to be a Seeker. Her purple eyed gaze took in their triumphant looks and stock of what weapons they might have on hand. She saw no weapons handy, but that didn't necessarily mean she was in the clear. The Midlander and the Miqo'te both held ropes at the ready, waiting to tie her up.

“She doesn't look so tough.” One of the Roegadyn smirked and jeered. The other men agreed and chuckled as if it was some private joke, moving closer still. The other Roe launched himself forward to grapple her, but was too slow due to his sheer bulk and size. The Viera ducked under his reaching arms, dropped to her knees in a move that caused her bones to complain at the impact, and crawled between his legs. The other reached out and grabbed her left ankle, jerking violently and attempting to drag her back across the grass towards him. Rune reached out and grasped at rocks and dirt and attempted to fight against the action but to no avail. Rolling as best she could with him still holding her other ankle, she kicked her free leg wildly as the Miqo'te tried to move in close to use the rope in his hands. Balling her hands into fists, she swung just as wildly with her legs while continuing to kick. The Highlander moved in and socked the struggling woman right in the face in an attempt to dissuade her from fighting any more. Rune's vision was filled with stars momentarily, but she forced herself to recover, anger and a desire to survive rising to the surface. No more playing games. The Viera could hear them shouting and trying to coordinate as she brought her free foot up into the groin of the Roe who had her leg. Swearing, he released her to cup his balls, and she saw her chance. Rolling away to stand, the woman did the best she could to dodge the two larger men while looking for some means to defend herself. Catching sight of a rake with a wooden handle attached to the stolen cart, Rune grabbed for it. The Miqo'te attempted to grasp her around the midsection and got a nose full of her elbow for his trouble. Jerking the rake free, she stepped away from the men again, brandishing her makeshift weapon. There was laughter amongst them again as they swarmed. “What you gonna do with tha, girly?” One of them asked her in what she assumed to be a thick Limsan accent. “Garden us to death?” Setting the rake tines down, the woman rapidly lifted a leg and brought it down, jerking up on the handle of the rake violently until the metal tines were snapped off where they attached to the wood. Now just holding the pole, she brandished it again, as the Lancers in the Shroud did their pole arm Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Rune focused as she had been taught. Though it was a crude weapon, she let it feel like an extension of who she was, as her adopted father had shown her. When the first of the five propelled themselves towards her, she was ready. The end of the handle connected with the face of the Midlander, bloodying his nose and leaving him sprawling in the dirt. This seemed to shock the men, who hadn't been properly prepared. They looked at one another momentarily before the next two leaped into the fray. The Highlander and the Miqo'te took turns swinging at her, aiming for whatever they could, attempting to wrench the item from her grasp. Rune took the pole to the kneecaps of the Miqo'te, sending him on his ass. The Highlander let out an angry yell and lunged forward in anger, The woman brought the pole arm swiftly in an upward ark between the man's legs, then as he crumpled brought it down across the back of his neck. Two of the five lay writhing, and one lay still on the ground. Only the Roe were left. One appeared to be having second thoughts and shifted a step back, but the other continued to move toward her, muttering obscenities at her. “You little cunt...” A gunshot rang out. The Roe who had been stepping back fell to forward to the ground, blood pouring from a new open wound in the center of his back. The gunshot drew attention from the last attacker and the Viera both. Abelaux stood there with the smoking rifle in his hand, now pointing it directly at Rune. “Y-you shot him!” The other Roe yelled accusingly. Abelaux gave a shrug, his expression detailing his lack of care. “That's what he gets for letting the adopted daughter of a Wood Wailer get her hands on a weapon. Do you want to be next or do you want to tie her up?” The man turned his dark eyes to Rune. “You're going to be a good little girl now, aren't you, my love?” With him holding the gun on her, she had little choice but to drop the pole. Rune let it slip from her hand and thud to the ground at her feet. However, she made no intentional move towards them both, instead glancing carefully at her surroundings before taking a slow and deliberate step backward. The fight had taken them dangerously close to the cliff face. Only a few steps. One step. Two. Another gunshot rang out, and she felt pain tear through the meaty part of her thigh. She was forced to clench her teeth against the agony to prevent the scream that threatened to rise in her throat. The Viera refused to give him the pleasure of hearing her scream, cry, or beg. Instead, she gave him her eyes in a glare, the violet in them more vibrant in the bright morning sun. Seething anger and betrayal was easy to read in that look. And a promise. “You filthy snake.” “Come back from the edge like a good girl. You know I don't want to kill you, Rune, but I will if I have to. Let the man tie you up and you'll be on your way and no one else has to get hurt.” “You're a lying sack of chocobo shit.” Rune muttered. She was so close. One more step, and she would be free. Dead, perhaps. But at least she wouldn't be heading to some unknown place in the back of a slaver's cart. “Since you're planning to kill me anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it?” Just as Abelaux's face contorted in anger and he raised the gun again, Rune did the only thing she could do. She leapt from the cliff and plummeted towards the choppy water's below. Air entered her lungs so violently it made her gasp and cough. A groan escaped her as someone carefully turned her onto her side so that she would not inhale the water that was attempting to escape. Her left arm was pinned beneath her body when she was moved, and it ached. She tried to move it, but found that the limb would not do what she wanted it to do. Broken? Dislocated? Who knows... at least I'm alive. For now. The wound in her leg burned too, the introduction of salt water making it angrier than it already had been. She could still feel the warmth of blood as it slid down her leg. “Are you bleedin mad?! Jumpin from the cliff like tha!?” Rune opened her eyes carefully to look up at an Elezen face she didn't recognize, framed by copious amounts of wet jet black hair. Eyes the color of the sea stared at her from beneath scowling brows, and man's lips were pulled into a thin line. He wasn't one of the attackers, but she also knew she didn't know who he was either. Despite the pain she was in, and the likelihood he had pulled her from the water, Rune jerked away from him and tried to push him away violently, gritting her teeth at the pain that the action caused her as payment for her behavior. Since physically she couldn't fight him, she opened her mouth to retort at the man, but it was then that he let out a low whistle. The sound distracted her, and she followed his gaze to her gunshot wound. “I thought ah heard gunfire. We need to get yeh a medic.” You're...not taking me... anywhere.” She managed between clenched teeth, shifting to try and get up, which didn't do her any favors. “I have no idea who you are.” “Vallerin? What did you find?” Came the sound of another voice, a white haired Miqo'te female Rune had never seen before approached them, looking at the man expectantly. The tan-skinned Elezen who had been hovering over Rune turned to look at the woman. It didn't take much to glean that he looked at her as his superior. “We've got ourselves a gunshot, Y'shtola. We better get the Yellow Jackets. I thought her just some thrill seeker, but ah can't see anyone shootin themselves in the leg and jumpin a cliff. Ah think things are more complicated then they first appeared.” Rune watched as the woman tapped her jaw with her knuckles as she eyed the Viera. The one called Vallerin pulled a piece of cloth from his back pocket, and wet though it was began to apply pressure to the wound. Rune's pain and the weakness of the blood loss began to make her head swim. The Viera fell back from her sitting position, her vision spinning and the feeling of consciousness began to slip away. “Hang in there, lass. We got ye.”

#ffxiv #DawnWrites #DawnWritesffxiv #Rune Ymir #Viera #Veena #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: adult language #tw: abuse #tw: manipulation #tw: enslavement

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trashmagines · 5 years

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You’re Awful, I Love You: Jason Todd x Female!Assassin!Reader

TrAshy Says: You guys can’t seem to get enough of Jason and neither can I tbh. Yes, this title is totally the name of a LUDO album. It’s a not a song fic but while you’re reading it might be fun to listen to Love Me Dead ;) Also, let it be known that I don’t know shit about guns, but I tried. We cool? We cool. <3

Warnings: Reader has killed people, guns, some violence, alcohol mention, one drunk dude, long as fuck (to me anyway)

You watch through the end of your scope as the Bat effortlessly takes down yet another armed thug. As far as you can tell, Gotham is one big cesspool that Batman is just trying to clean up. You’re almost, almost sad it has to be this way; that you have him as a target. Nevertheless, money talks, and you’re being paid well to do a job, not get emotional.

Batman finishes off the last of his adversaries, his back facing you. At this point he’s practically begging you to take the shot, and you’re about to when you’re suddenly thrown to the ground face first. A swift kick to your torso knocks the wind out of you, and you feel a large weight settle on your lower back.

“Don’t struggle; I’d hate to have to mess up such a beautiful face.”

Robin. How the fuck did you forget about Robin? You feel some kind of tie enclose around your wrists while you’re mentally chastising yourself for not factoring in boy wonder, and the sensation makes you groan internally. A pair of boots enter your field of vision, and you look up to meet the eyes of the man in the Batsuit. Great.

They haul you off to what you assume is the Batcave; Batman leading you to an interrogation room like the prisoner you currently are, and Robin dropping off your equipment before joining you both. Under the intense fluorescent lighting, they can see just how young you appear to be, a fact that seems to trouble Batman by the look in his eyes. He asks the standard questions: who are you, who hired you, and why would you do this? Your exasperated sighs and eye rolls are his only answers; like you’re really going to tell him any of that.

Unfortunately, some state-of-the-art facial recognition technology exposes a good chunk of your history, including your name. You’re an assassin, bounty-hunter, murderer-for-hire; if it has to do with capturing, killing, and money, you’ve probably dabbled in it. Batman rapidly scans your extensive rap-sheet while Robin eyes you with the cockiest smirk you’ve ever seen on a person. God, you can’t decide if you want to kiss him or choke him out.

“I’d like to make you a deal, Y/N.” “A deal? You’re aware that I was this close to murdering you, right?” “I know, but you didn’t.” “Yeah, your sidekick showed up.” “You had ample opportunities before that. I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’d been watching me for some time. You most likely had plenty of openings; shots you could have taken but didn’t.” “I was waiting for the perfect moment and got interrupted.”

You’re lying. Batman knows it, Robin knows it, and you know it. Sure, you were about to shoot before Robin intervened, but Batman was right, you’d had plenty of openings beforehand and hadn’t utilized any of them.

“From this list of confirmed kills, I can tell you usually only go after the worst of the worst. Someone most likely offered you an amount of money you couldn’t refuse, so you took this assignment. You don’t seem like a bad person, Y/N, and I think you could be a valuable asset to me.” “Are you... offering me a job?” “That’s exactly what I’m doing. In exchange for becoming one of the good guys, I won’t throw you in Arkham for trying to kill me. Do we have a deal?” “...Deal.”

Six months later

“You’ve got to stop drawing your gun on me when I come into your room!” “Then stop sneaking in through the fucking window and use the door! We live in the same mansion Jason, it makes no sense!”

You lowered your shotgun and glared at the messy haired boy standing in front of you. You were getting ready for bed when he oh so graciously decided to drop in unannounced again, prompting you to grab your emergency weapon. He didn’t notice the look on your face as his eyes were too busy roaming your uncovered legs.

“Jason,” you huff, pinching the bridge of your nose. “What do you want?” “Oh, Bruce wants us to do some undercover work together.”

It was then you noticed the manila folder he was holding. You took it from him and rapidly scanned through the information. Apparently the police department was holding an appreciation dinner, because that’s really what Gotham city needs right now, and you and Jason were to go and pose as a couple for extra protection.

“What dipshit decided having a bunch of cops in the same place was a good idea?” “Don’t know. But it’s tomorrow night so I’ll pick you up at six.”

That stupid smirk you’d grown fond of was plastered on Jason’s face and you shoved him towards your door with a loud proclamation of ‘Good night, Jason.’ He took the hint and left, shutting you door softly behind him. It had been a little over six months since you’d tried to fulfill the hit on Bruce, and though you could say your life was better, adapting to the high standards Bruce had was difficult. Even though beating and occasionally maiming was okay, he had a strict no killing policy that you constantly struggled with. Still your combat skills, which were already well developed when you’d first met, were steadily increasing and you were quite handy when it came to finding intelligence on the latest criminal schemes. You couldn’t exactly say you were “one of the good guys”, but having a consistent place to lay your head and stable income were two major pluses of your new life.

The following day, Jason was at your door at six sharp, dressed in what he liked to call a monkey suit. You did one last mirror check before opening your door, Jason’s mouth involuntarily falling open as you did. You were wearing in a knee length black dress that had a deep V neckline and lace cap sleeves. Your black suede pumps clacked against the floor as you walked past him, simply wanting to get this protection detail over with.

The ride to the banquet hall was quiet; your eyes scanning the city outside of the window and Jason’s eyes scanning you. When you reached your destination, you both went over your cover story before exiting the car. Bruce had eyes on the situation through cameras that had been stealthily placed in advance. Jason took your hand and led you into the building, already not liking the way all eyes fell on you as you entered. He led you to the bar so that you both could pretend to talk and determine if there were any threats present.

You had been at the bar for about an hour and a half, Jason leaving your side about thirty minutes in to mingle and blend with the crowd as best he could. There had been no suspicious activity during that time and you almost wished something would happen so you wouldn’t have to hear anymore ‘pat-me-on-the-back-I’m-so-great’ speeches.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Be careful what you wish for.

You turn to look at the man that has just taken the seat on your left. You recognize him as one of the pricks that droned about how much he was helping make the city a better place despite never having actually done anything. He smells like he just took a bath in Budlight and you have to stop yourself from recoiling.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all alone?”

Oh. He’s bold.

“I’m not alone, I’m with my boyfriend.”

Right on cue, Jason slides an arm around your waist and lightly kisses your cheek. You know you’re supposed to be pretending, but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying the faux affection.

“Everything okay, babe?” “Mhm. Just making light conversation.”

Budlight man looks like he’s trying to set Jason ablaze with his stare, but then he turns back to you, his hand itching closer to the one you have resting on the bar.

“Wouldn’t you rather be with a man than with a boy?”

Oh. He’s BOLD bold.

The arm that’s around your waist tightens reflexively, and when you face Jason you see a glint in his eye. He wants to break this guy’s neck almost as much as you want to, but you have a much better idea in mind.

You turn the bar stool so that your whole body is facing Jason, uncross your legs, and pull him to you so that you can kiss him hard. He responds immediately, hands coasting down your sides before gripping your hips and pushing your bodies closer together. He kisses you breathless, his tongue exploring your mouth and battling yours for dominance. He knows that you’re letting him kiss you like this, and that shift of power makes him groan against your lips. You pull away smiling and then return your attention to the man that had been hitting on you. He looks beyond pissed and a tad embarrassed and you revel in it.

“Does that answer your question?”

Budlight man stalks away, probably mumbling some derogatory comment about you since he couldn’t have what he wanted. You look back at Jason and when your eyes meet, you notice that his pupils are blown wide.

“You know that was purely for the sake of our cover, right?” “Mhm.” “Good.”

You adjust your dress since Jason’s grabby hands had caused it to wrinkle, before turning your attention to all the inebriated cops you’re now basically babysitting. Jason’s standing on your right side, a hand comfortably resting just above your left hip. He leans in close to you, close enough for you to feel his warm breath hitting your neck.

“You know that when we get home, I’m going to be the one that’s taking off your dress, right?”

You bite your lip at his declaration, ideas of how your night could play out already forming in your mind.

“We’ll see.”

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd x reader #Titans #Titans imagine #DC's Titans #Y ' A L L #Y A I L Y

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khaelisfics · 6 years

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One more Soulmate AU - based on the concept, “whatever your soulmate loses ends up in your possession”, and I quite liked this idea!

Tagging @doctorroseprompts, in case this can fit into a prompt!

I hope you’ll like it! :-)

He was used to the mystery of socks somehow disappearing in the transdimensional portal that must have been built in his laundry machine. He was used to cufflinks being disintegrated from existence by inexplicable powers that must have enjoyed wearing expensive suits. He was used to losing many things. Most of them worthless, things he didn’t even realize were gone - like plastic spoons in his kitchen cupboard, coins in his pockets, lottery tickets he left in that hideous glass bowl on the coffee table. But some others, he cherished and loved, he regretted and needed. Like that rare edition of his favorite book, like that unique tie he had had made for a small fortune. Like that cute coffee mug he had brought back from a vacation on the other side of the world. And like the keys he had probably lost on his way to work in the morning - he didn’t love those, but he really needed them.

Computer case stuck under his arm, he feverishly patted his jacket, his trousers, rummaged through the pockets he had already searched over and over again. Phone, pencil, glasses case, biscuit crumbs, little bits of a tissue the sock-eating machine had destroyed. No keys. Definitely lost.

He glared at the door as if it were the one responsible and took his phone out of his pocket. Past eight in the evening, London, posh neighbourhood. He knew it would cost two bags of pure gold and diamonds to have a locksmith change the lock, but he didn’t have much choice. At least, he hadn’t lost his wallet. He shoved his hand in his inner pocket with a sigh that was immediately sucked in through a gasp when his fingers met nothing but the cool silk of the lining.

“Fuck’s sake, this has to be a bloody joke,” he cursed under his breath, going over the same pockets, again, patting them, again, as if it would magically appear if he prayed hard enough.

He threw worried and desperate glances around to find someone, or something that could help him out of his misery. No one, nothing. Except his neighbour precariously balancing himself on a stepladder to cut dead branches in his pear tree - someone who grew pears couldn’t be trusted, he knew that, but without keys, money or hope, he was his only way out. With a resolved shrug, he walked to the white-picket fence.

“Excuse-me!” he called out over the sound of clicking shears to grab his attention. “Sorry to bother you, I’ve lost my keys and I need to climb over the hedge of my backyard to access the back door. D’you mind if I borrow your stepladder for a minute?”

It probably was a bad plan, a very stupid plan, but he only realized that once his hands struggled to find purchase on the thin trellis behind the wall of pointy branches and thorns hidden among the leaves of the hedge and his legs quivered on the unstable stepladder. Too late to back down.

He swiftly threw a leg over the hedge all while pushing himself up on the trellis, and he would have landed just fine on the grass if his trousers hadn’t hooked into the pointy branches and thorns. He cursed at feel of his leg getting stuck, winced at the dreadful sound of ripping material, cursed again when his weight got the better of the seams, and moaned in pain when he crashed down on his shoulder.

“You alright, mate?” the neighbour asked from behind the hedge - the smile in his words didn’t go unnoticed, but what else could be expected from a man who grew pears anyway? “Fine,” he grunted as he scrambled back to his feet, massaging his sore shoulder and assessing the damage to his beloved pinstriped trousers. “Thanks for your help, much appreciated. See you later.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and walked straight to the door he hoped was actually unlocked like it should be. He rolled his eyes in relief, the doorknob turning without a protest, and while he had half a mind to crash on his couch for the rest of the evening, he knew he had to do something about his lost credit card and papers and keys. Those were definitely the worst things he had ever lost, expensive tie and cute mug be damned.

Just as he was about to pick up his phone, a loud series of knocks echoed from his front door.

“Oh, this better be important,” he grumbled, going to the hideous bowl sitting on the coffee table to fetch the spare key.

He was set on sending whoever was behind that door away as fast as he could without sounding too rude, make the few calls required about his lost possessions and forget about this awful day with a good, long night of well-deserved sleep. Whoever they were, they needed to be gone. Soon.

“Hello, Mister… John Smith?”

Okay, maybe not too soon. He gaped for a moment at this beautiful blonde woman standing there, a big cardboard box in her hands, a tiny smile on her lips.

“You are?” he asked after he managed to wipe his delighted surprise from his face. “‘M Rose, Rose Tyler,” she answered, nibbling her lower lip as if she were embarrassed to be there. “I think I’ve found some stuff that belongs to you.” “Oh, please tell me you have my wallet.” “Yeah, that’s how I found your address,” she nodded - her tiny smile turned into a full grin at the relieved breath he blew through his nose. “And I suppose the keys are yours too, aren’t they?” “You are a lifesaver, Miss Tyler, and I love you,” he beamed at her, taking a step to the side to let her in. “Please, do come in. Would you like some tea?” “Only if you’d like some too,” she shrugged, the movement causing whatever was inside her box to rattle and clatter.

A few minutes later, they were both sitting on the couch, two mugs of steaming chamomile tea on the coffee table. Rose - what a lovely name that was, Rose, and what a beautiful woman she was, Rose - reached into her purse and took out a dark blue wallet and a heavy keyring she dropped into his awaiting palms.

“Where did you find them?” he asked, flipping through his wallet to make sure nothing was missing. “In that coffee shop on Lexington street, you know, near the university,” she told him as she clasped her hands over her lap. “I found your professor badge inside it, so I wanted to drop them at the lost property office, but I thought… Well, I think I’ve found more than just your keys and your wallet.”

She purposefully eyed the box at her feet, and his heart started to thud just a bit harder against his ribs. He had heard about it a few times, but had never really believed, nor cared about it much. He was a scientist, he didn’t believe in fate, destiny, soulmates, and all those ethereal things people liked to consider real and veritable. It made no sense. People couldn’t fall in love thanks to lost plastic spoons and, should he dare think, wallets and keys. Rose seemed to be a very nice woman, a very kind and clever woman, she had found his things and brought them back, but if that were enough to fall in love, he would have fallen in love a hundred times before. Except he had never fallen in love. Not once. Maybe that was because this Rose truly was his soulmate, and he couldn’t love anyone else.

He disguised his derisive chuckle under a discreet cough and took a sip of his tea.

“So, what else do you think you’ve found, then?” he asked, suddenly uneasy to look into her eyes and find something else, something he wasn’t looking for. “Well, that’s just a wild guess, but… It does have your name on it.”

She rummaged through her box, that seemed to be rather full, and picked up a heavy book, all leather, engraved with golden letters and silver drawings. His heart leapt, or stopped, he couldn’t be sure. He knew that book. His favourite book, the one he had lost a little more than a year back. He reverently took it from her hands, ran his fingers over the thick cover and turned to the second page where his name was written in sharp, small letters in a corner. She had found his wallet, his keys, his book. And if all that stuff in that box was his, too, then maybe… Just maybe...

“The thing is, you’re not the only John Smith around, you know,” Rose explained, unaware of the conflicted thoughts shooting through his brain. “I found it on a bench in Green Park and took it with me. I thought, well, maybe one day I could give it back to its owner. It is yours, isn’t it?” “Uh, yeah, it is,” he nodded with a pleased smile that greatly contrasted with his inner turmoil. “Quite an act of providence, right? What were the odds of you finding my lost stuff twice?” “Could be more than twice, John,” she pointed out, a light blush rising on her cheeks. “Could be lots and lots of times. If what’s in that box is all yours, that is.”

He didn’t know if he wanted to find out everything she had gathered belonged to him. If it did, providence or luck wouldn’t be enough to justify it. It would probably mean he had been wrong, very wrong to refuse to believe in what he called preposterous faith in magic. He had been wrong, very wrong to refuse to see what the drawer he walked past everyday was. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, the less he wanted to believe. If he believed the contents of that box were his, if he believed the contents of his drawer were hers, if he believed in soulmates… He would have to believe this Rose who had knocked on his door out of the blue was his. Believe this beautiful woman was the one. The love of his life.

His heart stopped, for a few seconds, just to give it the necessary momentum to break into a wild gallop that threatened to crush his ribcage. She had just taken out a tie. He knew that tie, too. What he didn’t know was what the Heck was happening to him. He was having an attack. Probably. That was the only explanation he could find to the odd warmth that spread through his limbs and the blurred filter that fell before his eyes. Had Rose always looked so perfect? It didn’t matter. She was perfect. God, it was becoming stifling hot in this house, he should open the drawer, no, the windows, get some of her stuff in that drawer to show her he was the one for her, no, get some air, just some air.

“John, are you alright?” Rose asked when he failed to speak despite his mouth opening and closing on regular intervals, an alarming red hue colouring his cheeks. “Oh yes, always alright, me, just a little hot,”, he nodded, pulling on his tie knot with a finger to loosen it. “Don’t you think it’s hot? It is hot, isn’t it, my air conditioner must be broken or something, it’s… What?”

Of course she would look at him as if he were a nutter speaking too many words at once, but he couldn’t help it, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop. Until he noticed Rose - what a perfect name that was, Rose, what a perfect woman she was, Rose - wasn’t staring at him, but at his wrist. He followed her eyes to the bracelet he wore. Not a bracelet, really, just a black hairband he had found two or three years ago on a bus ride to work. He didn’t know why he had kept it. No one kept hairbands they found on buses, no one thought it a good idea to put hairbands they found on buses around their wrists. But he had. Without a second-thought, he had just picked it up, snapped it around his wrist, and had never taken it off. Because it was hers. He knew that now. It was hers. Could it even be?

“If you look under the little metal bit,” she started softly, daring to shuffle close to him and take his hand - oh, Rose smelt nice, and her hands were soft, and had he already told her how perfect she was? “You’ll find a bit of blue. Blue wool. That hairband got stuck in one of my jumpers quite a while ago. John… I don’t suppose you’ve ever found a sketchbook, or a fountain pen, or…” “A grey scarf, a tiny purse with a cat, a star-shaped button?” he continued for her with a huge grin splattered over his face, hurrying towards his drawer to take it out of its cupboard. “A silver ring, a cinema ticket, a phone charger, a USB key?”

He felt like he was drunk A strange kind of inhibition that had him ranting on about all those things he had gathered over the years. Her things. He saw that in the way her smile grew at each listed item, her heard that in the way her breath quickened, he felt that in the way her body oozed joy and relief. Was that how it felt to find them? To find the one and only person to love, the one and only person to be loved by? Wonderful, scary, thrilling, awkward? So very awkward, it was. He looked at her, at Rose, sitting just a few feet away, and he frowned because she wasn’t supposed to be this far. She was supposed to be in his arms, close to him, he was supposed to hold her and kiss her and kiss her some more. He had just met her and he already loved her. Maybe he was drunk.

“I think we’re both drunk, then,” Rose giggled at the thought he had spoken aloud, reaching out with a hand she clasped around his. “It’s odd, isn’t it? To know you love someone before you even know who they are.” “Who told you I loved you, Rose Tyler?” he raised an eyebrow as he plopped back down on the couch beside her, unconsciously sliding a hand on the side of her neck. “You did. When you opened the door. And a minute ago. And…”

He kissed her. Just a soft kiss on her plump lips, a kiss that was just enough to confirm what they both already knew. He loved her. He still didn’t understand why, but when she cupped her cheeks to deepen the kiss, he knew it wouldn’t take long before he found out. The whole soulmate thing was odd, maybe absurd - honestly, falling in love thanks to lost hairbands and cufflinks did sound preposterous. But when she slipped her hand under his shirt and pushed him down on a cushion to straddle his waist, he knew he wanted to believe.

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #ten x rose #soulmate au #john smith x rose tyler #fluff #First Meeting #first kiss

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terrie01 · 6 years

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From @aquaexplicit:

Ok so it's longer than 500 words but can we get your DVD commentary on the last chapter of of rarest quality? Id love to know a little more of what's going on in Harry's head! If there's anything past Cisco is in short shorts.

Yeah, just a touch longer than 500 words there. ;) This is going under a Read More, because I don’t want to clutter up people’s dash. My comments in italics

When Harry opens the door, Cisco doesn’t so much walk as ooze through the door. He flops down on the couch, letting his limbs land wherever they wanted. Harry stares. His blue eyes are wide, pushing his eyebrows up towards his hairline. His mouth opens slightly and then closes. It’s not Harry’s usual behavior. Cisco asks, “What?”

So this is partially inspired by my deep hatred of summer and humidity. I prefer winter, because you can always put on another layer, but summer? There are days when you’re lying around naked and it’s still hot and gross, and you can’t exactly take off your skin and hang it in the closet for later.

It was also inspired by Carlos at ComicCon. Because I kept thinking “Man, we’re never going to see his legs on show, are we?”

“Were you thinking of trying something besides the elbow?” Harry’s question makes no sense, until he gestures to his neck and then down to his legs.

Also at ComicCon, Carlos had his hair pulled back. I really like his ears. My biggest regret is that with his hair longer, we don’t see him tucking his hair behind his ears as much. As a gesture, it’s just adorable. Not that I don’t enjoy the character still, but as the season’s have gone on, it seems like the show has done “Nope, he’s getting too old to be adorable.” No more hair tucking, and when was the last time we saw Cisco with candy? He is still capable of adorable, people!

Cisco raises a hand to his hair, pulled back in a ponytail, instead of loose like Harry has seen it before. He glances down at his shorts. His collapse onto the couch made them ride up, nearly to his hips, leaving most of his legs bare and exposed. He fights the urge to tug them back down. “It’s, like, 300 degrees out. I'm just trying not to die.”

I actually have a pair of shorts that I love, but they do this. “Hi, let me sit down wrong and show the whole room the color of my underwear!” And they’re not short-short, just loose and baggy, so they ride up easily.

“Of course, right.” There’s a wistful edge to Harry’s words. “It’s just… It's a very provocative look.”

“Provocative, huh? I'll keep it in mind that sticky and sweaty does it for you.”

Yes, this is totally intended as innuendo. By me, not by Cisco. Cisco is thinking “I am so gross right now. You’re going to have to peel me off this couch, because I think I’m stuck to it.”

“Not really. I don't suppose I could get you to wash up?”

“What, like a shower?” Cisco isn't eager to get naked in the home of a guy who just told him he looks provocative. It's not that he doesn’t trust Harry. He just has limits.

“No, more like… Here, wait a moment.” Harry leaves the room, heading towards the bathroom. Cisco leans forward off the couch. Harry putters away out of sight for a few moments, then returns. He has a damp washcloth in his hands that he offers to Cisco with an expectant look. “Unless you want me to do it for you?”

I’m sure Harry would be fine with Cisco showering. But he gets that it’s a bit much. This is a professional relationship. Even if Cisco did show up looking like he was trying to seduce Harry. Though, really, if you want to go full on seduction of a vampire, it’s true that sweaty is maybe not the best look. If you really want to make it blatant, put your hair up and then wear a short chain necklace or a pair of dangling earrings. Something to draw the eye to the neck. But showing up with arms, neck and leg all bare? It’s very akin to a Playboy photoshoot.

“I got it.” The cloth is cool where he runs it over his arms. After the swampy weather of outside, he can’t resist running it over his forehead and along the back of his neck. He turns to give the cloth back to Harry and finds the man looking at the wall. There’s a faint red staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Cisco didn’t know that he could blush. Now that it’s too late, it occurs to him that wiping down his neck just after being told the sight of it was provocative was not a good idea. Cisco clears his throat and holds out the wash cloth. “Sorry for making the awkward more awkward there.”

“I’m not… It’s… You made it clear last time that I need to be respectful of your boundaries.” He takes back the cloth without looking directly at Cisco.

Despite writing a thigh biting piece, I think Harry is, in his heart, a neck guy. Being able to whisper in their ear, wrap your arms around them to hold them to you? Harry is ALL for that.

“What? You take one look at me and won’t be able to stop from jumping me? I know I look good, but that seems like a bit much.”

“I'm not an animal, Ramon. I'm not going to ravish you. I’m simply trying to abide by your wishes.” He twists the cloth in his hands.

Harry’s just a touch wound up at this point. He undeniably wants, but isn’t sure how much he’s allowed to want. Cisco shows up looking like the vampiric equivalent of jerk-off material, but isn’t acting like it. There are mixed signals all over the place.

“Look as much as you want.” Cisco spreads his arms wide. “Look until your eyes fall out of your head, for all I care. It’s when the rest of you comes into play that there are potential issues.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Harry turns to him and his gaze drags hot and heavy over Cisco. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he runs his tongue along the tips of his teeth. It makes something tighten and flutter in Cisco’s stomach and he can’t stop himself from running his tongue along his own lower lip in return. Harry smirks, a small quirk of his lips, and holds up the wash cloth. “Let me just get rid of this.”

He might not be allowed to touch it all, but if he can look? Harry’s going to to look. Vampires are into self-control, mainly because if they’re not, they get killed, but self-denial is not really a thing.

The moment Harry steps out of the room, Cisco pulls the legs of his shorts down to properly cover his thighs. It makes him feel less on display. He puts a hand to his hair tie, considers pulling it out, but the thought of it clinging to the back of his neck in the current heat is just too gross. He runs a hand down one arm. The heat also means short sleeves. He’s going to have to be careful for the next few days. He doesn’t want the wrong person seeing the marks Harry leaves.

Ever had long hair sticking to the bad of your neck in the heat? It’s the worst. The absolute worst.

Which reminds him. He calls down the hall after Harry, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Can I stop you?” comes back.

Harry’s got Cisco’s number by now. :)

“You could refuse to answer.” Not that Cisco is that easily deterred. “Anyway, I was wondering. Can you tell if someone has been bitten?”

Harry walks back into the room, his eyebrows drawn together. “Why would you ask that?”

Harry’s thinking “That is an oddly specific question. Because he obviously isn’t asking about marks, because that would be a stupid question and nothing I’ve seen suggests this guy is stupid. So why the heck is he asking?” Harry doesn’t like not knowing things.

“It just a question, Harry.” Something in his tone makes Cisco feel like he’s asked something personal.

“But why that question?” When Cisco doesn’t say anything, Harry sits down next to him. “That’s not the kind of question that comes out of nowhere. Did something happen?”

So many bad scenarios going through Harry’s mind right now. The worrywart.

“I’ll answer that if you answer mine first.”

That gets him a frown and narrowed eyes, before Harry nods with a sharp jerk of his head. “The bite does produce a temporary shift in pheromones. It's how I knew your predecessor had violated the rules on exclusivity. But it’s not something that comes up very often, so I'm curious as to why you would even ask about it.”

And we finally find out what happened to the last guy. He went and cheated on Harry. Bad unnamed guy. Don’t get greedy and show up smelling like you’ve been with someone else. And now we also know why Harry sniffs Cisco when he comes in.

“There was this girl, at this club --”

“What club?”

Harry’s interruption forces him to take a moment to regather his thoughts. “I didn’t pick it. It’s over on 29th and Bowen…”

“The Flash?”

Couldn’t help myself.

“Yeeeeaaaah.” Cisco tries to picture Harry at a dance club. Even the mental image is awkward and uncomfortable. “How did you know?”

“It’s popular with a particular crowd. It’s basically a blood market. If I’d know you’d go there, I would have warned you.”

Because I love making up slang for my AU. Blood market is both a play on meat market for the dating scene and the actually selling of feeding that Cisco does.

Annoyance spikes through Cisco. “But otherwise you weren’t going to mention I’ve been going around with a giant ‘Bite me’ sign.”

“You’re not--” Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. “If anything, it’s the opposite.”

“So, what? It says ‘Property of Harry,’ instead?” Cisco throws up his hands. “Because that’s so much better.”

Harry tilts his hand back and forth in a “so-so” gesture. “More feudal than in any sort of property sense.”

So I see a serious noblesse oblige attitude between a vampire and someone they feed from routinely. At least on the vampire’s side. You have to take care of them, ensure they are treated properly, protected. A human might see it as a little like being a pet. But the marking would be, from the vampire side, a little like wearing an engagement ring. “Hey, I’m taken. Not appropriate to hit on me.”

“That doesn’t actually help your argument. And you didn’t think that fell under things I need to know?” For a guy who, ten minutes earlier, had been looking at the wall in an attempt to honor Cisco’s boundaries, Harry is quick to fail the rest of Cisco’s requests.

“It’s been over fifty years since I had it come up. It never occurred to me that it would be an issue.” Harry shrugs. “I can give you a list of places where it might be an issue, but even then, no one will push if you let them know you’re under an exclusive agreement.”

Cisco considers. “Fifty years? Seriously?”

“I told you. There’s a bit of a feudal mentality to it. Approaching you would be an insult to me. It implies I'm unable to uphold my end of our agreement.” Harry takes in Cisco’s expression and adds, “It may not seem like much to you, but it’s a serious insult.”

Like, duels of honor have been fought over this stuff in the past. “You’re not taking care of what’s yours, so I’m taking it from you.” Like someone putting the moves on your spouse. Combine that with the slightly patronizing view vampires have of humans (when you live for hundreds of years, it’s hard not to treat the humans as children), there’s a possessive streak there no matter how much Harry tries to pretend otherwise.

Cisco picks at a stray thread on his shorts. “Why is it that every time I find out there’s something else I don't know?”

Harry folds his hands together and rested his chin atop them. Blue eyes study Cisco. “If I woke up human tomorrow, what would I need to know?”

Cisco blinks. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t you know most of it already?”

“Would I? Are you sure? I haven't been human for a very long time.” He tapped a thumb against his lower lip. “Like, for instance, milk. Why are there so many kinds? It’s nothing like what actually comes out of a cow, I know that much. How do you know which kind to buy?”

“Milk? You want to know about buying milk?” Cisco buys 2%. It was his mom bought when he was a kid.

“It’s not about the milk. My point is there’s a lot I don’t even realize you don’t know. And you don’t always know the questions you need to ask.” Harry sighs. “I am trying to abide by our agreement. But it’s rather more difficult than I had anticipated.”

In Harry’s day, milk came in one version. Straight out of the cow. He really is trying, but humans and their world change so fast. He tries to keep up, tries not to fall into the stagnation his kind are prone to, but it’s hard. Things that were once common knowledge, including common knowledge about vampires, are almost unheard of these days.

Plus, you have Hollywood, with their stupid stories. I imagine there’s something like Twilight in this universe. A story of a high school girl who falls in love with a vampire. Which drives actual vampires up the wall, because 1) vampires don’t change people to make happy little families. You have connections with the one who changed you, and those of the same bloodline, but generally, over the decades, you drift apart, like an extended family. Vampires tend to be fairly solitary. You might be close to one or two others (like Len and Lisa), but a whole household is nuts. Personal space! 2) No vampire is going to go to high school simply because that was the age they were when they were changed. That’s just dumb. Plus, you just don’t change people that young.

Vampires have OPINIONS on how they are shown in popular media.

Harry hasn’t given Cisco any reason to think he’s not trying. He’s answered Cisco’s questions. He’d agreed to Cisco’s demands, and while it’s not the easy answers Cisco had hoped for, it doesn’t seem malicious. He remembered the feeling of being in the hallway in the club, no one else around. He’s alone with Harry, more alone than he ever was in the club, but it doesn’t feel the same. He shakes out his arm and holds it out to Harry. “I’m going to want that list of places to watch out for.”

“Of course.” He reaches out to hold Cisco’s arm in position. His fingers brush against Cisco’s neck, before dropping lower to wrap around his upper arm. Cisco doesn’t think it was deliberate, but he shivers. He wonders what it would be like. He doubts he’ll ever be brave enough to find out.

So, yeah, there’s some of my thoughts. I am open to any follow up questions, because I kinda love this AU and like babbling about it. :)

#my writing #asked and answered #harrisco #of rarest quality

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boomerangst · 6 years

Text

steve-shoumaru harrington

the stranger things 2 au no one needed

title: it doesn’t fuckng need one just read it

summary: risking life and limb for your stupid imbecile of a half-brother and his crew of delinquent outcast friends, all because no one else could be bothered to provide adult supervision today. They should canonize you for this.

relationships: sesshoumaru & inuyasha, sesshoumaru & rin

rating: K+

major s p o i l e r s for stranger things 2

disclaimer: I haven’t slept in 48 hours, I’ve never written sesshoumaru or 2nd person pov before, I wrote this all in one sitting, I’m literally feverish and delirious, do I even need to tell you to Lower Your Expectations

So your father preferred Inuyasha. Big fuckin’ deal, as Inuyasha would say.

Big fuckin’ deal. Not something you would ever say—you’re nothing like Inuyasha, which is the point. You try not to associate too much with him or his bizarre friends—Kohaku Taijiya’s sulky sister, that idiot whose uncle runs the repulsively named XXXEmporium, and that other girl, the saccharine one who may or may not be Inuyasha’s girlfriend. Not that you care. Now that all of that Upside Down nonsense is over, you have more important matters to focus on, like getting the hell out of this pathetic, disturbing little town while you still can.

That is, until the day Rin tugs on your sleeve and asks whether you still have that not-purely-decorative sword from last year, “the one with the fancy handle.” She promises to explain “on the way,” and for some reason you find yourself allowing her to slide into the passenger seat. That’s how the whole ordeal begins again.

It seems another one of those things is loose, and she’s been feeding it chocolate. Or nougat. You’ve never learned the difference because you’re not fool enough to eat any of that shit. And Rin’s friends—“zombie boy” Kohaku Taijiya, the Higurashi girl’s little brother, and the obnoxious pint-sized ginger one—all know about the rogue monster, but none of them are answering the Code Red right now, so could you maybe help her catch it please?

Which is how you end up in a misty scrapyard at midnight on a Monday, trying to slice up a half dozen flesh-eating nightmare beasts with a sword that used to sit above the mantelpiece in your mother’s house. Rin and two thirds of her little gang are screaming at you to abort, abort, and the creatures are leaping out of the fog like a pride of rabid lions, unearthly shrieks echoing from every side, and all you can think is what the fuck am I doing here?

But it turns out you spoke—or thought—far too soon, because next you’re at the Taijiya house and it’s full of your half-brother and his pack of moronic friends, all hatching ludicrous battle plans in order to save the world. You probably should have paid closer attention to the battle plans, because when the smoke clears you somehow get stuck with babysitting duty, again, only now Inuyasha and half of his crowd have suddenly become your problem, too.

There are teary hugs exchanged and then the sex shop kid is off to old Kaede’s cabin with the Taijiyas in order to exorcise the boy Kohaku (whose luck seems to be even worse than yours, and that’s certainly saying something.) Then the eerie lab experiment girl, Kikyou, splits off with Kaede to “close the rip in spacetime using her telekinetic powers” and it’s just you and a gaggle of freshmen and middle schoolers who just tried to go up against monsters from another dimension with a slingshot and a very heavy spinning top.

Jaken (where the hell did he come from?) enlists your help stuffing one of the beast corpses into the Taijiyas’ fridge, and you’ve barely finished wiping the revolting slime off your hands before Inuyasha is proposing a ridiculous plan to go “help Kikyou” by setting some network of monster-infested subterranean tunnels on fire. You put your foot down. It’s bad enough that you’ve been saddled with these brats in the first place—you refuse to lead them on a harrowing suicide mission. At no point did you sign up for that. It’s not happening.

That is, until Naraku shows up demanding a rematch with Inuyasha. Far be it from you to fight your half-brother’s battles for him, but you do take your familial responsibilities seriously on occasion, and it isn’t as though Inuyasha stands a chance against Naraku anyway. Or that’s what you tell yourself as the bastard punches you in the face over and over until everything goes dark.

All things considered, the circumstances of your awakening could be improved upon. For example, it could happen somewhere other than the backseat of your own car, which smells like spilled gasoline and is being driven at 85 miles per hour by a redheaded preadolescent who apparently hasn’t figured out how to operate the headlights yet. As it is, you have no choice but to dig your fingers into the upholstery and shout directions (and obscenities) like the rest of them.

By the time they’re clambering out of the car and into an enormous pit of dark, writhing vines (because of course they are) you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. Millennia from now you’ll be known as either the best or worst babysitter in history, one of the two. You allow Rin and the Higurashi boy to cover your face with a scarf and your eyes with an old snorkel mask, but letting Inuyasha lead the way is where you draw the line. You’re the adult here. For better or for worse, this is your fucked up expedition now, and you’ll be damned if you aren’t going to do it right.

It’s close in the tunnels, and so dark, with your breath rasping in your ears and roots snatching at your ankles and strange spores sticking like snowflakes to your protective eyewear. Shippou screams bloody murder when some kind of sinister spout shoots a jet of slime at him, but for the most part your charges are frighteningly, mercifully quiet. No one knows what might be lurking around the next bend until the thin beam of your flashlight pierces the darkness, and frankly no one is too eager to learn.

It’s a relief to finally come upon the main chamber and drench it with gasoline—borrowed, stolen, siphoned, it doesn’t matter; these kids are way past petty concerns like legality. It’s a relief to drop your cans and hoses, to be able to grip your sword with both hands again.

Jaken hands you the lighter, and it’s somehow an even bigger relief to toss it down and watch it spin away like it’s nothing, like you aren’t all about to be torn apart and digested by faceless creatures from Hell.

All at once the walls are screaming, the air is alive with heat and smoke and writhing shadows, and the kids take off running without you having to open your mouth. Your sword makes short work of the ropy black shoots that wrap themselves around Kagome’s ankles, but now there are pounding predator feet in the distance, closing in on you from who knows which of these miserable tunnels. You’re almost to safety when Inuyasha, who’s in the lead, rounds a bend and practically trips over one of the damned nightmare beasts.

The air echoes with snarls and cries of alarm for a moment before Rin slips out from behind you, calling, “Ah-Un? Is that you?”

You make a grab for the girl but miss, and don’t dare abandon the others to go after her. They’re hissing out warnings and words of encouragement from behind you as Rin takes one step, then another toward the sinewy creature. She’s murmuring to it, apologizing, and it lets out a strange, chirping coo in response. “Ah-Un,” she says sweetly, holding out a candy bar, “will you please let us pass?”

Which works for you—you usher the other kids past one by one while the thing is distracted. Rin lingers, trying to bid the beast a tearful farewell, which there really, really isn’t time for. “Goodbye, Ah-Un!” she calls, and has the nerve to sound regretful as you yank her along behind you toward the dangling rope up ahead.

Home free, or nearly so. Each one of these brats seems to weigh more than the last as you boost them up, faster and faster as the stampeding footsteps grow louder, closer. Everyone shouting over each other, frantic hands reaching down for the next person, tennis-shoed feet scrabbling at the lip of the hole, kicking dirt into your eyes.

You’re shoving Inuyasha up and over when you have this bizarre, detached moment, an out of body experience, watching yourself from above, from safety, thinking how do you like me now, Dad? Risking life and limb for your stupid imbecile of a half-brother and his crew of delinquent outcast friends, all because no one else could be bothered to provide adult supervision today. They should canonize you for this.

Because you’re definitely going to die. All of a sudden the racing footsteps are drowned out by a chorus of otherworldly roars, massive shadows are leaping up the walls, and you and Rin still haven’t made it up but there’s no time, no time to do anything now but drop the rope and draw your sword, pull the girl against your chest and brace yourself for an agonizing, ripping, tearing death—

It doesn’t come. There’s a great torrent of sound, a jostling, thumping mass of cold four-legged bodies rushing past, bumping against you in the dark. You’re clutching Rin in a death grip but you don’t have to; the things aren’t after you or her. “Kikyou,” says Inuyasha from above, voice nearly lost amid the pounding of retreating footsteps, and then there’s silence and emptiness, and maybe, possibly, safety.

You always thought you’d go to your grave without ever willingly setting foot inside a school dance, but maybe there truly is a first time for everything. Rin’s mother doesn’t own a car, so here you are. You’re just relieved you didn’t have to give Inuyasha a ride—he’s been here for a few hours already, strong-armed into helping put up decorations by that girl of his. There’s no reason to come inside, but you do anyway, choosing a spot on the bleachers where you can watch inconspicuously, and then moving to a slightly less optimal spot when you realize Kohaku’s sister and Inuyasha’s irritating sex shop friend have chosen the spot directly beneath you to make out.

Kohaku, now entirely free of menacing interdimensional mind control, asks Rin to dance. She asked you on the way over whether dancing was difficult and you said no even though you have no personal experience in that area. You’re strangely pleased to see that it doesn’t look difficult for her now. Without really meaning to you take attendance, counting up each of the people whose lives were in your hands last month, one by one. You find Inuyasha last because you didn’t notice him standing just over there, at the bottom of the bleachers. He climbs up and sits across the aisle from you.

“Hey. Listen, uh. Thanks,” he sounds as though it physically pains him to say this. “For all of the…Upside Down stuff, I guess.”

“It was nothing.” Your father would turn over in his grave if you allowed his favorite to perish. Not that his opinion matters—he’s dead. You didn’t have to be his favorite to outlive him.

Inuyasha kicks at the bleachers. “Yeah, well. Thanks anyway. I know you didn’t wanna come.”

You really, really didn’t, you think, watching him make his way through the crowd of useless kids. But you might do it all over again, if you were ever offered the chance.

Strange.

#inuyasha #sesshoumaru #sesshomaru #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #fic stuff #fic: mine #don't ask me what this is #it's just here

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demondeanismybaby · 7 years

Text

Clothes Off or On

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2604

Warnings: Semi-nude in public, fluff, unprotected sex, oral sex (male/female receiving), teasing, rough sex, orgasm denial (kind of), cumming at the same time, spanking

Square filled: This filled my square for Clothes Sharing for @spnkinkbingo

A/N: Alright, so sorry, this ended up turning out way longer than I was intending. I guess I realized when I was writing this just why this kink is super hot. Anyway, I really hope you like it.

You stretched your arms up and over your head and flexed your toes back and forth trying to move your limbs enough to wake yourself up enough to finally open your eyes. A slight burn coursed through your fingers and up your forearms from your sore muscles as you stretched and writhed in bed. Cracking an eye open you turned your head to the right and glanced to where you figured Dean would be sleeping peacefully next to you, but he was gone.

Groaning you forced yourself to sit up. Pressing your palms into the mattress you pushed your back against the headboard shivering as the cold wood touched the bare skin at your lower back. You had decided to sleep naked since it was way more comfortable and for once Dean had secured the two of you a room away from Sam.

Peering over the side of your bed you looked for your clothes, you knew you had left them in a giant heap when you had started your extracurricular activities last night. Caring more about touching your boyfriend than where your things ended up.

“Damn it,” you said as your face crinkled and you were left looking at the stupid maroon motel carpet, none of your clothing was where it had been last night.

You got out of bed and started to frantically look around the room, but it was all for nothing. You looked to Dean’s side of the bed and there was an all too neatly folded T-shirt lying beside where you had just gotten up from but you knew it wasn’t yours.

Sighing you walked back over to the bed. Pulling on the giant white t-shirt you couldn’t help but grimace at the way the soft pink of your nipples showed through the thin material. Dean was so much larger than you that the hem of the shirt hung right below your crotch. You knew that you could hang out in the room and wait for him to come back and find you, however, you had the suspicion he had traded out the clothes on purpose so you would have to wear this to come and find him.

You took a deep breath as you steadied yourself and pulled open the door of the rundown motel. Luckily, as you glanced across the parking lot you noticed just how empty it was, turns out being in the middle of nowhere on a Tuesday afternoon, meant that everything was basically abandoned. The only car left in the lot was the Impala a few hundred feet away. Squinting you tried to see if Dean was currently sitting in it but it was empty.

“Really Dean?” You spoke to yourself again as you scanned the area for your boyfriend.

When your eyes finally landed on him as they peered through the large panes of glass that held the reception desk, Dean was leaning forward, elbows up on the counter, looking lost in conversation with the clerk. Another man who was probably in his late 20’s.

You knew what you were supposed to do. He wouldn’t have left you only the t-shirt unless he knew you would have to come get him. You couldn’t help the little rush of excitement that was starting to race through your veins at the thought. It was a little bit risky and you knew Dean had been trying to find new ways to spice things up. You wandering around half-dressed was definitely spicy. As you got closer you noticed the other man was almost as handsome as Dean, and drawing nearer you couldn’t help the way your core started to moisten and your nipples stiffened knowing you were nearly naked and walking in front of a stranger.

Pushing open the door, you made sure you held your head up confidently, “Hey Dean,” you refused to let your eyes wander over to the other man just yet, “turns out you already packed my bag, so I need the keys to the Impala.”

“Oh, hey baby,” Dean’s green eyes were sparkling as they turned towards you, his mouth curled upward into a smirk, “you know, I am not sure where I put those keys.”

“Alright, well I will go see if they are back in the room,” you allowed your eyes to drift over to the other man, his gaze was laser focused on the edge of the t-shirt that was barely covering the bottom of you ass.

You weren’t sure if the tingle crawling up your legs was from excitement at the way the man was looking at you, or if it was the chilly morning air brushing over your scantily clad body. You tipped the clerk a wink before adding, “well when you two finish up, Dean you know where to find me.”

As you turned your back you made sure to move slowly and when the tinkling bell indicated the door was swooping closed behind you, you put an extra sway in your hips as you made your way back to the door of your motel room. Even through the glass of the windows, you were certain you could feel the heat of the two men’s gaze on your body.

It didn’t take Dean long at all to meet you, standing in the middle of the room for only about two minutes, you watched as the door swung open and Dean was in the entry way of your room, his eyes looking hungry for you. He walked towards you closing the distance between your bodies, and tugged you by the front of the shirt until you were pressed against his chest. You leaned your head back so you could look up at him and he used the chance to press a quick kiss into your lips.

“So,” he chuckled darkly, “I love the new outfit,” his hand was roaming down over your back creeping lower and lower as he spoke.

“I bet,” you said as you gave his bulking arm a squeeze.

“Seriously,” his hand dipped under the thin white cotton material and started rubbing your naked ass, “you look good, did you see that guys face when you walked in there?”

“Uh huh,” you acknowledged allowing your eyes to fall closed while relaxing into the way Deans hand was kneading the skin of your ass.

Suddenly his touch vanished and you couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of you. As the sound came out you knew you were going to get in trouble. Sure enough, a strong hand came down and slapped your left ass cheek, you could feel the sting spreading heat through the area that he had swatted.

“Now, now baby, I just want to get a good look at you, you know I love seeing you wearing my clothes,” Dean tipped your face up with a giant hand and forced you to look up at his green eyes that were slowly darkening with lust.

He moved backward away from you to sit on the edge of the bed, his knees spread, and an obvious tent in his pants where you could see just how much he was enjoying you dressed in nothing but the thin t-shirt. You stepped between his legs, knowing just what he wanted to see, you ran your hands over your body, noticing the soft feel of the cotton under your fingers as you reached the collar, your hands made their way to your breasts and you played with your nipples until they stood up underneath the material.

You continued to move you hands over the shirt and across you body slowly, teasing Dean as much as possible, when your fingers reached the edge of the tee you let your palms smooth over the bare skin of your thighs for a moment before you gripped the hem of the shirt and barely lifted it exposing your crotch to him. Then to make sure he had a better view you spun around, your back facing him, arching slightly and bending forward, you began to pull the shirt up and off you but his hands stopped you right before you lifted it over your chest.

Lowering your hands he let you go and you realized that he wanted to leave it on. You turned around towards him and you couldn’t help the way your head tipped back as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples through the thin material that you were wearing, you could still feel the warmth and wetness of his mouth.

“God Dean that feels amazing,” you said as you pulled your head back up to watch the way he was touching your body.

He removed his mouth from your body and looked up at you through thick lashes, “I like leaving some things to the imagination.”

You giggled knowing that he had seen you naked more times than you could count. Still, you didn’t really care much why he wanted you to keep wearing it as his hands roamed over the curves of your body. His fingers traced the bottom edge of the shirt before he started to roughly rub his palm against your mound through the fabric. The slight barrier from allowing his body to fully touch yours kept the pressure just enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to come.

“Come on babe,” you said as you grabbed his wrist to try and guide his movement.

He allowed you to move his hand, your clit was rocked against his the back edge of his palm as his fingers started to brush across your folds. You were wet from the ghosting of pressure on your clit and he easily parted you and slid his digits into your pussy. He thrust his fingers inside of you for a moment but as your hands went to his shoulders and your nails started scraping his skin as your pleasure built he crawled onto his knees, stopping you from coming. Instead, he dipped his head down level with the edge of the t-shirt, his mouth started to suck against your hipbone. When you looked down you could see the wet mark where his mouth had been, then you were closing your eyes as his mouth finally found your cunt. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue barely entering you before winding it’s way up to your clit. He teeth scraped against the sensitive nub and when he finally latched on and started sucking, waves of pleasure crashed through you.

All of your muscles tensed, toes curling, and fingers clawing against Dean’s shoulders. You didn’t allow yourself to turn into a puddle though. You did your best to take deep steadying breaths and pushed on Dean to get him up off the ground.

“Lay back on the bed babe,” you said as you pressed into his chest.

He flung his back down, knees hooked over the edge of the bed and you kneeled in between his spread open thighs. You kissed the inside of his legs before moving your way closer to his swollen dick. Running your tongue along his thick length you barely allowed yourself to touch him, doing your best to make him crazy with need before sucking only the tip into your mouth. You flattened your tongue along the underside of his dick as you twisted your head slowly up and down his shaft. His fingers tangled in your hair and you didn’t even mind as he started to thrust up into your open mouth as he held your head down because y ou knew how much he was enjoying himself. As his thighs started to tense under your hands and you were gagging as Dean guided you along his length a sharp tug on your scalp had you pulling off with a loud pop.

“Bend over,” Dean said to you as he started to roll off the side of the bed and moved to stand behind you.

You could feel the way his hand came to press into your lower back guiding your shoulders down towards the mattress and the spot where he had just been laying.

“Ass up in the air,” he said from behind you and you arched you back immediately.

“Is that good?” You asked as you wiggled your hips a little back and forth.

You didn’t need a verbal response as you felt the tip of his cock still spit slick from where your mouth had just been pleasuring him pressing into your entrance. Dean didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He was balls deep into you in a second and his hand went to your hip and started to brutally pull you back towards him as his hips snapped forward banging him deep inside of you. You could hear his balls slapping against you with every firm thrust and when he wanted to get even deeper he grabbed a fist full of the tee shirt you were still wearing to pull you back onto his cock. The material stretched around your tits at the force of how he was pulling on it and you could hear the familiar tearing of fabric on one particularly deep thrust. You bounced your hips even harder into him wanting it just as hard and fast as he did.

As you canted your hips towards the bed, you felt his dick brush across you g-spot and your hand wound its way to your clit. At the new angle with him hitting the special spot inside you on every rough thrust and your hand spreading a tingling sensation through your core, you were quickly getting ready to come.

“Wait,” Dean commanded above you as you breathing had noticeably quickened and your moans were becoming screams.

You tensed your muscles and after a few more thrusts from Dean, you understood what he wanted. Making you hold off on your orgasm until he was ready to come with you. As his hips started to stutter and his thrusting lost its rhythm you heard him barely whisper above you.

“Come now.”

You let go of everything and your body spasmed around his cock and you could feel the way his speed spilled warm and wet inside of you. His dick twitching inside you as your cunt pulsed around it. Your body trying to get him as deep as possible at the peak of your pleasure.

He pulled out of you and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows to stand back up. Knowing you wanted nothing more than to clean yourself off. As you stood in the dim light of the tiny motel bathroom you noticed how much of a mess you were. The t-shirt that had been almost brand new was now warped in various places, there was a large tear at the collar where Dean had tugged on it too viciously, and there were wet patches from where your juices and Dean’s saliva were causing it to look almost see through.

You took a washcloth and cleaned yourself, taking your sweet time, then you padded back into the room to ask your boyfriend to go get you some actual clothes so eventually you would be able to leave this place.

Then you noticed his clothes were gone and the door was open a crack, you were by yourself, with nothing but that t-shirt to wear outside.

“Fuck Dean!” You cursed as you pulled open the door, blinded by the rush of sunlight into your eyes. You were going to have to totally find a way to pay him back for this, was your last though as you stormed towards the Impala and Dean’s knowing smile.

#dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x reader smut #spn smut #dean smut #my writing #spn kink bingo

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 7 years

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X-Files Fic: What Was Taken, What Was Lost- Chapter Four

This chapter is rated “M” for explicit sexual content. I know, you’re all so shocked and scandalized, aren’t you?

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three

There are voices at the very edges of Mulder’s awareness, one very familiar, one less so, pricking at his consciousness, seeking to drag him out of the peaceful slumber into which he has fallen. It’s warm where he is, comfortable, though he knows, somehow, that the warmth is wrong, a dangerous illusion.

“MULDER!” Even through his fog of confusion and lethargy, he recognizes Scully’s voice, hears the panic and terror that tug at his heart. He knows he should answer her, knows he should call out and draw her to him, but the only sound he can force through his lips is a weak, breathy whimper. His arms and legs refuse to obey his commands to move. He feels weighted down, unnaturally heavy, unable to think clearly.

"You’re dying. Just let it happen.”

The cold, cruel whisper comes from beside him, from somewhere just outside of his peripheral vision… but he doesn’t need to see to know who’s speaking to him.

“No,” he croaks, gasping at the pain the single word costs him. The voice chuckles heartlessly.

”She’d be better off without you. You know she would.” He doesn’t dispute this, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to let her go. Not this way, not by force. ”It’s too late, anyway. Feel how warm you are? How sleepy? That means the end is almost here.” He knows this already. He’s perfectly aware that the snow that’s blown into his lap should not feel like a comfortable quilt, that the wind on his face should feel like a sharp slap and not a gentle caress.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispers hoarsely. “What do you want?”

”I want what was taken from me,” the voice hisses. ”But you can’t give me that. No one can. So I’ll settle for your life, instead.” The sinister laughter fills his ears again, and at the same time, he hears Scully’s voice, further off. She’s moving away from him.

Mulder thinks of her face in the hospital, when she had come out of Emily’s room for the last time. He remembers the dullness in her voice when she’d told him that it was over, the way she’d shied away from him when he’d tried to embrace her, how she’d simply asked him to please find her some information on local funeral homes while she went to call her mother.

He thinks of the pain in her face at the church, the anguish, the confusion of the empty coffin, the way she hadn’t been able to bring herself to put her cross back around her neck for well over a week.

He remembers her face when she’d come to his motel room at night, how she’d clung to him, how she hadn’t been able to meet his gaze as she’d mounted him, no matter how much he’d tried to get her to look him in the eye. He remembers how badly he had wanted to help her to feel better any way that he possibly could.

If she wants to leave him, to save herself, to spare herself the heartache he seems powerless to stop visiting on her, she can leave. But he will not leave her. Not like this. Not in a way that is guaranteed to bring her even more pain.

Mulder summons every ounce of strength he has left and pulls his legs up, out of the frozen crust of snow that’s settled over him. He draws them into his body and pushes up, leaning back against the gravestone behind him… but he gets no further before his legs give out and he falls.

“Mulder, where are you?” Scully’s voice is closer again, and Mulder knows that his only hope is to get her to hear him. He’ll never be able to walk back to the hotel on his own. He hitches in his breath, feeling the cold air burning in his lungs.

“Scully,” he rasps. No good. She’ll never be able to hear that, even though the wind has died down. “Sc-Sc-Scully!” Better… but still not loud enough. He takes his deepest breath yet and gives it one more try. ”SCULLY!”

“Mulder?” She calls to him, closer this time. He can hear branches snapping in the woods, coming nearer and nearer.

“H-h-here,” he calls, frightened at how exhausted the effort of speaking has made him. “I’m here, Scully!” He senses more than sees her crashing into the clearing- turning his head would take more energy than he’s got left- and he hears her anguished cry as she catches sight of him.

“Mulder! Oh, my God!” At the edge of his hazy vision she appears, dropping down in front of him, a look of absolute panic on her face. He can see that she’s touching him, running her hands over his arms, his face, but he can’t feel anything. His skin is almost completely numb. “Come on, Mulder,” she says, sliding an arm under his shoulder and trying to lift him. He does his best to get his legs underneath himself, to push off the frozen ground, but his limbs are heavy, logy, refusing to obey his commands, and he’s much too tall for Scully to lift on her own. She seems to come to the same conclusion and stands up.

“Hang on, Mulder,” she says, unzipping her heavy winter coat and pulling it off. She drapes it over him, tucking it in as best she can, shoving at his legs until his knees bend and his limbs are tucked in close. She pulls her knit hat off and yanks it firmly down around his ears. “I can’t carry you back on my own. I’m going to get help, okay?”

“No,” Mulder moans. “Sh-sh-she’ll come back.” Scully frowns, confused.

“You’re hallucinating, Mulder,” she says. “We need to get you inside as quickly as possible. I’ll be back soon, but I need you to try and stay awake, okay?” He tries to protest, but she’s gone before he can force his frozen lips to form the words, dashing away into the woods, back towards the hotel.

Stay awake, he tells himself firmly, repeating her words over and over. Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake. But it’s much easier said than done. He feels more exhausted than he’s ever felt in his life, and with the warm, down-filled parka draped over him, with Scully’s soothing scent surrounding him, his eyes begin to close again almost immediately.

In no time at all, Mulder feels himself being lifted clear of the gravestone. Scully is at his right- he can just make out the bright red of her hair in the moonlight, now that the storm is over and the clouds have cleared- but he can’t seem to turn his head to see who’s at his left.

“We need to get him inside as quickly as possible,” Scully says.

“There’s a service elevator that housekeeping uses,” answers a deep voice to his left. With his brain so foggy and confused, it takes Mulder a moment to place the voice as Gregory Pekarcik’s. “We can use that to get him up to your room, and then we can call for a doctor… though with all the snow, and us being so far out, it could take awhile for help to arrive.”

“I’m a medical doctor,” Scully says. “I’ll take care of him. If we can’t warm him up, we’ll call for a life flight helicopter. But he’s conscious, he’s got some limb control. I don’t think it will be necessary.”

Mulder’s impressions of the next few minutes are confused and disjointed. Scully and Mr. Pekarcik manage to get him back through the woods, across the grounds, and into the hotel, Mulder helping as much as he can with what little muscle control he has. He finds, as he moves, that his legs regain some strength as he works the muscles, and within minutes of being in the warm hotel, some of the feeling begins to return to his cheeks. With it comes a sharp, burning pain.

Mr. Pekarcik offers his own apartment, since it’s closer, but Scully wants Mulder in their bed so that she can keep watch over him as long as necessary. The elevator in the back of the building takes them up to the third floor, and soon enough, he’s being carefully lowered to sit at the edge of the bed. Scully immediately begins yanking at his sodden pajamas, undoing the snow-crusted buttons on his shirt and gently guiding the sleeves down his arms, being careful in case his skin has frozen to the fabric.

“I’ll go and get some more blankets,” says Mr. Pekarcik. “And I think there are space heaters downstairs in the utility closet- I could bring one of those-“

“No,” says Scully, cutting him off. “He needs to be warmed up gradually. Excessive heat could cause his contracted blood vessels to dilate too quickly. It could cause a heart attack.” She glances up at the owner. “But extra blankets would help.” Mr. Pekarcik nods and disappears out the door, leaving Scully to continue undressing Mulder. She has him lie back on the bed so that she can remove his pajama pants and boxers, then helps him wriggle his way up to the pillows. She tucks the quilt tightly around him, then disappears into the bathroom, returning with several thick, fluffy bath towels, which she layers on top of the blankets.

“Ev-ev-everyth-th-thing h-h-h-hurts,” he moans, shifting uncomfortably in bed. He feels as though his entire body is being pricked with hot needles, and he’s begun to shiver again, shaking so violently that his teeth clack together.

“It’s your circulation returning to normal,” says Scully, sitting at the edge of the bed and laying a hand alongside his cheek. “It could be painful for awhile. But you’re shivering again, and that’s a good sign.” The door opens, and Mr. Pekarcik re-enters, arms full of quilts and fluffy down duvets. Scully takes them from him and begins to spread them out over Mulder.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Scully turns to look at Mr. Pekarcik, shaking her head.

“No, I think we’ll be all right,” she says. “I may come in search of some tea in a bit, when he’s up to drinking it. May I use the kitchen?”

“Of course,” says Mr. Pekarcik. “It’s locked up right now, but I’ll speak to the desk clerk and he’ll let you in and show you where everything is.” He steps back towards the door. “I’m so sorry about this, Mrs. Foster. I truly am.” Scully looks up at him, frowning.

“Mr. Pekarcik, whatever happened here tonight, I sincerely doubt that any of it was your fault,” she says. “I have no idea how my husband ended up out there, but I can’t think of any way you would be to blame.”

“Things like this keep happening,” Mr. Pekarcik protests, shaking his head sadly. “Mr. Foster isn’t the first person to wander outside in the snow for no apparent reason in the middle of the night.” He rubs his temples. “With as many times as something like this has happened, I’m beginning to think that maybe I should have stuck to my original plan of owning a small bed and breakfast.” He gives himself a quick shake, smoothing his features back into his helpful smile. “But please, ignore my ramblings. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything at all, Mrs. Foster.” And with a quick bow, he leaves, shutting the door behind him. Scully turns back to Mulder.

“What the hell were you doing out there, Mulder?” she demands, and Mulder winces at her tone. “Outside in the middle of a snowstorm, in your pajamas, barefoot?”

“It was her again, Scully,” Mulder says, and Scully’s eyes instantly narrow.

“If you tell me you went out there ghost-hunting and didn’t even have the sense to put on shoes first-“  “No, it wasn’t her at first,” Mulder says. “I woke up because someone was calling my name outside.” He huddles down under the blankets, away from Scully’s skeptical stare. “It was like a dream, almost, but… it wasn’t.”

“Who was calling you, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It was Samantha,” he whispers. “Outside, in the grass, calling me to come down.” Scully’s face softens.

“Mulder….”

“I looked out the balcony doors, and it wasn’t the hotel grounds I saw. It was the backyard of my house, the house I grew up in, and it was daytime, the sun was out, and Samantha was telling me to hurry up because she had something to show me. And it… it was just so real, Scully, that I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I ran downstairs and out the door.”

“So you dreamt you saw Samantha,” Scully says.

“Not a dream,” Mulder says firmly. “Not really.”

“It couldn’t have been anything else, Mulder,” says Scully.

“I’m telling you, it was her,” Mulder insists. “She got in my head, Scully. She used a vision of my sister to lure me out there, to get me away from the hotel, into the woods, into that cemetery… and then Samantha vanished, and suddenly it wasn’t the woods near my house anymore… and she was there.”

“It still could have been a hallucination,” Scully says stubbornly.

“Think about it, Scully,” Mulder says. “One person has already wandered away from the trail and frozen to death. Another went out onto the lake in the middle of the night- in his pajamas, barefoot, just like me- and fell through. How did they get there? What would cause a person to walk more than two hundred yards through the snow?” Scully bites her lip, thinking.

“And you really didn’t feel the cold?” she asks. Mulder shakes his head.

“Not until the vision was over,” he says. “And then it was all I could feel.” He looks at her imploringly. “You have to believe me, Scully. This ghost, this spirit, whatever she is, she’s luring people to their deaths. And I’m almost certain she talked the suicide victims into killing themselves.” At the memory of that cold voice, telling him that he was going to die, he shivers even more violently. Scully immediately looks concerned.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice tender now.

“Like I just can’t get warm,” Mulder says. “Can’t stop shivering.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes. “Dizzy, too. Drowsy.” Scully stands suddenly, kicking her shoes off, and begins to peel off her clothing. Mulder peeks his head out from under the covers, interested in spite of himself. “Scully? What are you doing?” By the time he’s done asking the question, she’s naked, and there’s a sudden influx of cold air as she lifts the covers, climbing into bed next to him. She scoots close, molding her body to his, and slides her arms around him, cradling his head to her breast.

“Body heat, Mulder,” she says, by way of explanation. “You remember, don’t you?” He chuckles into her soft skin, pressing closer for warmth. Even through the stabbing pains are still racing up and down his limbs, she feels heavenly.

“And it didn’t even have to rain sleeping bags,” he says. She laughs and threads her fingers into his hair, stroking him gently. “Hey, Scully,” he says, glancing up, “does this mean I’m about to get lucky?”

“Mulder,” she says, rolling her eyes, “you were found, at two o’clock in the morning, inches from freezing, in a graveyard in the middle of the woods, all because I just happened to wake up needing to use the bathroom and noticed that you were gone. I’d say you’ve already used up your allotment of luck for today, wouldn’t you? Besides,” she continues, sliding one smooth leg up and over his hip, “I would be shocked if you were in any condition to do anything like that right now.” She’s right, though he’s loath to admit it; just the fact that he’s not responding to her naked body at all right now, when he frequently can’t stop certain parts of him from responding to her while she’s fully clothed, is enough for him to know that. “Just sleep, Mulder,” Scully says, pulling his head against her breasts again. “I’ll be right here.”

And somehow, in spite of his shivering, in spite of the needle pricks of pain all over his skin, eventually, he drops off.

This time, he does not dream.

————————————

Mulder wakes up flat on his back, sweating so heavily that the sheets under him are damp. Scully’s warm weight is sprawled atop him like a human blanket, and lying over both of them are at least five heavy quilts. He’s incredibly uncomfortable, his mouth is dry, and his head is pounding, but he discovers that the last thing he wants to do is to move and risk waking her up.

That night in the motel, when she had come to him, when she had climbed onto his lap as he’d sat against the headboard, he’d known, somehow, that she wasn’t going to be there in the morning. He’d hoped, of course, to be wrong… but waking up alone in a bed that still smelled of her- of them- had not been a shock at all.

Now, in spite of the fact that their skin is stuck together with sweat, in spite of both of his legs being asleep where her weight is resting on him, in spite of the strands of red hair that are plastered to his cheeks and tickling his nose with each breath, Mulder discovers that waking up with Scully in his arms is every bit the slice of heaven that he’s always imagined it would be. He badly wants to savor it (and to let her sleep- this is the second night in a row she’s had to get up at some ungodly hour to take care of him, and the sun’s not even fully risen yet), but he really needs to use the bathroom, and her weight on his stomach isn’t helping matters any. He tries to ease himself out from under her slowly and carefully, sliding one limb off of his body at a time, until finally, she’s lying flat on her stomach on the mattress. She sighs softly and rolls over, but doesn’t wake.

Mulder stumbles to the bathroom on weak and aching legs, feeling for all the world like he’d spent the entire night binge drinking and is now suffering from the mother of all hangovers. He uses the toilet, washes his hands, and, for good measure, splashes some water on his face, which helps him feel slightly more human. He returns to the bed to find that Scully has not stirred, and before getting back in, he removes all but the bottom quilt, folding the others and piling them on the dresser.

Mulder slides under the covers and spoons up against Scully, who stretches, catlike, and rolls onto her back, opening her eyes and looking up at him sleepily. He braces himself, expecting her to jump out of bed immediately, the way she had the previous morning… but she surprises him by giving him a drowsy smile, rolling on her side to face him, and cuddling close.

“You look much better,” she says, stroking his cheek. “Your color’s back to normal. How do you feel?”

“Like I spent last night at a raging kegger,” Mulder says, closing his eyes under her gentle touch. He runs his fingers lightly up and down the velvet skin of Scully’s waist, suddenly fully aware that she’s still completely naked under the quilt, that the tips of her perfect breasts are brushing against his chest, that she’s draping one smooth leg over his hips to pull herself even closer.

Scully looks up at him, her eyebrow raised, lips quirked in an amused smile. “You can’t be feeling that terrible, clearly,” she says, pressing up against him.

“I think we’ve established, after last night, that I literally have to be on death’s door before you stop having this effect on me, Scully,” he murmurs, reciprocating the pressure of her hips with a gentle thrust of his own. Scully closes her eyes and gasps.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, her own fingers betraying her words as she runs them over his chest and shoulders, buries them in his hair.

“Give me one good reason why not,” Mulder says, bending and placing a line of nibbling kisses along her jaw.

“You… you almost died last night, Mulder,” she gasps. “You need to rest… to recover… to… ohhhh….” She moans as he slides a hand down between them, brushing his fingers lightly against her clitoris, sliding one finger slowly inside of her.

“I’m not saying you won’t have to do all the work, Scully,” he says. “I’m just saying… we can.” He withdraws the finger and Scully whimpers, chasing it with her hips. “Unless you don’t want to.” She looks up at him, her blue eyes flaming, and without another moment’s hesitation, she rolls him onto his back. He’s momentarily dizzy and he closes his eyes, hoping she won’t notice, worried she’ll put a stop to this immediately if he gives any sign at all that he might not be up to it.

But if she does notice his momentary discomfort, she says nothing. She straddles his thighs, sliding her body along his to warm him in the sudden absence of the quilt, pulling herself higher when she gets to his shoulders, until she can reach his face. She kisses him deeply, grinding her hips against him. He groans into her mouth and seizes her hips roughly in his hands, lifting them, pulling her into position; then, his lips still on hers, his tongue still in her mouth, he takes himself in one hand and uses the other to pull her down, bringing her hips flush against his in one smooth upstroke.

Scully sits up abruptly with a gasp as he fills her, closing her eyes and dropping her head back. She stays still for a moment, adjusting, and he gives her a moment to acclimate. After a few seconds, she opens her eyes and looks down at him. Her gaze is burning, her lips are parted, her nipples stand in tight little peaks, and Mulder knows that, if he weren’t still weak from his ordeal the night before, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from flipping her onto her back and pounding into her for all he’s worth.

As it is, he badly needs her to move, and he closes his hands back around her hips again, gently urging her to lift. She arches her eyebrow at him.

“Impatient, Mulder?” she asks, a wickedly teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. In answer, he uses what little energy he has to lift her up, just once, and bring her back down- hard. She yelps in surprise; then, lightly, she smacks his hand. “Don’t do that,” she admonishes. “You’re in no condition to be lifting me up.”

“Then for the love of god, Scully, move!” She laughs at his desperation, but all the same, she begins a languid, rocking rhythm, bringing him relief at last. He keeps his hands on her hips until she takes one, bringing his fingers just above where they’re joined, coaxing them into the same circular pattern she had shown him their first time, asking him for a favor he's only too willing to grant. When he’s got it right, she lets go and leaves him to it, closing her eyes and tilting her head back again.

With Scully doing all of the heavy lifting, Mulder is free to watch her, to take in every detail of her appearance in a way he hadn’t had the chance to before. He admires the curve of her narrow waist, the muscles of her lean thighs, her elegant neck, the way her collarbone perfectly frames her shoulders, white with a smattering of cinnamon freckles spread haphazardly over them. She’s poetically beautiful, her movements atop him lithe and graceful, her legs more than strong enough to move her with no assistance from her arms… which is good for her, because it leaves her hands free to fondle her breasts.

Good for Mulder, too.

He begins to rub her harder as she pinches her nipples, much more sharply than he would ever dare to. She circles her hips atop him, hitting new places, finding new angles, and they both groan in unison as she discovers one that’s perfect for both of them. Abandoning her breasts (Mulder bites back a disappointed whimper), she leans back, putting her hands on his thighs to hold herself up, rocking faster. Mulder, in turn, speeds up his hand to match, and before long, she’s bucking against him without any set rhythm, lost to the feel of him inside of her and of his fingers against her.

Sensing that she’s nearly there, Mulder stops trying to hold back his own climax- which has been threatening to overtake him since the moment Scully’s hands touched her breasts- and allows it to build. As exhausted as he still is, he can’t seem to stop his hips from thrusting, trying to meet her erratic movements, and in seconds, it does the trick, and she’s crying out, tightening around him, triggering his own release. He grasps her hips and moans something incoherent that might be her name- his powers of speech have taken a leave of absence- and empties himself into her as she falls across his chest, panting.

Mulder struggles for words, trying to find something to say, anything, that will forestall Scully getting up as soon as she’s got her breath back, something that will keep her in bed with him instead of running off to hide the way she had after their first time… but before he can work out just what those magic words might be, his exhausted eyes are drooping, and moments later, he’s fast asleep.

———————————

When Mulder opens his eyes for the second time, the room is flooded with sunlight, and the clock on the nightstand tells him that he’s missed breakfast- has, in fact, slept until lunchtime. He knows without looking, by the coolness of the sheets next to him, that Scully is gone, and it’s with a heavy, unhappy sigh that he rolls to face the empty space she’s left behind.

“Hey,” comes a soft voice, and Mulder sits up quickly, startled. Scully is sitting in an armchair next to the bed, her feet propped up on the mattress, one of the scrapbooks from the library open on her lap. “I was going to try to wake you soon if you didn’t get up on your own. How are you feeling?” Much better, seeing you, he thinks, but he keeps it to himself, knowing the eye-rolling such a comment would likely trigger.

“Not bad,” he says, and it’s the truth. The pounding in his head has receded somewhat, and he’s no longer dizzy. “I still feel weak, like I’m recovering from the flu… but I don’t feel hungover anymore, so that’s an improvement.” Scully smiles, satisfied.

“You’ll probably feel even better once we get some food into you,” she tells him. “I put in an order for lunch to be brought up to the room. It should be here any minute now.” At the thought of food, Mulder’s stomach gives an audible grumble, and Scully chuckles. “Not a moment too soon, it would seem.” Mulder pulls himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard and tucking a pillow behind himself. Once he’s situated, he pats the mattress next to him, and Scully puts the scrapbook down, smiling indulgently. She crawls across the bed to him and he tucks her under his arm as she rests her head against his chest. “Sorry I couldn’t stay in bed any longer,” she says. “I just wasn’t sure how much longer you’d be asleep, and I thought I should use the time wisely.”

“I’m just glad you were still here,” Mulder tells her truthfully. “I wasn’t sure you would be, after last time.” She stiffens in his arms, and he immediately regrets his words… but after a moment, she sighs and relaxes again.

“I owe you an apology for that, Mulder,” she says. “After you fell asleep that night, I sort of panicked.”

“Why?” he asks. She glances up at him, her face red, her eyes nervous. “Scully,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek with his thumb, “you can tell me.”

“I was worried….” She pushes herself to a sitting position, breaking their contact, and looks down, biting her lip. “I was afraid that maybe… you had only done that with me because you felt sorry for me. Because of what happened in San Diego.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Mulder can’t help himself: he laughs. Scully frowns at him. “It’s not funny, Mulder,” she says.

“It kind of is, Scully,” he says, trying to be serious again, not wanting to offend her. “Because I was afraid that maybe you’d only done it because you needed comforting.” She stares at him, and moments later, she’s joined him in his laughter.

“Maybe,” she says, shaking her head and chuckling, “we should have talked about all of this first.”

“Now why on earth would we want to do that, Scully?” asks Mulder, reaching out and taking her hand. “Us, talk candidly about what’s bothering us? What kind of insanity is that?” Scully stops laughing abruptly. Shit, Mulder thinks.

“You really feel that way?” Scully asks. “That we don’t talk? Don’t communicate about things that upset us?”

“I think that sometimes, we don’t,” Mulder says carefully. “I think, for example, it would do both of us a lot of good to talk about what happened in December.” Scully’s face is closed off so quickly, Mulder may as well have flipped a switch with his words.

“That’s different,” she says, pulling her hand away. “That’s something I have to get through, Mulder. You can’t help me with that. It’s something I need to learn to live with.” It’s not the first time she’s said it, but the words don’t hurt any less.

“I just mean, Scully, that if you could see that I-“

“Mulder, no.” Scully stands, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. “I think that right now, we should focus on the case. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Scully-“

“Where do you want to start today?” she asks, her tone making it clear that the subject is closed, and Mulder heaves a sigh. He can’t force her to talk about this, but sooner or later, he’s going to need to find a way to make her understand how he feels.

“I’d like to go back out to that cemetery,” he says, giving in. Scully frowns in confusion.

“Why?” she asks.

“That gravestone you found me sitting against… I felt such a pull towards it, like the spirit, or the ghost, or whatever she is, wanted me to be there.”

“I saw Mr. Pekarcik when I went down to order your lunch,” says Scully. “I asked him about that cemetery, and he says it’s where they buried some of the girls who died giving birth here. Apparently, some of their families didn’t bring their bodies home because the churches that their families belonged to felt that it would be wrong to bury them in a Catholic graveyard.” Mulder shakes his head in amazement.

“So much for the idea of forgiveness,” he says. “I want to go back out there and see what name is on that headstone.” Scully smiles, looking suddenly smug.

“We won’t need to,” she says. “I saw the name last night when we pulled you out of there. The woman buried in that grave was named Olivia Westphal.” She turns and picks up the scrabook, flipping it open to a page she has marked. Mulder sees a familiar newspaper clipping. “I looked through here to see whether that name showed up, and I found this article about a young woman who had died here. She’s named only as Olivia W, presumably because her parents didn’t want their last name associated with this place.”

“I read that article yesterday,” says Mulder. “It didn’t say how she died, only that it had been a ‘sudden tragedy.’”

“Something tells me that that’s code for ‘suicide,’” says Scully darkly.

“I think you’re right,” says Mulder, holding his hands out. “Let me see that.” Scully puts the scrapbook into his hands, and he flips through it. “I remember that last name from something else in here, Scully,” he tells her. “You read it to me yourself, yesterday, and I read it again after you left the library.” He finds the letter he’s looking for and holds the book up for her to see. Scully gasps.

“The father who wanted the home to lie to his daughter, to tell her that her baby had died,” she says. “And then to let the child be adopted.”

“Signed,” says Mulder, pointing to the bottom of the page, “by one Michael Ian Wesphal, of New York City.” Scully turns suddenly, crossing the room to the dresser. When she comes back, she’s holding the Catholic home’s record book, the one that details every girl who had passed through their doors. She opens it to a bookmarked page.

“I looked her up, while I was waiting for you to wake up,” she says, pointing to an entry near the top of the page. “Look: Olivia Westphal, admitted on September sixth, 1939. She gave birth on March first of the following year… and look.” She points a shaking finger to a large letter “A” next to the baby’s birth date. “They gave her baby away and told her that it was dead,” says Scully, “and she killed herself out of grief.”

“And her parents left her here,” says Mulder angrily. “Rather than bring her body home and allow their shame to be known.” He looks up at Scully, whose eyes are wide. “Well,” he says, “I can’t think of a better reason to haunt this place, can you?” She shakes her head.

“I’ll admit that it all fits, Mulder,” she concedes, “but I’m not ready to accept the idea that a ghost is responsible for this. Not without proof.”

“Well, Scully,” Mulder says, “you’d better go back downstairs and order a whole lot more coffee. We’ve got a long night ahead of us tonight.”

#x-files fanfic #my fic #What Was Taken What Was Lost

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