#he is still fueled by rage; he still gathers scars and wounds and bruises
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A Better Man, Chapter 4 (end)
Pero Tovar x fem!reader
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: mild violence, minor character death, kidnapping, protective!Tovar, fluff
gif credit: @thewaythisis
~
The job ended up more difficult than Tovar expected. The target was harder to find and put up more of a fight than Tovar thought he would. Because of that, Tovar ended up taking longer than he wanted. He hoped that he would be gone a day or two at most, but when it took almost four days, the Spaniard grew more and more anxious. And when the target was tougher than he looked and nearly took Tovar down with him, he got a bad feeling in his chest.
Tovar rushed back as fast as he could, and he decided that he would stop at the orphanage first before he reported back to the magistrate. Something in the back of his mind told him that he was needed there. And as he rode through the town, Tovar noticed a column of smoke that rose from where he headed.
With a growl, Tovar ran faster and prayed to whoever would listen that you and the children were ok. However, as he got closer and closer, his hope ran low and he realized that the smoke did in fact rise from where the orphanage once stood. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he moved as fast as he could, but nothing prepared him for what he saw when he finally reached your home.
The entire building was burned to the ground, and Lydia and all the children stood close by. She tried her best to comfort the children, who were all in tears, and even from a distance, Tovar could tell that she barely held herself together. Everyone seemed to be unharmed, but there was one person who was not among the crowd.
Tovar grit his teeth as he pushed past the crowd that gathered and his eyes scanned the area for you. He whispered your name under his breath and balled his hands into fists when he couldn't find you anywhere.
“Mr. Tovar…” a small voice broke him out of his trance.
He looked down to find that Luca stared up at him with big, sad eyes. The boy had bruises all over his face, and a cut on his arm. Right away, Tovar dropped to his knees and inspected the wounds on Luca’s face, “What happened?”
The boy sniffled once before he pulled himself together, determined to be brave and strong in front of the mercenary, “The… magistrate…” he dropped his gaze as he took in a deep breath, “He came this morning…”
Tovar furrowed his brows, “Are you alright?”
Luca nodded, “I’m sorry… I tried…”
The Spaniard didn’t know what to do. He was never the best at comforting others, and he had to also keep his own rage in check in front of the children. Tovar said your name, “Where is she?”
The boy looked up, and Tovar knew before he even spoke what his answer was, “They took her,” he couldn’t stop the sob, “I’m sorry Mr. Tovar. I tried. I wanted to protect her but…”
“Hush little one,” he squeezed his shoulders, “You did your best,” Tovar tried to reassure the boy, although it was hard for him to keep his tone more neutral, “Stay here, keep the others safe,” he clenched his jaw, “I’m going to get her back.”
*
The door to the magistrate’s large, lavish mansion burst open as Tovar stepped into the room with purpose. He held his swords firmly in his grip and wore a deep scowl on his face that he hadn’t had since before he met you. His glare only intensified when he laid eyes on the magistrate, who sat in a large cushioned chair on the far end of the large room.
“Oh look who’s back,” the magistrate mocked Tovar with a wicked smirk.
“You sound like you didn’t expect to see me again, señor,” the mercenary taunted right back, although his rage boiled just below the surface as he spoke.
Tovar was correct; the magistrate genuinely did not expect to see him again. The job he sent him on was supposed to be a trap, and Tovar was never supposed to actually defeat the man. But he did not let the fear show on his face.
“Now you are aware of how dangerous I can be,” Tovar continued in a low growl as he gripped his swords tightly, “You will tell me where you have her and maybe I will spare all your lives.”
The magistrate’s guard immediately jumped into action, but Tovar was ready. Swords clashed as he fought them all off, fueled by his anger. Once all the guards were dead on the ground, the mercenary turned to the magistrate once again, “Now, tell me… Where is she?” He lifted his now blood-soaked sword as he stepped towards the trembling magistrate.
You heard the sounds of a fight echo from the hallway, and you knew you had to do something. The magistrate kept you locked in his bedroom, but when you immediately tried to escape, he added a chain around your ankle that tied to his bed. It had a little bit of give, but not much and you couldn’t go too far from the bed.
He left you alone while he went into the main room to conduct his business, and you collapsed down in defeat at first. You wondered where Tovar was, and you prayed that he was ok. When the magistrate’s men grabbed you, one of your first thoughts was of him. You hoped that he survived whatever the magistrate sent him in to, since you figured that the job was most likely some sort of trap.
You let out a sob as you curled yourself up into yourself. You had lost your home, your freedom, and possibly the one person who held your heart all in one day. Yet, you still resisted against the magistrate, and you were even able to leave a scar on his face as you fought off his advances.
But you lifted your head up when you heard what sounded like a battle within the walls of the magistrate’s home. Your heart pounded in your chest as you heard the clash of swords and the screams of the guards. That was when you decided you did not want to stick around to find out the cause of the battle, or to be the next victim.
You tried as hard as you could, but you couldn’t get the chain to budge. Frantically, you searched for something to smash against the chain, but everything you tried failed. With a frustrated sigh, you sunk down to the floor and stayed still for several moments until you heard the sound of heavy footsteps down the hallway.
The sound re energized your fire, and you had to figure out a way to defend yourself… and quickly. Your eyes darted around the room and landed on a large vase on the bedside table. Quickly, you got to your feet and ran around to the other side of the bed where the vase stood, and you strained to reach those last few inches for it.
Luckily, you grabbed it just in time as you heard the door rattle and burst open. You took in a deep breath and hurled the vase at the door without fully looking where you aimed. In your fear, your vision blurred slightly and you saw a figure dressed in all black quickly jump out of the way of your projectile. Tears filled your eyes as you crouched down and tried to make yourself as small as possible.
“It’s me,” you heard a familiar voice say your name.
You looked up to find that Tovar stood in the doorway with his sword in his hand. He had an intense expression on his face, and you could see small cuts on his body, but he didn’t seem to care about that. He only cared about you and your safety. When he said your name again, you let out the breath you held and you stepped towards him as much as you could before the chain yanked you back.
Before you tripped over the chain, strong arms caught you and held onto you tightly. You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, only this time they were tears of relief instead of fear. You whispered his name as you both slowly sank down to the floor.
“Are you alright, querida?” Tovar asked as he pulled back enough to check you over for injuries. You had gotten some blood on your cheek from him, but he tenderly wiped it away.
“I’m ok,” you voice was hushed as you leaned into his touch. You looked into his eyes for a time before you spoke again, “You came for me.”
His features softened, “Of course I came for you.”
Suddenly, you gasped as you remembered where you were, “The magistrate…” panic laced your voice as you held tightly to Tovar’s strong arms.
“Shhh, it’s alright,” he replied in a calm a voice as he could, “He’s dead,” Tovar paused when you looked at him with wide eyes, “He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”
Your breath caught in your throat and you clung to Tovar tightly as you crashed your lips against his in a desperate kiss. He wrapped his arms around you in a protective hold as he kissed you back with just as much need. Everything that was left unsaid between the two of you before he left was spoken in the kiss, and neither of you needed the words spoken out loud to know what the other felt.
*
The sun shined bright and high in the sky and you were outside to enjoy the beautiful day with the children. A few months had passed since the day Tovar rescued you from the magistrate’s mansion and not a day had gone by without the Spaniard on your mind.
It felt strange at first to move into the lavish villa that was briefly your prison, but the townspeople all came together and decided to use the building as the new orphanage. You had to admit, it was much nicer than where you used to be, and after a few nights you became much more comfortable within those walls. The children loved it right away, and wasted no time to make themselves comfortable.
“Luca, be careful with that please,” you called to the child who practiced with his new dagger.
“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder when he fumbled with the weapon. He had gotten better with time, but you still couldn’t help the nerves whenever Luca held it in his hands. “I’ll be careful, I promise,” he gave you a smile that made your heart melt.
Luca meant so much to you, as did all the children, but ever since the day the magistrate took you, your bond became unbreakable. He practically threw himself at the men as they tried to take you, and he fought just as hard as Tovar would have.
The scar across his cheek also added to the familiar feeling of the mercenary. Luca wore it proudly, and said it made him just like Tovar, who he admired so much.
Just as your mind wandered to the mercenary, a chord of little voices changed his name. You lifted your gaze to find Tovar walk confidently up to the villa, and he was met with the usual crowd of children as his welcome party. With a wide grin, you watched as he greeted each child by name.
“Did you watch over her, Luca?” Tovar asked as he brushed the boy's cheek playfully.
“Yes sir,” Luca beamed back.
Tovar then looked over Luca’s shoulder and met your eyes for the first time in weeks. He always missed you when he went away, and both of you worried for the other when you were apart. But now he was back and everything was right again.
You greeted Tovar with wide arms and he swept you up into his embrace as if you would float away if he let you go.
“I missed you,” you whispered into his ear and you felt him smile against your cheek.
“And I you, querida,” his voice was low and you could feel his chest rumble against yours.
Tovar stayed by your side while you, Lydia and the children got settled in the new space. Once he was sure you were comfortable, he left for short periods of time on mercenary jobs to help out. And you made sure he always had a place to stay whenever he came back.
“How long will you stay this time, Pero?”
He smiled at you, a warm genuine smile that was only for you, “I can spare more time now, querida,” his heart pounded in his chest when your face lit up, “It’s good to be home.”
You froze and your heart fluttered as you processed his words, “Home…” you echoed in a hushed tone.
His grip on you tightened, “And perhaps next time you can join me. See the world for a time before we come back home together.”
As you smiled through the happy tears that formed in your eyes, you nodded, “I’d like that very much,” you whispered as you closed the space between your bodies again. Tovar held you tightly, his whole world, his home, safe in his tight embrace.
~
Notes: Thank you all so much for the love on this fic!! What was supposed to be a one shot ended up 4 chapters and over 11k words!
#pero tovar x reader#pero tovar x you#pero tovar imagine#pero tovar#tovar x reader#tovar the great wall
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Fiery the Vengeance, Hate Will Drain Me
Hey kids, it’s time to feel fuckbad.
Micoverse belongs to @mushroomminded
Title from “The Cage” by Sonata Arctica.
Content warnings: mentions of physical and verbal abuse, implied drug and alcohol abuse, purple prose bullshit, vague inhuman concepts, lotsa headcanons
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He’s no stranger to bruises and breaks, scrapes and scratches. He has an unfortunate familiarity with broken bones, concussions, and floating ribs. He knows very well how cruel the world can be, how heartless people are, how selfish and ignorant and nasty they really are under their polish and their smiles. It’s a knowledge that once drove him nearly mad with anger, the injustice of it boiling him from the inside out, spewing curses into song lyrics and screaming at the world to listen, damn it, listen to me! Everyone’s sick! This world is sick and people are awful! Look at what they’ve done! There’s nothing good in this life, can’t you see that!? Why won’t you listen to me!?
Don’t you ignore me, brat! I know what you do every night! Filth!
Jake Pierly knows intimately how a few minutes of trauma can congeal into an ugly, sticky film of loathing and despair.
It’s something you never really shake off.
So when Milo comes home and tries to sneak past the kitchen where Jake is unpacking things to make dinner, he knows something is wrong. He can sense old fear and tastes cold iron in the back of his mouth and he’s in the hall before he can stop himself.
“Milo.”
It’s not a question and something in his voice makes the teenager freeze. Jake feels a gut-wrenching sensation and for a moment his vision is smeared and he sees himself standing there, a tired and broken teenager with dark hair and clumsily hidden bruises. Then he blinks and Milo’s staring at the floor, hunched into his hoodie. He’s desaturated, drained. Someone’s been feeding off him and Jake feels that barest spark of that old rage deep in his belly.
He’s crosses the short distance between them and puts his hand lightly on Milo’s shoulder. It still elicits a flinch and Jake was to swallow down the agitated puff of smoke clawing up his throat from that old flame. Instead, he steers Milo down the hall and up the stairs, ushering the boy into a shark-filled room and letting him settle onto his bed before Jake perches beside him. Milo’s still not looking at him, curled around his sharks and sea creatures, hiding among the things he loves and trying to find solace, trying to find stability, in the things that have never and will never hurt him. He’s pushed his face into the belly of a whale shark, exposing the back of his neck. And the blue-purple marks of worried flesh that are revealed as his hair falls away.
Jake wants to snarl but he bites his lip hard until he can stamp down the embers trying to burn themselves to life again.
“Milo, who’s hurting you?”
Wide eyes look up at him sharply, fear and anguish and hate and the beginnings of that awful, sticky anger staring back at Jake.
“You...thought we didn’t notice,” Jake says and Milo looks away, guilt writing hard edges into his posture, “If you told anyone, it’d get worse, right?” A stiff nod into the belly of the shark. Jake feels like cold fire and his next words taste like ash as they spill over his tongue,
“They make you feel like it’s your fault, don’t they?”
Milo starts crying.
Milo starts crying and Jake feels something nearly forgotten in him crack and flake away, like a scar being picked at until it bleeds again. He gathers the boy into his arms, holds him gently, allows him room to get away if he needs to. But Milo just leans into him and cries and Jake hopes that those tears can wash away the hate and rage before Milo’s coated in it too much to escape. He doesn’t want Milo to be
drowning in the sour taste of alcohol and stale pretzels, bass beat ripping at his ears and thudding against his ribs so hard he thinks they might break, doing anything and everything to white out his brain and just forget
tangled in the stench of cigarette smoke and the burn of hard drugs scraping the back of his throat, muscles begging at him to get off his feet, breath rasping in tired lungs that have been screaming, screaming, howling at senseless crowds all night
like him.
------
He cries.
Quietly, alone in his room, Jake lets himself cry.
At first it’s for Milo. Poor Milo who deserves so much better than this. Poor Milo who’s been cursed and doesn’t even know it. Poor Milo who he loves dearly but also hates because he sees his old friend there and just wants things to go back to the way they were. Poor Milo who is suffering for no fucking reason.
So at first, he’s crying for the
man trapped and forgotten in a boy’s body
boy carrying the burden of bruises and abuse that someone his age shouldn’t even know about.
But those thoughts tear open wounds he thought had long healed and the tears of grief turn into tears of anger. He shoves his face into his pillow, biting back a scream and settling for a whimpering growl, fingers clenched so tightly that his arms ache. The anger is hot in his chest, lances of barbed wire that burn white-hot and scald his insides, digging into dusty memories, prying open scars that he’d ignored, reminding him of things that fill his mouth with a sour taste of bile and a stinging bite of metal.
Jacob Pierly you get back here this instant!
You’re just like your good for nothing father. Worthless.
Take your shirt off and hold still, brat. I’m going to teach you a lesson in respect!
His back stings and he breathes hot air out between clenched teeth.
This can’t go on.
This won’t go on.
He’ll make sure of it. He’s not going to let anyone hurt Milo.
--------
Her name is Birdie.
It’s a disgustingly sweet name and Jake’s lip curls, stomach churning with raw dislike when he hears it.
Birdie.
She acts like a bird of prey but Jake can see her for what she really is; a rotten, hollow carcass, festering with disease and ruining everything she touches. Still, if she wants to play with the big boys, Jake will indulge her.
She started it.
She kicked the hornet’s nest.
She attacked the cub and now the lion is angry.
-------
Jake’s nothing, if not patient.
So he waits.
He waits and he counts each and every bruise and mark and scratch Milo comes home with. He lets it fuel his anger, adding coals to the slowly building fire inside. He feels it blistering against his ribcage, licking at the bones, hungry to escape. But he restrains himself. Saves it. He’ll need it.
He consoles Milo when he can. If he can. It’s getting harder and harder to wipe away the tears and the slimy film of hate slowly coating the boy. Jake wants to tell him to breathe, wants to tell him to ignore the hatred. Don’t be like me, he wants to beg, don’t be afraid of everyone. Don’t let that fear stem from a deeply rooted hatred that was planted by someone you thought you could trust. Please, Milo, please, be stronger than me. You deserve better than me, so please, keep holding on for just a little longer.
It’s almost over, Milo, it’s almost over.
--------
Jake watches Milo stumble away from the girl who’s watching him with a hungry, triumphant, sickening smile.
He wants to go to the boy and hug him and tell him how loved he is, how important he is, how much people care about him. But he can’t right now. So he lets Milo limp home with a bruised shin, knowing Dan will be waiting for him, and he waits.
He doesn’t wait long.
Birdie cuts through the overgrown trail in the back of the park every so often and that evening is no different. Jake stands directly in her path, arms crossed and head tilted slightly to one side, his expression carefully blank. There’s a storm in his eyes, though, and they burn brightly.
She stops, eyes him with the look of a hunter, dismisses him as an already broken toy, “Can I help you?”
It’s all Jake can do to keep from yelling at her, jaw clenched as he grinds the words out between hatred and anger, “Stay away from Milo.”
The cool smile she’d been wearing falters for a half a second before it’s back, coy and smooth and full of arrogance, “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean. We’re just friends. I help him.”
“You hurt him.” Jake growls and his breath is hot, simmering in the air. Something smells like smoke and hot pavement.
Her smile turns sour and dangerous and this is what Milo must see before she lays hands on him. A viper behind a smile, poison masked by honey and sugar, sweet touches that bite hard and chew and tear until there’s nothing left except ruin and a rot that’s as foul as she really is on the inside.
Jake hates her.
Birdie dismisses him with a cock of her hip, tilting her head so her ponytail swings behind her, “You have to know how this looks, right? A grown man cornering a teenager in the woods? Suspicious.Imagine how much it would hurt Milo to find out one of his dads is stalking his friend.”
Jake grinds his teeth, heart pounding, fists clenched and shaking at his sides. He wants to wring her neck, dig his fingers into her throat until the bones grind and snap, wants to inflict upon her every hurt she put upon Milo. His anger burns so harshly he could taste it, feel it cooking him from the inside out, boiling his blood in his veins. But he sucks in a tight breath and holds back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.
Her time would come.
“Go ahead and tell him,” Jake breathed out, the words hot but his voice cold and steady, “But let’s be honest, Birdie,” He spits her name like a curse and relishes silently in the way it makes her eyes narrow, “I’m a tired, 40 something with a heart condition and Milo knows it. I can’t exert myself without risking my life. So who would really come out looking like the victim here?”
The silence that follows is dangerous. The world holds its breath as the two stare each other down.
Birdie breaks eye contact first. She turns away with a shake of her head and a roll of her eye, brushing off the hidden threats as if Jake is no more consequence that a twig in her path. She stalks past him, nose in the air, choosing to ignore his presence completely. As she brushes by him, Jake turns to watch her walk away.
“Oh, and Miss Birdie…”
She actually deigns to send him a bored looking scowl over her shoulder. He just smiles, showing his teeth, and
If you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll make you regret being born!
Freak! Just like your rotten father!
Disgusting.
Awful.
Filth.
“I meant it when I said to stay away from my son. Just think about it.”
He leaves before she can get the last word in. But the stink of her follows him home and he stands for too long in the shower, trying to wash off the rot and hatred and pain. All it seems to do is make his open sores bleed more.
-------
She doesn’t heed him. Not the he expected her to. After all, what threat could he pose aside from a stern lecture? There was no proof about what she was doing and Milo, well, Milo would never talk. He knew where that would get him. Jake knew where that would get him.
So he would protect Milo. It was a parent’s duty to look after their child, even if that child was an old friend whose life they’d ruined.
Old habits are swimming to the surface with Jake’s bubbling temper. His fingers twitch for a lighter, lungs aching for that old burn of cigarette smoke, his lips chewed raw by a fix he can’t have. The liquor store is looking awful friendly these days. His gaze snags on the bottles of cheap vodka and even cheaper mixers, making his tongue curl with the memories of
straight shots one after another, acid burn and sweet fruity flavor tangling down his throat, sticky fingers on a half empty bottle, laughing into the dark alleys of the night, wandering down street they own because no one else will
chasing cigarette smoke with rum and lukewarm pepsi, kicking vending machines until they spit out old chips, screaming half remembered lyrics from rooftops and hurling glass bottles into the dark, listening for the shatter, laughing because what you really want to do is cry but fuck that, fuck them, fuck this entire sick and stupid world, you’re all out of tears so you break and you destroy and
fuzzy headaches and strained hangovers, the taste of sick still clinging dry and crusted to his mouth.
He keeps walking.
Dan knows something is bothering him. Tries to ask but Jake just murmurs something about stress and difficult clients and makes vague gestures in the air. Dan’s kind enough to realize it’s a subject not to be prodded and leaves well enough alone. But he hovers, trailing after Jake and trying to coax smiles from him. He dotes on Milo and manages to drag them both to the aquarium and it’s nice because for a day they can forget about all the bad and sour things in the world, all the rot clinging to their heels and the dirt under their nails from trying to keep their heads above the ground so they aren’t buried alive by all the shit piling on top of them.
Milo comes home from school the next day bandages on his arms and a raw red scratch on his cheek. He says he fell on the cement outside the school. But when Jake helps him clean up and change the bandages before bed, he knows it’s a lie.
Falling on the cement would not leave precise and vicious lines across his pale skin like that.
They get a phone call from the school, they’re worried about Milo’s mental health and his situation at home. Jake has to hand the phone off to Dan because he’s holding it so tightly it creaks against his palm and the anger inside him wants to spill out like an erupting volcano. He settles for sitting next to Dan on the couch and furiously bouncing his leg, chewing his fingertips raw as he glares at the carpet and listens to Dan explain that they’ve got everything covered, Milo’s just dealing with a lot right now, asking a lot of questions about his missing dad, and they’re doing their best, thank you for your concern, and no, no we don’t need a psychologist recommendation, thank you, no, goodbye.
Jake’s done. Enough is enough. And this has been too much.
He feels bad about it but he gets the number from Milo’s phone. He makes a call. Then he makes a different one.
He asks Kathy for a favor. She says it will cost him. He says he knows, asks her how much, is told she will collect later and he probably won’t like it. He growls; he’d do anything for Milo. The silence that answers him asks why he hasn’t tried to turn him back.
Jake hangs up and swallows his tears with coffee so hot it scalds his mouth. He almost wishes for the burn to be alcohol instead.
-------
When Birdie walks into the room, she stops because there’s only Jake inside. Only Jake sitting at a small, round topped cafe table with a cup of steeping tea and a teapot as white as the rest of the room. It would be almost peaceful if not for the strange, white blankness of this oddly large room in the back of the magic store no one can find unless they need to.
Kathy shuts the door and Jake catches her eye before it closes all the way. She looks troubled. She looks almost disappointed. She looks like she’s giving him permission. Jake returns his attention to Birdie as she sits down across from him, distrust in her eyes but a small smile on her face.
“Weird place for a chat,” She says, folding her hands on the tabletop, ignoring the teacup in front of her.
Jake blows on the surface of his drink and sips it carefully. Peppermint and spice fill his mouth and soothe his throat. He sets the cup down and meets Birdie’s gaze with an unimpressed look, “I’m going to ask you one more time: please leave Milo alone.”
She cocks an amused eyebrow at him, two steps down from mocking, salt and soured things dripping from her words, “Oh, I get a please this time, huh? I see where Milo gets his rudeness from.”
You rude little shit! Don’t you dare speak to your mother that way!
“Last chance, little bird,” Jake’s voice is the rumble of distant war drums, the tremble of a bass guitar tuning its strings, “Swear to stay away from Milo and you can walk out of here, no hard feelings.”
Birdie doesn’t so much as frown as let some of her true rotten nature slip through her mask, “Are you actually threatening me now? Wow, no wonder Milo thinks he’s hot shit, his scrawny dad does too. You said it yourself, you’re nothing but a wheezing heart condition on legs. I’m not afraid of you.” She leans back, tilts her chin up, authority she doesn’t truly have heavy in her voice as she sneers at him, daring him to just try, just try it Jacob Pierly, and it will be the last thing you ever do as a free man.
Jake sighs and pushes his tea away, “What do you know about magic, Miss Birdie?”
She scoffs, “Are you serious?”
He keeps going because if she’s not going to play along, let alone play nicely, he’ll just try and make her understand the hard way, “I’m not talking Harry Potter, wave a wand, say a magic word kind of magic. It doesn’t work like that anymore. Times change, magic changes. Kathy could explain it better. But words have power,” He glares at her and there’s something creeping across her face now, something that might be understanding though she’s fighting to keep her mask up,
“Words have power and every foul word you’ve said to Milo has hurt him just as much as every bruise or cut or hit.” She opens her mouth to protest the accusations but Jake doesn’t give her the chance, “You’ve been feeding off my son, draining him, like a fucking leech, like the rotten, hollowed out bitch you are. And I’m not going to put up with it anymore. I warned you. I told you to lay off. But like a parasite, you wouldn’t let him go.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Concern laces her voice, the first trickles of what might grow into fear, “All I ever did was help him see how damaged he really is. He’s broken and he knows it. His own father didn’t even want him. I’m the only one who does.”
Jake seethes, lets the anger he’s been restraining lash free, feels it flare to life in his chest, a meteor crashing into his self control. He stands up from the table, fury spitting smoke from between his teeth and digging his fingers into the tabletop,
“You’re just like the rest of them,” Jake doesn’t sound quite human anymore. His voice is a grinding snarl, the screech of guitar strings and the crash of a bass drum, that thrum in the chest from the amps that pump out bass sounds until you feel it rattling your organs, “Just as greedy, just as nasty, just as unwilling to change. Selfish and destructive. You take and you take and you take until there’s nothing left. And I hate all of you.”
Birdie trips over her feet, backing away from the table as Jake allows the festering pool of destructive rage inside him to boil over. He feels skin stretch and tear, muscles pop, and bones snap. It should hurt, logically he knows it should hurt. But the pure anger that pumps hot iron through him burns more than anything else, drowning out all other sensations.
It’s been well over twenty years since Jake has given in and let the music and rage control him. There’s a reason he hung up his guitar and hasn’t picked it up since.
“You hurt so many people,” The screech of feedback through a microphone, the chitter of drumsticks, the rumble of a bass guitar, “And you don’t care because you think it’s fun. You make me sick. I hate you all.“
Steel and black lacquered wood warp the thing that used to be Jacob Pierly. Spikes of metal, strings of shimmering silver, the image of something bestial and full of teeth and rage and the screaming music of the trampled and downtrodden fills the room. This is no mere monster, this is a god, a deity of song and fury and it has its sights set entirely on Birdie. And for once in her life, she cowers before something and feels weak and helpless.
“You make this planet hell,” The thing that is Jake says and its voice is a harmony of a thousand choruses and the riffs of a million guitars, “You’re the reason the devils are here. You stuff your ears with cotton and you bathe in all our tears.” It could almost be a song, the breath of the great beast the crash of cymbals and its movements the rolling mosh pit in front of the stage. Its eyes are the flickering stage lights, its melody almost lost in the scream of its own voice, “You’re the reason why we suffer, you selfish, ugly thing. You’re the reason children cry. And the reason why we scream.”
It leans its head down, down, down until it’s inches away from the cowering human girl who is just now realizing that she’s in way over her head. She reeks of fear and rotten things and the beast snorts, a gust of wind and the faint cheers of a crowd following the hot breath.
“It would be so easy to crush you,” Says a voice that almost sounds like Jake, the words trailed by haunting sing-song notes like lost souls, “The way you have crushed so many others. But music is not about destroying. It is about making you see what you wish to ignore.” Those razor sharp teeth of glinting steel draw nearer and Birdie whimpers through her tears, pressing herself back against the wall, shaking from head to toe at the expanse of the creature before her,
“And you have ignored so much. All the agony you have inflicted upon others will be reflected onto you. Maybe you will understand once your are suffering too.”
And then there is screaming, very human and very afraid, and the roar of an angry band, shouting lyrics into a rowdy night crowd, the last show, the last song, the end of hate and rage and suffering.
And then there is silence.
-------
“I thought you were going to kill her,” Kathy says later. They’re alone in the shop and Jake is nibbling on a bar of chocolate, letting the warmth and sugar rejuvenate him. He looks more exhausted than ever before.
“Wanted to,” He says to the floor between his bare feet. He’d remembered to bring spare clothes but had forgotten shoes. He knows better than to ask Kathy. The drive back to the house doesn’t require footwear anyway. He pushes himself up on wobbly feet, swaying slightly before he stabilizes,
“But no matter how angry the music is, I don’t...I’m not…”
“I know,” Kathy says, “Now get out of here. I’ll call in your debt later.”
Jake feels a twinge of fear at the words but makes his way shakily for the front door of the magic shop. As he steps into the darkening evening, Kathy calls after him,
“You shouldn’t bottle up your feelings so much, Jacob Pierly. One of these days you might not be able to keep them inside.”
“I know,” Jake tells the balmy dusk of the parking lot, “I know…”
-------
Dan asks him why he came back without shoes and Jake
tries to cover up the smoke stench with candle and cologne, only drinks hard and heavy when he knows he won’t be going home, washes the smell of vomit and old sweat and other nightly escapades off with a hose in his friend’s backyard
tells him they were chewed up by a dog or something. While they were still on his feet. And, no, Dan, I’m fine, I’m just really tired, it was a long day, can we do this later?
But when he’s laying in his bed, Jake stares at the palms of his hands, tracing long healed calluses and the faded white scars from guitar strings with his eyes and he can imagine
massive claws like guitar picks, steel and shiny and flawlessly dangerous, muscled body of abyss black and rippling silver strings
blood on them.
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.
Rage and music are a powerful beast and they makes their homes in the hearts of those who are hurt the most and cannot fight back. Music has a power to it, words have power, and fueled by emotion they are all the more dangerous.
Milo has already been cursed once. Jake will not see him cursed again. Jake will not see Milo carrying the same burdens he has.
There’s already enough scars between them to last a lifetime.
xxxxxxxxxxx
Basically vent fic where I live vicariously through Jake.
Also I was totally think of Orgamgoden from Brutal Legend while I was writing monster Jake. But I left his exact description purposefully vague. Concepts are beyond the human ability to quantify into words.
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Pretty-Boy and the Queen
The caw of a gull; the soft hush of cool waves lapping long against white-sanded shores. The creak of feet traipsing along the timbers of a boardwalk; a warm and unsullied sun soaring along a sky blue as the sea. That hint of salt in the air as strong galleons plied the breezes close to the horizon.
A day paradisaic - or, it would be, if not for blood spat from battered lips, painting the water flowing along the docks an inky crimson.
"I warned you!" Tall and thin, like a tree-root stood on-end, firm muscles hid beneath skin lightly gilded by the sun's glow, skin covered at odd points with scars; some scaly, some pink and raw. Today the sun spat at his bared back, its surface criss-crossed by a webwork of healed wounds; loose cotton pants shuffled against his lanky limbs as he did his best to at least imitate the quick, bobbing footwork of the fighters he'd seen sparring back at the compound in his childhood. Straw-blonde hair hung in a messy swathe about his shoulders, wisps of it extending halfway down his back; his young eyes were hungry (nearly as hungry as his stomach), but maybe just as scared as they were starved. His long-tipped, blonde-furred ears sat with an eerie, placid stillness along his head.
He'd been caught doing what he did best, and the gangly assortment of seabitten, sunworn criminals circled around him on the remote La Noscean dock hadn't quite found it in their rotten hearts to forgive. The first to step up to challenge the blonde thief had swung what the burly highlander clearly felt would be a knockout blow; instead, the young rogue's lightning-speed saw him duck beneath the wide arcing strike, and a counterstrike square to the jaw knocked teeth from the pirate's gums and threw him reeling to his knees, blood dribbling over the edge of dockside and into the seawater. Dazed, the blonde Seeker's opponent's eyes dilated, trying to make sense of the bloodthirsty roar of his crewmen and the blurry flow of blood and water he stared into.
The scrapper's emerald gaze scanned the gathered crowd - wrapped in tattered clothing scavenged from last decade's fashion trunks, their expressions gnarled as an old oak by the whipping, salty sea winds; their faces , twisted by a warmonger's hunger, blurred into a tapestry of hellish rebuke gathered to marshal the would-be thief off the edge of the dock and into the water. He'd tried to snap up just enough pilfered ore from the pirates' berth to exchange for some bread.. and he would've gotten off with the loot, too, if not for that damned, leathery-skinned skeleton in the rigging of the galleon docked nearby, crawling like a spider along the ropes and of the ship with its hull painted a ghastly blood-red and a sickly green, like poison ivy in spring.
"Step aside, Bull," came a derisive crowing from the crowd; and surrounded in a raucous cheer, a handsome, broad-chested, black-haired man pushed through the crowd of ne'er-do-wells. A smile wide on his lips, his chiseled pectorals half-exposed from the low cut of his silky-white shirt, he seemed like he belonged on the slickly-illustrated cover of a tawdry romance novel, not here, among men missing both style and plenty of teeth. Jaw squared and unblemished, he radiated an almost irritating amount of confidence. Matching the miqo'te's height, though more full on muscle than the thief, the newcomer's hands came up to defend himself as he taunted the blonde Seeker, beckoning him forward.
"Kick th' lilly purty-boy's arse, Machismo!" came a heckling shout from a man who seemed older than the ocean itself, his eyes glassy and his sadistic grin all gums.
"Neh, go easy on 'im," another voice chimed, this one addled with a crackling insanity, belonging to an emaciated, scraggly-haired midlander with a maddened sheen across his eyes. "I wanna hear 'im squeal while I ROAST him," he threatened, conjuring a faint spark of wicked flame at his fingertips.
"He'll get what he deserves," came the response from 'Machismo', who squared up with the thief. Green eyes locked and studying each motion, the blonde saw his new opponent may have had a lot of gusto, but the sluggishness in his steps and the showy way he guarded himself with fists held only loosely near his head spoke of a fellow who belonged in a street-brawl like he belonged in a pirate crew.. which is to say, considering how nice his teeth and his boots were, not really at all.
"I'll give you one opportunity," Machismo taunted, his voice as square as his jaw (and as irritating as his arrogant grin). "Give back what you stole, apologize.. and maybe the men will go easy on you, eh?" A taunt from a man like -that- did little to dissuade the feisty, long-haired thief, who now glowed with his own, chip-on-the-shoulder confidence at seeing his burly, muscled, and clearly -incompetent- opponent.
"I think I'll take my chances," came the response. The crowd roared in murderous glee. Machismo shrugged, advancing with slow steps, tossing a few cautious jabs. None connected, and he laughed, as if they'd been warning shots; bluffs.
"Luck runs out eventually, young man, and your cargo manifest is looking a little-- low!" He punctuated his ridiculous poesy with a wide uppercut; it missed by a mile, and the Seeker darted left, answering with a quick blow to the body. Machismo bent in the direction of the punch, quaking in pain, though he brushed it off with another brash laugh.
"No more practice," Machismo spoke warily.
"Do you always talk this much when you fight?" the smart-mouthed thief retorted.
"Fresh, are we?" the muscled man responded, his laugh now lifting into a scoff. "Very well. You asked for IT--" He lunged, as if to once more finish his sentence with a punch, but the blonde had grown tired of the theatrics, and stuffed one bloody, tape-wrapped fist straight into Machismo's mouth, busting his lip open with a splash of crimson. Shocked, Machismo blinked; knuckles brushed across his lip, he saw blood and his eyes widened in rage.
"You smart-arsed little bastard--"
Another punch followed, and another. This young guy had no form; he threw punches wildly, clumsily, and it became abundantly clear he had the upper hand only because he had speed, strong legs, and at least a sense of positioning. Still, the flurry of blows shut the broad-chested, black-haired buffoon up; a hook, then another, and another; finally, a blow to the right cheek so hard it cut a deep gash along the curve of Machismo's cheekbone, rouge issuing along the fresh tan of his skin vividly as he spun with the force of the blow and plopped almost comically onto the creaking planks below.
"Fock-arsed pretty-boy!" A lout whose bare torso carried inked dragons twined along his spine stepped forward; a single, well-placed punch cut his cheek and sent him twirling to the ground next to Machismo. The crowd howled, a mix of frothing rage and rum-fueled, bloodthirsty elation. They closed in on the thief, fists balled and curses hurled; having finally broken a sweat in his blinding flurry of thrown fists, the blonde wiped his brow, smearing hints of perspiration and blood along his skin.
"Sweetskin! Give 'im s'more scars!"
"Cut 'is bloody 'ead off!"
Now cornered at the edge of the dock, it was fight, or swim; and while he could swim just fine, he certainly couldn't swim forever; certainly not with an angry crew of pirates swimming after him.
youtube
Then, they came; a flurry of bodies, one-by-one, snarling and biting and punching. First an elezen; the scoundrel laid him flat with a quick blow to the chin. Another, a miqo'te with eyes the color of blood, came next; the thief sidestepped him, letting the charging pirate soar right over the dock and into the water with a yelp. The thief dove to the other end of the pier, evading a few angry boots along the way; a hard elbow-shot right to the eye met another pirate, who staggered back and fell across the legs of a group of scalawags, the lot of them tumbling along the dock.
"Co an' clear, 'e's ready fer a good simmerin' in the pot!" A roegadyn with a gut as wide as the thief was tall barreled through the crowd, a skillet as big as two mens' heads grasped tight in his fingers, scars and scalds from splashes of hot oil and burning ovens cresting along his fingers and arms. He gritted his teeth and swung the massive pot backward, winding up for a blow to the thief's head.. only to accidentally knock one of his fellow pirates right in the forehead with his backstroke, leading to a chorus of angry screams. The pirates jumped on their own, piling onto the roegadyn; the thief tried to keep clear of the melee but they kept coming at him, nearly overwhelming him as they dragged him into a fist-flying mass of bodies.
"Kill 'm! Kill th' pretty boy!"
"Doc! I need Doc! Medic!"
"Bite 'is fockin' ear off!"
"MY FACE! He CUT my FACE! The bastard!"
KA-BANG!
The ring of a gunshot immediately silenced the mass of gnashing dogs; each took a cautious step back, dazed, glancing down to see if they'd been the one struck by the bullet. Bruised, a hint of crimson at the edge of his lips, the young scoundrel crawled out from the pile, dancing back to his safe corner of the pier, gasping for breath. The plume of black-powder smoke wafting through the air drew his eyes to the deck of the rose-painted galleon docked nearby; atop the deck saw a figure holding the gun aloft, its barrel pointed skyward; barely taller than the ship's rail, he could make out the features of a pirate.. of a -woman- pirate. A long jacket, thick boots, thighs and a corset, proudly accentuating a buxom chest; skin a shade darker than the blue of the sea, and messy hair that erupted in rich reds before lightening to campfire-orange at the tips. At her side stood a highlander thick as tree-trunk and nearly as tall as two of the tiny woman, his face mangled and missing an eye; the other eye narrowed and his lips scowled as he curled fists big enough to crush melons with a single squeeze.
"Cool an' calm an' assemble, ye galley of half-wits, lest the next shot aim fer somethin' other than th' sun!" A shrieking came from the woman, shrill and airy; it nearly made the scoundrel laugh, but to the throng of angry pirates at the dock, the word whipped them into shape same as the hoarse roar of a drill disciplinarian. -That- did make the thief laugh. -That- woman, the terror of the pirates!
"Now, one of y' lollygagging louts're gonna explain, in the simplest terms," she crowed, her voice almost childish yet terrifying firm in the ears of the crew, "where it is yer loving cap'n went wrong in recruiting 'n' training the sorriest sacks of rotten popotos from here t' Kugane!" The crew exchanged bloodied, bruised glances at one another, confused; the 'captain' continued. "Th' lot of ye, gathered an' assembled, and y'couldn't stop a single man! 'f I didn't have so kind a heart as I did, I'd load y'all into me brig and take you ta sea, just so's Conner an' I could pitch each of you into a swarm 'a sharks!"
"Boss-lady, 'e crack 'is way into da gold shipment," the spiderlike man called out, crawling his way down the galleon's rigging to hang on the ropes just adjacent to the captain. "Was clear ta haul it 'cross de dock when I cot me sight 'a him."
"'E knocked out Machismo! Clocked 'im a dozen times 'bout 'is head!" Came a cry of protest from the crowd of pirates, from a voice that mourned the ego-bruising of the romance-novel pirate. The broad-muscled, square-jawed man shambled forward, practically crying at the splash of blood he sported now across his perfect silken shirt.
"I-I-I can't.. I can't see! Oh gods, he- I can't see!" Machismo bawled loudly, hobbling along the dock in melodramatic horror.
"Let us kill 'im, queen!" Came another call from the crowd. The roar of approval as the thief held his fists up again and inched away slowly only seemed to curl the rage-filled distaste on the tiny captain's face further.
"Idiots! Idiots idiots idiots!" she snarled, silencing their calls for blood once more. "The Rose's Thorne, the fiercest ship in all Eorzea's waters, th' nastiest crew ta ever ply th' winds of Vylbrand and its sea, and y' let a pretty-boy, clean-skin steal our gold, and y' fall like reeds 'neath the scythe when 'e starts throwing punches?!"
"B.. but," a voice amid the crowd protested, "bo.. boss-lady, 'e--"
"SHUT UP!" she rumbled, and with a flick of the wrist she appeared poised to load her pistol up with another round. With a deep breath the little, blue-skinned ball of terror closed her eyes to compose herself, slipping her weapon into its belt-holster instead. A silence crept into the air, and the thief's eyes darted to the water - in the presence of this tiny maniac, maybe swimming wasn't such a bad idea, he thought. Finally, the captain's voice, now calmer and quieter, sizzled up from her ruby lips.
"He's a better thief, and a better figher than th' whole assembled lot 'a you," she reasoned. "D'you know what that means, Conner?"
The highlander nodded sternly. The crew watched quietly, perplexed; quietly terrified. Finally, one brave soul hazarded a question.
"...Wh.. what does it mean?"
"It means he's going to pay his debt to us by joining the crew, maybe teaching you idiots a thing or two." Her one-eyed, lilac gaze turned with a wicked little smirk towards the thief, who seemed both dumbfounded and pleasantly surprised. "Isn't that what it means, hmm, clean-skin?"
"Braden," the thief rebutted. If he was going to be a pirate, he wanted to kill -that- nickname before it ever took. "I'm Braden." The busty ball of murder up on deck nodded gleefully.
#writing#braden#braden's past#i realized i never rly#specified#how kina and bray met#and how he got involved with her crazy ass#and PIRATES#back when he had no tats#and long prettyboy hair#also featuring#the best fighting music ever#that or ace of spades#should always be playing during a brawl
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I can’t think of a title but if i did, it’d probably be the most emo thing like how this is probably the most emo thing i’ve written. I’m also assuming a tone of things, like relations between characters, thought processes, yada yada, baldir only has maybe 30 lines, still hope it’s readable since some of the scenes sounded good in my head and I really wanted to write them :3
It was deep into the night and the trees were illuminated with purple light. The half re-formed Crystal of Beginnings was crumbling as Vane began to wake.
“Percy?” Vane groaned, struggling to sit up. A sharp white hot pain from his leg jolted him awake and he threw his head back on to Aracelia’s lap, grinding his teeth in agony. The stab wound in his thigh had been cauterized by the same fiery sword stolen from his friend. “…Celia? WAH! Celia!” He exclaimed as his vision refocused. Grabbing Celia’s arm, he begged “You need to find Percy! J-just leave me here,” His voice shivered despite the sweat drenching his forehead. “I’ll be fine but Percy! Th-th-that jerk knows we f-found out, I don’t know what he’ll do with Per-rcy. Ara—“
Celia looked up in the direction she had sent Ezecrain, ensuring that he would go the wrong way.
She kept watching, biting into her lip until it bled, waiting for the jangling of his chains to trail into silence. Now, it was safe to find Percival. Leaving Vane alone left him open for any monster or bandit to find but she had a choice between taking a chance and letting both of her friends live, or stay and guarantee that one dies.
Gently, Celia lifted Vane’s head and pillowed it on her folded coat.
“Thank you, Celia.” Vane grinned wide and even when he was as pale as bone, for a split second, it felt like nothing was wrong.
“I’ll get Percival back, I promise.” Celia whispered before she gingerly stood, clutching her badly bruised side. With rushed steps, she limped back through the woods to the Grandcypher.
The cut wasn’t bleeding as badly as it could have. She had surprised Vane’s captor and he had swung wildly, hurting her without meaning to. Celia could tell from how upset he looked.
Maybe that meant that Percival was starting to wake up.
None of this was his fault. Finding the salvaged remains of the shards wasn’t his fault. That was because Celia had been careless and everything that had happened after was from her being willfully blind.
It was obvious from the start that Percival hadn’t been acting like himself.
His swordplay wasn’t right. Percival seldom unsheathed his blade and when he did, Celia didn’t see how he defeated the monsters. The few times she caught the knight testing the weapon’s weight, he lodged it into something or an unfortunate someone nearby.
He didn’t speak the way he usually would either. Percival had always been a little, maybe a lot, curt. Harsh and insensitive at the most tense of times but he would never say anything solely to hurt someone.
When Lancelot tried to find out why his friend had been avoiding him, Percival gave some choice words to his concern. Though Celia didn’t hear what he had to say, she did have an inkling that it had something to do with Lancelot immediately assuming Siegfried had been insane when he had apparently acted out of character too. Not just any small argument could send Lancelot storming into town to disappear for half a week, only returning when Vane ran hollering through the streets.
Meanwhile, Percival would hardly sleep, jolting awake when he did. Celia would see his fright slowly twist into an ugly scowl, hearing something break or see his fist denting the wall when his anger boiled over.
This Percival was a stranger to Celia and she was stupid enough to chalk it up to grief. The anniversary of his mother’s death had been approaching and even when he never acted out like this before, loss and grief were unpredictable monsters to Celia. Her mistake was thinking that Percival didn’t handle them better than she did.
“Mmph.” She stifled a pained grunt, tripping over the debris the Grandcypher had left when it crashed. Its hulking hull had slid to a stop at the base of a mountainside, leaving a hole low enough to the ground for Celia to climb into.
There had to be some kind Astrals out there and Celia thanked them for having Lyria and Vryn leaving the ship an island back. They had only stepped off the Grandcypher when it was hijacked and flew off into the evening.
If they were here, Celia was sure she’d lose all control and bawl her eyes out in front of them. Both were kind and gentle, something Celia couldn’t be right now.
Scaling the stray ropes dangling from the mast, Celia was able to haul herself into one of the halls and stood, willing the moisture in the air to gather in her hands. They hardened into a double edged icy sword, wreathed in a frosty fog that spread over the floor as Celia made her way to Percival’s room.
The door was ajar and Celia pushed it open, waiting for the room to light and for fire to rush at her face.
What she found instead were all of the books she had offered to translate for Percival, stacked in eight different piles. He tricked her into thinking that the research was going to be use to help Aglovale. Percival’s older brother may have been suffering from the lingering effects of dabbling in that otherworldly magic. These books that had been collected over the course of the Grandcypher’s journeys could hold remedies.
How did books on curses, live sacrifices, and living mana fuel sources help him?
Not at all.
‘It’s good to know,’ Percival had said, patting a dusty tome. ‘That’s another option to cross off the list. A shame that all of the author’s work is going to waste.’
At the time, Celia didn’t delve into it and didn’t try until more than half of those books had been translated.
That was because most the work was done at Percival’s desk, sitting so close to him that Percival would sometimes doze off on her shoulder. It was fine. Yes, it did make concentrating difficult because of how loud the blood rushing through her ears was but she managed. Percival took it as a sign that he could drape himself over Celia without any pretense of exhaustion.
‘Why so nervous? Lyria holds your hand all the time and Vryn gets to sleep on your lap. Aren’t we friends?’ He asked. ‘Aren’t we?’ He repeated in a whisper, snaking his arm around Celia’s waist and buried his nose into her hair, deathly starved for warmth.
There was a deep fear rooted in Celia, a seed her father had planted when he left her and Vryn alone. He treated his parting with her with as much care as someone would a complete stranger. For years, Celia had gone quiet and kept herself far away from the rest of the villagers. It wasn’t until Lyria and Katalina came crashing into Zinkenstill that Celia remembered how to speak and laugh.
So what if someone she loved left again? What if someone she loved dearly went away and it confirmed her worst fears about how being abandoned wasn’t beyond her control. What if people left her because she was the problem?
‘Aren’t we friends?’ The phrase posed gave her a place to meet midway. If they were just friends, it made it easier to lie about it not meaning as much.
‘We are.’ She had said, curling into Percival’s embrace. The knight had suddenly gone stiff; like he hadn’t expected her to so confidently agree to the arrangement.
What was so strange about it anyway? Percival was freezing. Celia could feel the chill in his skin through his clothes. She had only been helping him feel warmer.
“What’s wrong with me?” Celia grimaced, dearly wanting to take her sword and split that chair in two.
To avoid the temptation, Celia took her gaze away and found herself staring somewhere even worse.
‘Percival! Percival, it’s ok!’ Celia was at the knight’s bedside after he had finally fallen asleep during one of their research sessions. The captain was glad to carry him to his bed but Percival wasn’t prone for long.
The moment his head touched the pillow, Percival snapped awake and grabbed for her throat. Celia’s neck cracked from the effort Percival threw into holding her down, eyes burning with self-righteous rage. Once he realized where he was, the knight pushed himself away and was about to leave the room, callous to Celia’s shock and burdened breathing.
‘Where are you going?’ Celia had grabbed for Percival’s arm. ‘Please, Percival! You need to tell me what’s going on! Let me help you!’ The leer he gave her made Celia want to melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks in the floorboards. It was as though he hated her as much as the soldiers from the Erste Empire did.
But moments before, he had been scared. Why scared?
Then Celia’s mind went back to the date, how close it was to the anniversary of his mother’s death. A new idea formed, a wild stab in the dark that let him get off scott free.
‘Dying isn’t like falling asleep. You don’t need to be afraid to go to sleep,’ She assured him, calm washing back over her. ‘You’re not going to slip away.’
Percival laughed in her face.
‘I don’t need you to patronize me. If I wanted to get babied, I’d go look for E…hm,’ Percival turned towards her with his thumb hooked in his pockets, posture slouched in a way he’d usually find unbecoming. ‘How would you know anyways?’
He hadn’t completely wanted Celia to leave if he hadn’t shaken her hold off. Celia pulled his hand over her stomach. The scar there was so pronounced that Percival could feel its outline through her clothes.
‘If Lyria hadn’t saved me, I would have stayed dead,’ Celia released his arm but he didn’t move away. ‘I didn’t realize how much I feel things when I’m alive. When I stopped being able to see and hear, I also stopped caring. I wasn’t angry or lonely, I was blank. It was actually sort of a relief until I heard Vryn crying.’ Celia reached up to cup Percival’s guarded face, letting her heat sink into his cheeks. ‘Sleeping isn’t like dying at all. Your worries follow you into your dreams,’ Carefully, Celia slid her hands behind Percival’s neck and pulled him into a hug. ‘And so do all of the good things. There’s nothing wrong about being angry and afraid but try thinking about all of the good things first.’
Percival’s arms wrapped around Celia suddenly, crushing her against his chest. They fell on to his bed and he hung on to Celia for dear life.
‘What were you afraid of?’ That question startled Celia more than the embrace.
‘I don’t think I could live on my own.’ Celia replied in the vaguest way she could. Oddly, this wasn’t uncomfortable. Not even awkward. They were only friends after all.
‘I think you did,’ Percival said. ‘Isn’t it frustrating? You do all that you can to make people see you and once they do, they pick apart everything you did. Always twisting it as something wrong so they can throw you back to the side.’
Celia experience wasn’t exactly like that but she could empathize. Percival being the youngest of three noble boys, under the both the scrutiny and lower expectations set by the people of Wales and even his family. Hearing about that made Celia feel much better; someone who shined as much as Percival could feel the same selfish things as her.
Shocked back into the present, Celia had to stop the memory there. Any farther and she would be going over all of the things she had told the person that had possessed Percival. He knew everything about her life in Zinkenstill, the fears she still had on the run with a family she was scared could scatter at any moment, and had traced all the scars she had gotten from keeping her promises.
Worse, he didn’t even pretend to be Percival. For days, he talked about stories from the village of Amethysts in all ways but name. And she had eaten all of it up.
That, and effectively let him cut her off from Lyria and Vryn the entire time. While she fell asleep to the beat of Percival’s heart, he had used the research to restore the Crystal of Beginnings at the low price of the rest of the crew’s lives.
The shards of the Crystal fell out of the desk drawer right when the Grandcypher was forced off course, waking Celia from her dream. A few bits were still on the carpet.
Celia bit her lip so it wouldn’t tremble, taking to searching through all the books and materials he left behind. She made a quick mess of a room, concluding that he hadn’t returned to resort to a plan B now that his first attempt had failed.
“Where could he have gone?” Celia was relieved to leave the room, sprinting through the Grandcypher searching for a blood trail to the villain.
With no signs to be found, Celia couldn’t think of anywhere else on the ship he’d go to take cover. That meant he was out on the run and Celia had no clue what he was planning. That was arguably worse than using the multitude of other heinous spells she had helped him learn.
Swearing at herself, Celia made a stop at her room to grab runes, the Revenant dagger, and whatever else could possibly help. Then, Celia went to leave and found him leaning against the door, flitting through the pages of Percival’s journal.
“Baldir!” Celia raised her sword, itching to run him through for what he had done.
“Did you think Percival was a diva too?” Baldir asked, striding towards her in Percival’s body. He didn’t look up from the journal or particularly care that Celia had the point of her sword against his belly. His mannerisms were no different than before and Celia was ashamed she had done nothing about it. “He won’t drink wine that’s younger than ten years, he keeps that gaudy armor so shiny I can’t believe he hasn’t polished it into dust, and he has to keep himself so groomed that a misplaced hair makes people worry.”
“Stay back!” Celia ordered and it fell on deaf ears.
“His mother dying on this same day saved me a lot of trouble keeping up,” Baldir flipped to the next page. “Everyone, even the mongrel he says gets on his nerves so much, remembered and I didn’t even care to look up her name.” He closed the book one-handed, smirking at the cute snarl Celia had.
“You were going to kill Vane!” She hissed. If Celia and Ezecrain had caught on to the scheme a second late, Vane would have been dead.
“That’s one thing Percival and I have in common. We didn’t think that mangy dog paid that much attention to him. Almost got away with burying him before you found out too,” Baldir’s mouth twitched into a scowl for a moment and it was then that he decided to acknowledge the weapon aimed at his gut. “Relax,” He held up his hands. “I’m at the end of the line.”
When Celia refused to budge, Baldir pushed by her blade and tilted her chin up. They were seeing eye-to-eye and Celia jerked away, swing her sword back to cleave him in two. Baldir watched the blade hang in the air.
“Do you want to take a shot at me? Now’s the time,” He turned his hands over in a shrug. “You can make that sword phase right through Percival and kill what’s left of me. I know how much you put into studying magic. In fact, there isn’t anything I don’t know about you,” Baldir tilted his head back and laughed in a way so condescending, Celia could barely believe in Percival’s voice. “It’s flattering how charming you think I am.”
“You tricked me!” Celia shouted, gripping her sword so hard that the hilt began to crack. “I wanted to help Percival and you used him! If I knew it was you—“
“But you weren’t talking to Percival.” Baldir tsked, shaking his head as he walked closer to Celia. “No, you were talking to me. You wanted to know about me. You wanted to stay with me!” Becoming increasingly erratic, he lunged at Celia and swiped at air as she jumped out of the way. Just that effort made him fall to his knee, already drained from having to keep Percival in check with only slivers of his soul. “Ha…Haha…” He panted, watching Celia’s shadow fall over him. “What? Am I wrong?”
Using all of the fury building up inside her, Celia slashed her sword down with a shout. It smashed into pieces, leaving only the fractured hilt in Celia’s hands. A piece of the sword had bounced off of Baldir’s chest but nothing more.
Celia kept her chin down, keeping her contorting expression hidden. Her lips were pressed in a hard straight line and her eyes were squeezed shut in an attempt to keep from sobbing. A stray tear managed to escape, dropping between her boots.
Baldir said nothing, hand hovering over Celia’s long blue hair. He braved brushing his hand over a strand, looping the soft lock around his fingers so gently, Celia couldn’t feel it.
“Using Percival as a host isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me but it comes pretty close.” Baldir stood to go sit on Celia’s bed.
It reminded her that a couple of times, Baldir would go to her room for no reason other than to visit. Perhaps to keep up the pretense that he was Percival but, to come here at his most vulnerable, Celia knew why and refused to acknowledge it.
“I glanced at a mirror and I thought I repossessed my own corpse by accident.” Baldir went on as Celia wiped her stinging eyes.
Percival’s hair was close to the same shade as Baldir’s, he had a similar lean and muscular build, and was even around the same age Baldir was when he was shot dead. This was the closest he could get to being alive.
“It’s ironic how close we look like each other but he has everything from blue blood to—“He let out a strained laugh. “—actually being compatible with the crystal.” He tried to use the chain and gem he had stolen from Ezecrain’s cabin one last time for any sort of answer.
It pointed at Celia again.
“No, it’s not ironic,” He flung the chain into the corner of Celia’s cabin. “It’s infuriating! One last insult before I go blank.”
That got Celia to look at Baldir falling back on her bed.
“I’m actually glad. If finally dying is just like how you said it’d be, I’m going to welcome it.” Baldir had been able to take a host thanks to the shards of the Crystal being clumped together. But Ezcrain shattering the crystal like weakened him terribly. His hold had a limit this time and he had wasted the last of his energy on that outburst. Now, he was going to disappear in a handful of minutes and at best, his boasting sounded flat. At worst, he sounded pleading. “I won’t need to see Ezecrain again and your crew won’t rip me apart for breaking their dog’s leg.”
“Stop talking.” Celia said, crawling to the side of the bed.
It wasn’t despite Baldir’s atrocities that Celia reached out to clutch his hand. It was because of them. The real irony was that on his final breaths, kindness would hurt the most.
Celia could be as greedy as she pleased.
“Aracelia,” Baldir regarded her in a way she would never let anyone else. She didn’t see a smirk or a sarcastic sneer. Celia saw a smile so sad, it almost made her stop hating him. “Isn’t he your Prince?” He asked with a dry throat, recalling what Percival wrote in his journal about his vassal staying by his side when he was injured. “You need to kiss him awake.”
A thought crossed Celia’s mind; one where she and Baldir grew up in the same place. Maybe if they were lonely together, Baldir wouldn’t have done such awful things and Celia wouldn’t be such a desperate person.
Taking those meaningless dreams, Aracelia climbed on the bed and cupped the side Percival’s cold cheek. They held each other’s gazes, Aracelia feeling his cold breath tickling her skin. She shuttered her eyes slowly, almost able to see Baldir in the dark when her lips brushed against his.
Baldir’s breath hitched and Aracelia took her chance, kissing Baldir deeply. He slid his hand under her clothes and over her ridges of her back, tangled his fingers in her hair, and bit at her soft lip. Baldir did everything he wanted to do when he had only wanted to be near her because he had been cold for so long, and more when he learned her name.
On Celia’s part, she dug her nails into his skin, wanting Baldir to regret everything he never had. Holding her breath, she enveloped herself in this horrible mistake, hoping Percival would do the right thing and never forgive her. Celia’s regrets rose in a crescendo, turning away from Baldir right at the end.
His last act was lifting his head, touching his forehead to the crook of her neck. Baldir hoped Aracelia had lied about what it was like to die, filling his thoughts with the one good thing he had.
Choking on a lump in her throat, Celia cushioned the back of Percival’s head when it fell back. His eyes gradually opened and it was the knight that was gazing back at her.
“Celia?” Percival knitted his brow, wondering why he ached from head to toe. The captain hugged him tightly, hiding her face in the pillow. “Celia, did something happen?”
The captain kept holding her breath, concentrating on her slowing heartrate and the warmth returning to Percival’s body.
“Don’t worry about it, Percival,” Celia sat up, giving him a reassuring grin. Her tone was the perfect picture of cheer but Percival couldn’t overlook how drained Celia appeared. “Rest. Vane’s injured out there so I’ll go get him first. Then, I’ll tell you everything, I pr...” She cleared her throat, coughing into her fist.
‘Do you promise?’ Percival thought to say, scrambled as his thoughts were. There was a voice in the back of his mind that stopped him; warned him that this was for Celia to choose.
“I’ll wait for you.” Percival said, hand sliding out of Celia’s once she moved away. Her gaze lingered on Percival, at ease as the sun began to rise, shining through her window over him.
Celia hugged herself, leaving with that sunrise in mind.
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8. Eric - Clash of the titans
I know it´s been a long time, sorry :( But it´s extremely hard to switch between stories & it throws me off the loop every time :D But I hope the little smut made up for it!
I would like to know why the hell this Eric gif appears under ´ innocent ´ We all know he is anything but... :D
@pathybo @tigpooh67 @jojuarez26 @jaiboomer11 @bookwarm85 @iammarylastar @beautifulramblingbrains @love17mwh @deepfrz @lets-play-truth-or-dare @carefultheyspit @diary2000
„Where have you been, dude?! I´ve searched for over an hour!“ Sighing, Eric sat down beside his outraged and pretty annoyed best friend, ordering himself a beer with a hand sign to the barkeeper. He desperately needed one to get his thoughts off the little stiff and everything that was even remotely about her.
The young leader had worked the whole day, doing paperwork before meeting Amy in the infirmary for her first ultrasound. It had been delayed to her tenth week because she was still too selfless to demand to get the nearest appointment which was okay with Eric that she let a few other´s choose before she did.
But choosing as the last one and having to wait for weeks was something he couldn't understand.
Eric wasn’t a patient man so he had been aggravated from the very beginning.
And when she started with her perfect little plan, that she had figured out under so much duress and explained how she would be able to tell her brother what they two of them had done, Eric had to suppress the exasperation he felt. He didn’t want to scold her but she didn’t have one clue as what to do.
Even though he now had to admit it was a little amusing that she was so clueless, it had annoyed him.
A smirk threatened to curl his lips up while he thought about her shocked expression but when Wayne mustered him with a strange look Eric carefully composed his face, showing the leader mask, his best friend knew too well.
“I´ve been busy.” His reply was curt, not wanting to give Wayne the chance to sense that something was wrong. Seeing his child had rattled Eric to the core, for once showing his weak side as his erudite-like mind tried to figure out how to keep both, Amy and the little one save.
After all, he was a leader, always a target not just to factionless rebels but also to inner faction threats that wanted to bring him down, just because they didn't agree with his methods.
And now Amy would walk around with a huge target on her back, just like his unborn child calling for those fuckers to hurt them. How easy would it be to wound or to abduct them?
The perfect leverage, to make the young leader do everything they wanted. To make him their puppet that would strangle itself with the strings in the end.
Eric knew he had to let Max know they needed 24/7 surveillance and their best soldiers in standby since her dickhead of brother wouldn’t think of it, wouldn’t think of protecting his own sister.
He needed to know where she was at all times.
His little stiff.
"Yeah, clearly," Wayne responded dryly, eying him up as if searching for clues. “And why did your secretary tell me you had an appointment with a gynecologist? I seriously hope you´re not hiding from me that you´re secretly a woman. That would be gross.”
"Fuck you, Wayne." Eric gritted his teeth, annoyed that the damn nosy bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut and his best friend didn’t know when to draw the line. He fiddled with the cap of the bottle avoiding his gaze, harshly scolding him. “It´s none of your business.”
“Come on!” Whining, Wayne slumped down on the table, scowling like a toddler. “I´m your best friend! I even followed you out of erudite so cut the crap and tell me what the hell is going on. You haven’t been yourself lately and I´m taking the chance of sounding like a sappy tree hugger but I´m worried.”
Eric contemplated for a moment, deciding it would be best to tell his best friend of his predicament now before he found out otherwise but someone interrupted him, yelling his name.
“Eric!”
Before he could even turn around to face the person that called him a hand came out of nowhere, slapping the bottle from his hand. It flew against the wall, shattering into thousand pieces.
Whipping his head around, to rip the person who had dared to disrespect him in such a way Eric wasn’t prepared for the fist that met his jaw with so much force, it sent him to the floor.
Not hesitating for a second, Eric lessened the impact with a backwards roll standing back up immediately, hands in a defensive position ready to kill whoever attacked him.
Raising his gaze, the young leader came face to face with an outrageous Four, all muscles tensed like a snake about to strike.
Eric knew instantly what had happened.
The little stiff must have come out sooner than he anticipated. He appreciated that she came out clean but a little heads up would have been great. At least then number boy wouldn’t have been able to catch him off guard for everyone to see.
"What the hell, man?" Wayne shouted, looking ready to intervene, but Eric subtly shook his head stopping him. This was his fight. "Four, what are you doing?"
But Four ignored him completely, as he and Eric sized each other up, the rest of the members and all the noise around them fading into distance.
Number boy tensed up, eyes blazing and as he opened his mouth the leader knew exactly what pitiful accusations he would throw at him.
"How dare you lay hand on my sister?!"
The gasps and whispers that arose, leaving no doubt that the whole compound would hear of this before the day would be over, were oblivious to them both, eyes glued to only each other.
"Lay hand on her?” Eric mocked, lips curling into a cruel smirk. ”I just gave her what she asked for, as long and as hard as she asked for. I didn't force her to anything. Let's rather say she was more than compliant."
Images of pale thighs wrapped around his head flashed by in front of his eyes and he almost missed the second punch that was thrown at him. By reflex he narrowly avoided what would have been the biggest humiliation of his life and when Four´s hand flew by his face, he grabbed his wrist pulling him closer.
Planting two quick hits on his abdomen Eric pushed him away again, eyes narrowed as he flexed his aching jaw. But Four wasn’t that easy to relent and he knew that.
When he came again at the young leader, Eric tried to land another punch, this time aimed at Four´s head but he merely blocked it. Unfazed by the power it held he rammed his shoulder into the young leader’s guts, knocking the wind out of him.
From somewhere beside him he thought to hear his little stiff but his mind was too occupied to check if she really was there. She could watch him beating Four´s ass into next week, though.
Eric hit the ground, for a moment to wind up to move as Four straddled him, knees caging his arms to his body, rendering him unable to do anything against Four´s fists that started flying into Eric´s unprotected face, his head slamming back against the concrete.
He retaliated not even a second later, sending his knee into number boy´s back, using his pain induced stiffness to roll them over. Not bothering to brush away the blood that dripped from a cut above his eyebrow into his eyes, Eric started showering him with punches fueled by rage but Four did his best to block them, forearms protecting his face.
The young leader only got one good punch in, his opponents nose starting to gush blood immediately before Four placed his elbow in Eric´s guts. Pushing him off, he scrambled away to gather his wits and catch his breath.
Eric did the same. Pushing himself up he wiped from under his eye, only managing to smear the blood all over his face. But he couldn’t ponder long about the fact that it most likely will leave a scar since number boy whose nose looked suspiciously crooked decided he didn't have enough yet.
Ducking away from under his next punch, Eric´s fist just only brushed Four´s ribs still with enough force to cause a bruise later but not leaving a lasting damage like he had hoped.
They circled each other, striking over and over again as both tried to inflict as much pain as they possibly could, their blows too powerful as that anyone would have dared to intervene and risk being knocked out cold.
Or worse.
Their fight, so close in skill, speed and force went on for several painful minutes, leaving Eric´s whole body aching. It was the first real fight the both of them had since initiation. Back then the young leader had taunted and mocked him to such an extent that Four showed his real face.
Wasn´t a pretty one.
He had to spend almost a week in the infirmary and Eric wasn’t one to whine, but that had hurt.
The young leader was pleased that he had no doubt improved his technique, his nemesis not being able to knock him out easily. Still, he knew it was a far shot to say he´d be winning anytime soon even though he would never admit it. He would rather die than losing to Four while the whole faction was watching.
It would mean he had failed as a leader and should take the next trip to the chasm.
Both of them were to focused on beating each other, anticipating every possible move that they didn’t even hear their superior´s entrance, even less the words he spoke or the way everyone instantly quieted down. They only snapped out of it, when suddenly there were people detaining them, Wayne and Peter dragging a beaten Eric away while talking intently, Uriah, Will and Zeke doing the same with Four.
But Eric didn’t listen to his best friend as he watched the little redhead stumble towards her brother, face tear-stained and hands wringing furiously.
With narrowed eyes, he observed how her asshole of brother that had been glaring at him the whole time now channeled his anger towards her, looking disgusted that she even thought about touching him now that she had been defiled with Eric´s touch.
Placing his hand on Wayne´s chest without looking away from Amy, Eric slowly pushed him away and Wayne reluctantly let go, knowing there was nothing that would keep him here.
With slow steady steps the young leader walked forwards, his eyes trailed on the woman carrying his child, that was desperately begging her brother to understand.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he insulted her in the worst way possible.
Eric only heard `Father was right´ and `whore´, enough to make the anger boil again hot in his chest as he registered what the bastard just said to his sister. Clenching his fists, Eric was so close to strangling him but before he could execute his very accurate plan of murder Amy stumbled back as if taking a blow, almost falling to the ground.
Eric caught her shaking form keeping her upright, the little stiff almost limp in his arms as she sobbed heartbreakingly into his chest.
Scooping her up, the young leader threw Four his most livid glare promising him a slow and excruciating death.
"I suggest you´ll leave right this instant if you don't want me to kill you in the most painful way possible. Since you are apparently ´no brother of hers´ there is nothing that will hold me back.” Looking down at the woman in his arms, he tightened his grip as he once again heard the strangled sobs leaving her throat. ”So get the fuck out of my sight!"
His annoying friends started to pull him out of the pit, while his more than infuriating girlfriend had her hands placed on his chest to keep him in line. All of them were shitting their pants, wanting to get away from the glares Eric was throwing them. They did their best to get Four away from the young leader before he could draw his weapon shoot him.
Certainly a most satisfying solution.
It wasn’t as if anyone could say something against it. After all, Eric was the leader.
He was the embodiment of the system.
Realizing that practically half of the faction was staring at him, his best friend included Eric threw all of them dirty looks, meeting Wayne´s raised eyebrow with a meaningful look that basically told him everything he needed to know before striding out of the pit with quick steps.
Amy had her head buried in his chest not once looking up as the young leader carried her through the hallways. He assumed her state was mostly caused by her brother´s words that hurt her in the most painful way, deliberately targeting her insecurities to use them against her.
Nothing that Eric wouldn’t do, but he would never talk to his sister that he claimed to love in such a fashion.
Real dick move.
Noticing that Amy grew quieter, only hiccupping occasionally Eric pressed his lips to her forehead, inhaling deeply.
Her sweet scent as always soothing his mind that lay in turmoil.
With his hand that was slung around her torso, Eric drew circles on the exposed skin of her stomach, where her t-shirt had ridden up a little.
Feeling the strange need to comfort her, Eric heard himself mutter words he never thought would ever leave his mouth.
"We are your family now"
After changing a sleeping Amy out of her uncomfortable looking clothes into one of his too tight shirts, Eric laid her down on his bed tugging her in before quietly leaving the room.
Not wanting to wake her up, being aware she cried herself to sleep Eric used the second bathroom in his flat.
In front of the mirror, he cleaned the cut on his forehead, before injecting himself with a dose of healing serum he had stashed in his medicine cabinet for exact these situations.
He hated going to the infirmary so it made sense to him to have a little stash at his disposal whenever he needed it.
Stripping out of his clothes, Eric stepped into the shower the almost scolding water soothing the ache of his tense muscles and forming bruises. He seriously hoped that the serum would cause the very purple bruise on his jaw to disappear until tomorrow morning. He didn’t need a visible reminder that fueled his desire to skin Four alive more than he already wanted to.
Finished in the bathroom, Eric dressed in the only casual clothes he owned: sweatpants and a loose fitting shirt.
Back in the kitchen, he grabbed himself another beer since he never came around to finish his first one. Taking a seat on a stool in front of the island, occasionally sipping his beer Eric got lost in his thoughts.
What his little stiff would do now that she had experienced the wrath of her brother, how he would handle his insubordination in initiation, Eric was sure to come or how the hell he should take care of a child.
The only positive thing about the situation was that Amy used to be a stiff so Eric was sure she´d be more than capable of handling the child herself when he was away doing leadership business.
Maybe the only advantage of associating with stiffs in the first place.
Still, Eric couldn’t deny that he was worried about her, not just his child. He knew that she could take more than it seemed but her mind was still fragile, cracked by countless years of abuse and Eric vowed that if any of the stress caused by her brother harmed the baby, he would kill him with bare hands.
Distracted by his thoughts, Eric neither noticed the time passing by nor the young woman who shyly came tapping out of his bedroom. Startled by a noise he lifted his head from where he had buried it in his hands, gaze trailing over the redhead that stood there, nervously wringing with the hemline of his shirt.
Amy looked tired, her eyes red from crying as she avoided his questioning gaze. She answered his question if everything was alright that she just was thirsty and had a headache, no doubt from crying herself to sleep.
Flicking his eyes over her bare legs, Eric got up to pour her a glass of orange juice, something he knew she drank with every meal no matter what she was eating. Placing it on the counter, he came to a halt behind her fingers placed on her temples.
Eric knew it was an effective way to get rid of a headache since he had no idea what kind of headache pill he could give her without harming the baby.
Sighing in content at the relief he brought her Amy rested her head against his pecs, closing her eyes for a moment. Eric watched her head tilted, he was glad to get her to relax a little after this shitty day.
After a minute he slowly stepped back, leaving Amy to down the whole glass in a few gulps. Looking up at him, she asked how he knew what she liked to drink. The question made Eric more than just mildly uncomfortable since he didn’t want her to know he´d basically been watching her since the day she appeared on the roof looking like an angel from heaven send down to earth for his personal punishment.
So he deflected.
But seeing her face fall with disappointment, Eric had to roll his eyes at his own behavior as he, after all, confessed that she indeed had captured his attention long ago. And the worst thing was that he couldn't stop.
Soon he had told her that he memorized all her six fears, what they were and how impressed he had been by her performance.
And even though he had vowed to himself to never let anyone have that kind of leverage over him, the moment Eric saw her eyes lighting up with happiness he knew exposing his softer side had been worth it.
Still, he had enough serious conversations for one night and he started teasing her with his words as well as his not so subtle touches.
To make her laugh he brought up her most embarrassing fear, making her quickly cover his mouth with her hands which were preventing him from reaching his goal. To kiss every single inch of her skin.
Capturing her wrists in one of his big hands, Eric pinned her against the wall continuing to trail his moist lips over the sensitive skin of her neck while Amy seemingly endless ranted on about how Clowns were creepy only making Eric chuckle.
He didn’t really know what to say to her. Here he was, doing his best to seduce her, while his little stiff seemed hell-bent to explain some psychological shit to him. As if he hadn't heard enough of that from his father every time he saw him, which luckily hadn’t been much.
Eric knew he needed to up his game.
Pretending to pay attention to her little rant, Eric´s hand stealthily trailed beneath her shirt, caressing the bare skin of her hip. Snickering to himself when he heard her breath hitch Eric decided to play innocent as he looked up, his lips ghosting over hers.
Right in that moment, he remembered the cruel words he spoke about her and something he had seldom felt before sharply twisted his guts.
Regret.
And so he did something he never did.
He apologized.
But his little one seemed not too bothered about it because before he knew what happened, her mouth was pressed against his in a searing kiss, her tongue sneaking through his lips clashing with his.
"Shut the fuck up and kiss me."
Startled by her demand Eric froze for a second before a sly smirk curled up his lips. Grabbing the hem of the shirt, he pulled it over her head, diving right back into their kiss.
“My pleasure.”
With that he picked her up, hands gripping her bare thighs as he carried a squealing Amy into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them before ridding himself of his clothes in one motion.
Instead of throwing her onto the bed like he had done the first time he had her in here, Eric sat down so that his little stiff straddled him, hands trailing over her side making her squirm. But it was effective. Now her bare chest was pressed against his, as their tongues intertwined battling for dominance, her hips rocking against his bulge.
Amy was the first to pull back, biting her lip she seemed to contemplate something. Letting herself sliding from his lap she slapped Eric´s hands away that grabbed for her, making him furrow his brow.
“What are you doing?”
But she only shushed him, now kneeling in front of him looking up with big eyes as her hand tentatively came to a stop at his boxers, fingers just dipping inside caressing the happy trail that lead down south.
Getting an idea where this was going, Eric incredulously raised his hips letting the little vixen proceed in pulling down his underwear not believing his luck or that this was really happening.
Facing his manhood at eye level Amy bit her lip, scrutinizing it closely from every angle possible before she hesitantly touched it with one finger, trailing it up and down.
Eric groaned at the slight friction, grabbing her hand in his bigger one to wrap it around his member fully, showing her exactly how to stroke. But Amy pulled her hand back, tsking at him, forbidding him to touch.
Exhaling deeply, Eric let himself fall down on his bed thighs spread widely, hands crossed behind his head just enjoying her hesitant touches that grew more confident with each second.
Amy had established a satisfying pace, both hands wrapped around his shaft when suddenly something hot and wet touched the head of his member, making his head snap up in surprise.
Looking down Eric was faced with the most erotic sight he had ever had the pleasure to witness.
There she sat, his little redhead, hair framing her angelic face eyes innocently watching him while her pouty lips were wrapped around the top of his member.
When she moved her tongue he instinctively clenched his hips to prevent himself from cumming right there and then. Grunting he flogged down again, one hand tangling in Amy´s hair while he fisted the blanket above his head with his other.
She slowly started to bob her head, careful to not touch his sensitive skin with her teeth, taking him deeper each time she swirled her tongue around until Eric knew he couldn't hold back any longer. With the hand in her hair, he pulled her back, almost laughing when she started pouting at him.
“Don´t worry princess. You´ll soon get what you want.”
With that he pulled her up by her hips, ripping her underwear off when she came to stand in front of him. Amy gasped in response to Eric´s hands on her butt, roughly massaging her cheeks while he pulled her closer forcing her to straddle him again.
Hovering directly over him, Eric smirked now that he had her exactly where he wanted her.
Gripping himself with one hand, he positioned his length directly under her entrance hissing in pleasure when he felt her velvety hotness engulf him. Amy slowly sank down but stopped after a few inches, breathing ragged she tried to get her bearings.
But Eric wasn’t known for his patience.
Gripping the hair at her nape, he pulled her head back with enough force to make her obey him, but still careful not to hurt her, exposing her neck that would soon be full of love marks while simultaneously pushing her hips down, forcing her to take all of him at once.
Amy shrieked at the sudden fullness, back arching, not knowing if she wanted to escape being impaled or to get more of the delicious friction. But when Eric who was gently biting along her neck leaving his marks of ownership on her flawless skin, slowly lifted her up again just to pull her back down she slowly started gyrating her hips in response.
Fueled by her gentle movement Eric quickened his pace, lifting her up before pulling her back down over and over again.
Establishing a rhythm, Amy rocked her hips meeting him thrust for thrust moaning loudly every time he hit an especially sensitive spot deep inside her, she kissed him passionately. Eric was still gripping her hair, soon forcing her to arch her back making her even tighter for him than she already was.
Moving against each other, in sync with each other, it didn't take long for Amy to arrive at the brink of something big, Eric right behind her as he rocked them into bliss, bodies rubbing against each other.
With one last upwards thrust Amy shattered, a high pitched moan leaving her open mouth as she convulsed around his hard shaft, triggering Eric´s release. Pulling her head back even further, he bit down heightening the sensations that rocked her to the core as he spilled himself into her with a grunt and a few more uncoordinated thrusts, riding out his own orgasm.
Trying to catch his breath Eric slumped back into the mattress, his little stiff collapsing completely spent in a boneless heap on top of him. Closing his eyes, it didn’t take long for the image of the little redhead kneeling in front of him to flash vividly behind his eyes and despite the great climax he just experienced, Eric felt himself growing hard again.
As did Amy.
With wide eyes she looked up at him, almost scared of his answer, she squeaked. “Again?”
“Again.” Smirking dirty, Eric grabbed her, gently situating her in the middle of his bed. Crawling on top of her, he positioned himself again, watching her beautiful face closely.
Thrusting inside her a second time, the last conscious thought he had was that she indeed had been an angel send from heaven to make him pay for every sin he had ever committed.
#eric coulter#divergent#eric#eric divergent#Eric´s pov#dauntless#fanfiction#factionbeforeblood#fanfic#favouritepsycho#family#amy#oc
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