#i might just. walk out into the dark woods for a bit. let the nonexistent wolves have me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itwasthereaminuteago · 7 months

Text

|| Lost and Found ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: meetcute! With dogs!

Oral (f rec), beardburn, coming in pants (m) 😍, written for the @bernthirst-events #beardthalbash, thanks to @darlingshane and @anna-hawk for organising!

"Midge! Miiiidge!" Your voice echoes through the endless trees as you call out again and again, listening hopefully for the familiar thunder of paws on the leafy undergrowth coming back toward you, but there was nothing but the muted twitter of birds. "Midge, come!" You shout again, your voice starting to tremble with worry as you walk hurriedly along the forestry path. The light was beginning to fade earlier in these shortening autumn evenings, and it would soon be impossible to find your runaway pup. You take out your phone, dismayed to see the signal nonexistent out this deep in the woods.

"C'mon Midge! Midge, please come back!" The back of your throat is rough from yelling and your eyes are glistening with tears. You couldn't go home, you had to keep looking for her.

"Miiiidge?!" You tried again, and stopped in your tracks as you heard a rustling nearby, but it was just a blackbird rummaging in the leaf litter.

"Oh Midge…" you croak out more quietly, still holding her broken lead tightly in your fist. You cursed yourself for not replacing it sooner after she had been chewing it, for not buying a stronger one. You were so wrapped up in your own admonishment that you jumped out of your skin when someone walked up the track behind you.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind me askin', are you alright?"

You turned and were met with the figure of a large bearded man. He kept his distance when he realised he had given you a bit of a fright, giving you time to take in the fact that he was wearing a dark green shirt with the park ranger logo embroidered on it along with utility pants and sturdy walking boots. His eyes were dark and he was looking at you kindly.

"I'm Frank, I'm a ranger. I heard you yelling, can I help?" He asks, and you find yourself stuttering over your words, partly in relief that someone else was around, and someone who hopefully knew these woods a lot better than you.

"It's- it's my dog, she… oh, I've been searching and calling for her for hours, she broke her lead when she saw a squirrel and bolted after it! I couldn't catch her in time and she's just- she's just a pup!" You sniffle as your eyes keep flitting around to look through the trees. "I can't find her, she doesn't know this part of the woods that well, I can't leave her alone out there."

The ranger nods and steps a little bit closer. "Alright, I know that you're worried about her, but this sorta thing happens a lot. I'm gonna help you to find her best I can. Can you give me a description? An' I heard you callin' out 'Midge', s'that right?"

You wipe at your damp eyes, nodding. "She's a border collie, black and white. She's 8 months but she's small for her age."

"Okay ma'am, do you remember when and where you last saw her? I'll radio my team and we'll be able to have more eyes and ears lookin' out for Midge okay?" His voice is low and authoritative but soft with it, and your tears soon stop as you're distracted by the way he goes straight into action.

"Back over the ridge near the fire pass, I think it was about two hours ago…" you tell him.

Frank unclips his radio from his belt and relays all the information, getting confirmation from a variety of voices shortly after.

"Okay, let's take a walk back that way huh? You got some treats or somethin' with you?"

You fall into step beside him, grasping the bag of mini bone biscuits from your pocket. "Yeah."

He smiles. "That's good. Those her favourite, huh?"

"Yeah. But she just loves any food really."

You pick a few out hoping that Midge might be able to smell them from wherever she is and her greedy stomach might lead her back to you.

Frank nods. "Is she alright with guys? I know some dogs don't like a man with a beard, can scare em sometimes."

You soon dismiss Frank's concern. "No not at all, actually she'd likely love you. I mean, our postman is quite a big guy and she's always happy to see him at the house. Though I guess he does bring treats for a lot of the dogs."

Frank smiles again and starts calling out for Midge as you come near to the spot where she ran off and you join him, shaking the bag of treats. He takes out a flashlight and starts a sweep. "Which way did she head, do you remember?" He asks.

You point down the slope in front of you and he starts making his way through the trees with you following behind and both calling. After a little while walking down the hill he holds up his hand in a signal to stop and you stay quiet. He listens and you strain your ears too, eventually hearing a distant whimper.

"Oh! Oh it's Midge!" You're suddenly sick with fear that she's seriously hurt and start running towards the sound, the thick branches scraping against your face and arms. Frank catches up to you quickly and urges you to slow down.

"Hey, hey! Watch yourself now, there's a ton of burrows and shit you could break your ankle in if you're not careful. Just hold back with me. It's alright, we'll get to her."

You reluctantly slow your pace as he's right after all, he does know these woods better than you and very soon he's crouching down at the roots of a big tree. As you round it you see little Midge on the ground whining and wagging her tail as she sees you. Her back paw is caught between two roots and she's clearly in some pain.

"Hey, hey Midgey, shhh it's okay, just stay nice and still." You try to calm her, holding her collar as Frank is extremely gentle as he carefully moves the roots to work her paw free and lift her up.

"There we go," he says as he holds her.

Both of you look the pup over for any other injuries before he radios that you'd found her to his colleagues. As you feel her ankle joint there's a little bruising but she doesn't seem to be in any great distress and when you hold out one of her treats she's more than eager to gobble it up.

"Oh Midge, it's alright baby, you're gonna be alright!" You stroke her soft fur in comfort, more for you, lifting your head to look at the ranger, your eyes shining slightly with tears. Just then Midge tilts her head up and licks Frank's face so sweetly and he cracks a smile. "Heh, that's a good sign."

You're so relieved and the rich sound of his laugh as Midge keeps on lavishing him with licks is infectious, making you chuckle too. It makes you feel so much better after all the worry.

"I can't thank you enough, Frank. I was so scared it would be so much worse!" You tell him as you all walk back to the park entrance.

"Hey no worries, it's all just part of the job." He replies as you reach the gate. It was almost completely dark now and the rain was starting to come down in a drizzly mist. "You local? Do you need a ride home?" He asks.

You glance down the road. It was only about a mile and a half walk away but you didn't want to risk Midge getting away from you again as she might manage to wriggle out of your arms on the road.

"Um, actually that would be really great if it wouldn't be too much trouble? We're not far."

"Not at all ma'am, best make sure this lil lady doesn't have another chance to get into trouble again, I know what they can be like!" He jibes, booping Midge gently on her nose which she licks afterwards.

When you reach the outside of your little lodge house after the short ride, you thank Frank again. In the light from the porch his dark eyes are twinkling as he bids you both goodnight.

"I'm sure she'll be back out and about in no time, just keep an eye out for those darn squirrels yeah?"

You laugh a little now that your worry is mostly over, and you notice how handsome he is as well as the kindness and trust that seemed to just emanate from him effortlessly, putting you at ease. "I certainly will! I'm so glad you found us, thank you. Once she's rested and recovered from her ordeal maybe we'll see you around?"

"Yeah, I sure hope so." He replies giving you a gorgeous smile as he gets back into his truck.

Frank is just signing off an email when he hears a familiar bark from outside the office. Lady, his own dog, responds with her own short huff, excited to see her playmate again.

It's been a couple of months since Midge's incident and maybe him carrying treats in his pocket might have had something to do with it, but she always ran up to the ranger station and let her arrival be known every time you walk her. And Frank sure as hell doesn't mind as it means he gets to see you.

It had started with polite, friendly waves and a big pet for Midge whenever you happened upon each other in the park. Then, you would frequently stop to chat to him, ask him about his day and he about yours, and then you had started to drop by after his shift finished so you could all go on a walk together. There was nothing Frank loved more than being in the outdoors, except now he got to share that with someone, and he found himself increasingly glad that it was you.

Frank always made you laugh with the way he would run around playing with Midge and Lady, even after a long day's work. You showed him the tricks you had been teaching your pup, and on your regular hikes you also started to learn more about each other. Frank started looking forward to the times he would see you, your easy and generous smile lighting up his world and maybe even pushing to broaden the boundaries of it, maybe let someone like you to become something more. It had been a long while since he thought he felt something more than friendship blossoming, and gradually opening up to you felt right.

Still, right now he was so damn nervous. He had been trying to work up the courage to ask you out for days and then he'd inevitably chicken out, but he promised himself he'd do it tonight. And even if you turned him down, there'd be no regrets.

"Hey big bear!" You say as you greet him. "Which route do you wanna take this evening Frankie? It's your turn to pick." You ask him as Frank steps out with Lady and locks up the office. He almost loses his nerve when he turns and sees your pretty face and your sweet voice calling his nickname caresses his ears.

"Uh, I was thinkin' up by the creek," he suggests as the four of you start walking up the trailhead. Frank scratches at the back of his shirt collar. "Can't remember if I mentioned before but our place is up that way."

You turn to look at him wide eyed after you throw the ball for the dogs as they run ahead. "It is? Wow, it's so gorgeous up there. You're so damn lucky Frank, a perfect job and an amazing commute!"

He can't help beaming back, you seemed to see the positive in almost everything, he guessed he was pretty lucky.

Okay, he decides, now is the time to do it. Just put it out there. Just ask. What's the worst that could happen?

He clears his throat. "Was wonderin' actually, if you'd… uh, maybe you might wanna-" He couldn't believe he was stuttering over such a simple question. Fuck, was it supposed to be this hard? Thankfully, you stepped in and saved both of you from any more of his awkwardness.

"Frank, are you inviting me to your place?" You ask.

The light rain that's falling makes the longer strands of his hair lie in curls against his forehead. He runs a hand through it pushing it back, nodding. "Yeah, I mean, no pressure or anything. Just, if you wanna maybe have a drink with… me?"

You smile at him again. "Yeah, I'd love to."

By the time you reached his lodge you were both slightly soaked by the autumn drizzle. Frank stacks up the wood burner as soon as he lets you in, giving you and the dogs a towel to dry off with as he gets the fire going.

Once you dry off your hair and the dogs, you look around his home in awe. It's so beautiful, hewn from trees from this very forest, nothing too big and grand, just perfectly cosy. He had a neat but well stocked kitchen area, with a solid oak table and chairs by the window. A set of natural carved steps led up to a mezzanine with shelves stacked with all sorts of books and what you assumed was his bedroom.

There were glazed double doors that opened out the back onto a wooden porch and the mossy lawn behind bordered by the trees. And beside the wood burning stove was a tired but comfy looking sofa with a massive thick rug in front of it where Frank gestured to you to make yourself at home.

You kick off your shoes and hang your coat up on a hook near the door beside his next to the dog leads, and settle on the couch.

"This is magic, Frank," you tell him as he opens the fridge taking out a couple of beers.

He shakes his head, dipping his face a little like he's embarrassed or something as he walks over and hands you a bottle. "It's alright. You hungry?" He asks.

"I'm alright just now, just thirsty!" You smile, clinking your bottle against his as he sits down across from you after placing a couple of logs onto the now steadily blazing pile of kindling.

"Did it come with the job?"

He shrugs, fingers stroking his thick beard. "Uh, kinda." He takes a swig of beer and smiles as he notices Lady bringing out one of her favourite toys and letting Midge play with it without a gripe.

"Heh, look at that. S'good they're gettin' on so well." He remarks, and you hum in agreement as you watch them play.

"Yeah, I'm so glad," You say as you turn your gaze back to him. "It means we can spend more time together."

The corners of Frank's mouth pull up just a little. "S'that so? Cos I've been thinking I'd like that." He admits, the nerves rapidly melting away.

You move just a little bit closer to him on the couch, turning your body to face his. "I know I'd like that…" you confess. As you put your beer down on the side table, your hand brushes his knee and you decide to leave it there. He gazes directly at you and you feel your body temperature rise but it's not because of the fire that's burning nearby...

His fingers lightly stroke over yours and when you look back up he's so focused on you, the brown of his eyes seems so deep and dark and soft you could get lost in them. He's searching your expression for permission.

"Can I kiss you?"

His voice melts like thick honey in your ears and you're leaning in with a whispered yes instantly, almost before he can get all the words out. He raises a hand to cup your face stroking his thumb softly over your cheek and you close your eyes as he slowly leans in and gently captures your lips with his own. He's so very tender but you can feel the control he possesses as you eagerly kiss him back, the captivating strength and power held in check only by a hair trigger. Your fingers thread through his beard, guiding him to you and right now he'll go wherever you want him. He thinks maybe he should stop, a gentleman would stop and let you take the lead, dictate the pace, but you already are.

Under the light tang of beer you taste sweeter than he could imagine as your tongue slips in so softly, so teasingly between his parted lips against his own and he can't help the low moan he lets out as you surprise him by shifting to climb into his lap.

You gently pull away for a second, and your words are laced with a barely concealed urgency that has him struggling against that fucking gentlemanly conscience he had just a minute ago.

"Tell me if this is too fast?" You probe, looking down at him, your pupils already blown out. You'd been waiting for this. You'd given him all the signals for a little while now, hoping he'd maybe feel the same, waiting for him to be ready.

Frank's eyes dart from yours, down to your mouth and back up again. "Don't feel too fast to me," his words almost vibrate through you with his low tone. "Just feels right."

He moves to kiss you again and it's bliss. His lips are so soft, as is his beard although slightly tickly against your skin. You sigh and smile making a contented sound and he shows you some more of that control, his hands running up the sides of your thighs to rest on your waist, just lightly holding you. He still lets you set the speed, what you want and you let him know as your fingers slide up the shirt covering his broad chest weaving into his hair. His kiss goes deeper as you move in his lap, slowly shifting forward, pressing your hips against his and he makes his reaction to that known with the sexiest noise you've heard him make so far. You want so desperately to hear more.

"Been goin' crazy over you, you know that sweetheart?" He reveals, as you both pull away momentarily, still just inches away from each other's mouths. Your breaths are shallow, you've not felt this excited in a long while.

"You think I haven't felt the same?" You smirk.

In the days after Midge's rescue and recovery, you had found yourself thinking about Frank a lot. About his kindness, competency, and yeah maybe sometimes about how handsome he is… still you never thought he'd take a second look at you, but now you had both arrived here, feeling Frank's fingers twitch against you desperate to touch and you eager for him to do so.

You urge him to continue to explore as your lips meet again, the sensation of his fingertips so tentatively sliding up under your sweater and chasing the goosebumps away as they glide over your bare skin. You nip teasingly at his lower lip and he rewards you with a small grunt before his tongue delves back deeper into your mouth as you move your core over the now obvious bulge in his pants. He trails hot kisses down the side of your neck, pulling at the neckline of your top and you peel it off so his lips can access more of you.

"You're so gorgeous darlin'," he speaks into your skin as he places every kiss with care and attention, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he mouths around the swell of your breasts still held captive by your bra. You tug at the hem of his shirt, leaning back for a moment so he can move to take it off. Your hands are back on him instantly, tracing over his muscular torso, fingers excitedly running over every dip and rise, appreciating every rough line of his varied scars now bared to you. You're both almost panting for breath, and he's struck dumb as you claw at his belt buckle but he gently puts his hands over yours, halting them.

You glance up. "Oh, if you don't want to-"

Frank chuckles, bumping his nose against yours. "I do. God, I really do… I just need to make sure it's what you want."

You can't believe this guy, he's almost perfect. Frustratingly so.

"Frank, I really want you." You tell him in all lucidity.

He licks across his lips at your confirmation, making the damp spot in your panties grow as he lets his eyes rove over you.

"Well, I'm gonna take you to bed then. C'mon." He says as he encourages you to your feet and guides you up the stairs.

You shimmy off your pants and socks in between more fervent kisses before he lays you down on his bed, leaving his own on as he lifts your foot and starts kissing his way up the inside of your ankle and calf. You part your legs wider to make space for him and his broad shoulders, your heart rate increasing by bounds as you anticipate his next move.

"Mm, s'this okay sweetheart?" He checks in as he nears the juncture of your thighs, his beard brushing the sensitive skin there, "Can I take these off?" He adds, and you hum in the affirmative as his dark eyes meet yours and he smiles. "Been just dyin' to taste you..." You flush with heat at his purred confession and lift your hips as he hooks his fingers around the waistband so he can pull your underwear down. He kisses your mound softly when he returns, taking his time.

"Anytime you want me to stop," he says before lightly kissing your clit and you let out a shuddered breath. "You just tell me baby, okay?" You nod and moan out loud when he begins to lap his tongue right between your glistening folds. You know you'll never want him to stop.

Your body writhes as he continues with wide slow licks between your thighs, relaxing as it's clear he more than knows what he's doing. You whimper, jolting unexpectedly as he begins flicking the hardened tip of his tongue over your clit before softening it again and repeating, swirling, sucking and worshiping your almost steadily dripping cunt like it's a fountain in the desert. When your thighs press in bracketing his head at a particularly sensitive touch, he wraps his big paws around you, fingers greedily switching between kneading the soft flesh of your legs and cupping around your ass as he devours you.

The hair of his beard rubs against your skin and the sensation is addictive. You move your hips against his rhythm and he reaches up to take one of your hands that is currently fisting in the sheets to position it on his head, to make you grab his hair and show him exactly what you want.

You gasp as he very quickly and easily hits a pressure and tempo that has you arching your back right off the mattress. Frank groans as you guide him, squeezing your legs around him almost rutting against his face, moaning so deep into your pussy you can feel the vibrations go through you. And just like that every focused movement he makes brings you further pleasure, taking you higher and higher, and seeing and feeling your reaction just keeps him going.

"Attagirl," he praises, briefly raising his head to look at you. Your juices shine on his lips, spread all around his mouth and wetting some of his beard. The sight just makes him look even hotter to you.

"Frank- mmn! God that's so good, please don't stop…"

He would never, diving right back between your quivering thighs and working you up to and over the edge like it's his only purpose. He can't help himself, you're so fucking sexy like this he's almost humping the bed trying to ease the throbbing need that's barely contained in his jeans. He might have thought about you like this before, how you'd sound, how you'd look, but nothing has prepared him for the reality.

He groans long and low as you clamp your legs hard to his head, you're trying not to but you can't stop your hips from rising, can't help fucking yourself hard against his face, but he wants it, encouraging you until your orgasm explodes from within. The intensity shakes you from your very core, rippling through your body in multiple waves as Frank still holds you firmly to him, licking you through it devotedly as he ruts his own hips into the mattress with another sexy moan. He slows down as he feels your tight grip in his hair easing off, his now near-black eyes meeting yours as he pants and licks his lips.

"You okay there darlin'?" His question is sincere but you almost snort with laughter with how fucking good he's made you feel. He can't be real.

"I'm-" you giggle and throw your arm up over your face as you feel nothing but euphoria.

"god, I'm… yeah, yeah I'm okay! Oh… shit. Wow!"

He grins and wipes his face on the sheets before crawling up the bed to lie next to you, and you turn on your side to face him, drawing him into a kiss as you reach for his pants for a second time.

He catches your hands yet again, shaking his head apologetically. "Uh, it was kinda 'oh shit wow' f'me too y'know? It's… been a while."

It takes you a brain-melted second to get his meaning and then a satisfied smile spreads across your lips. "Frankie, you know that's hot, right?"

He laughs falling back on the sheets, a slight blush dusting his cheekbones. "Hmm I dunno bout that, kinda feel like a teenager again, but as long as you're satisfied for now darlin'."

"I think that'll keep me going for a long while!"

"Not too long though, yeah?" Frank turns his head to look your way and try to gauge your meaning, the faintest hint of concern in his tone. This wasn't a one time thing right? It didn't feel like it was.

The corners of your mouth hook upward yet again. "Definitely not too long." you assure him.

Your eyes track up to the large skylight in the roof above the bed as you catch your breath back, watching the moody, inky clouds gently rolling past.

"Must be a fantastic view of the stars when it's clear." You muse, still gazing up as you feel the warmth of Frank's hand slide over your stomach to hold you close to him in the afterglow.

He follows the line of your sight. "Yeah, it was a pain in the ass to install but worth it for sure."

You turn in his arms to face him. "You put that in yourself? Wow, that's something."

He gives a shrug. "Well I always planned for it when I built the place."

You're incredulous. "What? You built this place?!"

Frank just chuckles, smoothing a couple of stray strands of hair out of your face.

"Yeah, haven't always been a ranger. Used to do logging, bit of carpentry. Just thought how hard can it be? Had the idea in my head for a good long while before I had the means and the land to make it happen."

"Frank Castle… I'm officially stunned. That's incredible!" He has the audacity to shrug again like it's nothing and then laughs out loud as he watches your brows draw together.

"Hey, I'm serious! That kinda skill, that's rare. And, I guess it explains this…" you run your fingers over his large biceps, giving them a quick squeeze before smoothing them over his chest.

He hums. "Yeah, only some of it, have to thank the gym for the rest."

You grin as he pushes up on an elbow, leaning his head on his hand as he traces slightly ticklish patterns over your skin as he regards you as if you're a goddess.

"And what about all this darlin'? What about you? You're somethin' special."

You shake your head but he's determined to make his feelings known to you.

"M'serious. Y'know I was totally shittin' it thinking about askin' you here, askin' you out? Was too damn scared you might not say yes."

You can't imagine Frank being scared of much, and you don't know how you could ever say no. Even before the sex.

"Well, I did say yes," you point out as you lean over to kiss him. He still tastes of you and the memory of the intimacy you'd shared is fresh in your mind. "...and I'm really glad that I did."

"Hm, well I better give the dogs their dinners," Frank muses as he strokes at your side, "and make ours too I guess..." he adds with a smile as your stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly.

"Oh, yeah, I didn't think I was that hungry until you mentioned dinner!"

Frank grins as he pushes himself up, grabbing a couple of clean towels from the cupboard near the bed. "Alright, m'gonna clean up real quick and make us somethin'. If you wanna have a long shower while I cook you go right on ahead darlin', there's plenty of hot water."

You smile as you stretch out under his ridiculously comfortable covers, watching his gorgeous ass disappearing into the bathroom as you call after him. "I'm loving the sound of that idea!"

#frank castle x female reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle smut #beardthalbash2023 #beardthalbash

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katsukis-idiot · 2 years

Text

I keep thinking about pro-hero!Bakugo and hotel!reader. My sanity is nonexistent at this point, might as well let the brainrot take over.

Pt 1

So after the first encounter you have with him, you're absolutely ruined. No other dick is as good as Dynamight's, at least none that you've had. And he is only at your hotel for one measly night, so there's no hope of meeting up again anytime soon.

You take to stalking his socials, his official website, trying to determine when - or if - he'll be back in your neck of the woods. You even indulge in some Dynamight merchandise, stashing it away in your apartment where your roommate will (with luck) never find it.

But even with your relentless stalking efforts, missions aren't public knowledge until after the fact, so you just have to wait and see if it will ever happen again.

The two of you didn't even exchange phone numbers, so you're helpless and waiting, nearly getting fired because you keep dragging your feet at work, fantasizing about that big blonde hunk who rocked your damn world before disappearing from it.

And some kind of angel must be weaving your tapestry of fate together, because finally one month after your serendipitous encounter with Bakugo, he walks in during your shift, as suddenly and jarring as a crack of lightning on the dark sky of your life.

Following that crack is the thunderous footfalls of his signature boots as he stomps into the empty lobby. It's close to the end of your shift, so late at night that most guests are asleep or in their rooms.

When you see him it steals all the breath from your lungs and a simmering heat immediately boils in between your legs. Dick so good you're already getting prepped for him, a slick appearing to soak your panties.

Something is different this time, though - there's a certain intent in his gait, a purpose. And when his eyes lock onto you, it's plain to see that he's found his target.

It's you.

"W-Welcome," your obligatory phrase stammers out instinctively.

He slams a broad palm down onto the counter separating the two of you, and looms over you, making you take a step back. He is mad, but you haven't the slightest clue why. You're brain is so busy playing catch up with the who and how.

"The fuck is your game? Hah?" He sneers, and his tone takes you back to weeks ago, that commanding presence as powerfully intoxicating as it was then. You feel lightheaded.

"I - what?" You ask, dumbfounded.

He leans ever forward, his v-neck shirt drooping lower so you can see the delicious mounds of his pecs, and your eyes can't help but be drawn there until he growls, "You think you can just ghost me and get away with it? Me?"

Your brows draw together. "Ghost? I - we - I don't even have your number!"

Bakugo scoffs, straightening to his impressive height. "Then what do you call the fucking card I gave you? A damn coaster?"

Your stupefied brain reaches back to that night and - shit - what did you do with that business card? He had given you one, come to think of it, but... where did it go?

"I -" you feel your embarrassment bubbling up, the discomfort overriding your desire momentarily. "I didn't - I forgot. And I don't know where it... went." You admitted, biting your lip.

Bakugo's anger changes shape a bit, his head tilting down at you as he works his jaw, eyes exploring your face. It feels like he's picking you apart, and you're not sure if you want him to put you back together or chew up the pieces.

"You fucking lost it? Ha," he said, sneering. "Alright, sweet thing."

He holds out his hand, leaning forward again. You can smell him, this close, his skin singing with expensive cologne and something smoky. "Phone," he says, and with a jolt you comply, producing your phone and placing it unlocked in his palm. He takes it and you can see he's creating a contact card for himself. As he busies himself, you take the golden opportunity to soak in his presence, eyes darting around his massive form. Broad shoulders slope like mountaintops to his neck - the shirt he wears is sinful, or perhaps that's just him. It highlights how big his chest and arms are, biceps the same size as your damn head.

When he holds your phone back to you, it interrupts your reverie, and he notices, a smirk appearing on his face.

"I need a room for tonight." He says.

"I get off in an hour," you add, rushed.

Bakugo gives you a look dripping with intention, and you have to let go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding until he leans over and grabs your face in one hand, bringing you close enough for his lips to caress your ear.

"Don't keep me waiting, princess."

Oh, you're fucked.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x fem!reader #hotel!reader #viv imagines #pro hero bakugou #pro hero dynamight #hori had no business making this man so fucking fine #tw: anger

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imagine-the-fanfics · 3 years

Text

Seized

Characters: Goro Majima x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, involuntary imprisonment, implied attempted rape

Inspiration: Request by Anon – “Uhh can I get a fic where the reader gets kidnapped by Majima if you'd be fine w/ it? 👉👈”

A/n: Okay, so this got… A little intense. I was able to water it down a lot, but please look over the warnings and take them seriously. Hope you enjoy it none the less, Nonny. Also. My autocorrect keeps trying to change “eye” to “eyes” and I’m sorry if I miss some of those. This fic is dark (much less so now than it was originally) and I am sorry. I don’t support anything in this fic and it is not meant to glamorize.

When you came to, your head was pounding. You tried to yawn, but you couldn’t seem to open your mouth. You tried to see what was stopping you, but you couldn’t move your hands. Your eyes opened, but you couldn’t see. You started to whimper, struggling to get out of your bindings.

“Oh good, yer awake. Fuckin’ finally,” a man’s voice said.

A chill ran down your spine as you realized the position you were in. The hood you didn’t know was on your head was removed, and you found yourself face to face with a man you didn’t know. The sudden light was blinding, and you struggled to keep your eyes open from the sudden light.

“Oh, what the hell,” the man grumbled. “I told ‘em none of this tape on the mouth shit.” He reached over, working a bit off to grab. “This is gonna hurt, darlin’,” he said before immediately ripping off the duct tape, causing you to let out a loud but short shout from pain. “Exactly why I told ‘em not to fuck with that shit,” he sighed, crouching down so the two of you were eye-level. “How are ya? Ya feelin’ okay?” His tone was softer, more concerned, as if he actually cared about you.

“I—”

“Juuuust kiddin’,” he said before standing up. “I don’t give two shits. Yer pops probably does, though.” He looked down at you and you looked up at him, speechless. “Oh, ya didn’t know? Yer dad’s neck deep in with the yakuza, sweetheart. Owes a lot of money to a lot of people, including me.

“I thought, ‘Maybe if I take his kid he’ll know I mean business,’ but so far that ain’t been the case. ‘Course, ya ain’t been here too long, maybe he just needs some time.” His eye raked your body, taking in every ounce of what you had to offer. He’d be lying If he said he wasn’t attracted. You were so quiet that he was a little surprised.

Truth was, you were embarrassed. You hadn’t worn these pajamas expecting to get kidnapped, but who ever expects to get kidnapped? You were in maroon short shorts, a sports bra, and a white tank-top. Panties, too, of course, but nothing that was fun or exciting just plain and black, matching the sports bra.

Memories of getting here were nonexistent. The last thing you remembered was laying down in bed to sleep. You, again, tried to move your hand to your pounding head and found it couldn’t move. That was when you started to assess your surroundings.

The man continued to watch you; being under his gaze made you feel like a small rabbit about to be devoured by a mad dog. You felt small, afraid. The look in his eye was enough to chill your soul. “Ya realizin’ the mess yer in now?” The man asked, pulling up a chair you hadn’t noticed and sitting in it. You were starting to panic as you looked around the room. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt ya.” You were tied to a chair, arms bound behind you and legs bound to the respective legs of the chair you were in. Another rope was tied around your chest, just under your breasts. You struggled a little bit.

“Well, not yet at least,” the man sighed. “Yer just… So delicious to look at.” The man’s eye raked your body again, stopping at your chest for a moment before lowering, pausing again and then meeting your gaze again. “I could eat ya right up,” he grinned wickedly at you.

“Maybe I will,” he said, still grinning.

You tried to meld with the chair, hoping to get as far away from him as possible, but that wasn’t possible.

“But not yet,” he said, sounding too happy, clapping his hands once as he stood up. “Let’s get ya some water. Gotta stay hydrated, after all.”

You blinked, watching this enigma of a man as he walked out of the room you were being held in. You took the moment too look around and fully take in your surroundings. There was a bed, a hook in the ceiling, and a chain on the ground with the far end connected to the floor that had a cuff on the other end. “What kind of sick place is this?” You gulped as your gaze shifted to the windowless cinderblock walls that surrounded you.

When the door opened you jumped and yelped.

“Here’s yer water. Gotcha a straw,” he said with a proud grin, as if the straw was a thoughtful gesture when you were literally tied to a chair in a room that looked like it belonged in a horror movie.

“Thanks,” you muttered, sipping the water through the straw.

“’Course!” He smiled at you. “Gotta keep ya hydrated, like I said.” He continued to hold the cup and straw for you until you finished. “There ya go,” the man said with a smile. You just stared at him. “Alright. Let’s try callin’ yer dad and see if he’s gonna pay up now.” He took out his phone and called, holding it to his ear.

“Ahhh, Mr. Y/L/N, yeah?” the man said into the phone. You could only hear half of the conversation. “Good. I got yer kid here. Ya ready to pay yer debt yet?” A pause, the man’s face turning sour. “Fine, here.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and put your father on speakerphone.

“Y/n?” Your father’s voice asked, sounding a bit worried.

“Dad,” you gasped, not really expecting to hear your father. “Dad? Is that you? I don’t know where I am. Please help!

“Ohmygod, Y/n!” He was sufficiently panicked, and the man took the phone back holding it up to his ear.

“Easy, easy, Y/L/N-san. Focus.” Majima’s face contorting in frustration. “I said to calm the fuck down!” He shouted into the phone, looking pleased as he continued. “That’s better. Now, when I can I expect yer payment?” A pause, another sour face. “Do ya really think Imma let ya have until tomorrow when yer just gonna skip town. Ya got two hours, otherwise I’m keepin’ the girl.” The man hung up the phone, sliding it into his pocket. “I guess we’ll haveta see if yer Dad thinks yer worth payin’ his debt for.” He paused, looking you up and down again. “I’d pay for ya.”

You squirmed, looking away. He knelt down in front of you and looked into your eyes with his eye, watching you curiously. “I might have some fun with ya later. We’ll see. For now, I gotta get some work done. Tata~” He said, standing up and waving as he walked out the door. A moment later he came back in. “I almost forgot.” He pulled your chair over, clasping the cuff around your ankle and then cutting the ropes off that had you tied to the chair, freeing your wrists as well. “There, that’s gotta feel better.” You just stared at him, unable to move in fear. “Alright. Bye, for realsies this time, Y/n-chan~!” He walked out, waving again and you were left sitting in your chair, still too deep in shock to do anything.

What felt like hours passed and you stayed in the chair, still coming to terms with what happened and where you were. You had always thought that you would be stronger in this situation, that you would fight back – but you weren’t, and you didn’t. You just sat in your chair, rubbing your wrists, and feeling the cold metal of your ankle cuff on your skin. You felt tears floating around in your eyes, looking around as the reality of your situation settled in.

Eventually you stood up, walking around to see how far your chain would allow you to go. Not very far. You couldn’t reach any of the walls, and you could barely reach the bed and lay on it. You couldn’t even get near the door, not that you could break it down if you could reach it. From the look of it and how it sounded when it closed, it was solid wood.

You settled on sitting on the bed, looking up at the hook in the ceiling, wondering what it was for. Images of hanging slabs of meat floated through your mind and you looked away, trying to find something else to distract yourself with.

It shocked you that you weren’t crying. At this point you didn’t feel scared or sad enough to cry; you just felt numb. You didn’t feel like you were in your body. You laid down, resting you hear on the shitty flat pillow, curling up in the fetal position for warmth since there was no blanket, and closed your eyes.

/// You were awoken by the angry slam of the door and the one-eyed man looked even more angry than he had when he was on the phone. “Yer dad still ain’t payin’. Do ya know what that means?” You shook your head. “Means I gotta rough ya up a bit to show Daddy just how much I mean what I’m tellin’ him.”

You heard your dad’s voice panicking on the phone and your stomach turned sour. You cowered on the bed, not sure what was coming. The man set his phone down, climbing onto the bed with a pair of handcuffs he pulled out of his back pocket, wrestling with you until your hands were cuffed together and you were crying. What was he going to do to you?

“Majima! Don’t touch her!” Your father’s voice called out.

So this one-eyed monster had a name, and that name was Majima.

He grabbed the cufflinks and pulled you off the bed, bringing you below the hook and effortlessly putting the links into it. You tried to wiggle out of it, but you could barely touch the floor on your tiptoes, and the hook was too high to maneuver the links over it. You whimpered, knowing whatever he was going to do next was something.

“I gotta say, Mr. Y/L/N, yer daughter is… well. Ya see what I’m seein’ ain’tcha? That tank top is just… So tight. Leaves nothin’ to the imagination. Them shorts are just…” Majima’s voice trailed off and he looked over to the phone on the chair. “Ah, s’pose not. Lemme fix that.” He maneuvered the chair and phone so he could see exactly what was happening.

“Let’s begin,” the man said, pulling out a tanto, unsheathing it.

You heard your father protest, but you couldn’t understand him. Your heartbeat was whooshing in your head as you feared the worst was coming.

He was going to rape you, wasn’t he?

“Da—Dad?” You whimpered, crying. “Dad—Dad please don’t let—”

“All yer dad has to do is pay me what I’m owed, and then yer free to go,” Majima assured, approaching you. “I don’ wanna hurt ya, but I gotta get my money. Sorry, darlin’.”

“Let—Let me go home, please! Please! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t!” You begged, crying. “Please don’t—”

“This is yer dad’s doin’. All he hasta do is pay. Once he pays, yer free!” Majima laughed. “Easy as that.”

“MAJIMA!” Your dad shouted; you closed your eyes when you heard his voice crack.

You felt the tip of the blade against the skin of your neck. It wasn’t pressed enough to draw blood, but you tilted your head back in an effort to pull back from it, it didn’t work. Majima looked to his phone, and your eyes followed, seeing yourself on the screen and trying not to shriek. The blade slowly slid down to your collarbones, tracing the edges of them. You continued to whimper.

“Last chance, Y/L/N-san,” Majima’s eye was raking your body yet again, and you felt his hand playing with the fabric of your tank top. “It’s like she dressed this way just ta tease me,” he sighed, removing the blade and replacing it with his lips. “She tastes good, too,” he continued to kiss and lick your neck, maneuvering to each side. As you tried to get away, you only gave him more access. At one point he grabbed your throat. “Quit. Moving.” You did, closing your eyes and whimpering some more.

By this time, you were sobbing. You knew what was coming, and you were powerless to stop it.

“MAJIMA! STOP IT!” Your father shouted again, falling on deaf ears.

“If yer neck tastes this good, I can’t wait ta try yer pussy,” Majima growled, causing you to whimper louder, trying to lean away. He back away for a moment, turning to look at his phone, making sure your father had a good view. “Well, Daddy, what should I take first?” He asked, tapping his chin with the flat of the blade.

“Majima, please! I’ll pay! Just give me a little—”

“Ya had yer time,” Majima responded so coldly that it felt like the room temperature dropped.

He approached you, your crying and sobbing having shifted to tears and mindless babble that was begging him to stop. He wasn’t going to. He took your tank top in one hand and used the tanto to start cutting your shirt off. Once it was completely ripped open, he took another step back. You were sobbing, looking at the floor. Terrified and ashamed of what was happening.

“What’s next, Y/L/N?” Majima asked, looking at the phone, listening to your father beg him to stop. “You keep beggin’ me to stop, but you beggin’ ain’t gettin’ yer debt erased.”

“I’ll give you my home, my car, my daughter— just don’t make me watch this anymore!” Your father begged.

Majima hesitated, and it took you a moment to process what

“Deal.” He hung up the phone, looking at you, watching you cry for a moment before unlocking the cuffs. “I can’t believe that fuckin’ asshole would sell his own kid like that,” he grumbled. “She’s yer kid, dipshit, yer supposed to protect her, not sell her to clear yer fuckin’ debts.”

You didn’t care, you were just crying. You fell to the ground once you were no longer being held up by the cuffs. Majima caught you, rubbing your back as you clung to him. It was strange, clinging for comfort to the man you were sure was going to rape you not even a full minute ago. Yet, here you are, clinging to him. He picked you up, carrying you to the bed and sat you down, undoing the ankle cuff and then sitting on the bed next to you. You leaned away from him.

“I wasn’ gonna hurt ya,” Majima sighed. “Just hadta make yer dad think I was. Figured he’d pay that way, can’t say I expected him to sell ya to me.” You dived into his arms, sobbing violently. “Shhh… It’s okay,” he assured, resting his cheek against your head as you cried.

All you wanted was to wake up in your bed back in your apartment. That you could call your dad and tell him what you dreamt about and how much it hurt. He’d comfort you; tell you that would never happen, that you were more important money or material items. That wasn’t going to happen, though.

All you could do was cry, waiting for Majima to decide what he was going to do with you.

#Goro majima #majima #Goro Majima x reader #Majima x reader #yakuza

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the-hate-keeps-me-warm · 3 years

Text

More than a memory

Sorry if this is formatted really horriblly I finished this up on mobile I hope you like this there’s about 2 paragraphs I cut of ruby nerding out

Once they got to Vacuo oscar was sorta unofficially a huntsman now laws are a lot looser here so he’s been saving quite a bit of money from going on missions after team rwby and Jaune came back it was weird they were only gone a month but so much had changed the merge was almost finished he could feel it every day he felt less like himself he didn’t even object when Theodore called him oz anymore he and ruby weren’t as close anymore whatever happened wherever they were changed her he got bits and pieces from Jaune and yang but the others kept quiet he knew that he’d be gone soon so he wanted to leave something for her kinda like proof that they ever met in the first place so he was now standing in a vacuan market at 12 am alone with a lot of lien on him this was probably a bad idea but at one point he heard ruby ramble about this gun shop that they were the best at what they do so he called made an appointment it just so happens they prefer to see let’s just say unofficial clients at night he knocked at the door it read “bikal bullets” it opened and an old owl faunas man opens it his large yellow eyes are piercing “hello mister pine headmaster theodore told me to expect you” oscar rubs his hands together “yes mister bikal he said to come late” mr Bikal leads him inside on the walls hang dozens of expensive weapons “so mr pine what are you looking for” oscar took the blue prints out of his bag and set them down on the drawing table “um im looking for something custom built its for a friend” mr bikal takes the blue prints and examines them “these are pretty impressive mr pine did you draft these yourself theses yourself” oscar nods “mostly i had a little help with the math part of it but the mechanical stuff i did myself” mr bikal nods “something like this will cost a good amount even with the discount you get for being school staff” oscar nods “do you have an estimate on the price and how long it'll take to make” mr bikal snaps his teeth “around 12000 lien and 2 weeks” oscar nods he had 140000 saved up but he did want to buy some more things for the others “alright i can uh i can afford that” mr bikal goes over to what looks like a drawing table and pins them up “i will start work immediately mr pine you make your payment on completion if you desire the school has credit with me the price includes 3 magazines and a case so that will also be custom made shall you pick it up or would you prefer its delivered” oscar stands uncomfortably as mr bikal starts measuring out pieces of fine metal “ill pick it up dont worry” mr bikal nods and says “alright mister pine your can go now its not a good look for a young man to be out so late especially so close to the red light district” oscars face gets red “yes of course” oscar leaves and walks back to the academy sneaking back into his dorm room was easy tho nora did pester him about where hed been he had left a note saying when he would be back for the next 2 weeks he kept a poker face nora helped him set up his bank account so the sudden spending of 12000 lien did give her pause so she decided to ask him about it

He was sitting on his bed reading some Treatise about some long-forgotten subject she knocked on the bedpost and he looks up “hey Nora did you need something” she sat at the end of his bed “hey what did you spend 12 thousand lien on” he hides his face “please don’t tell anyone it was on something for ruby” she smiles “ah young love I was worried that you wouldn’t make your move so what kind of thing sets you back 12 thousand it’s something big right” he nods his head “its a gun i-i had it commissioned for and it’s not really cause I’m trying to make a move or anything it’s more like a going away gift” Nora frowns and shakes his leg “where you going taking a vacation or something” he feels tears bite the edge of his eyes “Nora the merge it’s soon I know it won’t be long until I’m gone and I want you all to remember me but her especially I don’t want to be just a memory” he struggles to keep the tears at bay but nora pulls him into a hug tighter but somehow softer than her usual ones “hey you will never ever be just a memory you will always be you and even if your not you'll always be one of us we all love you so much” and then the damn breaks and he sobs into her shoulder “i don't wanna go away nora i want to live i wanna go to school see my aunt again” she rubs his back and says “i know sweetie you'll get to do all that ok i promise” he sniffles “nora i need you to do something for me if i do disappear ok i need you to go back to my aunt and tell her everything ok it can't be oz ok don't tell her how to find him it won't make sense i'll just hurt worse i dont want that for her” she nods “i won't ever have to do that ok but i promise” she holds him until he stops crying and they take a a a nap they always helped him calm down

Finally, after a long 2 weeks, he goes to pick it up when he goes inside Mr. Baikal shows him the box it’s a beautiful dark red mahogany wood he opens the case and looks at the pistol inside its silvered handle and barrel were beautiful he’s almost afraid to touch it the engravings were perfect exactly as he had drawn them if not better the moon and rose he had designed look perfect he takes it gently in his hands he looks down the sights the night sights glow a brilliant carmine red he looks at the magazine even it was of an amazing quality everything down to the smallest detail was exactly as he pictured it he sets it back into the case “thank you, mister, Bikal it's absolutely perfect” Mr. Bikal smiles and nods “I’m glad everything is to your satisfaction Mr pine if you find there is anything wrong with it or you want something changed everything I make comes with a lifetime warranty the paperwork is in the case as well as a certificate stating that I am in fact its builder” they shake hands and oscar takes it home in his bag he excitedly gets back to his dorm he sets it down still in his bag on his bed now all he have to do is give it to her

He sits on it for a few days but finally decides to just give it to her oz has his reservations about this but decided that oscar deserves this to maybe say goodbye in his own way

Ruby was going on walks around shade it’s something he noticed so he waited for her to go on one of those walks it was cool in vacuo at night the air was nice compared to the oppressive heat of the day she was meandering along the walkways he followed behind her a bit the case hung heavy in his bag even tho it wasn’t heavy at all after a while she sits at an old wooden bench overlooking the gardens he approaches and she perks up “oh hey oscar are you going somewhere” she says pointing to his bag he shakes his head “do you mind if I sit” she shakes her head “no go-ahead did you need to talk, something about Theodore?” he sits down on the other side of the bench gently setting his bag between them “no uh no I just uh I wanted to give you something” he opens his bag and takes the case out holding it out to her she takes it “it’s not my birthday is it this looks really nice you didn't have to do this” ruby says smiling “well i've been wanting to do something nice for you” oscar says rubbing the back of his neck she lifts the top and gasp gently lifting it from its case “oscar this is this is amazing” she drops the magazine and pulls the slide back making sure its clear and runs her hand along the engraving her symbol etched into the left side of the grip “oh thanks i uh actually designed it myself oz helped me with the math” she looks at him her eyes wide “oscar it took me 8 attempts to successfully design a functioning crescent rose gun design is really hard how long did you spend on this” oscar blushes “the idea kinda started in atlas i was gonna ask you to help me make one so i wouldn't have to rely on my cane but everything happen and when you were gone i kept messing with the idea and i kept thinking about you so i kinda ended up designing it for you more than me eventually do you like it” ruby scoffs “oscar do i like it i love it its probably the single greatest gift anyones ever given me” he smiles wide “really that makes me really happy I was worried you wouldn’t like it” she sets it back gently into its case “really Oscar it’s amazing you have a knack for design your gonna have to show me the draft notes and everything cause this is this is amazing I can’t wait to shoot it this is wow” she chokes up and he leans down “ruby are you ok” she nods wiping her face of nonexistent tears “no worries this is just really cool and sweet and god your so amazing” he felt his heart flutter and his cheeks heat up “the guy who built it that bikal guy you talked about was just as great as you always said” she puts a hand on his shoulder “are you telling me Hephaestus bikal made this Oscar” she says seriously “uh yeah why is that bad” she kisses his cheek and squeals “oh my god your amazing this is now even better god I could die happy wait his rates are insane how did you afford this” still recoiling from the kiss he bites his lip “uh huntsmen work” she narrows her eyes “how much did this cost Oscar it had to be expensive” he shakes his head “not telling it’s a gift you don’t need to worry about it just enjoy it” she punches his arm “I will but I am going to repay you for this somehow ok” “you already did” he says quietly he says rubbing the back of his neck “ruby I don’t really know how long I have left and I would like to spend at least some of it with you I understand if you don’t I know it might make it harder when I’m gone bu-whoa” he’s pulled into a hug she pulls his head into her shoulder and holds him tight “I wanna spend more time with you too but you will always be Oscar ok oz is oz you are you” he sighs and smiles “see what I mean by paying me back”

#rwby #rose garden #rosegarden #ruby rose #guns #Oscar pine #angst #this is sadder than I wanted it to be #at first this was gonna be sorta related to my weed garden fic #but the idea of ruby pushing Oscar away after that was too sad #for my fluffy little ass #I wish ruby got to nerd out about weapons more #Oscar is still a simp even if he’s sad #do not ask me about the gun I will elaborate #that is a threat

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Wyvernlair

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Three

A JSE Fanfic

Ta-da! Another chapter! :D This is the one I was talking about, with a lot of worldbuilding and new characters. It’s also one of my longer stories, and I had to cut out a scene near the end, but don’t worry, you’ll see that next time. Now that Chase is officially part of the Masked Phantoms, it’s time for him to get to know the layout of Wyvernlair, meet new people, and learn new things. So get ready for a whole lot of all that. Hope you guys enjoy!

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

It was clear that Jackie was eager to have someone new to show around Wyvernlair. He led the way, pointing out important features of the camp. Most of the center area was taken up by tents for people to stay in. In addition, there was an area dedicated to cooking, with campfires and stacks of pots and dishes, a wide, clear area for people to practice sword fighting and other combat, and a large space for storage.

All this was fairly normal for any camp. Or at least, that’s what Chase figured, considering he’d never been in a camp of any kind. But he was pretty sure that the massive skeleton made Wyvernlair much different than any other camp. Every bit had been planned around the bones embedded in the ground. The tents were encircled by the dragon. The cooking fires were dotted around the leg bones. The combat field was spread out along the wings that extended out from the rest of the body. And the storage was inside the oversized ribcage, canvas stretched over the gaps to keep out the weather.

Inside the ribs was the most incredible place Chase had ever been. He kept his head craned upward, following the curve of the ivory bones, each one big enough that it would take three full grown men to encircle it. The storage inside the ribcage was much less impressive in comparison, though he did have to admit he’d never seen this amount of weapons, armor, parchment, and foodstuffs in one place. Not to mention all the miscellaneous items as well, like lanterns and chests for storage.

“Oh, you need a jacket!” Jackie suddenly said, bringing Chase back to the conversation. “You can take one of the communal ones, over here.” He grabbed Chase’s hand and pulled him to the side of the ribs, where the chests were full of various clothing, each labeled with types and sizes. “Unless you’re a cloak person?”

“Uh, no, I...jackets are good,” Chase said dazedly.

“Great! What are you, a five?” Jackie waited for Chase to nod, then headed over to the appropriate chest. “We don’t have that many fives left...a lot of people have measurements around there.” He flipped open the chest lid. “Um...yeah, there’s just one. Hope you like yellow.” After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a dull flaxen jacket and tossed it in Chase’s direction.

Chase fumbled for a bit before catching it. It was a fairly normal jacket, and he quickly pulled it on. Autumn in the mountains was not a time to walk around without one. He’d been chilly all through their walk.

“Alright, all that’s left is the skull,” Jackie said. “I don’t know how often you’ll be in there, but it’s good to—”

“I’m sorry, I’m still caught up on the fact that I’m inside a dragon skeleton,” Chase interrupted.

Henrik, who’d been following the tour quietly and letting Jackie do all the talking, suddenly burst into laughter. “I told you. It is shocking, isn’t it?”

“Well...yes!” Chase looked back up at the curve of the ribs above him, slowly shaking his head. “I heard dragons were large, but I didn’t really...picture it, before this.”

“Technically, this is not the skeleton of a full-blooded great dragon,” Henrik said.

“What?”

“The dragon that most people think of, with four legs and two or more wings? That is a great dragon,” Henrik explained. “I’m sure you noticed this one only has two legs; it was likely a wyvern/great dragon crossbreed.”

“Hence the name ‘Wyvernlair,’” Jackie added.

“What’s the difference?” Chase asked.

“Wyverns only had two legs and larger wings. They walked a bit like birds do,” Henrik continued. “And they were usually much smaller. There are some accounts of humans riding them. So this was either an abnormally large wyvern, or it was a crossbreed with the great dragons. Which, yes, could grow as big as this, but that was not so common.”

“Elders,” Chase muttered. The fact that there were once creatures as large as this roaming the land, big enough to encircle half a town...it made him glad they weren’t around anymore.

“It was really lucky that we found this place,” Jackie said. “Not because of the skeleton, but because of its location. There are no trees growing near the bones, so we have room to spread out, and we have our backs to a rock wall, which makes it more defensible.” He paused. “Anyway, the last part on our tour is the skull, and then we can set you up with a tent. Oh, actually, the spare tents are kept here. Let’s grab that now.”

“I get my own?” Chase said, surprised.

“Of course, we have plenty to spare,” Jackie said casually. “We brought a whole bunch up, but recruitment has been slow.”

“Nonexistent,” Henrik muttered. He reached into one of his belt pouches and took out a small flask, taking a quick drink.

“Well...yes,” Jackie admitted. “But let’s go, we’re almost done!”

The skull was just as massive as the rest of the skeleton, with wicked sharp teeth as tall as Chase. He stared at them as Jackie and Henrik led him around to the back, where there was a slight gap where the skull met the spine. They passed through that gap and ended up inside. Much like the ribs, the skull had been converted into a room, with canvas blocking the eye sockets and nasal cavity to make a rough roof. This wasn’t as large as the storage, but it was still at least three times as large as Chase’s cottage. There were more chests in here, and a few rickety desks where people—masks always nearby—sat, reading and writing on parchment. They all glanced up as the three men entered the room, then looked away.

In the middle of the skull was a large circular table, made of solid, dark wood and surrounded by chairs. Various maps were spread out on the surface of the table, held down with weights.

Chase glanced at the largest map, and immediately recognized it as a map of the kingdom of Glasúil. A detailed one, too, covering almost all of the island. The Dragon’s Teeth mountains ran down the center, with the smaller Northaven range branching off to the east, along the northern shore. The Southern Moors were present, slowly merging into the sea. Rivers and forests he’d never heard of crossed the parchment, and each major town and city was represented by a labeled black dot. The only part of the map left blank was the area to the west of the Dragon’s Teeth, which simply had “Wyldwood” written across it.

“Oh hey, you like the maps?” Jackie asked, noticing Chase’s attention. “We use those for planning stuff. A lot of strategy and meetings happen here. This is also where we keep all our records and sort through all our messages with other Phantom locations. Since you’re part of the group now, you’ll eventually go on missions, and if that’s the case, you’ll have to write a report and deliver it here.”

“Missions?” Chase repeated. His head was starting to swim a bit with all the new information.

“Well, if you want to,” Jackie said awkwardly. “I mean, you could stay here and do medicine with Henrik, or be part of our administration—”

“Administration?” This time, Chase laughed a bit when he repeated the word.

“Organization is very important,” Schneep emphasized. “There are a lot of us, and we do a lot of things. If we have no organization then we do not know what we’re doing!”

“Yeah, and those things we do are...missions,” Jackie said.

“Alright, what kind of...missions?” Chase asked.

“Depends. We might need to investigate someplace, or something, or someone. We might need to go in and stop an act of injustice, or rescue people who’ve been hurt.” Jackie paused. “If...if we’d heard about the King’s plans for the mountain villages to burn, then we could have...shown up. In time.”

Chase felt his stomach twist at the mention of the burning villages. There was guilt in Jackie’s voice; he clearly felt awful that the Phantoms couldn’t do anything to prevent that. “Well.” Chase took a deep breath. “I guess we’ll have to make sure things like that don’t happen again.”

Jackie nodded. Henrik placed a hand on his shoulder, and that seemed to steady him. He drew himself to his full height and stiffened his posture. “Exactly. The King may think he can get away with any of this, just because of his position. But the people will not stand for it. We will not stand for it. As long as his actions cause death and damage, we will work to remove him.”

For a moment, Chase was in awe at the resolve Jackie showed. He wasn’t that physically intimidating, being almost a head shorter than Chase and a head and a half shorter than Henrik, but he had a commanding aura. Maybe the strength of his conviction was catching. “Exactly,” Chase said. “That’s—that’s what I want to do.” His simple statement sounded lame in comparison.

Jackie smiled. “And that’s why we’re so glad to have you.” He relaxed a bit, looking over at Henrik. “And if Schneep likes you, then I do, too.”

Chase couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I-I’m sorry? What did you call him?”

Henrik’s expression fell. He took his hand off Jackie’s shoulder and pushed him with his shoulder. “I told you, stop using that.”

“But it’s so fun to say,” Jackie said cheerfully. “Chase, did you know that Henrik’s surname is Schneeplestein?”

Chase fought to stifle his giggles. Now he remembered that particular fact from his first meeting with Henrik. “That’s—well, I’m sure that’s a usual surname in Alterde—”

“It is not,” Henrik said wearily. “It sounds just as ridiculous over there. Go ahead, laugh about it. Get it out of your mind now.”

“No no, I’m fine, I promise.” Chase coughed a bit, clearing his throat of laughter. “At least you have a surname.”

“Ah, it is common to have one where I am from,” Henrik waved away the comment. “I know here it is a nobility thing, but not in Alterde or its neighbors.”

“Really?” Chase said, interested.

“Really. And it is much easier than your family names,” Henrik said bluntly, turning to leave.

“Hey! Wait for us!” Jackie took Chase’s hand and the two of them followed Henrik out of the dragon’s skull.

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

“Chase? Are you awake?”

The first thing Chase heard when waking up was someone calling his voice. Instinctively, he rolled over and stretched his arm to the right. Only to be met with nothing but empty space. Oh. Right.

He opened his eyes to a canvas wall and ceiling. He’d gotten his tent yesterday, and Jackie had shown him how to set it up in a spot near the dragon spine. From there, the rest of the day had passed slowly. Awkwardly, too, as Chase didn’t feel up to approaching any of the masked people who were part of the Phantoms. It felt...strange. Like he was constantly intruding on something. So he just spent time in his tent, and when dinnertime rolled around, he showed up to get some stew from the cooking fires then went off to eat on his own. Eventually, the sun set, and he figured that was time to go to bed.

“Chase?” The voice called again.

“Henrik?” Chase asked, sitting up and wiggling out of the bedroll he’d been given.

“Oh, you are awake. Can I open the flap?”

“Go ahead.” It wasn’t like he was indecent or anything. He was actually still wearing his clothes from the day before. Maybe he should check out the storage, see if they had anything else he could use.

Henrik pushed open the flap of the tent and ducked inside, pushing his owl mask up onto his forehead. “Ah, good. I have something for you.” He held out a folded piece of parchment.

Puzzled, Chase took it. “What is this?” He asked as he unfolded it.

“Well, now that you are a Phantom, there are some things you need to be familiar with,” Henrik said. “Jackie put together a schedule for you for today.”

Chase silently looked at the words. He blinked. Then squinted. Then looked back up at Henrik. “Um...I’m sorry, but I...can’t read this.”

Henrik didn’t even have a response for that. “You...cannot read?”

“I can, but only a little,” Chase admitted. “I know the alphabet and numbers, but as for words, I can read what I’m familiar with. Food, animal names, archery gear. Things like that.” He trailed off into a mumble, somehow embarrassed. Reading had never been an issue before. Everyone in town knew enough to get by. But now, he wondered...was that not normal?

“That’s okay,” Henrik said, picking up on Chase’s tone. “Jackie was the same way. We had to teach him.” He chuckled a bit at the memory. “I will explain, then. After breakfast, you will meet with Nemet in the infirmary, she will give you a basic medicine check. To see what you know and fill you in on anything you need. Then you will head down to the tip of the tail, and meet a man there called Tripp. I understand you do not know that much about magic, so he will give you an overview. Then there will be lunch, and then you will head to the combat field to start training with Holly and Lukas.”

Chase started. “What was that last name?”

“Lukas,” Henrik repeated. “You will probably be working with him more, since you seem inclined with bows, and not closer combat.”

“Right.” Chase nodded. That name sounded familiar, like he’d heard it recently...

“Then come back for dinner, and I will check up on you,” Henrik continued. “And by then, hopefully you will know what you want to do most in the group. Medicine, organization, and such. And we will get you a temporary mask.”

“So, why masks?” Chase asked. “I like the idea, but...why? Who came up with it?”

“Oh, the mask concept was Jackie’s idea, but the animal part was added by—by someone else,” Henrik said. There was an odd pause there...was he going to say something else? A name, perhaps? “We wear masks so people will not recognize us. Many of us have friends and family who would be at risk if the King’s people knew we were working against him. Like, for me. You know I am a traveling doctor, yes? Well, when I met you last year, I was already working with the Phantoms. Can you imagine what would happen if someone recognized me as a rebel?”

Chase shivered. “Yea, I can.” If the King was willing to burn down the mountain villages for an unknown reason, what would he do to find one of the rebels? With that thought in mind, he slowly stood up. “So...I’ll get started, then. Meeting with all these strangers.”

“Do not be nervous, Chase,” Henrik said gently. “Everyone new we find has to go through something like this. And these are some of our best people.”

“Thanks,” Chase said. “That’s good to know.” Still, his stomach was slowly tying itself in knots as he headed towards the cooking fires, about to start the day.

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

After a quick breakfast of toasted bread—light, but with those stomach knots, still hard to get through—Chase headed up the gentle slope towards the infirmary cave in the rock wall. Slipping through the flap in the canvas, he found it unchanged from the day before, when he’d been discharged. Nobody was inside, except for...

“Ibis?” Chase asked.

“Hello, Chase.” Ibis smiled at him. Her mask was off, revealing her features and round, dark eyes for the first time. “It’s good to see you again. And please, my name is Nemet.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m supposed to meet with you.” That explained why she was standing near the entrance, she was waiting for him.

“Yes, yes.” Nemet nodded. “Henrik has told me to give you a basics in medicine.” She turned and headed towards the back, indicating he should follow. “Come, come. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Nemet had set three chests on top of each other, making a sort of rough chest-height table. On top of the flat surface of the chest-table were a series of bottles and bags, each one neatly labeled. “Here. These are some of our common tonics and medicines we use here. Tell me what you recognize.”

Chase considered the layout before him. There were probably about thirty in total, if he had to guess. “This is for colds, right? And fevers? And this one, too. And these dried leaves, they’re for nausea. Oh, and this will put you to sleep if you put it in water or stew. This is a salve, also for fevers. And this is a balm for sores. And this will stop infection on cuts and scrapes. And...that’s what I know.”

“Impressive,” Nemet nodded.

“Really? That’s only a fraction of the total,” Chase said doubtfully.

“Most people who join up only know redleaf, bainruish, and seedbane.” Nemet indicated each medicine as she listed them. “Fevers, cuts, and...well, I’m sure you know what seedbane is for, even if you said nothing. You are married, after all.” She laughed as Chase slowly turned red. “Ah, my apologies. The point is, you are ahead of most others.”

“Do we really need all of these?” Chase asked, quickly moving on.

“Oh, yes. You know that when people gather together that sicknesses spread easily. Many of these will help to cure a specific disease, while others are a general tonic, like redleaf.” Nemet paused, then picked up about ten of the medicines and put them on the floor. “Henrik says you are not so much caught up on magic, so we will leave these ones out of our discussion for now.”

Chase started at that. The concept of mixing medicine with magic made him...uneasy. He may not know that much about magic, but he knew it could be dangerous. “I was wondering, Nemet, what did you do before you joined the Phantoms? I know Henrik’s a traveling doctor, are you the same?”

“Not exactly.” Nemet shrugged. “I was a student of medicine back home.”

“And where was that?”

“A land called Kha’Nyphthis.” Nemet grinned a bit at Chase’s confused expression. “You would not have heard of it. It is to the south, on another continent, but not the same continent as Henrik’s Alterde. We have great schools and libraries there, the best in the world. I was learning to become a doctor, and had almost finished my schooling, but one of the final requirements was to learn the medicine of another land. I chose here, Glasúil, because you are well-known for your medicine. But then I arrived, and saw the state of things, and...ah, well.” Her expression fell for a moment.

“I’m...sorry,” Chase said awkwardly. “Do you...ever think about going back?”

Nemet nodded briefly. “Of course. I have family, friends. But I cannot just abandon things. It’s not in my nature to leave things unsettled.” She took a deep breath, and moved on. “But as for your basics in medicine, let me start by getting you familiar with the ones you didn’t know.”

It was a while later before Chase left the infirmary, his head feeling stuffed with all the new information Nemet had drilled into him. Already, some of it was starting to slip away. And he immediately knew that he could never be a doctor. If these were the basics, he couldn’t even begin to think about what would be required to complete the training to become one.

But he didn’t have time to let all that new knowledge sink in. Judging by the sun’s position, it was getting close to noon, and to lunch. He still had to meet up with someone else before it was time to eat. So he hurried onward, running along the curve of the dragon’s bones, following them as they got smaller and smaller, until they eventually merged into the packed ground. Chase slowed to a stop and looked around, confused. This was the end of the tail, wasn’t it? So...where was—

“Hey you’re the new one, right?”

Chase yelped and spun around. A man was sitting between the spine bones of the dragon, almost unnoticeable in the shadow between them. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said slowly. “Are you, uh...Tripp?”

The man nodded, hopped to his feet, and walked over to Chase. Standing up, he was short, even shorter than Jackie. He wore a dark brown cloak that reached his knees, and of course, a mask. This one was shaped like a ram’s head, complete with curved horns, and the black symbol on the forehead was actually four different symbols arranged in a diamond formation. After a moment of looking at them, Chase realized they were the suits often used on playing cards. How...odd. The man reached up and took off the mask, ruffling his golden brown hair and revealing dark eyes. “Tripp, son of Seamus,” he said shortly. “And you are...?”

“Chase. Son of Brody,” Chase said automatically. “Henrik told you I was—”

“You’re not up-and-up on magic and need a course, yea,” Tripp interrupted, swinging his mask around his finger. Chase took a step back despite already being far away. If that went flying, those plaster horns would do some damage. “And he asked me to do it ‘cause I’m our second best guy.”

“You’re the—?”

“What do you know already, Brodyson?” Tripp continued. “Ever met a magic-wielder?”

“There were a handful in town—”

“Sorcerer, wizard, enchanter, oracle, witch?”

“I...what?” Chase blinked. “I...think they were all sorcerers.”

“How many?”

“Only a handful, about six or seven?”

“For a village of four hundred or so people?” Tripp laughed. “Everyone must’ve been magically impotent.”

“Could you slow down?!” Chase snapped. “I thought you were supposed to teach me about magic, not make fun of me for not knowing anything!”

Tripp paused. Then grinned. “It’s just banter, Brodyson. I didn’t mean offense. But hey, you called me out. Good on you for that. My apologies.” His grin faded. “But I’m not jokin’ about that. There should’ve been at least four times that number of magic-wielders in a town that size. What happened? Were the seekers bein’ lazy for the past few years?”

“...Seekers?” Chase repeated, puzzled.

Tripp looked up at the sky. “Oh, elders. They haven’t been showin’ up at all, have they? If you don’t even know about them—alright, we’ll start from the beginning, then.” He sat down on the ground, folding his legs under him. Slowly, Chase sat down across from him. “You know of the five branches, right? I’m pretty sure everyone in the world’s at least heard their names.”

“Yes,” Chase said, nodding. Wizards, sorcerers, enchanters, oracles, and witches. He mostly heard about them in stories, and was especially fuzzy on the details about those last three.

“A common mistake people make is thinkin’ these are all different things.” Tripp started drawing in the dirt with his finger. “When really, all magic is the same. It’s like a tree—just because each branch might look different, doesn’t mean they don’t all come from the same trunk.” And, in keeping with that metaphor, he drew a rough outline of a tree with five different branches. “All magics can work with each other, and there’s a lot of similarities in between them. For example, do you know the difference between wizardry and sorcery? They’re the two most well-known of the branches.”

“Um...if I’m being honest, I’d always been under the impression that wizardry was more powerful,” Chase said tentatively.

Tripp snorted in disbelief. “Some wizards would like to think that. But no. More varied, yes. But not more powerful. Here, it’ll be easier if I go over them all one by one.” He started to draw symbols by each of the branches, starting with a crude stick figure. “Sorcery is the most common magic besides witchcraft. It crops up in people at random. If you got twenty-five people in a room together, one would probably be a sorcerer, even if they didn’t know it. Its source is inside the person themself. And what it does is manipulate the world. Like...this.”

He pressed a flat hand against the ground next to him. After a moment, the dirt started to move. Then suddenly, pillars of rock shot through the dirt, rising from underneath the surface. Chase gaped as the solid stone started to twist, winding around each other to form a braid of rock. Then Tripp removed his hand, and the rock froze, as if it had never been moving in the first place. For a moment, Chase was stunned, then he managed to ask, “S-so you’re a sorcerer, then?”

“Exactly,” Tripp grinned. “Why d’you look so surprised? You said you knew sorcerers before.”

“Well...yes, but I hadn’t...seen their magic too much,” Chase admitted. He remembered one time when Gwen, the weaver’s daughter, had pulled water out of the well. It just streamed out of the depths and sailed right into her bucket. But occasions like that were few and far between.

“Hmm.” Tripp scrunched his face up, thinking. “Well, besides that. Each branch of magic has its strengths and weaknesses. Sorcery’s strength is that it comes from within. As long as a sorcerer doesn’t drain too much energy, they can use their magic forever. And its weakness is that you need a material to manipulate. Like just now, I reached down and pulled rock up from underground. But there’s a limit to the range where your magic can affect things.”

Chase nodded. “What about wizardry, then?”

Tripp sketched a rough outline of a necklace next to another branch of the tree. “Its strength is its variety. Wizards aren’t limited by what things are present, they can conjure out of thin air. But its weakness is in this: the ‘focus.’” He tapped the necklace drawing. “Unlike sorcery, wizardry doesn’t come from within. Wizards are channelin’ it from outside, from the layer of magic that coats the world. But to do so, they need a specially-made thing called a focus. It’s usually a necklace, ‘cause that’s handy, but it can be any shape, as long as it’s made the right way. These dragon bones, for example. They’d be real good to make focuses with.” He knocked on the nearest bone. “About one in fifty people are able to channel wizardry.”

“And now we reach the end of my knowledge,” Chase mutters. “What’s the next most common?”

Tripp paused. “Enchantment.” The image he drew in the dirt now was a misshapen lump. “Damn. That’s supposed to be a brain.”

“Ah. Right. Because enchantment is the magic of the mind, isn’t it?” Chase recalled, casting his memories back to the stories he’d heard that included enchanters.

“Hmm. Yea.” Tripp pursed his lips. “How do I explain them...Well, strengths. They’re the only magic that can work with your mind. Illusions, talking in your head, things like that. But as for their weaknesses, enchanters can’t change the world for real.”

“Is it true that enchanters can control your actions?” Chase asked. “There’s a story, the Dark Damoen—”

“The crazy old man who made Erinthold worship him as a god? That’s a famous one.” Tripp nodded. “Well, it’s true. Some could change your thoughts and make you do things you wouldn’t. But that takes a lot of power, and besides, most enchanters are decent people, like all the rest of us. It’s just that we remember the bad ones because they shock us. And only about one in a hundred people are enchanters, anyway. Don’t worry about it. There are a few Masked Phantoms who are enchanters.”

Chase nodded slowly. The thought of the old story sent shivers down his back, but he should probably trust the magic-wielder. He clearly knew more “What about...the oracles?”

Tripp drew a symbol of an eye in the dirt. “Those are the rarest one. You only get an oracle one in a thousand, if you’re lucky, and they’re not usually that powerful. You’ve probably heard that they issue prophecies of what’s to come, or that they might even be able to manipulate time itself. Well that’s all bullshit.”

“Wh—” Chase was so surprised at the frankness that he choked on his own gasp. After a few moments of coughing, he continued in a hoarse voice. “What do you mean?”

“Oracles can’t manipulate time, that’s the most insane rumor goin’ round about magic there ever was,” Tripp stated. “They get visions of what’s most likely to happen. It’s not for sure, and really, most oracles are wrong. But huge strength there, knowing the most likely future. And it comes with a big weakness. A couple, actually. One, they have to speak their visions out loud while it’s happenin’. It’s a magic...what’s the word?” He snapped his fingers for a bit. “Compulsion. That’s it. They’re literally forced to do it, can’t stop that. And two, the visions are all they can do. They have no other magic. And because of that, some say that oracles are cursed, not gifted.”

Chase thought about that. If he had the choice, would he take knowing the future for being forced to share it? Maybe. Maybe if he knew what could happen next, he could stop terrible things. Like...his heart panged, and he shied away from the thought. No, that didn’t sound too bad. People would also know what the future held, what of it? He’d take that risk.

“And the last magic,” Tripp said, snapping Chase out of his thoughts. “Witchcraft. It’s actually the most common.”

“Really?” Chase said doubtfully.

“I bet you’re goin’ by the stories, where witches are old people that stay in shacks and give out potions,” Tripp said, drawing a bottle next to the final branch. “But really, the magic of witchcraft isn’t in people, like all the others. It’s in the land. It’s part of the world’s magic. Plants with strange properties, the parts of magical animals...these can be mixed together to create amazing effects. And anyone could learn how to do it. In fact, most of us here have.”

Chase suddenly remembered earlier, how Nemet had put away some of the medicines during their meeting. It was because he didn’t know much about magic...“Wait, you mean anyone could make potions? Become a witch?”

“Well, not anyone,” Tripp muttered. “If you have magic of your own, you can’t learn witchcraft. The knowledge just slips away, and if we try anyway, nothing works, even if it should. You can’t use more than one magic. It’d be like tryin’ to hold onto every single branch of a tree.”

“If the tree was small, though?” Chase joked.

“It’s not. The magic tree is big, and the branches are the type where you need to hold on with both hands,” Tripp said firmly.

“Oh. I...see.” Chase cleared his throat. Clearly, using more than one magic wasn’t something to make light of. It was too impossible. “And...what about those seekers you mentioned earlier?”

Tripp was eager to move on. “Seekers are wizards that can sense the presence of magic. What’s supposed to happen is that these seekers are supposed to stop by every town twice every year. In practice, that’s faded away. Most towns only see them once a year, and the farther away you get from Suilthair, the less often you’ll see them. My town where I grew up, they came by every three years. But if you don’t know what they are, then...have you ever seen them?”

At that, Chase had a vague memory of a group of strangers visiting Hilltown when he was a child. They were dressed finely, and the image of an elaborate brooch one of them was wearing flashed in his mind. The next day, Hanson, an old friend of his, announced to all the kids that he was going away for ‘special school.’ “Not in years. Long enough for me to forget what they are.”

Tripp huffed. “I bet it’s not worth the effort to come all the way up here. Bunch of nambies.” He rolled his eyes. “Seekers are employed by the royal family. They find young magic-wielders and offer to give them schoolin’, to learn how to use their magic. Schoolin’ that’s funded by the crowns. It’s not required—I never went—but it’s encouraged. Otherwise you might end up having magic shootin’ out of your—”

“Is that why most wizards side with the King?” Chase asked, remembering what Henrik said about the source of the village fire.

“Part of it. But wizards especially have a reason to keep on the King’s good side.” Tripp paused. “Those focuses I told you ‘bout, that wizards need to use their magic? The crowns fund the makin’ of those, too. And the sellin’. And everything about them.”

“Oh.” Chase’s eyes widened with realization. “So...if a wizard decided to oppose the King, then there’s a chance that...they wouldn’t have access to a focus anymore? And...their magic?”

Tripp nodded. “That’s why most of us magic-wielders in the Phantoms are sorcerers and a few enchanters.”

“No oracles?”

“Oh, elders, no. You heard how hard they are to find. Wish we had some, though. That’d be helpful.” Tripp stretched his arms, then stood up. “Anyway, that’s all I have to say. You got it all?”

“I think so, yes,” Chase said slowly. He looked up to the sky, mentally reviewing everything he’d heard. Sorcery, wizardry, enchantment, oraclulary, and witchcraft. All very different, all with things they could do and limitations that slowed them down. That made sense. He nodded to himself...and then noticed the position of the sun. “Shit!” Chase shot to his feet. “It’s noon! I have—after lunch, I—”

“More meetings, huh?” Tripp raised an eyebrow, then pulled his ram mask back on. “Let me guess...Lukas and Holly? Better hurry, Brodyson. Not good to be late for those two.”

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

Chase swung by the cooking fires to grab some food, then hurried over to the combat fields, along the dragon’s wings. Originally, he wondered if the wing bones would get it the way, but apparently the dragon had died with its wings spread out as far as they could be, leaving ample room in between the bones. The packed dirt was lined with targets, crude dummies made of sacks of hay tied to sticks, and racks of wooden training weapons. Occasionally there were random chests or tents set up to create obstacles to fight around. As he ran out onto the fields, he passed many people, some sparring in groups, others practicing on their own. None of them paid him any mind.

Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure where to go. The fields took up all of the space cleared by the wings, which was, as it turned out, quite a lot. Maybe he should have asked Henrik for descriptions of the people he’d be meeting with. Feeling his nerves eating away at his stomach, he turned to the nearest person, and asked, quietly, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Lukas and Holly?”

The person turned around, looked down at him, and smiled. “Oh, it’s you! You’re the new one!”

“Um...yes,” Chase said slowly. It was just now occurring to him how...big this person was—this woman was, actually, judging by her voice. She towered over him, and her sleeveless tunic showed off the muscles of her tattooed arms. Strange to be wearing no sleeves in the chill mountain air, but she probably wasn’t bothered.

“I’m Holly.” Her smile widened. “Daughter of Rose.”

“Oh!” Chase blinked. That name didn’t fit her at all. But alright, he wasn’t one to say anything. “Chase, son of Brody.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Holly grabbed his hand and vigorously shook it. She wasn’t wearing her mask, but it hung around her neck. A bear. And the symbol on its forehead was the same as the one on Jackie’s wolf mask: a circle with two dots inside. “Me and Lukas, we’re in charge of combat up in Wyvernlair. Speaking of which...” She turned around. “Luke! He’s here!”

Chase leaned around Holly to look at who she was addressing...and suddenly felt cold, despite his jacket. Now he remembered where he heard that name before. While he’d been sick with the shivering in the infirmary, he’d overheard a conversation between Jackie and a man in a fox mask. That man had wanted to throw him out of camp, but Jackie had refused...and now, Chase was staring at that very same man.

“I can see that,” Lukas said shortly. He was facing a series of targets, and didn’t turn to look at Holly and Chase. Instead he merely took another arrow from a quiver on his back, nocked it on his bow, and shot. The arrow flew straight into the center of the farthest target, which was barely the size of a hand spread wide.

“No you can’t, you didn’t even look!” Holly scowled, and turned back around. “Sorry about him, Chase. He’s been snippy.”

“Well I wouldn’t be snippy if I hadn’t been standing out here for an hour, waiting for someone who didn’t bother to show up on time,” Lukas snapped.

“I’m not an hour late,” Chase protested weakly. Even behind the fox mask, Lukas’s expression was twisted with frustration and annoyance.

“It’s a matter of principle,” Lukas said, finally turning to face Chase. When he did, Chase noticed the symbol on his mask for the first time: an X, with a dot to either side.

“Let’s just get into it,” Holly said, folding her arms. “Now, Chase. You’re a hunter, yes? So you have some experience with shortbows.”

“I can shoot, yes,” Chase agreed. “But I’ve never heard the term ‘shortbow’ before.” Lukas rolled his eyes, a motion that was partially hidden by the mask but still visible enough for Chase to catch.

“It means a smaller bow, in comparison to Lukas’s massive beast of a longbow over there.” Holly gestured towards Lukas’s bow; it was almost as tall as him. “Shortbows are better for mobility and closer range, while longbows are more suited for staying stationary and shooting long distances.”

“Ah.” Chase nodded. That made sense; bigger bows were more powerful, but also harder to draw back and move around. Amabel once tried to shoot Chase’s own bow when she was seven, and couldn’t pull the string even a little.

“I’m assuming you’re a fairly good shot,” Holly said, rubbing her chin. “So you’ll probably need to work with me more. I’m in charge of close-range combat, while Lukas handles the long range, with bows. So if we’re to—”

“Hold on a moment, Holly,” Lukas interrupted. “I want to see what he can do.”

Holly shot Lukas a dirty look. “There’s no need—”

“Of course there is. We should know what our starting point is.” Lukas turned and walked towards a nearby weapons rack, picking out a smaller shortbow and a quiver of matching arrows. He headed back to the others and thrust the tools at Chase. “Show me how well you hunt.”

“...alright. I will.” Chase took the bow and quiver slowly. He didn’t like being tested, especially not when the test was proposed by a man who clearly thought he was some sort of spy for the King and might be looking for an excuse to kick him out. Should he pretend to be worse than he actually was? No, that would just be complicated. He’d shoot normally.

He stepped up to the place Lukas had been standing, facing the targets, and strapped the quiver onto his back. For a moment, he examined the bow. Solidly built. Looked newer than the one he used back home. And had these odd curves...was this a recurve model? He’d heard of them, but never used one before.

“Soon, please!” Lukas called.

Holly promptly hit him on the back of the head. “Take your time, Chase! Don’t worry!”

Chase nodded. His mouth was suddenly very dry. But he swallowed his nerves, adjusted his stance, and nocked an arrow. He hit it against the back of his head in the process of taking it out of the quiver—not being used to wearing it on his back—and glanced back at the two watching to gauge their reactions. Holly looked supportive, but Lukas was unreadable. He looked away again.

There were ten arrows in the quiver and ten targets set up in front of him. He must need to hit all of them. So he drew back, aimed, and let loose the arrow.

Ten arrows.

Five of them hit the closest targets. Two of those hit their target’s center.

One hit the edge of one of the farther targets.

The remaining four missed.

Feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach, he turned back to Holly and Lukas.

“Wow. That was the most utterly average thing I’ve ever seen,” Lukas said bluntly.

“You hit more than I can!” Holly said positively, giving him a short round of applause. “That’s great!”

Chase nodded silently. “I...I’m not used to this bow.”

Lukas hummed. He went to collect the arrows, giving Chase a side-eyed look as he walked past. It seemed as though his suspicions hadn’t been assuaged. If anything, he looked even more wary.

Holly walked up to Chase and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Chase promptly lost his balance from the force of the contact, and Holly helped him right himself. “Sorry about that,” she said. “And sorry about Lukas. He’s just...he has a hard time trusting people. I’m sure you’ll win him over.”

“It’s fine,” Chase said distantly. “I mean, not everyone’s going to immediately welcome someone new into a group like this. You need to keep secret. There are risks.” Still, Lukas’s distrust, combined with his mediocre shooting skills, left him feeling a bit down. Like a cloud passing over the sun, everything just seemed...disappointing.

Lukas returned, arrows in hand. “Do it again,” he said.

“Elders and Sisters, Luke, we don’t have all day,” Holly protested.

“He needs to practice,” Lukas said, stone-faced.

“He needs to start with me! You can’t handle all your problems from a distance, especially in our situation. What’s he to do if a King’s man jumps him from behind and all he has are arrows?”

“It’s fine,” Chase repeated. He rubbed his arm; they hadn’t given him an arm guard, and despite the jacket fabric, his skin still stung from the bow string. “We have until dinner.”

Holly gave him a look, but sighed and stepped back. “One hour of shooting, then it’s my turn.”

Lukas nodded. “Deal.”

Chase sighed a bit, and took the arrows from Lukas. It was turning out to be a long day.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #brigid writes fanfiction #fantasymasksau

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

Text

Broken Bones (FebuWhump 16)

Fandom: The Witcher Summary: Having freed Jaskier from the inn's cellar, Geralt takes him to safety to rest and recover. Danger is on their heels, however, and Geralt still might be too late to save his friend.

(Sequel to Imprisoned)

* * *

The main room of the inn was practically aglow with the midday sun compared to the darkness of its cellar, though Geralt's eyes had no trouble adjusting. He paused at the top of the steps while Jaskier squinted into the light, however, to let the bard adjust to both the brightness of the day outside and the release from his imprisonment.

They'd been supposed to meet at this inn—though Geralt hadn't realized it was so disreputable—a few days before, but Geralt had been detained thanks to an injury on a hunt. He'd arrived to find the innkeeper and his thuggish companion had beaten Jaskier and locked him in the cellar, and mostly likely robbed him as well.

The thug was nowhere to be seen. He'd tried to get in between Geralt and the cellar and Geralt had caught him by the wrist and simply kept twisting until he heard a satisfying crack. The innkeeper, however, was still behind the counter, looking like he couldn't decide between swinging a club at Geralt, pissing himself, or making a break for it.

Geralt gently escorted Jaskier over to one of the long wooden benches near the hearth and sat him down, giving the bard's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Jaskier caught his sleeve. “I don't want to stay here,” he pleaded. Geralt couldn't blame him—the man had been left to go cold and hungry, bound to a rack of kegs, waiting for whatever uncertain fate the innkeeper had in store for him.

“We won't,” Geralt replied, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the innkeeper. “What did he take from you?”

“I don't care about the money, let's just go.”

“Jaskier.”

The bard heaved a weary sigh. “Eight crowns? Maybe a little more? My room...I don't know what they did with my lute.”

Geralt grunted. He squeezed Jaskier's shoulder again and gently extricated his sleeve from his friend's grasp. Then he schooled his features into what Jaskier always called his “Witcher Face” and stalked over to the innkeeper, the fury he was barely keeping in check alive in every muscle.

“S-sir,” the innkeeper stammered. “We was just...he couldn't pay his bill, a-and the alderman-”

“No.” Geralt slammed his hand on the counter, hard enough that the inkwell toppled over and the innkeeper took a few frightened steps back. By the sudden scent of ammonia in the air, it looked like he'd chosen to piss himself instead of run or fight. Good. “I've seen your little game before. The other man that was here, the scarred one. He had a tattoo,” Geralt drew a line with his finger over his right eye. “You work for the press-gangs.”

It was a nasty business. The press-gangs got around some of the laws against slavery by claiming their indentured workers were there to work off a debt. It sounded good on the surface—a man who'd gambled too much or taken a loss on his property could work a few years in a mine or on the road works to pay back his creditors—but like so many things it had gotten twisted. Most of what Geralt had seen were men and women, and even children, forced into heavy labor for exaggerated or nonexistent debts.

“Give me his money,” Geralt demanded.

The innkeeper was shaking his head. “S-sir, he was our guest for five days, w-we deserve some-”

Geralt slammed his hand against the counter again. This time the scarred wood gave an alarming groan, like one more blow would crack it. The innkeeper swallowed, then rummaged around beneath the counter and shakily counted out five Redanian crowns.

“All of it,” Geralt growled. Another swallow. The odor pouring off the innkeeper shifted a bit, as though he'd soiled himself as well. Then shaking hands laid five more crowns on the counter.

Geralt swept the coins into his pocket. “His belongings?”

“Th-the stable,” the innkeeper jerked his head toward the door. “We've no one to sell to until Pas...until the peddler comes through. Check the barrels.”

Turning on his heel, Geralt walked back over to his friend's side. “Can you walk?” Much as Jaskier—and Geralt—wanted to be out of this place, he wouldn't endanger his friend's safety. When the bard nodded he slowly guided him back to his feet and wrapped one of Jaskier's arms around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry I was late,” Geralt said when they'd made the relative safety of the stable. He left Jaskier leaning against the feedbox while he went about preparing Roach for travel and searching the barrels for his friend's belongings. There were only a few things—his lute, some clothing, a few toiletry items—and he carefully packed those in his own saddlebags.

“You beat Pascar here,” Jaskier replied, wearily. “That's most important.”

“Pascar?”

“They said,” Jaskier waved his hand toward the inn, winced, and rested it against his side while he fought to catch his breath. “He was supposed to be here in a day or so. Collecting workers for the salt mines.”

Geralt had the sudden urge to go back in and run the innkeeper through, but he ignored that in favor of adjusting Roach's saddle and brushing a soothing hand down her shoulder. She was agitated because he was agitated, and all three of them would feel a lot better leaving this town behind them. He gestured to Jaskier and the bard shuffled over to them to be hoisted up into the saddle. Geralt climbed up in front of him and clicked his tongue at Roach to start her moving.

Jaskier groaned a little at the jolt and leaned forward to rest his body against Geralt's. The witcher didn't mind—Jaskier was a tactile creature, and if a little physical closeness would help drive away the demons of the last few days then Geralt would be happy to offer it.

During his recovery from his own injury, Geralt had sheltered in a ruined barn about half a day's ride from this thrice-damned inn. That would suit them enough for a day or two, until Jaskier was recovered enough for a longer trip.

The bard gave another moan and huddled closer, and when Geralt risked a glance he could just see his friend's head resting against his shoulder. Geralt reached back and patted Jaskier's knee. “Just don't fall off, all right?”

* * *

It was well past dusk when they reached the barn. Geralt had left a stash of kindling behind for the next traveler who needed shelter, so he easily built a fire while Jaskier tried to make himself comfortable against the half-rotted timbers.

He didn't have the heart to complain about the dirt on his clothes or the ratty blanket Geralt tried to tuck around him. Between the throbbing in his side and the ache in his belly, he was altogether miserable.

They hadn't stopped for a meal, but Geralt had forced a few field rations into him. They weren't the easiest things to digest after over a day without food, but it was better than waiting for a hot meal back at that inn.

Jaskier shivered, tucking his arms more closely around himself. If there had been some reason—if he'd insulted someone, or dallied with the wrong woman, or actually left his bill unpaid, he might have understood the attack. But to be assaulted, beaten, tied in a cellar, left to rot until the mine's foreman came around to collect, all at someone's whim?

If Geralt had been even a day later....

There was a hand on his knee. Jaskier shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to muster a smile as he looked up. “Geralt?”

The witcher's face was pinched with concern. “We need more firewood for the night,” he explained. “There are plenty of rabbits here, too, I thought I might snare a few for supper.”

Jaskier's heart clenched. He was being ridiculous—they were miles away from the town by now, and no one would have followed an angry witcher. He had no reason to be afraid of being left alone here. “I'm all right,” he tried to reassure his friend.

Geralt frowned, but he gave Jaskier's knee a gentle squeeze and rose to his feet. “I won't be far. Give a shout if you need me.”

To his horror, tears prickled behind Jaskier's eyes. He wasn't an infant, dammit! He had been terrified, yes, but he was safe now. He nodded and ducked his head, pretending to adjust the blanket around him. That cellar had been far too cold, and even now he could feel the chill in his bones.

His hand brushed over his side and he sucked in a breath, flinching back. Geralt had poked and prodded and declared it nothing worse than a few bruises and scrapes—deep bruises, to be sure, but nothing broken, thank the gods.

The leaves rustled and the timbers around him creaked. Jaskier shivered and tried to scoot closer to the flames, fighting down the unease he felt at being alone. He hadn't originally planned on traveling with Geralt for long, but now he hoped the witcher wouldn't mind his company for a bit more time.

There was movement at the edge of the firelight. Jaskier squinted and shadowed his eyes with his hand, trying to compensate for the glare in his face. “Geralt?”

A shadowy figure drew closer, though it wasn't shaped right to be Geralt. Then a branch in the fire cracked, sending a shower of sparks upward, and for one, heart-stopping second the all-too-familiar face of the scarred man from the inn was visible.

Jaskier's breath caught in his chest, then he was struggling out of the blanket as the man rushed at him. He started to call for help but a heavy weight slammed into him and a meaty palm was clapped over his mouth.

“This must be my lucky day,” the scarred man snarled. “Your little friend broke my arm, so I'm gonna break every bone in your scrawny little body.”

The bard tried to thrash himself free, aiming a blow at the scarred man's injured arm, which he had strapped against his chest. Fingers tightened around his jaw and his head was slammed against the ground.

Stars exploded in his vision and his limbs went slack. Jaskier tried to roll away from the scarred man, but a cruel hand caught his wrist and twisted it up behind his back. “Scream for him,” the scarred man whispered, one foot heavy on Jaskier's back.

Jaskier whimpered through his teeth as the scarred man's weight forced the air out of his lungs. He couldn't have screamed if he'd wanted to, as the position put too much pressure on his bruised ribs for him to draw in a breath.

Then the scarred man gave another savage twist and something in Jaskier's forearm gave with a snap and he suddenly had the breath to scream.

* * *

Geralt didn't hesitate. When he heard Jaskier scream he dropped the armful of wood he'd gathered and charged into the barn, drawing his sword as he did. He pulled up short, eyeing the scarred man who stood with one foot on Jaskier's back, the bard's arm bent back at an awkward angle.

“I knew I should have killed you,” Geralt growled. The man's eyes had a feverish light, no doubt whatever potions he'd taken to combat the pain of his broken arm were affecting his mind.

“You broke something of mine,” the scarred man snarled. He shifted so that his foot was on Jaskier's shoulder and moved his hand up to grab the bard's index finger. “Now I break something of yours.”

“Don't-” Geralt took a step forward, but the scarred man gave a wrench and twisted his body one way, his foot the other, and Jaskier screamed again as his finger gave under the pressure.

The scarred man was panting, fumbling for Jaskier's middle finger next. “Do you know how many bones there are in the human body?” he asked. “I've never heard of anyone breaking them all, but I'm willing to be the first.”

“If you harm him further,” Geralt warned, but the scarred man's eyes were alight with madness and he twisted again. Jaskier's screams gave way to ragged sobs, his body going limp beneath his captor.

Geralt steadied his grip on his sword. “You're dead,” he told the scarred man.

The man actually laughed, dropping Jaskier's arm to aim a savage stomp at his back, where his ribs connected to his spine. “I can't even feel my arm,” he chortled, slapping himself on his wounded limb. “What could you possibly do to me?”

He was across the floor of the barn in one, fluid motion, the point of his sword driving easily into the scarred man's chest. The man gave a small hiccup of surprise and stared blankly down at the hilt protruding from his ribs.

“I don't...feel it,” he muttered before his eyes rolled back in his head and he started to collapse. Geralt kicked the corpse away before it could land on Jaskier and dropped to his knees to gently roll his friend over. Jaskier immediately curled around his injured arm and hand, his breath coming out in little pained moans.

“Let me see it, Jaskier,” Geralt urged gently. “The sooner we set it the less it will hurt. Let me see.” It took some coaxing, but Jaskier uncurled enough to let Geralt prod at the wound.

“Your fingers are just dislocated,” Geralt said, after a careful inspection. “But this is a break, here, above your wrist.”

During the examination, Jaskier had pushed himself up to lean against Geralt, as though to soak up warmth and strength from his friend. Geralt wrapped one arm behind the bard's back and gently ran his hand up a down his spine, pausing over the sharp swellings that indicated damage to his ribs. “I think your arm is the worst,” he finally said. “These feel like fractures.”

Two dislocated fingers, a broken arm, and three fractured ribs. It could have been so much worse...but it was bad enough.

Jaskier didn't reply, merely turning his face into Geralt's shoulder as the witcher gently grasped his wrist and elbow to tug the break in his arm back into alignment. “Stay here, I need to make a splint.”

He gently pushed the bad away from him and waited until Jaskier met his eyes and nodded, then hurried to his saddlebags to retrieve the bandages and salve he carried for his less serious wounds.

His fingers needed to be straightened and realigned, then splinted together. They would heal easily enough, and Jaskier wouldn't lose any mobility, thankfully. Then another, sturdier splint for the break in his arm, which Geralt then strapped across his chest for stability.

“Jaskier,” Geralt cupped the bard's face in both hands, waiting until weary blue eyes focused on him. “I'm going to drag the body out of sight and get the firewood I dropped, then I'll be back. We'll leave at first light; the inn at the ferry landing isn't too far.” He could send one of the soldiers from the landing back for the scarred man's body, it would keep for a day or two.

He waited until Jaskier nodded, then pushed to his feet. “I'll be back in a moment,” he reassured his friend. If Roach hadn't needed the rest he would have struck out even in the dark, relying on his own senses to guide them safely.

And if, when he returned from his tasks, he let the bard curl against his side for a few hours fitful sleep, what did that matter. He'd been too late too many times already...he wouldn't risk leaving his friend in danger again.

* * *

Yes, I hurt Jaskier again, but as promised in the “Imprisoned” entry I also gave him some Geralt-snuggles.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday16 #broken bones #the witcher #fic #fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #sequel to day 3 #hurt/comfort #jaskier whump #hurt jaskier #protective geralt

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pergaias · 3 years

Text

excerpts from books i’ll never write ; ii

the varying lengths of these excerpts mess with me and my perfectionism istf - some are long, like this one, others are short, but hey - all of them lead to the same place. nowhere.

this is the entire first chapter of a story that i will never finish so um - enjoy ?

title: checkmate word count: 3030

CHAPTER ONE

1.1 ‘YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY, RIGHT?’

“VENETIA VERNE, INTERN FOR The White Knight Herald.”

Venetia Verne was done. Done with her job-- being a reporter only sounded fun in theory-- done with her outfit-- what in the world was she thinking-- and of course, done with Octavia Tyrell.

Tavi. Her buttercup.

Venetia was pretty sure her eyes were so swollen that her cry-fest would be painfully obvious, and was also pretty much positive that she looked like a wreck.

Not even the fancy perfume she stole from Octavia last night would mask the smell of abject heartbreak.

Seventeen years old but acting twenty-three, Venetia always prided herself for being mature, collected, and a total bitch.

Of course, the bitch part was usually used affectionately-- Tavi had always called her you bitch! as an endearment, just like the way Venetia used to squeeze her hand and whisper buttercup.

Seventeen years old, but acting twelve when it came to breakups.

“Right this way, Miss Verne,” a female assistant led her across the hall, and Venetia surreptitiously straightened her skirt out. She had chosen a dove-colored skirt and a very vintage white blouse-- vintage chic had always been her style, even though Tavi always pushed for her to look more preppy-glam.

As if. Octavia managed to look like Elle Woods but black-and-white. Venetia was stuck as a Forties poster ad.

“Thank you,” Venetia tried for a smile, but it came out vaguely grimace-like. Had she spent all night crying? Possibly. Was she tired of life, the universe, and everything? Also possibly.

For the record, the answer was not forty-two. Screw the flying dolphins and their musical number about fish.

The assistant nodded, her hair in a bun so tight that Venetia’s scalp sympathized. “Our director is quite excited to meet you, Miss Verne-- he says you’re the best in your generation, and our boss at the Herald has never been more excited about a high school prospect-- you must be doing something right.”

Venetia tried for another smile, but this one looked like a leer. The assistant smiled sympathetically, her heels clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor of the building. She was probably tired of everything, too-- the office had the feel of a morgue.

As Venetia trailed behind her, her mind kept wandering to Tavi’s coily dark hair, her rich laugh, the way her brown eyes caught the light and turned to gold. Tavi’s lips on the other boy’s, her hands reaching up his shirt--

Venetia broke off. Octavia didn’t know she saw-- to Octavia, everything was still all well and good. Of course, Tavi was used to having everything she wanted. Spoiled, rich, princess bastard--

“We’re here, sweetie,” the assistant motioned to an imposing-looking door, a slightly condescending note to her voice.

“I appreciate the concern, but it’s Venetia, love.” Venetia allowed herself a smirk at the now-shellshocked assistant before opening the door herself.

Venetia Verne had no interest in being polite or heterosexual.

“Hi, Dad,” Venetia deadpanned, plopping down in front of the central feature of the office-- a heavy, fancy desk-- and all but putting her feet up. Today was just punch after punch after punch-- of course, Venetia could have rescheduled, but all that bitch energy had to go somewhere, right?

“Venetia.” Cyprian Jung looked no different from the day he divorced her mother, choosing a career and a fancy business conglomerate instead of a wife and tenacious daughter.

Let’s face it. Venetia was still just a little bit bitter. Just a little.

“Hi. Venetia Verne, intern for the White Knight Herald.” Venetia kept her coy smile, putting emphasis on her mother’s surname. “My final high school project involves me reporting on the crimes of--”

“You’re reporting on the crimes of the White Queen?” her father’s face snapped up, dark hair and hawkish nose and slanted eyes the color of pond scum.

“Yes,” Venetia said primly, her eyes narrowing.

“Venetia, sweetheart,”

“Don’t sweetheart me.”

“Venetia.”

“Venetia what, Father?”

“Venetia, do you know why I let you interview me?” Cyprian sighed, stroking his nonexistent beard with two fingers. Like, if he actually had one, Venetia was so going to pull an Aang-and-Firelord-Ozai and yank him down by the stupid goatee.

Think calm thoughts, Ven. Less violent, more… Passive-aggressive? Put salt in his coffee instead of sugar?

“Because, like you said. I’m the best of my generation.” Venetia’s gray-green eyes glittered. “And as we both know, the pen is greater than the sword.”

“What do you need to know?”

ON CYPRIAN JUNG

AS HARD AS IT may be to believe, Cyprian Jung wasn’t always a douche CEO and The Worst Father of the Year.

Once upon a time, Cyprian might have been Venetia’s favorite person in the world-- but Venetia always skips over that information, and more often than not, likes to pretend that her father didn’t exist.

Because being raised by a single badass mother sounded a lot cooler than “yeah, my dad decided that his business was a better child than I was, lolol”

But when an new upstart reporter’s article landed on his desk one drizzly Monday morning, Cyprian was shocked to realize that his very gay, very disappointing daughter was the one who wrote it.

Now, we can go two directions here. We can say that Cyprian was so proud and so moved by his daughter’s shrewd reporting skills and her article, or we can say that Cyprian saw something in his daughter that he realized he could exploit, like any good, cunning businessman.

Venetia Verne, who looked-- and acted-- nothing like her father (who seemingly embodied every single fucking Asian stereotype-- how did he even do that?) was proud that she was her mother's daughter.

She hated every resemblance she had with Cyprian, of which she unfortunately had a multitude.

And here comes the plot twist: Cyprian Jung, even though he seemed like he didn’t care for his daughter at all, did.

That was why he called her into his office on an unnaturally-bright Saturday, the day after Venetia and her girlfriend went to a Friday night house party and Venetia stumbled in on her girlfriend in the middle of a hot make-out sesh with a boy.

And before Venetia turned to her mother for advice on her problem, and before she decided to become who she wanted to be for herself, her father would do one good thing for her.

And it would be the only good thing that Venetia would ever, grudgingly, accept that he did.

1.2 ‘CALLING ME DRUNK WHEN IT’S TOO LATE AT NIGHT’

VENETIA CAME BACK FROM her interview with her father a little satisfied and a little angry.

Satisfied because she had the outline for her next article all set out and ready to go-- complete with quotes from her father about the White Queen-- and angry for two reasons.

One, because her father really thought that way? Screw him.

And two, because Venetia had always gone to lunch on Saturdays with Octavia at their favorite boba shop, munching on Taiwanese food and complaining about how difficult ‘life-ing’ was. Octavia had always managed to make Cyprian (and her own father’s) bigoted ideals about feminism (and gay culture, honestly) seem funny.

Venetia pressed her lips into a tighter line as she finally got out of her father’s ice-cold office building and onto the street, where the motion and movement of the city slowed, if not stilled, her thoughts.

Her flat shoes dragged against the gritty pavement as Venetia trudged towards, actually, Venetia didn’t know where she was going. She just kept walking, her bag over her shoulder and one hand brushing against the folds of her skirt.

Venetia hated not having purpose. Saturdays were hard because those were the days that lacked the most schedule-- school days had school, with designated wake-up and go-the-fuck-to-sleep times. Saturdays were full of freedom, and Venetia Verne didn’t know what to do with it.

So she continued walking, wishing that she had something to do. There was always lunch with Tavi to look forward to, or thrift shopping if she wanted. She could walk around the city aimlessly, or she could go home and mope around--

In her bag, her phone buzzed insistently. Only one person ever texted and didn’t call-- Tavi.

Tears burned the backs of Venetia’s eyes, and a lump formed in her throat. Octavia was probably calling wondering why she wasn’t at the shop yet, knowing about her girlfriend’s affinity for punctuality and structure.

Octavia was just going to ignore it.

She didn’t confess to a fuming-but-hiding-it Venetia last night that she had cheated, nor had she acted any differently. With her cheerful I love you, bitch and her insistent flirting with anyone who spared her an appreciative glance but her fake assurances that she was Venetia’s and Venetia’s alone.

Venetia’s fingers tightened around the material of her skirt, twisting the fabric until she was positive the texture would be printed onto her fingers. Her calculating eyes swept over the people around her, dresses in shades of black and white and navy. All business suits or pencil skirts.

Her phone buzzed again, and Venetia ignored it further.

If Octavia was going to ignore the elephant in the room, Venetia sure as hell wasn’t going to point it out. She remembered the way her stomach had dropped when she pushed the door open looking for her jacket, the way that outrage pulsed through her veins, tempered by shattering disappointment.

If Venetia had marched in and screamed at Octavia, what would it have changed? Tavi was used to getting everything she wanted.

So Venetia had gently shut the door and crashed into a different-- thankfully unoccupied room-- and splashed her face with the coldest tap water she could get, staring directly at the bathroom light so she wouldn’t cry.

Venetia hated crying, hated showing any form of vulnerability. Because Venetia Verne was a sphynx, carved out of stone. Her father had always called her Sphynx, because when she was upset she tended to not show it.

Well, Venetia’s resting bitch face was downright legendary.

If Venetia had said something, what would it have changed? Octavia, skillful with words, would have laughed and said that her girlfriend was drunk, or sleep-deprived, or both.

And Venetia knew that she herself would have believed it.

Octavia could paint pictures with words in a way that Venetia had never seen before-- and her mother was a supervillain.

And that was the other reason why she was angry.

Because her mother was the White Queen, and her father’s opinion made her blood boil.

It really puts opinions into perspective when people are ignorant: if you uploaded a picture of yourself to an internet forum-- not saying that it was yourself-- and asked people to describe it, what would they say?

Venetia’s phone kept buzzing.

Her fist kept clenching.

And the spiral-- no, noose-- of her thoughts tightened.

1.3 ‘TELLING ME TRUTHS THAT YOU KNOW ARE LIES’

“OKAY, AM I ALLOWED to be done with this?” Venetia fumed to her secondary best friend Gray, who Venetia was positive was sick of her. She only came running over to the mild Australian boy when she lost another of her friends, and ditching him once she made a new one. If Venetia wasn’t such a heartless bitch, she would have felt bad for the way she treated him.

“Yes, you are,” Gray said patiently, trailing meekly behind her.

“Well, good,” Venetia snapped, storming through the halls of the local high school.

The rest of her dreary Saturday had come and gone in a whirl of anger-grief-bitching-stress eating, and Sunday the same.

“Hey, Ashie!” Venetia was in a seriously pissy mood, and decided then and there that she was going to call everyone by obnoxious nicknames only that day. Asheton Shore, who adamantly went by Shore, was her first victim.

“It’s Shore!” the boy bellowed.

Behind her, Venetia heard Gray scurry behind a wall of imposing-looking seniors. “Ashie,” Venetia drawled, walking closer to him. Her skirt swished with each step she took-- while Asheton Shore’s close companion Maeren Sepia liked vintage too, Venetia always secretly knew that her style was better.

“Fruck,” Shore muttered-- no, it was Ashie, Venetia told herself firmly.

“Come on, Venetia.” Gray was back, his eyes shifting around nervously as he carefully took her by the arm and steered her away.

“Damn it,” Venetia hissed, digging her fingers into the material of her skirt.

“Okay, I know you’re--” Gray cringed, “bitching about the whole Octavia thing, but--”

“You can say the word bitch, Gray.”

“I don’t want to call you a bitch, Ven.”

“Oh my fucking god, Gray. When you think of the word bitch you should think of my face.”

“I don’t like cursing.”

“Fuck that.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Right back at you, Gray.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Thanks.”

Venetia huffed; Gray bit his lip, sighing. Yes, he was very much done with Venetia and her bullshit. Venetia herself was done with Venetia and her bullshit.

Like Ashie, Gray went exclusively by his last name. Then again, when you had a name like Devlin-Tibereus, you wanted to purge that name from your memory. And ‘Asheton’ didn’t even seem so bad if you had the misfortune of being named Devlin-Tiberius Gray-- the Second.

And no, Venetia was not allowed to call him Take Two.

“Come on, we’re going to be late to class.” Gray was tugging at her sleeve insistently. Sometimes Venetia thought of him as an insistent-yet-adorable puppy, the kind that was a total sweetheart until they gave up and peed on your carpet.

“I wanna ditch,” muttered Venetia, who was very acutely aware that Octavia would be attending the same class.

And even though Venetia spent a weekend moping around mooching off of Octavia’s Netflix and eating half-melted ice cream, ghosting Octavia when she tried to call, and doing everything except think about Octavia-- which was a form of thinking about it-- she wasn’t ready to face her.

At all.

Gray blew out a breath-- yes, he was very, very sick of her already.

“Let’s ditch.” Gray said suddenly, planting his feet and nearly throwing Venetia off-balance.

Venetia gaped. “Where the fuck is Gray and what did you do with him, Take Two?”

“I am not take two! Ven, how many times do I have to tell you? Come on, let’s ditch.”

“You’re finally speaking sense, Gray.” Venetia patted his back appreciatively as they blew past the classroom they were supposed to be in and towards the exit. “About time.”

Gray smiled, flashing his elusive dimples. “No shit.”

1.4 ‘YEAH, YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY, RIGHT?’

“SO,” VENETIA SAID LAMELY, her feet dragging against the dusty pavement as she and Gray trudged away from the school, casting furtive looks over their shoulders to make sure that they weren’t being followed. “How’s Teddy? Do people still get to call her Taffy?”

“Taffy’s fine,” Gray said, and didn’t elaborate. Venetia didn’t press-- she knew she was already pressing her luck with her friend-- if Gray could even call her that-- by dragging him with her.

Teddy-- or Theodosia-Amélie Frances Gray-- was Gray’s little sister, who was affectionately called ‘Taffy’ by her close friends and family. Venetia wasn’t sure if she fell in that category, but like most only children, she had a fascination with siblings.

Like how both Gray and Teddy had the same smile and mousy hair and dimples, but they shared different things with their parents, like how Gray and his mother had the same nose but Teddy had the same pattern of freckles across her cheeks.

“That’s nice. Where do you want to go, coffee?” Venetia asked, and suddenly laughed. Out here there was no Octavia, no pressure, no teachers breathing down her neck as she struggled through trigonometry.

Gray’s elusive dimples flashed. “Coffee sounds nice-- as does the idea of ditching, honestly-- and you can rant to me about Octavia. You know, you shouldn’t call her Octavia or Tavi. What about Tyrell?”

“Why shouldn’t I call her Octavia?” Venetia asked, bemused.

“I don’t know!” Gray grinned. “Maybe… I don’t know, Octavia sounds too nice. I’d say ‘call her a bitch’--”

“But I’m the bitch.” Venetia finished, mirroring Gray’s grin. She and Gray always clicked-- no matter how Venetia abandoned him or pushed him aside for her other friends-- not that she had any, which was the irony of it-- Gray was always waiting with his remarks and banter and coffee-fueled highs.

“Exactly.”

“I really am a bitch, you know. Makes you wonder how Buttercup-- I mean Tavi-- I mean Tyrell-- fell for me in the first place.”

“Eh, probably the bitchiness itself.”

“True, true.”

Gray grinned again. “I missed you-- which probably is the wrong thing to say, but hey-- Taffy tattles on me for swearing all the time, while you swear just as much--”

“More. I swear more than you, Tibe.” Venetia smirked and quirked an eyebrow, and Gray sighed.

“I’m never going to win that argument, am I?” he asked, half smiling.

Venetia winked-- or tried to, since she couldn’t wink to save her life-- and nudged Gray’s shoulder with her own. “Never, Take Two.”

“You know, I can call you Veni Vidi Vici.”

Venetia scowled. “My mother really had something against me naming me Venetia Lavinia, didn’t she? Veni Vinny Verne, I mean, seriously?”

Gray smiled, flashing his dimples again. “Someone’s in good spirits.”

“Just drink your damn coffee, Gray.”

“Just let us get to the damn coffee shop, Verne,” Gray mimicked her tone, his wavy hair bouncing as he walked.

“You’re almost as annoying as,” Venetia paused to snap her fingers, “whatshisname Lock. Lochlan Ryals-- don’t some people call him Cinnamon?”

“Lock?” Gray asked, his eyes lighting up. “That’s a compliment.”

“Well, I sure didn’t mean it that way,” Venetia said dryly, her eyes trained on the coffee shop that was coming into clearer view.

“Well, time to order coffee black as my soul,” Venetia said brightly, swinging the door open and following Gray inside.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

“I’m hilarious,” Venetia deadpanned, tossing her pin-straight hair.

“You really do think you’re funny.”

Venetia smirked. “Yep, I think I’m funny, right?”

#cece writes #checkmate #songfic #excerpts from books i'll never write #circa august 2020 😌#this was supposed to tie into wifey's book LOVE-PROOF #but neither project ended up really happening lmfao

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Text

desert secrets

MJ meets a helpful stranger in the desert that turns out to be more than she hoped for.

7k holy shit lol

warnings: some pretty unrealistic fluff that might get your hopes up that you’ll have a meet-cute with Grayson

***

Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Shit on a fucking stick. You actual fucking idiot, MJ.

A stream of thoughts along these general lines becomes her stream of conscience as MJ Macias plops down on a large rock, throwing her head back to the sky to bask in the sun and her own general incompetency. Maybe the heat of the desert mountain sun beating on her face will cause her to shrivel up and disintegrate to become lizard food or something — the thought isn’t altogether unwelcome.

Her trip to the middle of nowhere was meant to clear her mind both through exercise in the form of a nice, long hike, as well as simply by being alone amongst nature, under an endless expanse of clouds and stars. The week had been pure hell for her: she had been let go from her dream job at her marketing firm in the latest round of budget-related layoffs; received a ticket from a dickhead cop for going 34 in a 30; and discovered last night that the hot water heater in her apartment had broken. To top it all off, her ex had been harassing her relentlessly over texts and calls, wanting to meet up and ‘talk about things’ since she had dumped him two months ago.

So as she cried hot tears in a frigid shower that morning, thoroughly wallowing in self-pity, an idea popped into her head that was so spontaneous and ridiculous she didn't even try to talk herself out of it: go on a solo camping trip.

MJ really has no idea why this of all the therapeutic outlets available to her was something her brain decided was the right one, since a camper she is not. Sure, she loves being outside in the sun for a good hike, or a swim in the ocean once in a while — nature isn’t the problem. It’s the whole navigating-desert-terrain-alone-and-sleeping-on-the-ground thing that isn’t usually at the top of her list of fun weekend activities. The tent and sleeping bag that she had been forced to purchase for the ridiculous bachelorette party of one of her very outdoorsy friends had called her name as she paced manically around her apartment that morning, though.

Did she have every intent to return them after their one-time use? Absolutely. Did they both end up getting thrown to the back of her storage closet and thus forgotten about until then? Also, yes.

Both her practically nonexistent camping experience and her general lack of enthusiasm for the activity as a whole should have been her first clues at how moronic she was for thinking this is a trip she should (or could) handle alone. But, now determined to have the ultimate self-care weekend, she had: packed a backpack as an overnight bag; tossed it with her shitty little tent and a cooler full of snacks and water in the back of her car; texted her best friend Lainey to sound the alarm if she wasn’t home in 36 hours; and driven away to the first camping ground Google showed her that was at least 100 miles outside of LA. It seemed adventurous and spontaneous an indie movie-esque at the time.

But now, as she sits on this rock, feet and back aching, utterly fucking lost, MJ is starting to feel more like she’s on a self-inflicted episode of Punk’d. Being very directionally challenged, she had been using the maps feature on her phone to find her way back to her campsite after going on a winding, hilly hike, until her phone had suddenly died. The trails have no legible signs so between her use of the GPS, the borderline stalker-ish calls from her ex, and the heat of the sun, she’s left without her lifeline much sooner than she could have anticipated.

She thinks of her backpack and the battery-powered charger in her tent. In a moment of pure rage with herself for being such a lost, ill-prepared dumbass, she wants nothing more than to run back up the mountain and punt the now useless little piece of metal and plastic into the abyss. Her inner drama queen thinks maybe the best thing that could happen is that it will fall on a mountain lion, which will devour her out of anger before she shrivels up into lizard food, and put her out of her misery early.

MJ rolls her eyes at how ridiculous she’s being, and forces herself to take a deep breath and think. Her inner antics really do bring up an actually pressing issue. There are plenty of animals out here that don’t need any iPhone provocation to attack, and she’s only armed with a half-empty HydroFlask and a sparkly purple tube of pepper spray. Not to mention, judging from the incurring pinkness of the sky, the sun is going to set soon, and with that means it’ll be getting cold as well. She looks down at her thin Lulu Lemon tank top and shorts.

Fuuuck.

Knowing she has to make a decision, MJ doesn’t second guess herself when her feet heave her body off of her rock and set off further down the trail. Her only hopes at this point are to either miraculously stumble upon her camp before dark, or pray that she runs into fellow campers that might have a portable charger and that also aren’t serial killers. The only people she had passed on her hike had been a middle-aged couple and a woman maybe a little older than herself with a dog, but she couldn't have any idea if they were staying on the campgrounds or merely taking a day trip. Like she should have done.

MJ walks down the trail a solid 20 minutes, and wonders where the hell she had actually gone on her hike to be so far out from her own campsite. Inexperience with the outdoors had made her assume all the trails met up in a circle, but clearly that isn’t the case here. She’s already out of the hiking trail and in one of the areas designated for camping, but there are a couple of those around the park and she has no clue which one she had chosen.

Trying and failing to keep the creeping worry out of her spine as a few clouds turn orange and the noises of the nocturnal wildlife start up, she picks up her pace.

She’s about to resign herself to huddling in an unoccupied camping spot for the night when she suddenly sees flumes of smoke about a football field away. The Hallelujah chorus fills her head, and she mumbles out a quick ‘thank you’ to whoever is listening as she practically speed-walks to her impending safety.

The smell of the crackling wood draws her nearer and nearer. When she finally rounds the corner, she’s surprised and disappointed to see that while there is indeed a small fire burning, as well as a deconstructed tent piled on the ground, the occupant of the campsite is nowhere to be found. MJ hesitates and looks around for any sign of them, not foreseeing this issue. Should she wait around like a creep? Keep walking and hope to run into them?

“Can I help you?”

MJ startles out of her skin and lets out an embarrassing little squeak. She whips around and is thoroughly unprepared to see what just might be the hottest guy she’s ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on in real life. Judging from her own height, he’s maybe six foot or a tad over; his thick arms are laden with a bulky backpack and a sleeping bag, and his dark hazel eyes observe her warily behind a flop of dark wavy hair.

“Uh,” she begins stupidly, slightly stunned by both his sudden appearance and his masculine beauty. “Yeah, um, I’m so sorry to intrude on your space but, I, you know, got a little confused on the trails and, uh…”

He raises a naturally arched eyebrow expectantly as she pauses and stumbles over her words. MJ looks at him, then releases a huge breath she hadn't even realized had been held in her chest until this moment, officially giving up on not sounding like a complete and total idiot.

“I’m fucking lost. I have a terrible sense of direction and was using a map online of the trails to find the pin I dropped on my campsite, but my phone died. Is there any chance you have a portable charger I can use for, like, twenty minutes?”

The guy chuckles, and despite her pure mortification at the situation, MJ cracks a smile too, glad to see he isn’t pissed at her for lurking around his campsite like the actual weirdo she is. Unfortunately for her, though, his crooked grin somehow makes him even more attractive, which doesn’t bode well for her already inevitable awkwardness.

“Uh, yeah, I have my Mophie in here somewhere,” he says, indicating the backpack in his arms. He nods his head in the direction of his campsite where there is a large stone clearly put there by park officials as a makeshift bench. “Come on over and I’ll find it.”

“Thank you,” MJ sighs in relief. She follows him through the gap in the log threshold, and when he drops the items he’s carrying on the ground, she gapes; holy shit, the man is built. She could tell he had pythons for arms, but the stuffed backpack and sleeping bag had hidden the way his plain white t-shirt stretches taut over every solid, muscled crevice of his torso.

She shakes her head and hopes he can’t sense her obvious stare that has since traveled from the breadth of his shoulders, down his tapered waist, settled on his ass, and finished on the multitude of tattoos decorating his legs as he walks in front of her. MJ finds every one of these aspects of him immensely appealing; she’s never felt so viscerally attracted to a complete stranger in her entire life.

MJ settles on the rock and, sensing some of the aforementioned awkwardness about to settle in the air, searches her brain for a way to alleviate it. She knows she’ll only be here a short amount of time, but she feels compelled to get to know him even just a little bit. And to not make a complete fool of herself, if possible.

“What’s your name?” she asks. That’s a safe place to start. She hugs her knees to her chest as she watches him arrange the stuff he had just dropped into a neater pile.

“Grayson,” he replies. Grayson crouches down to dig through his backpack and flashes her a friendly, blinding smile over his shoulder. “Yours?”

As if she couldn’t embarrass herself any more, she feels a flush rise to her cheeks. For fucks sake, she isn’t 16 talking to her high school crush — she’s a grown woman who has been with plenty of guys and knows how to have a simple conversation with one, no matter how hot they are.

“MJ,” she finally manages to get out.

“MJ,” he repeats, testing it on his tongue, nodding approvingly. “That’s cool. I don't think I’ve ever met a girl with that kind of name. What does it stand for?”

He stands and turns to face her. He extends the little black charger to her and MJ looks up at him through her lashes as he towers over her, biting her lip. Flirting isn’t her strong suit whatsoever, but she can’t help trying; it’s not like she’s going to see him again by the time the sun sets.

“It’s a secret,” she answers after a brief moment, taking the Mophie from Grayson and accidentally-on-purpose brushing the tips of her fingers against the back of his. “Thanks.”

Grayson raises his eyebrows, but a humored grin graces his full lips. “Okay,” he says, surprising her by taking a seat next to her as she plugs in her phone. “But who better to spill your secrets to than a total stranger, you know?”

MJ can’t help the giggle that escapes her throat, humored more by the fact that he seems to be having the same idea of fuck it, we won’t ever see each other again, as her, than his actual question. His nearness should make her uncomfortable, but it just…doesn’t; he’s close enough for her to smell his scent emanating from his warm body. Clean, like laundry and soap, but also hints of an earthy, masculine cologne and an admittedly enticing musk from being in the sun. She wants to lean in and inhale him.

God, she hopes she isn’t coming off as insane as she feels inside. What is wrong with her? He’s just a guy. A guy whose close proximity as a stranger should be making her feel intimidated rather than buzzing with electricity.

“You’re very right,” she says, leaning back on her hands to appear more relaxed. “If I die out here in the wilderness, killed by my own stupidity, I wouldn't want the last person to see me alive not know my real name.”

Grayson throws his head back and laughs, and it draws one from herself as well. She likes his laugh because despite the deep timbre of his voice, the sound is carefree and boyish.

“It’s Makenna Jean,” she finally admits once they both quiet down. “I’m named after my grandmothers, but my mom didn't like your typical shortenings people might automatically give to Makenna — you know, Mack, Ken, Kenna, all those. So she just started calling me MJ to avoid it all, and…that’s me, MJ.”

He nods in understanding. “Gotcha.”

They continue effortless conversation for a while, words and laughter flowing freely from their lips with an ease that MJ hasn’t experienced in years. In the first lull, though, MJ fills it with a sigh and extends her long legs to stretch them as they tire from being folded so closely to her body, flexing and pointing her toes. She knows her shorts are a little too short, her tank top a little low cut, even with a sports bra on. It’s another one of those accidentally-on-purpose moves that starts as inadvertent in the way it exposes and elongates her body, but ends in her relishing the way his eyes quickly dart across her form. She’s reticent to admit that she isn’t mad about it. Not even a little.

She ducks her head and bites her lip to hide a triumphant smirk as Grayson clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “So, are you out here by yourself?”

For the first time since she met him, a little swoop of nerves unrelated to her attraction to him passes through the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s always had a spot-on instinct for determining someone’s ‘vibes’, and Grayson has only given her good ones since the minute she saw him. Maybe she’s fallen victim to the Ted Bundy effect, though…

He seems to pick up on her hesitation, and Grayson slaps his palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck, sorry, that was so creepy. I didn't mean it like that, I was just, uh, making conversation.” He opens his eyes and rubs his forehead and, to her shock, is he blushing now? “I promise I’m not a murderer.”

She might have still been weirded out by a guy even putting the word out there in this situation, but her gut is telling her that Grayson is harmless, and she prides herself on being a pretty good judge of character.

“It’s okay,” she says, giving him a serious look. “I promise I’m not either. But you should know that I’m packing heat with a fully loaded can of mace and my best white belt skills from the karate classes my mom made me take in 4th grade.”

Grayson gives her a disbelieving look. “Fourth grade karate, huh?”

“Yep. For real, I’ll karate chop your arm off if you try anything sketch.”

“Try,” he challenges with a beautiful, dangerous smile, leaning in ever so slightly and looking her dead in the eye. It takes her breath away a little bit. “I dare you.”

MJ scoffs, still keeping up this facade that she isn’t fighting every primal urge to mount him, especially with the unmistakeable tinge of flirtation in his last words.

“Fine,” she accepts. Grayson grins wider and leans back, offering her his right arm. “Get ready.”

“Oh, I am.”

She lines her hand up with the dip in his muscles between his shoulder and the top of his bicep, rears it back, and —

“Ow!”

The side of her hand simply bounces off of the solid mass of his bulging arm. Grayson does that head-back belly laugh again and she pretends to pout as she rubs her sore hand. “That hurt way more than it should have!” she exclaims. “What are you, Superman?”

Grayson, still laughing, grabs her hand in his and strokes it rather tenderly considering the sheer size of his palm compared to hers. And it’s so cliche, but MJ swears she feels tingles where their skin connects.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, biting his lip in an attempt to contain himself. “It’s just, in the least misogynistic way possible, that was high-key cute.”

“Hmph.” MJ scrunches her nose at him as her heart drops to her stomach in the best, scariest way.

Uh oh. He's a stranger, MJ; you’ve known him for half an hour, MJ; you’re in the middle of nowhere, MJ — you can’t catch feelings for a stranger you’ve know for half an hour in the middle of nowhere, MJ…

She clears her throat and gives his hand a slight squeeze before extracting it from his grip, hoping that conveys that she doesn’t disapprove of his touch. But the sun is well on it’s way to setting, and she does need to check her phone battery. It’s at 28%, not as much as she hoped for but probably enough to do the trick.

Shit. MJ really, really doesn’t want to leave him, but she can’t exactly invite herself to stay longer. She had already kept him from building his tent, and his fire is starting to die as well. She turns back to face him only to find his eyes trained on her, brow slightly scrunched. Her belly swoops again.

“I should, ah, probably get going,” MJ admits quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. A shiver runs down her spine and goosebumps raise themselves up the skin of her arms, too, as the setting sun steadily lowers the temperature around them. She crosses her arms across her chest, partly for warmth and partly to hide her stiffened nipples that peak through her thin sports bra and tank. “Or I really will kill myself out here in the dark by walking off a cliff or something.”

Grayson smiles woefully and lets out a little huff, ducking his gaze down for a moment and picking at a thread on his shorts. “Yeah, I understand.”

Is it her imagination or does he sound…disappointed?

When he looks back up at her, the sudden intensity of his gaze makes her swallow thickly. She wants so badly to ask for his number, his Instagram, his last name, but it all seems too weird given the circumstances and the amount of time (or lack thereof) they’ve spent together. Besides, she thinks, she’s still dealing with a psycho ex amongst the rest of her life falling apart, and doesn’t need any more boy problems in her already crazy-stressful life.

MJ stands and dusts off the back of her shorts. “Thank you, Grayson, seriously. You really did save my ass,” she says with a sad smile.

“Of course,” he replies, standing with her.

She unplugs her phone and pulls up both maps before setting off down the trail with one last wave at the gorgeous, sweet man she’s so reluctantly leaving behind.

“MJ, wait!”

She stops in her tracks, black Nikes skidding in the loose, sandy dirt. Turning around in time to see Grayson dig his hands in the backpack to fish out a sweatshirt and flashlight, her heart lifts when he starts jogging toward her. Despite her elation, however, she looks up at him confusedly.

“I’ve actually been to this place a few times, so I’m pretty familiar with the trails and campgrounds. I would feel a lot better if I walked you to your tent. Not that you need a man to help you anywhere or…whatever, but yeah, only if you want —”

“Grayson,” she interrupts, touching a slim hand to his forearm. She smiles, endeared at how flustered he’s getting. He runs a hand through his hair again. Is this him wanting to spend more time with her, or him simply being a gentleman? “I really do appreciate it, but I’ve already kept you from setting up your own camp. I couldn't ask you to walk me all the way to BFE and risk you coming back alone in the dark.”

Grayson shakes his head. “I swear, it’s fine. I’ve got a flashlight.” He clicks it on and shines it under his chin, illuminating his head in typical campfire story-time style, and makes a face at her. MJ giggles. “And you can’t be too far from here; there are only two main campgrounds and they’re less than a mile apart from each other, so I should make it back before dark one way or the other.”

A shiver from the cold overtakes her body suddenly. “Oh, here,” he adds, extending the purple hoodie to her. She starts to protest, but he shakes his head and holds it at her more insistently. “I know you’re cold.”

MJ flushes, but takes the soft garment from him gratefully. “I never said I was cold,” she remarks as she shoves her arms in the sleeves and slips it over her head. It practically swallows her, but it smells just like the laundry/cologne scent she had picked up earlier, only more concentrated and delicious.

Grayson eyes her up and down slowly, grinning. “I’m observant,” he says teasingly.

MJ raises her brows at him amusedly. Again, she should be creeped out, but there’s something about him that sends all potential red flags out the window.

“And I might not be done sharing secrets with you,” he adds quietly, smiling the softest, sexiest smile she’s ever seen and utilizing the ultimate puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

Well, twist my arm, MJ thinks sarcastically. “Okay,” she says without hesitation now, her insides jittering with a strange mixture of happiness and nerves. He beams at her and jerks his head in indication for them to continue down the trail.

“So, you never said what you’re doing out here by yourself,” Grayson prompts, nudging her with his elbow.

MJ shakes her head and smiles up at him. “Nuh-uh. Not only is that a sob story no one wants to hear, it’s definitely your turn to share. So I could ask you what you’re doing out here by yourself?”

Grayson shrugs as if to say ‘fair enough.’ “I’m not, actually. I’m with my brother and his girlfriend because she wanted to camp, but my brother doesn’t know shit about it. I only came under the agreement that there was going to be no funny business while I was around, only to come back from getting firewood to find them going at it, so I chose to remove myself from the situation. They’re still at our original campsite further down the trail. I needed to make sure I was far enough away to not hear anything.”

MJ sucks in a sympathetic breath through her teeth. “Ooh, yeah, there’s nothing worse than being the third wheel, especially when you have nowhere to escape.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, turning to her with his hands raised. “Thank you! Ethan told me I was being dramatic, but it definitely sucks. He’s been with her long enough now, I think he’s forgotten what it’s like to be the lonesome outsider.”

This is the perfect segue for the question, but it gets stuck in her throat. Come on, MJ, grown woman, remember? She’s sure she already knows the answer based on what he had just said, but it never hurts to check.

“So…you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.” She glances up at him to find him staring straight ahead with that lopsided, boyish grin. He looks back down at her and reciprocates the question. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.” MJ is mortified to hear it come out as a whisper. She clears her throat and diverts her gaze to the sunset. She had literally, quite literally, just met this man — he should not have this kind of effect on her.

Just then, her phone buzzes, and she’s infuriated to see the deleted number of her ex pop up on the screen. She groans in frustration. “But it’s not for my idiot ex’s lack of trying to get back together,” she complains, wiggling the phone and sending it straight to voicemail.

“I’m sorry,” Grayson says, shaking his head understandingly. “I’ve definitely been there. How long have you been broken up?”

MJ swipes the voicemail notification away and rolls her eyes. “Over two months. We weren't super serious and it wasn't a crazy bad breakup or anything, we were just in different places, and I’m not one to be in a relationship just for the sake of it. Especially if I’m not feeling any aspect of it. I didn't hear a word from him the first month or so, but he’s acting like we were soulmates who had some tragic ending, calling and texting me nonstop the last couple of weeks.”

Grayson shrugs. “Sounds like he’s just realizing what he missed out on,” he says, grinning. MJ’s breath catches in her throat and she rolls her eyes again embarrassedly with a smile, flushing pink yet again. “Why don’t you block him?”

She sighs. “I probably will. I don't like to burn bridges like that unless someone really does me wrong, but it’s getting ridiculous at this point.”

Grayson nods. “I’m not just saying this, but I feel the exact same way. And about what you said with being in a relationship just to be in one. Like…” he ruffles the back of his hair, something she now detects as a tell for when he's uncomfortable. “Ok, like, this sounds so ugly and conceited, but if I really wanted to be with someone, I could. Ethan and I do social media for a living and we have a decent following, so it’s not a lack of girls, but that’s not me. Maybe when I was a little younger, but…yeah, not now.”

Wow. What does that mean, a decent following? Her job requires her to know the ins and outs of the social media side of marketing, but she isn’t super invested in it for herself entertainment-wise. Mainly, she’s active on Snapchat with her friends and just occasionally uses Insta, so with the knowledge of the spectrum of social media followings, that could really be any number in her book. “So you’re, like, an Instagram model or something?”

He chuckles. “No, no. We make YouTube videos mostly. We’re identical twins so a lot of them are stupid things based on that — challenges and skits and stuff. It’s pretty chill. We’re starting to dabble in documentary-style projects, too.”

MJ gawks at him playfully, though she is actually surprised by his admission. “There are two of you?!” she gasps.

Grayson gapes back at her jokingly. “Technically, yes. He’s my absolute best friend in the entire world and, like I said, we’re identical, but half the time we really couldn’t be more opposite if we tried. I’ll show you our channel later, if you want, and you’ll see.”

“Hmm,” MJ hums, catching her lip with her teeth briefly. “Well I’m sure Ethan is great, but I’m glad I met you, then.”

He bumps her with his hip. “Are you saying you like me?”

MJ rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the teasing lilt to his voice and hopes that the light is low enough that he can’t see the seemingly permanent tint to her cheeks. “Since we’re sharing secrets…maybe. Yes.”

“I like you, too,” he replies, just as quietly. She picks up a barely-detectable lisp on the ’t’ and the East Coast lilt on the ‘oo.’ It’s adorable.

Her heart flutters.

They walk steadily a few more feet in silence, when suddenly she feels his hand brush hers gently. She assumes it was accidental until it happens again, only this time there’s more assertiveness in the movement, clearly indicating what he’s trying to do. Her heart jumps in her throat as she gladly lets his palm dwarf her own as he takes her hand in his. They happen to both glance at each other, only to duck their heads simultaneously, each attempting to hide giddy smiles.

“Ah, so, secrets,” MJ says to break the silence that’s thick with the best kind of tension. “How old are you?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Old enough…almost,” he answers cryptically, side-eyeing her.

His reply actually makes MJ stop in her tracks, and she’s jerked a bit by their joined hands as he continues moving. “What?” she asks incredulously.

Grayson laughs heartily and squeezes her palm, melting her insides a bit. He’s clearly pleased with himself at catching her so off-guard. “I’m kidding. I mean, I am legal, but people tend to think I’m older than I am.” He observes her standing there, waiting for his answer, and finally relents. “I’m 20.”

MJ shakes her head, stunned. “Shut the fuck up!” she exclaims. “Twenty?! Dude, yeah, no kidding people think you’re older. I definitely did.”

He tugs on her hand to keep her walking, and MJ obeys dutifully, still amazed at yet another shocking disclosure. “Is that an issue?”

She shrugs; she feels like it should be, but he doesn’t look or act 20 at all. But also…an issue for what? They literally just met. And she should only be thinking of being friends; she can be friends with a 20 year-old.

That thought doesn’t stop her from answering, though, because time factor aside, something is happening between them. Something more than friends, if she’s letting herself be honest. “I guess it’s only an issue if it affects maturity, but that doesn't seem to be a problem here that I can tell.”

Grayson squeezes her hand again, and a shot of sparks zings up her arm this time. “Good. Now, are you gonna make me ask, or are you gonna tell me how old you are?”

MJ groans. Twenty. She’s basically a dinosaur compared to that. “God, I don’t even want to say now. I’m 24,” she admits.

“What’s wrong with that?” Grayson asks with a chuckle.

“Because…” How do you explain to a young, hot 20 year-old man that every year that you creep closer to 25 only means one year closer to the downhill to 30? “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel old. And stuck. Especially lately. And you seem like this super young, super successful guy. It’s a little intimidating.”

Grayson is quiet for a moment. “If there’s anything I know, it’s not to judge your path based on other’s. If you’re feeling stuck, something will happen that gets you unstuck. Age has nothing to do with that.”

His answer catches MJ by surprise in its sincerity and maturity and thoughtfulness. Before she can form an answer, they pass what must be his brother’s tent. She has to hush her fit of laughter into her free hand when Grayson makes a disgusted little noise and flips off the dark red canvas that is, indeed, rustling suspiciously.

From there on they share anything and everything about each other, with each other. Against her word from earlier, she tells him about losing her job and her other woes from the week; he briefly opens up that he had lost his dad a little over a year ago and is still coping with it. This shocks her a bit, but his openness leads her to sympathize with him by sharing how her mom had passed away in a car accident when she was 15. By the time they reach the next campground, their fingers are completely intertwined and she’s leaning her head on his shoulder, his smell enveloping her completely from both his shirt sleeve and the collar of the hoodie. MJ has truly never felt more connected to a man on this level, and it’s both exciting and terrifying.

They aren’t even to her tent yet and she already doesn’t want him to go.

“Should be just around this corner,” Grayson says, squinting at her phone before concentrating on the trail again.

Sure enough, the next turn reveals her campsite, complete with the tent she had miraculously managed to construct herself and her cooler propped next to the same rock-bench that they had sat on at Grayson’s camp.

Her free hand clenches around his elbow. “Yep, here it is,” she says.

They stop and stand to face one another. “Thanks again, Grayson,” she tells him sincerely. “I didn't really know what the hell I was doing coming out here. In more ways than one, obviously.” This earns her a smile and — God, as if her heart could feel any more sappy in that moment — he brings their clasped hands to his lips to kiss the back of her palm. “But in the hour that I’ve known you I think you’ve helped me take my mind off things more than anyone else back home could have. So…thank you.”

“Of course, MJ,” he says quietly. “I could say the same. I rarely talk about my dad with anyone besides Ethan, let alone someone I just met.” Her heart warms at his confession, and a heated moment of quiet and intense eye contact passes between them before he breaks it. “Come on, I’ll help you start a fire.”

She nods, and they release their grasps on one another to gather sticks and dry brush at his suggestion.

“You know,” he says as he leans over the fire pit that’s now filled with their findings with her lighter, breaking the short silence, “I was going to spend the night alone since E was clearly pretty busy. I don't think he would miss me if I stayed for a bit. To keep telling secrets. If you want, that is.”

MJ swallows. What the hell is this night? She’s pretty sure sad, lost girls meeting and mutually falling for beautiful, polite, genuinely funny boys in the desert is something that only happens in the likes of cheesy Meg Cabot novels. Yet, here she is, living out her nerdy 16 year-old fantasies in real life somehow.

“Yes. I want you,” she murmurs finally, and though she doesn’t mean for it to come out as a bit of an entendre, she doesn’t regret her wording; even in the low light of the late sunset, she can see his eyes darken. “Won’t he notice eventually, though, if you stay gone for very long? And it’s getting dark…”

“If I can borrow your phone, I can text him,” he explains. “I don't have any service but you do somehow. I guarantee he’ll use the wifi in our car to check his phone before he goes to bed, so he’ll get it eventually.”

She nods and unlocks her phone for him. “How do you have service out here, actually?” he asks as he types out a new message.

“My brother,” she answers, entranced by the way his thick fingers fly across the keyboard of her phone. “Being a firefighter, he gets to be on this plan for first responders where he gets first access to a bigger network in case he’s in the middle of nowhere on a call or in a crowd during an emergency or something. I was able to sign on with his account and get all the benefits of it.”

Grayson looks up at her, surprised, and smirks when he hands her phone back to her. “Wow, a firefighter? So he could probably kick my ass if he wanted, huh?”

MJ laughs. “Normally I would say yes, but somehow I think you've got a solid 20 pounds of muscle on him, even though he's a little taller than you,” she admits.

She finally can’t resist anymore and runs her right hand over a bicep that is truly bulging right beneath the edge of his shirt sleeve, and allows herself to take in unabashedly the way the fabric stretches across his wide shoulders, his defined pecs…fuck, he’s sexy.

He swallows hard and she looks up at him. For the second time that night, the intensity of his gaze stuns her into silence and stillness.

When he ducks his head to meet her lips with his, however, her insides are screaming and the hand not clutching his arm travels to grip the front of his shirt, then the short hairs at the back of his neck.

More cliches, but it’s a perfect first kiss — soft but intense, not too much tongue but just enough as it deepens. MJ sighs into his mouth, deciding she would be perfectly content to do this with him forever despite the fire now lit within her at his touch that has her body begging for more.

It could have been a few seconds or a few hours that they stand there entwined with one another, but eventually they part, eyes closed and breaths panting heavily in the minimal space between them. The longer she isn’t distracted by his lips, the longer she stands there trying not to overthink things.

But the beauty of what this trip has been — what Grayson has been — for her is that it was the opposite of overthinking; it was instinctual, impulsive, and honest. In short, her motto had been ‘fuck it.’

Her green eyes open and lift to his hazel ones. “Grayson,” she whispers, “we’re telling secrets tonight, right?”

“Right,” he replies just as breathlessly.

She swallows past a small lump as an inexplicable rush of emotion hits her.

Fuck it.

MJ’s hands cup his angular jaw and she forces herself to keep eye contact with him. She takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m not into drama and feelings and fairytale shit. But I like you. I really like you, way more than I should considering we’re basically strangers, which fucking scares me. And even though I barely know you, I trust you for some reason. I just…need you to tell me if you feel kind of the same, or if this is starting to feel like too much now that I’m putting my thoughts out there. Because my gut is telling me this is mutual, but we can both walk away now and write it off as a crazy, whirlwind thing in the desert. I go in my tent, you go in yours, and we never see each other again.”

Her words come out in a rush, her last sentence almost painfully so. She also suddenly considers the idea that maybe he’s only using her as a fun story to tell his friends about, the pretty girl he met in the desert, wooed by his charm and good looks into her tent, only to be ghosted by him the next day.

Maybe the uncertainty in her life is leading her to be too impulsive with her wants and desires right now.

Maybe she’s starting to overthink things.

Grayson catches his lower lip with his teeth and mimics the position of her hands with his own. His thumbs brush the ridges of her mandible and his long fingers overlap at the back of her neck, scratching lightly. Despite herself, she could have purred at the sensation, almost does when it’s combined with that of his lips brushing hers tenderly.

“MJ,” he says lowly, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m not a fuckboy, I promise; like I said earlier, if all I wanted was a warm body beside me, I could have that in a second. What’s so hard for me is to find someone who's not after clout or money or anything that comes along with being in the social media space. Almost every girl I’ve talked to in the last couple of years has been attracted to one of those aspects of my life, not me. Once I find that out, no matter what they look like, I’m never interested in being in the same room as them, let alone in a relationship with them. I can tell you don't give a shit about any of that, and I love it. I love how funny, genuine, and kind you are. I love how naturally, absolutely gorgeous you are. That’s what I look for, that’s all I go for, and you’re all of it.”

Holy fuck, how is this guy real? It’s like he could read her mind. Her thumb tugs on his lower lip and he takes that as his cue to kiss her thoroughly again.

“Promise me now, then,” she huffs when they break apart, “no matter what happens tonight, we try to stay friends, at least, tomorrow.”

“Deal,” he agrees with a grin.

MJ bites her lip and smirks up at him. “How about we, uh, keep sharing secrets in my tent?”

Grayson raises his brow, his smile widening. “It is getting a little chilly out here.”

#this might have originally been written w smut #but i wasn't sure if i wanted it to be official #should i post it as like a continuation?#hmm #dolan twins #grayson dolan #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan oc #grayson mj

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pain-somnia · 3 years

Text

Akatsuki Gift Exchange 2020

Title: a pack comes calling Rated: General Audiences Disclaimer Prompt: “Anything with Sarada and Itachi and or Madara would be lovely, like any interactions at all between them”; some fave genres: Family/Friendship, Fantasy Day’s Notes: here’s my fic for the @akatsuki-gift-exchange 😊 I was selected to be the secret santa for @lorna-likes-skittles I hope you like it a lot. I wrote the Uchiha family as a pack of wolf shifters and made this a modern fantasy au~ AO3 Link

a pack comes calling

The air was beginning to have the sharp quality that marked the change of the season. It bit at his skin when the wind blew, stinging his cheeks.

There had been many winters in his life, but they all blurred together as he got on in years. Madara sighed as he lifted his head in the direction of the tree line of his pack’s territory. He could hear their breaths, smell their unique scents.

The burning sage of Fugaku.

The fresh balsam that blended with the cedarwood of Obito.

The lavender and vanilla of Izumi.

The smokey cloves and orange of Shisui.

The bergamot of Itachi.

The Uchiha clan had dwindled in numbers through the years. Some had been lost as they fought for their decreasing territory. Others had forgotten who they were and lost their way.

The floral notes of wisteria marked the approach of Mikoto. She dressed him in her comforting sweet scent as she wrapped him in a blanket. Unlike the others in his clan, he was more susceptible to the cold and it had gotten worse as he aged.

“Would you like your tea now?” Mikoto asked him as he felt her adjust the blanket around his body to block out the cold.

“I will wait until it’s closer to sundown.”

It was the night of the full moon and as an older wolf, the shift took more out of him. His bones could no longer take the transformation and a tea with monkshood as an ingredient had to be made to ease the pain. Running in the woods was a game for a younger man. He mostly spent the nights he was forced to shift curled up on the engawa, letting the breeze ruffle his silver streaked fur.

The rest of the clan members were in the forest, marking trees and getting rid of hidden dangers. It wasn’t the Wolf Moon, which was tradition, but tonight marked the first night that the new pup would join them as they frolicked in the forest and learn the Uchiha land.

And there it was, the unmistakable stench of human mixed with apples and daffodils paired with the dewey grass and earthy green tea scent of the former youngest in the pack. Swirling between them was that same sharp human scent━although much more muted━blended with black tea and cinnamon.

“Madara-ojiisan,” chorused the pair of voices, one low and husky and the other sweet and soft as petals. He bowed his head slightly in response, waiting for the third voice.

“Hello, Madara-ojiisan,” came the clumsy trill of a toddler, followed by the uneven steps that children take, heavier on one part of the sole in a way that made them graceless.

Keeping his head bowed, Madara waited for the press of a tiny nose against his own. The contact was soft but carried the warmth of a fire that all of Izuna’s descendants carried in their blood.

“Sarada,” he murmured in greeting.

With his sight lost to him, Madara could not see the markings of the Uchiha in the pup, but it was there in the delicate note of dying embers that none of them could escape.

Madara once believed it was his duty to fan the flames and watch his clan rise, to strengthen the sparks. That it was his duty to make sure his family was strong enough to answer the call.

Little hands braced themselves on his knees and a small form settled into his lap. Madara wrapped the blanket around the both of them, trapping the warmth Sarada brought with her.

The marriage of her scent with his crisp mountain air and black pine scent brought memories of past winters during the few moments of peace. It was the scent of a time when he and Izuna were still children and taking in the comforts of their grandmother’s home when they took shelter from the snow.

It was the smell of family.

Flurries of snow stuck to his lashes. Itachi had been outside in the cold long enough for his body to be too cold for the snowflakes to melt when they touched his face. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky, reveling in the peace the snowfall brought.

“Itachi-jisan!”

The peace had to come to an end, but the interruption wasn’t unwelcome. He turned his face back in the direction of his parents’ home and opened his eyes. Bundled up for the cold weather, his niece waddled toward him. If she heard the calling━which was likely━all of the layers would become unbearable in a few hours.

“It’s snowing!”

“Did you greet our uncle?”

“Yes!”

Sarada leaped into the air when she got closer to him. Itachi lowered himself in order to grab her from the air, lifting her up higher by the armpits. She squealed in delight, giggling as he lowered her so she could kiss her nose to his in the submissive gesture of pups.

“I missed you,” Sarada cooed in her high, child pitch. Itachi looked down at her with fondness. When the dark of night settled in, and the full moon there would be a forced shift and he could already hear the way she would yip in her wolf form.

“You should get your dad to bring you out to the country more often.” Itachi had raised his voice so his younger brother, Sasuke, could hear him from where he and his wife were walking on the edge of the forest.

Sasuke lifted his head towards him, mouth opened and ready to retort, when a red blur leaped from out of the woods, narrowly missing him and Sakura. Itachi sighed as he watched the russet wolf slipped from a crouch onto her back, presenting her stomach in a sign of submission towards Sasuke.

“Why are you already in wolf form, Karin?” Sasuke snapped, holding Sakura up by her elbows from behind her.

If the Uchiha pack was dwindling, the Uzumaki clan was practically nonexistent. Uzumaki Karin and her cousin Kushina were the last of the Uzumaki wolves. Kushina had one son and he never felt the call━a risk she had taken when she had decided to mate with a human. Karin had joined their pack a few years ago, not seeking to be part of a breeding pair, but the option was there whenever she and Itachi decided that was a path they wanted to take.

“Karin-neesan!” Sarada waved her arms around excitedly from Itachi’s hold.

“Karin-neesan?” Itachi frowned, cocking his head in confusion.

“Yup! Karin-neesan said she’s a big sister not an auntie.”

“Of course she did.”

Itachi followed the wildflower splashes that Karin released with her excitement. She bounced around Sakura, pressing her snout into Sakura’s midsection.

“Does your mother have something to tell us?” He whispered into Sarada’s ear, pressing his nose into her cheek and making her giggle. Karin had a much stronger sense of smell than he did so he wasn’t upset that she had made the discovery first.

Sarada cupped her hands around Itachi’s ear and attempted to whisper back to him. “Sarada is going to be a big sister.”

“That’s exciting.” Itachi adjusted his hold so the four year old was sitting on the cradle of his left arm. “You know what else is exciting?”

“I get to stay up past my bedtime tonight?” Sarada gasped excitedly, clapping her hands together.

“Yes, you do.” Itachi guided her into the woods, taking care not to trip over any raised roots. “And do you know why?”

“Hmm,” Sarada hummed, rocking her head side to side with the sound. She raised her hands up and flexed her fingers. “Is it because of my nails?”

Itachi took one of her small hands in his own and rubbed his thumb along the small digits, tracing the curve of her sharp nails. “It’s because of your claws.”

There had been an incident in a playground where Sarada had accidentally scratched another child. The mother had been understanding and had actually offered Sasuke a pair of nail clippers to use. Sasuke apologized again and took Sarada home as quickly as possible.

Examining her hands when it was safe, he discovered that the top of Sarada’s pudgy toddler hands were covered with thick black hair and her nails elongated and sharp.

It demanded a call home. His real home.

“I like it here, Itachi-jisan.” Sarada sighed, lifting her head skyward and closing her eyes. “It smells so good.”

“It’s better than the city, that’s for sure.”

Itachi remembered his childhood. He remembered running through the woods and lying in clearings with Shisui and Izumi. He remembered playing tag with Sasuke to teach him how to shift from human to wolf and back.

It was all done here. This was home, this is where family should be together.

When he was younger, all Itachi wanted was to run away to the city. He wanted to live with the humans and never shift. He planned on taking the monkshood tea every full moon, and just sleep through the call that sang in his blood.

And for the first few years of adulthood he did just that. He went to university in the city and ignored the feeling of homesickness he figured was normal for all uni students. Visits home were rare, mostly done for holidays, and they were enough for him.

But there was a loneliness he could not shake in crowded places.

It wasn’t until he had to take a trip for work that had him in the mountains that he realized what had been missing.

“Mama said we might move here,” Sarada murmured out of habit. They never raised their voices in the woods, especially not during the day.

The two of them walked deeper into the forest. Itachi walked with Sarada as a guide as she sniffed the air and patted tree trunks and called out the names of different family members that had marked them.

“This is grandpa.” Sarada pressed her chubby cheek against the tree and drummed her fingers along the bark. “It smells like the gray-ish leaves Mama uses in tea sometimes.”

They continued walking, Shisui and Obito having joined them when they reached the creek that marked the boundary they had set up for Sarada’s first night in the woods. It was as the sun was setting lower that Sarada began to complain about feeling too hot.

“I don’t like it,” she whined, her hair sticking to her cheeks from all of her sweat. Her face flushed red from her fever despite the fact that Itachi had removed her coat.

“I know, I know,” Itachi attempted to soothe her, rubbing his hand on her back.

Despite the insistence from everyone that her facial features were just like her mother’s, Itachi was reminded of a time over two decades in the past where he was doing the same for his younger brother. With her tiny face scrunched up in discomfort, Sarada reminded him so much of Sasuke when he had first shifted. He had complained so much about the heat and stripped himself in their backyard long before the sun had set.

Sasuke had also been an early bloomer. He had heard the call before the Wolf Moon and had shifted three months earlier on the Harvest Moon. The Cold Moon was only a month early, but Sarada was proving to be her father’s daughter.

Brushing her wet bangs out of her face, Itachi smiled softly at his niece. “How about we get you some tea?”

His mother was ready with a pot of monkshood tea on the engawa when they made it back to the house. Madara was already drinking his first serving.

Sakura perked up from where she was bringing out another blanket for Great-Uncle Madara. She set it by him and placed his hand on the blanket before rushing towards them, arms outstretched.

“My poor girl.” Sakura took Sarada from Itachi’s hold and Sarada pressed her face into the crook of Sakura’s neck, grateful for the feel of her mother’s cool skin.

Itachi grabbed a second teacup from the tray his mother had brought out and filled it. The tea was an Uchiha family recipe that helped young pups and the elderly with the effects of the forced shift that came with the full moon. It also helped when they had to hide their shift in populated areas. A strong brew made one drowsy and sleep the night away so that they didn’t run the risk of falling victim to their instincts in a dangerous place.

“Some of the monkshood tea might help.”

Sakura eyed the teacup warily but took the offering regardless. Itachi had to resist rolling his eyes in annoyance. He was sure if it had been anyone else, she would have taken the cup without any hesitation. His relationship with his sister-in-law wasn’t the best━they were tolerant of each other, but she still hadn’t gotten over the way he had tried to drag Sasuke back home and away from the life he had built for himself in the city. Itachi wouldn’t have pushed the matter if he hadn’t believed it was what was best for Sasuke.

But tonight wasn’t about them or even Sasuke. It was about Sarada.

“Maybe,” Sasuke fell back on his butt and took a seat next to him, not caring for the snow, “you need a pup of your own?”

Itachi scoffed around the hair tie he held between his teeth. He had been in the middle of braiding Sarada’s hair so that it would be away from her face and neck. Sakura had placed a cold compress to her forehead, but there wasn’t much else they could do.

“If I was worried about my own pups, I wouldn’t have time for Sara-chan.” Itachi pinched at Sarada’s cheek and blew a raspberry against the other, making her giggle. “Right?”

“Right!” Sarada chirped, nodding her head seriously.

The temperature dropped with the sun and Sarada finally relaxed, the chill of the winter breeze a relief on her overheated flesh. The relief came but so did the excess energy building up within her. Itachi had to keep her from running off toward any rustling distraction.

Her excitement sent splashes of black tea and cinnamon into the air. Itachi always enjoyed how their scents related through tea, even if it was a loose connection.

“Will you show me how to hunt?” Sarada raised her hands up to mimic claws and pulled back her lips to show off her gums in a snarl. She growled playfully at him until he reached for her ribs and tickled her.

“Not tonight. You’re still too young.”

Sarada sighed in disappointment, her small shoulders drooping. Pouting, she fell back so she was seated in Itachi’s lap, her back to his chest. They enjoyed the silence and the snowfall for a moment until Sarada sat up, alert.

Itachi could feel the rise of his hair on his arms as his flesh rippled with goose pimples, but he kept his eyes on Sarada. He knew what this feeling was, had years of this feeling, but it was new to her. Sarada’s head moved from side to side as she searched for the source of what made her so jittery. It had been so long since Itachi had seen a new wolf pup feel the call.

Itachi had dealt with the forced shift for over twenty-seven years. That was over 324 moons of turning into what Madara called their true form. The heat that had once been too much to bear, he now embraced and let it settle inside of him.

There was high pitched whine and Itachi turned to the source and found a much larger black wolf than him nuzzling the curled up form of his niece. Sarada was trembling, the change a much slower process for her as she didn’t know what to expect and was fighting against it even with the sedation properties of the monkshood tea.

The large wolf━Sasuke━pressed his snout against Sarada’s cheek and made small, reassuring grunting sounds deep in his throat. Matching the sounds, Itachi pressed his own snout to the underside of Sarada’s jaw and licked. Slowly, Sarada’s whimpers ceased and her trembling settled to a few odd twitches. She was still in the half human, half wolf state but she was much calmer.

As much as she reminded Itachi of Sasuke, he needed to remember that Sarada was her own person. Sasuke took to being a wolf much easier and he had embraced his shift immediately. As excited as Sarada was to be with her family, the shift was frightening her.

“Pa...Papa…” Sarada’s voice was swallowed by canine whimpers as her snout and throat fully formed. Sasuke tore at her clothing as her limbs transformed into those of a wolf and she became entangled in the fabric. Itachi helped speed up the process by ripping at her leggings.

By the time they had freed Sarada of her human clothing, she had finished shifting. She shook her body, spraying snow everywhere and shaking off the remaining pieces of her clothes. Sarada spun in circles, chasing her own tail and when she tired of that she nipped at the air around Sasuke’s and his tails.

She ran around the yard, stumbling over her own legs, but righting herself up and running as if she never fell over to begin with. She circled around her father and Itachi before bounding up the engawa and rubbing against the sleepy form of Madara. Madara lifted his head and nipped at her ear in warning and then snuggled under his blankets when Sarada scooted away from him.

Sarada crawled towards her mother and threw herself at Sakura’s lap. Sakura cooed at her daughter, scratching at the space between her ears. Sarada enjoyed the affection until she no longer could stay still. She leaped off of the engawa and dashed towards her father and uncle, yipping excitedly.

A howl came from within the woods. The others had already made their way into the forest when they felt the call to shift. Howls soon followed from other members of their pack. Sarada looked towards the trees and back to Sasuke and then Itachi. She nodded towards the tree and bounced around them in excitement. Sasuke bowed his head in a nod and Sarada shuffled into a proper sitting stance. Raising her head towards the sky, she howled━high and at some pitches weak, but it was a howl.

From the forest, howls were returned.

Itachi nudged Sarada with his snout, pushing her towards the forest. She needed no more encouragement and raced towards the tree line where the howls carried on.

Family was beckoning her forward.

#sarada uchiha #madara uchiha #itachi uchiha #uchiha family #day!fics #akatsuki gift exchange #akatsuki gift exchange 2020

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koteosa · 4 years

Note

If you’re still taking fic recs, FtM asra + FtM apprentice getting naughty in the woods would be lovely

This took me awhile to finish but I hope you like it, anon ;) ao3 link

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," promises Asra, sneaking a glance over his shoulder to where his apprentice follows a few steps behind, grasping his hand. Ruby eyes shift from him to the forest around them, rose pink lips scrunched up slightly in a little pout.

They'd been walking for awhile with no clear destination in mind, at least, none that Kamui knew about. This is another surprise, and just like all the others, Asra is jittery with excitement. Knowing him, wherever they're going is bound to be good. Asra knew Kamui better than he knew himself, even if Asra is more inclined to let Kamui figure things out on his own. Some things, though, are just too good to pass up introducing, or rather, reintroducing him to, especially now that his headaches are nearly nonexistent.

They still prefer not to play with fire, but Kamui's sure this will be fine. Asra is careful, beyond careful. Kamui has to trust he knows what he's doing.

Since their lives have settled into whatever counts as peace for them, they'd gone to many places, and Kamui witnessed Asra getting excited about the many things he found and wanted to share with Kamui. Color-changing hot springs, floating islands, or even just a little bug he thought was pretty.

Kamui smiles at the thought. Asra is so cute.

The two are dressed loosely, with nothing to carry but a basket slung over one of Asra's arms. A clear signifier they're going on a picnic; that, or they're going collecting, but Kamui could kind of see between the reeds, and the basket didn't seem empty. He didn't want to spoil the surprise, though, so he doesn't look too closely.

The forest begins to turn less dark and dreary and more colorful as they go on. Glowing, aqua blue mushrooms pop out of the grass, with jellyfish-like ones along the nearby trees in various pastels. The foliage grows thick and nearly blots out the sun, making the bioluminescent flora nearby their primary light source. The grass and leaves seem more blue-tinted than before, and the ground like clay.

In the distance, he spots a blue will-o-wisp hovering near a large pond, before several more pop into view in various shades. They fade and in out of view to seemingly teleport from place to place. As the two magicians step closer to the water, the nearby wisps vanish, almost as if they'd never been. But Kamui can see them reappear along the tree line, like little fairy lights.

Angling his head back down, he peers into the water, as Asra takes his hand back and begins preparing their picnic—as predicted—nearby. The water is strangely dark and deep, like the ocean, making it impossible to see past the surface. If there's anything inside, Kamui can't see it. But what he can see is the way the surface glimmers in the light of glowing mushrooms and wisps.

Easing down onto the blue and violet patterned blanket with a casual ease, Kamui curls his legs, saying, "This place is beautiful. How did you find out about it?"

Turning to where Asra is sitting on his knees nearby, rifling through the basket in search of something in particular, he senses the hesitation that doesn't show in Asra's pleasant smile, or in his loose, relaxed body language. He doesn't say anything, not right away, but Kamui can practically hear the "I can't tell you that" anyway, having been through it so many times before.

Eventually, Asra speaks up, but only after placing a jar of some kind of red-violet jam on the blanket between them. It looks store bought, with a pink cloth tied with red twine on top.

Tapping the top of the jar, Asra meets Kamui's eyes and says, "You'll like this." Mild disappointment passes over Kamui knowing his question had just been dodged, though he should have expected—"This is the place where we first made love."

He nearly chokes on thin air. Lips flapping uselessly, he looks from Asra's smug grin to the jar to the forest around them, wondering—where, exactly? Right here, where they're sitting? Against a tree? Which tree? Or did they do it in the water?

When he turns back to Asra, the magician is grinning wide, chin propped up on a hand as he gazes lovingly at his apprentice. "You look so good in pink," he purrs, and Kamui can feel his face burn hotter.

"You're the worst," Kamui says, in such a state of shock that his words don't quite carry the heat he intends, and Asra just laughs. Pouting, Kamui turns back to the pond, realizing he can't see his reflection—or anything's reflection. If not for the gentle sway of the water, he might think it's just some oddly-colored sheet of ice, instead.

He's thinking about it, now, though. There is very little he knew about their past, beyond some sort of reversal of their dynamic, at least at first; Kamui had been more confident. Better than Asra at a lot of things, like love, which Asra hadn't experienced before meeting Kamui. He hadn't known how to react to how incredibly forward Kamui could be. That's all he'd actually said, and as much as Kamui had wanted to try filling in the blanks himself, he knew it to be dangerous to his health.

Now, though. Now he's immensely curious, and can't stop himself. He wants to think it's the water—it's just such a focal point to the scene, and with Asra's affinity for water, it… just felt like the right place, like it's something Kamui would think to do. Or maybe Asra had asked for it. Had he? Would he have been bold, actions over words, initiating with no warning and acting like he had any idea what he's doing? He must have stumbled somewhere, or everywhere, and Kamui would give anything to see Asra in such a way, at least once.

Hopefully it didn't look like what Kamui remembered as their first time. He felt so awkward, like Asra was some kind of god who found everything he did to be "cute", and not… alluring, sultry, seductive, anything like that. Or maybe it's that, but in reverse? Kamui felt a lot better about that idea.

"Kamui," Asra softly sing-songs, pulling the aforementioned man out of his thoughts. Ruby eyes dart over to him, blinking to clear his unfocused vision. The magician's lips part as a soft, barely audible huff of amusement drifts past, and he scoots closer, drawing the backs of his fingers down Kamui's bare arm where his soft red jacket had slipped.

"I know it's tempting, but try to stay with me," Asra says, leaning slightly forward in order to be peering up at his apprentice. The tilt of his head is so cute, Kamui wants to kiss him.

So he does, pale hand caressing the side of his square jaw, tasting a hint of something spicy on his lips. In return, Asra's wandering hand finds Kamui's sleeve, tugging just enough for him to get the point and ease closer as Asra shifts into a reclining position. He lays propped up on his elbow while Kamui leans over him, legs curled off to one side.

Nuzzling into Asra's neck, Kamui catches a whiff of his scent, sighing softly upon not-so-subtly inhaling it. "You smell really nice," he comments. "What is that…?"

Asra tips his head to one side, giving Kamui more room. The man curls his arms around Asra's back, hands resting on the backs of his shoulders. "You like it?" Asra asks, the smile audible in his voice. Kamui responds with an affirmative hum. "It's something Nadi gave me. I thought I might try it out."

"She's a genius," Kamui purrs, nuzzling in closer while Asra laughs softly. "It smells… spicy. Woodsy. Warm. I don't know."

"And here I thought you were a poet," Asra teases, prompting Kamui to pull back with a small scoff, playfully shoving Asra's shoulder as his grin grows wider, flashing a hint of teeth.

"Aspiring poet, shut up."

With a soft chuckle, Asra reaches up to cup the nape of Kamui's neck, urging him back in for another kiss. Kamui goes willingly, and they get caught up in kissing until Asra pulls back, licking his lips. His hand trails down, finger brushing the underside of Kamui's chin. It sends a light shiver down his spine, making him want to go back to kissing immediately, but Asra has other plans.

Rather than sit up, Asra flops back onto the blanket, pulling the glass jar over and holding it up above his chest. Kamui eases back a bit to give him some room, but doesn't hesitate to start leaning on Asra's bent leg, hands folded atop his knee.

"Do you know what this is?" Asra asks. Kamui squints at the jar, thinking.

"Considering it's you, I'd guess it's not something like strawberry jam."

"You'd guess right," Asra cheerily responds, and Kamui rolls his eyes while letting out a small, breathless chuckle. Tapping the side of the jar with one blue-painted nail, Asra says, "I picked this up when we were in Zadith last month."

"With your parents?" Asra nods. "Is this something you made together?"

"Oh, no. My parents would be very disappointed in me if they knew I had this."

"What is it, a bomb? Are we preparing to commit a war crime?"

Covering his mouth as he laughs, it takes a moment before Asra can respond with, "No, nothing like that. It's just not something you want your parents knowing about."

It immediately clicks in Kamui's mind, then, despite his general lack of knowledge towards what it's like to have parents. "It's an aphrodisiac," he concludes, letting out a soft huff as Asra smirks. "Oh my god, Asra."

Grinning deviously, Asra makes a show out of popping open the jar. Immediately, a sweet, fruity scent escapes into the air. Now that it's open, it looks more like a jelly than a jam.

"It's not very strong," he explains, "Just something to play around with a bit." He grins. "It's also a lubricant."

That reveal gives Kamui a lot of ideas, his mind flooding with imaginary scenarios that have his face turning a deeper shade of pink. As he returns to reality, he comes to a realization that has him suppressing a laugh. "You brought me out to the woods so we could fuck."

"And eat a delicious lunch afterwards," Asra points out, gesturing to the wicker basket nearby, which Kamui had yet to see the contents of. "Or we could just eat the lunch, if you want."

"You know me." Leaning forward, Kamui spreads his hands out across Asra's chest, dipping beneath the fabric of his loose jacket, for which he's wearing nothing else underneath. it's a fairly warm day, and now that Kamui knows what they're out here for, it made even more sense why Asra had chosen such an easy to remove, loose outfit; and why he'd told Kamui to do the same, "because of the weather", sure. The real reason had a lot more to do with how easily Kamui's hands are able to find the soft, silky flesh of Asra's nipples. "I'd rather skip straight to dessert."

With a playful smirk, Asra says, "Well, in that case…" He dips a finger inside the jar, twisting it so it comes out thoroughly coated. The mixture drips like honey once the gelatinous surface is broken. Asra's tongue swipes across the red lines dribbling down his hand before they can reach his wrist, the look in his eyes less seductive and more nervous. "I didn't expect it to be this runny," he says.

"Well, it's like ice cream," Kamui comments, lightly grasping Asra's wrist and pulling his hand closer. He laves his tongue over Asra's hand, cleaning up the drips before taking Asra's finger into his mouth and sucking. Watching Asra's reaction through lidded eyes reveals exactly the kind of awed, bashful look he was hoping for.

He almost forgets to pay attention to the sweet taste caressing his tongue, like some kind of moist, cherry candy. It's almost too sweet, nearly coaxing a shiver out of him from the overstimulation to the inside of his mouth alone.

"How is it?" Asra asks, despite having already tasted some of it himself. A vivid dusting of red coats his cheeks, attention entirely fixated on Kamui as he licks his lips, considering the taste. It's during those thoughts that he starts to feel an odd sort of tingle, a shiver passing over his body before it's all gone, replaced with a radiating heat. His skin feels more sensitive everywhere its making contact with Asra's skin, and there's a few parts of his body he's a lot more aware of.

"Sweet," Kamui responds, his voice coming out low and breathy. "How much are we supposed to eat?"

"I don't think it matters," Asra thoughtfully responds. His face turns even redder, and he averts his eyes before adding, "The merchant suggested eating it off of each other."

Eyes wide, Kamui says, "I have trouble imagining you handing over coin for this in person."

"It was only nerve wracking when they started talking to me."

Kamui chuckles lowly. "Mmm, next time, take me with you. I'll do all the talking, you know I don't care."

"I wanted to surprise you," Asra says, toying with his bangs using his cleaner hand, which just prompts Kamui to pull it away and begin peppering kisses from his palm up to the tip of one finger.

Once that's done, Kamui tips the container closer to him and dips a finger inside. He presses the digit against Asra's lips, receiving an amused grin in response. There's a hint of something devious and almost challenging in Asra's eyes as he takes it inside his mouth. Kamui strokes his tongue, specifically targeting the area he knew would taste the sweetest. The way Asra's brows tilt as a shiver runs down his spine is exciting.

With one hand on the blanket, Asra pushes himself up, setting the jar aside before lightly grasping onto Kamui's wrist, keeping his hand in place. A moan escapes Asra's throat as he lavishes his tongue over Kamui's skin, escalating from suggestive to lewd remarkably fast. A string of pink-tinted saliva trails between them as Kamui pulls his hand back.

"Did you do that on purpose?" he asks, voice low. The look Asra gives him is dazed, like he hadn't quite heard what Kamui said, which is answer enough.

Licking his lips, Asra shivers, the blush on his cheeks rapidly spreading down his chest. "Oh, that's… immediate," he breathes, coaxing a small laugh out of Kamui. Violet eyes flicker down Kamui's torso, where the folds of his shirt sit just above the braided belt of his pants, revealing a portion of a pale, hairless chest and ribs. A bit of a lopsided, lazy version of Asra's typical grin plays across his lips as he meets Kamui's gaze, saying, "Aren't you a little too warm in that?"

Sliding his hands down the bare expanse of Asra's chest makes the magician's breaths stutter, lust in his gaze as he watches Kamui's every movement. He tilts his head to the side, soft white curls tickling his cheek. "You're right," he says, "Why don't you help me out of it…?"

"Well, if you insist…" Sitting up further with Kamui shifting to straddle his thighs, Asra makes swift work of his top. The silk slides smoothly off his shoulders, coaxing a slight shiver out of him alongside a quiet, stuttered breath. Everything feels heightened, every slip of clothing past his skin like the delicate touch of a lover. He's not so sure it was appropriate to call the aphrodisiac "not very strong".

Lips caress his waist, trailing down. He sits up higher, hands on Asra's sun kissed shoulders. His skin is warm, and Kamui wants to touch more of it, to hold him close and feel their skin connect. Pale hands slide down the back of Asra's shoulders as he curls over the top of him, barely noticing it when Asra starts removing his belt with his teeth. Kamui can't help but laugh at his eagerness; he can't even be bothered to use his hands, getting the front of Kamui's pants open without them. An art Kamui is still in the process of mastering.

With one hand dipping down the back of Kamui's waistband, the other reaches for the jar nearby. He gets Kamui's pants and smallclothes halfway down his thighs before dipping two fingers inside the jam and licking it off. He kisses the front of Kamui's pelvis, right in the center of a patch of wiry white hairs, before dipping down and giving a long, firm lap of the flat of his tongue up Kamui's center. The jam he'd kept stuck on his tongue goes with it, smeared thoroughly between his folds as Kamui shivers and starts to squirm.

"Oh, that's—" Cold, he wants to say, but it quickly heats up until all he notices is how sticky it is. As Asra draws his tongue back over him, the jam starts to cling just enough to provide a glorious sense of friction. The jelly he'd already consumed has him sensitive enough already. "—Good," he finishes, quivering as Asra continues to lap at his core, cleaning him, hands lightly gripping his hips. He has to resist the urge to grind his hips forward; the desire is immense, despite how little they've done so far.

Asra grins up at him, that smug, self-satisfied little smirk that always gets him riled up in these situations. Maybe it's on purpose, but Kamui doesn't care; he grips the back of Asra's hair, holding him in place as he rubs himself against Asra's tongue. It dips firmly against his clit and he moans at the surge of pleasure it provides.

"O-Oh, Asra…" His breaths quicken as he shifts his hips, though Asra quickly gets the point and circles his tongue around him. It's far too good far too quickly, making him feel like he's on the verge of cumming already. Sparks travel down his thighs and his legs lock in place as he ruts against Asra's tongue, lashes fluttering with every burst of pleasure. Dizziness clouds his mind and he can't pay attention to anything but how good it feels. The sensation builds rapidly, growing too powerful and then he's spilling over, moaning as he clings to Asra's hair and shoulders. His body twitches and Asra doesn't stop for even a second, his hands squeezing the soft flesh of Kamui's backside.

As the feeling subsides and his body begins to relax, he finds himself tipping forward; Asra acts quickly, catching them both on one hand before carefully maneuvering them so Kamui lays flat against the blanket. Asra tugs Kamui's clothes all the way off before kneeling between his legs.

With his head tipped back and eyes closed, he can't be certain what's going on anywhere Asra isn't touching him, but when he opens his eyes, their faces are inches apart. He catches his own scent on Asra's breath, his lips glistening but otherwise perfectly clean. It really shouldn't be as arousing as it is, but when Asra kisses him and their tongues glide together and he can taste himself, a spark shoots down his body. He pulls Asra closer.

Their lips part for just a moment, heat in Asra's gaze as he shifts with a mumbled, "Hold on," balancing against Kamui's shoulder as he pulls his pants down around his thighs—nothing underneath, predictable. Kamui bends a leg, hooking his toe into the waistband and awkwardly yanking it farther down Asra's leg. The magician laughs, reaching down to continue what Kamui started, just to have to battle with Kamui's hands trying to undress him even faster. "Kamui—Slow down," he laughs.

"Nuh uh," Kamui says, shaking his head and chuckling playfully. "You don't get to wear clothes. Be naked with me." Once the pants are off, Kamui starts on the jacket, fastened with just two buttons low around Asra's waist. To say that he tears it off is too violent, but it's something to that affect regardless.

The moment they're both nude is when Kamui wraps his limbs around Asra to pull him as close as humanly possible. If only it were possible to go even farther. He only truly feels correct when Asra's skin is clinging to his like this, sticky with the beginnings of sweat. His heart pounds. Lips caress his neck before finding their way up to his mouth; Kamui nuzzles his nose into Asra's affectionately before they're kissing again, so busy smiling that it makes their movements clumsy, at first.

Then Asra's hands trail down to Kamui's hips, and he shifts his lower body. He head turns, and he spots the jar nearby, reaching for it and dribbling a generous amount onto one hand. That same hand disappears between his thighs, though Kamui can't quite see anything from his position.

Positioning himself in just the right way, Asra grinds against Kamui, the sticky warmth spreading over him. Surprised, Kamui gasps, hearing Asra groan by his ear at nearly the same time. Without even thinking about it, Kamui spreads his legs, clinging to Asra's shoulders as he moves again, expertly gliding their clits together in just the right way to send tingles down his thighs. Though his body still feels a bit tired after the first orgasm, he doesn't want this to stop or slow down for even a second.

Asra's hands travel. Up Kamui's back, around his waist, back down to his hips, across his thighs, over his chest, everywhere, all the while moving his hips in search of that spark, that rush of pleasure that makes his toes curl. It's clear he wasn't expecting how strong it would feel right away, ducking his head into the dip of Kamui's neck and shoulder, the sound of his shallow breaths mingling with Kamui's.

The pace grows frenzied quickly, Asra's arms wrapping around Kamui's neck and shoulders. The sounds tumble out of him loud and a bit higher pitched than Kamui's used to hearing; little whimpers and gasping moans, and Kamui can feel the high he's chasing as if they were one and the same. His own voice is in there somewhere, though he's focused entirely on Asra's melodic and gentle tones instead.

The sound of him enjoying himself only makes everything feel so much better, and when something that sounds an awful lot like "Kamui" is moaned directly into a pale ear, the pressure around Kamui's clit builds so high he nearly cums right away. Though everything Asra does is perfect, he can't stop himself from moving back against him, increasing that pressure as he suddenly finds himself unable to shut up.

"Asra," he groans, his hand tightening against the skin of Asra's back, fingers curling around fluffy strands of hair. "Asra, Asra—Oh—I love you, I love—Ohhh—" A flash of pleasure rolls over him and he wraps his legs around Asra's back, wanting, needing him to be closer. It's so much, his mind starts to short out, everything feels hot, but it isn't enough. "—Fuck, god, harder—Please—"

Raising up, Asra crashes their lips together as his hands go immediately down to Kamui's hips, gripping tight enough for his thumbs to bruise into Kamui's soft, pale skin. He uses his grip to hold Kamui in place, grinding faster and harder, rubbing all the right spots like he's attuned to it. Their kissing barely lasts all that long before they're merely leaning into each other, hot breaths intermingling.

Asra bites his lip as he crests suddenly, and Kamui reaches to angle him properly to see every inch of his face. His brows upturned, lashes fluttering, golden skin flushed a beautiful shade of red. The noise he makes starts soft, barely a breath before growing deeper and more intense. It's all exactly what Kamui needs to join him, the pleasure so strong he has trouble focusing on anything else, except; the pulsing feeling keeps going, and Asra doesn't stop moving, and his body continues twitching for a lot longer than he's used to.

"Asra—I c-can't—I can't stop—"

A warm mouth presses into his as a tongue invades his mouth, reducing him to pathetic whimpers. Even after his body manages to calm itself, Asra's hips continue to move, only far slower, lazy circles that keep him feeling something. The heat remains in his lower half for a long while afterwards and he's surprised he doesn't feel the slightest bit sore after all this, but then again, they hadn't exactly done this unassisted.

Their cheeks brush as Asra's head all-but flops onto his shoulder. They're both still focused on catching their breath, enjoying the feeling of being held in each other's arms despite the heat. Kamui isn't bothered—if they could melt into each other, that would be really ideal, in his opinion.

A satisfied sigh parts Kamui's lips. "Asra," he starts, running his fingers through the aforementioned magician's hair. His hips are still moving, lazily but enough that Kamui can feel the slight pressure it maintains around his clit. "What are you doing…? Do you want to go again?"

A kiss is pressed to his cheek, and Asra sighs, his breaths warm on Kamui's skin. "It still feels really good," he says, low, breathless, and Kamui finds himself biting his lip. "I don't want to stop."

"Then let me touch you," Kamui says, already beginning to shift, urging Asra up and onto his back against the blanket, swapping their positions. He curls alongside Asra's body, propped up on his hands to get a really good look along Asra's body; slim, but toned, he's always been thicker than Kamui in all the right ways, making him feel safe and protected in his arms. Though redundant to even say, he's beautiful, and Kamui never tires of looking at him.

He just barely notices the jar nearby, tipped over onto its side, though luckily nothing seems to have spilled. Licking his lips, he lifts it up and holds it suggestively against his chin as he looks down over Asra's body, considering. One of Asra's hands raises up over his brow, his head turning towards the blanket, violet eyes peering up at him in a daze. He's red from the tips of his ears down the front of his torso. Glistening with sweat in the warm summer sun, even with all the shade. His eyes droop lazily and his grin is just as lethargic, though to Kamui, everything about him is irresistible.

"Oh, are you gonna make me your appetizer?" Asra purrs, eyes flickering between the jar and Kamui. With a flirtatious smirk, Kamui tilts the jar out over Asra's body, drizzling it across his chest and the hard lines of his abs like he might a dessert. The red jelly drips between his pectorals and Kamui dives in to lap it up, feeling Asra shudder beneath him.

"I'd rather make you my dessert," Kamui purrs, voice so low it nearly comes out as a growl. The sound reverberates in Asra's ear and he shivers, body trembling with desire. He looks so vulnerable; quivering, as Kamui leans back in to draw his tongue up a line of red, intentionally bringing it over a nipple in the process. He can feel it respond to his touch, and goes back over it several more times as it grows harder, only stopping once he's satisfied with how perky it gets.

Though taking his sweet time lavishing Asra's upper body with attention, it doesn't escape Kamui's notice the way his lower half squirms, searching for attention; a thigh to rub up against, though Kamui's leg isn't quite positioned to make that easy for him. A pale hand dips down, feeling the dampness coating Asra's slit, slightly sticky; pink clings to Kamui's fingers and he physically cannot stop himself from sticking them in his mouth. It tastes sweet, like the jam, but also overwhelmingly like Asra, and he moans around his fingers.

The sound is mirrored in his lover's voice, watching him closely, eyes blown black. Though he lays there allowing Kamui to have his way with him, there's a certain impatience radiating off of him. One Kamui loves to ignore, most of the time, just to tease him. This time, however, he feels just as impatient, and slides his hand back down Asra's pelvis, teasing him along his folds before parting them to slip his fingers in between. Asra's breaths quicken, and the second Kamui so much as grazes his clit, he pushes his hips forward, overeager. And, yet again—Kamui forgets the art of shutting his mouth.

"You're so cute," he purrs. "I want to fuck you—" Asra moans, and Kamui can feel the way Asra throbs in anticipation as he angles a finger closer to his hole, stroking the outside of it. "—Back at the shop, will you let me?"

"Yes, fuck—"

"I want you on your hands and knees, presenting yourself to me." Asra whimpers, pushing his hips forward as Kamui repositions his hand, thumb focused on Asra's clit while he reaches down to tease his entrance. The mere thought of it makes Kamui throb, and he's not even the one being touched. He just can't resist the way Asra looks in such a compromising position, the way he trembles and moans as Kamui pumps his fingers in and out of him, soaking wet and desperate for more. He's perfect, absolutely perfect. "Would you prefer my fingers, or…?"

"You," Asra responds immediately, not even giving Kamui the chance to continue. "You, you, I want you—" His hand cards into his own hair, the other blindly reaching for Kamui, though he can't tell what Asra wants, whether it's for them to be closer, or just to be touching Kamui at all. It settles along his bicep, stubby nails pressing into his flesh. A finger presses inside of him and a full body shiver passes over him, coaxing out a heady moan. "Ohhhh—Only you," he groans, and Kamui's finger dips deeper, slick with the sticky pink fluid. "Just—Just you—"

Leaning forward, Kamui curls one leg around Asra's as he tenderly kisses his cheek. Asra's words have warmth spreading through him and he wants nothing more than to hand Asra the world, to give him everything and then some. For now, though, he can give him his fingers, and that's enough to have him singing his praises.

Kamui holds him, kissing along his body as he pumps into him with his fingers, just long enough to rub along the spot inside of him that has him seeing stars. Dizzy and breathless, Asra alternates between sitting still and grinding his hips, a leg bent to make it easier to push himself closer, like he can't quite decide what feels best, or maybe he just can't think clearly anymore. A warm tongue glides up his throat before Kamui bites down, and the response is instantaneous; hips thrust up towards him, both of Asra's hands reaching for him to drag him closer.

Turning his body to straddle one of Asra's legs, Kamui kisses along his collar, rubbing himself along a strong thigh; his skin is so smooth and soft and the feeling startles him with how powerful it is, still not used to the effects of the magic. He can tell it would take far too long to build up to where Asra's currently soaring, so he puts most of his efforts into guiding him higher; though the feeling of Asra's juices dripping onto his hand as he fucks in and out of him is exciting in and of itself. The lust-fueled haze in his eyes, his shallow breaths, the litany of Kamui's name and I love you's that pass his lips like a prayer.

Kamui wraps an arm around him, pulling him up off the blanket and into a pale chest. Warm, thick hands cling to him, constantly moving like he isn't quite sure where he wants to touch, aside from everywhere. They finally settle around Kamui's lower back, his leg curling, and he pulls Kamui's hips closer, grinding his wetness across a warm thigh and making him tremble with the sudden flash of pleasure that rolls over his body. His head falls into the dip of Asra's shoulder.

"Oh, I love you…" Kamui sighs, whimpering pathetically as Asra's hands grip his hips, controlling their movements. It encourages him to follow along, tightening his legs around Asra's to increase the pressure that builds slowly around his clit. Though he tries to focus on Asra, it's so hard to concentrate when Asra's returning the favor like that. His hips move clumsily and he buries his face into the crook of Asra's neck, inhaling his scent and shuddering.

Asra's hands move, one threading into Kamui's hair while the other wraps around his back, holding him; his breaths quicken and so do the motion of his hips, his inner walls pulsing around Kamui's finger. Dragging a fingertip firmly along the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him, Kamui pulls back to watch his face as he cums, and it doesn't take much longer for him to get there.

"You're so beautiful," Kamui purrs, quickening the pace of his hips; Asra turns impossibly redder, turning to hide his face in the blanket as his thighs twitch and he pushes himself up towards Kamui's fingers in short, sharp little thrusts. "Absolutely perfect." Kamui kisses along his cheek. "I adore you…" He keeps rubbing him, prolonging his orgasm for as long as possible. Ruby eyes trail downwards, watching his thighs convulse, seeing the pale fingers dipping down inside of him.

"Kamui…" Asra brokenly moans, receiving a response in the form of a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Their eyes meet for a moment and Kamui sees the dizzy look in his eyes before their lips connect, and he feels as though he could stay here forever, exactly like this.

As Asra's body stills, Kamui's hand lingers for just a moment longer before pulling back. Their lips part long enough for Kamui to suck the fluid from his fingers, maintaining full eye contact. Asra looks barely cognizant, though he still gives his full attention, or whatever's left of it, to watching him. If only he'd been a little more aware, Kamui might have put his fingers in Asra's mouth, instead.

Or maybe not. He, admittedly, liked the taste more than most people.

Moving away from Asra's thigh, Kamui drapes himself over the top of Asra's torso, his legs curled off to one side. He uses one hand to brush Asra's bangs out of his eyes. A few strands stick to his skin where sweat has dripped into his hair; though they hadn't really done anything terribly vigorous, it was still pretty warm out, and that warmth turned blazing hot with the help of all their… activities. And the aphrodisiac, of course.

Languidly kissing along his neck and the side of his face, Kamui snuggles in closer, a hand laid out over his rapidly beating heart, slowly calming as they lie in silence. Asra's eyes droop, like he's having trouble keeping them open at all.

"Tired?" Kamui asks, his voice low and intimate. He receives an affirmative hum in response. "Is twice too much for you?"

"You are," Asra says, peering up at Kamui from beneath his lashes. He looks so sultry, Kamui can't help but melt at the sight of him. "You're incredible…"

"Oh, I know." His self-assured response has Asra chuckling, the smile lingering on his face afterwards; Kamui grins adoringly down at him. "You are, too," he adds, reaching up to lightly run a finger over the dimple that forms near the corner of Asra's lips. "You really don't know what you do to me. I love you, Asra."

Smiling, Asra draws Kamui into a kiss, and when they part, Kamui lays his head over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm. Everything feels peaceful, and perfect; until he hears Asra's stomach rumbling, and he pulls himself up with a laugh. Asra looks embarrassed, as Kamui balances his chin on the backs of his hands.

"Hungry?" he asks, grinning down at Asra's cute little blush. "Asra, darling, did you eat before we came out here?"

Violet eyes drift off somewhere to the left, gaze becoming unfocused slightly. "I… don't remember," Asra admits.

"Ohhhh, look who's skipping meals now." Asra scoffs, though it's more humored than annoyed.

"Just one, Kamui. Not several every day," he retorts, leaning up to kiss the tip of Kamui's nose when he starts to pout. "I was too busy putting all this together, I must have forgot." Turning towards the basket, Kamui follows his gaze, tilting his head curiously. He'd forgotten entirely that they were on a picnic. His legs bend, ankles crossed.

"Let's take a break and eat some of this," he suggests, "And then afterwards, I want to eat you out."

Startled, Asra nearly chokes on thin air. He recovers quickly, though it doesn't stop Kamui from laughing at his expense. Red dusts over Asra's cheeks as they move to sit up, with Kamui positioning himself firmly in his partner's lap. Strong arms wrap around Kamui's torso like they belong there, while soft lips caress his neck.

"How long do you want to stay out here?" Asra asks, his chin propped up on Kamui's shoulder. He hums in thought.

"Until I'm bored," he says. "So, you might have to be the one to decide, because I never tire of your body."

"So, we're living in the woods from now on, then." Kamui laughs.

#the arcana #asra x mc #asra alnazar #fanfic #fic #asra x apprentice #asra x oc #the apprentice #male apprentice #oc apprentice #asra the magician #lemon #writing #ocs #oc:kamui #m/nb #Rated E #oc/canon #the arcana writing

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ancientechos · 4 years

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Omen of Beginning

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 2714 words ♡ Revenant AU

This idyllic little town is so very boring...

But for the moment it suits Solus dus Galvus fine.

There’s little to do, he can even nap on the job...so long as Cyrus doesn’t see fit to nag him...

“Say, Sol,” Speak of the devil, and he arrives. “I think that girl might be a revenant.”

A sharp exhale leaves the Garlean soldier’s nose as he levels an unimpressed stare at his supposed best friend.

“And which girl might you be referring to?” They’re standing in the middle of a mostly crowded marketplace...aside from the obvious berth most of the residents give them. “There are many here, as I’m sure you can see...and none of them have any obvious traits.”

“That one.” Cyrus jerks his head slightly. “The girl with the black hair, and the basket. She might be hiding a tail or something underneath that skirt of hers, you never know...”

Another sigh.

Unfortunately, this time Orphus sees fit to interrupt their conversation.

“You should check.” He claps Solus on the shoulder, and he has to resist the urge to shake the hand off. Annoyance bridles in his stomach.

“Why don’t you do it?” he snaps with a thinly veiled glare. The other man shrugs.

“You’re supposed to be good at that revenant finding stuff. Even Cyrus says so...right?”

“Indeed! So I think you should take the chance, old friend, let us know what you find.”

“There’s no reason for me -- “

Just as he begins speaking, some sort of commotion rises up. It’s from the direction Cyrus had pointed in the first place.

Someone appears to be heckling the dark-haired woman for something; a second later, it becomes clear. Someone is attempting to pull something out of her grasp.

When neither Orphus nor Cyrus make a move, Solus sighs yet again, rolling his shoulders as he pushes himself away from the wall. One hand goes to his gunblade as he strides forth. The crowd disperses almost immediately, but the scruffy-looking girl grappling at the woman’s -- belongings? -- does not.

“Some sort of problem here?” Solus asks boredly. It’s almost comical how quickly the red-haired girl halts. She turns slowly -- one eye is obscured by an eyepatch. The remaining one glowers at him until she spies the blade.

Then she runs off and down an alley.

He doesn’t bother making chase, instead looking to the dark-haired woman. The one Cyrus had said might be a revenant. Up close, she certainly doesn’t look it. How on earth had he come to that conclusion?

“Are you all right?” he supposes he should ask, if only because she stares at that -- ahh, it’s a book. Dimly, he wonders why a brigand would want to steal something like that.

The woman gives a short nod, her gaze meeting his as she clutches the book close to her chest. Something feels odd, so he prompts her again.

“What’s your name?”

Instead of responding to him, she opens her book. Again, Solus cannot help the sense of wrongness -- why does she not simply speak?

A moment later, after an apologetic glance up with furrowed brows, the dark-haired woman holds the book up to face him. He squints at the words written neatly there.

My name is Arianna Rowen.

One of his brows lifts.

“A mute...?” So that was the reason for the lack of verbal acknowledgment? Well, he supposes it matters little, assuming it does not hinder her ability to work. Certainly does not make her someone especially abnormal. “And what do you do?”

There’s no prefix by her name. Likely she’s missed one of the tribunus’ announcements...or, rather, all of them. Perhaps she’s merely a traveller...though she doesn’t exactly wear the garb of one.

He shifts his weight to one leg as he awaits her response, watching her scribble in that book of hers. His golden gaze flicks away a moment to watch the other passersby, until she holds up the tome again. Of course neither Cyrus nor Orphus are anywhere to be found.

I am an herbalist. I make poultices and teas at home.

“And you live here?”

Yes.

Arianna...

The murmurs of his colleagues reverberates in his ears. If she has anything to hide, she should deny him his request.

“Say, miss Rowen, I’m afraid I’m awfully thirsty. Would you mind if I joined you for a cup of one of those teas of yours? I’d pay you, of course.” He makes a vague gesture toward his coin pouch at his belt. He watches her watch him, as her green eyes flick from his face to the gunblade strapped at his back.

Not exactly what he’d wanted, but still —

Arianna gives a small nod of assent.

Solus’ brow quirks again, though he makes no comment. Perhaps she really does have nothing to hide. He is...relieved? The prickly sensation fades.

When she makes note that she still has some shopping to do, he bids her to go on her way.

“There’s no need for me to escort you, I assume...unless you’re worried about a repeat of this incident.”

No, thank you. It is all right.

He hasn’t asked if it was all right, and frankly he doesn’t think he cares. He’s simply curious.

Will she try to slip away? Surely that’s what a revenant might do. Use the opportunity to escape to whatever little hole she might have for herself...

Maybe he’s daring her to do so.

He leans lightly against the brick wall, eyes hawklike as he scans the crowd. There are other exit points to the market, of course, but he is ever so intrigued. If she’ll simply try to leave.

The minutes feel too long. The sense of unease returns, burdening him with its weight. He wants to snap his teeth at a nonexistent bit -- he has no idea why he’s this annoyed --

And suddenly she is there, coming to a nervous halt in front of him. Her basket is full of various plants and small cloths, wrapping...something. One of her hands lifts to run a hand through her hair as she fidgets.

“...Oh.” He can’t tell whether he’s disappointingly surprised or surprisingly disappointed. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

He doesn’t miss the confused glances the other residents send his way, and doesn’t miss the way she tenses beneath their heavy stares.

“All done, then? Shall we go?”

________

The prickly unease returns as they walk. Not only does she not take him to any of the surrounding homes, as he’d assumed she would...

She leads him outside the town, into the surrounding woods.

Her footsteps are weary as she glances back at him every few moments. He doesn’t expect her to speak, and he doesn’t attempt to make conversation. Instead, he glances between the trees, trying to discern just why he feels so uncomfortable.

There is always a catch.

If she truly thinks she might be able to overpower him here...he snorts at the very thought. She doesn’t say anything, of course.

Perhaps she has friends, waiting in ambush.

Before long, they’ve turned off the main road onto a well-trodden path. She has to push some of the branches back as she walks, thoughtfully holding them just a moment longer for him. Charming, but unnecessary. The way opens up to show him a small quaint cottage. As the woman’s strides grow more confident, he knows without having to ask that this is her home.

The smell of the woods gives way to the scent of various herbs as they approach. Some are vaguely recognisable, others he has no idea of. She leads him into the wooden home; the slats are dark, the room feels small, yet somehow it feels oddly warm.

Arianna bids him with a gentle gesture to sit at the table in her kitchen. He reclines in his seat, glancing about. Charming.

“What a nice place.” He can’t see anything especially out of the ordinary, either. “I like it.” She reddens slightly at the compliment, setting her basket down.

Thank you, sir...

He stares at the formality for a moment.

“Oh, I didn’t introduce myself, did I? How terribly rude of me. My apologies. My name is Solus dus Galvus. No need for sir.” He takes one last look around the oddly comforting space. “You should introduce yourself as Arianna bas Rowen. I don’t suppose you have any Garlean licenses...?”

Her blank stare speaks volumes. He waves a hand carelessly. Understandable. He’s beginning to get a hang of her situation. He sympathises; why go anywhere when you can simply stay somewhere safe and warm?

“I’ll have someone send them over. Now, about that tea...” The subject finished, his smile is easy and light as he prompts her. With a start, she quickly begins to prepare a cup of drink for him as water heats on a modest flame.

There is nothing here. There’s no reason to even begin to suspect her. Simply a quiet herbalist making ends meet in her little home in the woods...

Nothing fantastical or otherworldly about her. She is normal.

The tea is warm, sweet; he asks on a whim whether she has any blends for sleep, and she promises to give him some. The longer he stays, the more she relaxes, whatever apparent misgivings she’d had to his presence disappearing. Just as his of hers.

And all the better for it.

Once it’s eventually time to take his leave, he stands from her presence and fishes open his coin pouch.

“Here you are, for the tea and...the other tea, I suppose. Thank you.”

That anxious sensation returns, and he’s reminded once more --

There is always a catch...

But there is none this time. She merely smiles serenely at him and sends him on his way with a small bag of dried herbs. A different sort to the one she’d used in her tea for him. It serves him well, up until he scrapes the bottom of the bag with his spoon and has to tip the remainders of the leaves out. Never has he slept so well as when he brews a cup of this before bed.

________

When she approaches him this day, she seems almost pleased to see him. Solus tries not to allow such a fact to cloud his ego.

A difficult thing, all things considered.

She holds out a greeting for him, asking how he is today.

“I’m quite exhausted.” His head tilts slightly as he observes her. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I snuck to your bed for a nap...?”

Her reaction has the corner of his mouth curving in amusement. Almost immediately, her entire face reddens as she stares at him with wide eyes. Before she can fumble to reply, he continues.

“I was just joking.” He sighs quietly. “Though I suppose I wouldn’t really turn down a chance to sleep. I likely shouldn’t.”

Arianna regards him, her expression strangely resolute. She turns to a new page in her book.

I could bring you tea. Not for sleeping, for staying awake.

Solus blinks at the paper for a moment.

“Would you? I’d appreciate it.” Did she have a drink for everything?

With a soft nod, she goes back the way she had come; when she returns, along with her basket, she holds a mug of hot tea.

Holding the cup in one hand, be brings it to up to inhale the steam. Already he can feel the weight on his eyelids lessening. Curious. And it tastes just as delicious as it smells. He thinks he can feel the remnants of sugar crystals on his tongue.

“Marvelous, thank you.” The soldier gives her a small smile, and makes to reach for his coin purse; she quickly shakes her head, reaching out a hand as if to stop him. She halts just short of touching his wrist.

“No money? Are you sure?” She nods. Unfortunately, he can’t resist the urge to prod at her again. “I know I’m your favourite customer, but preferential treatment is still a bit...I do hope no one is listening to us...”

He cannot help but laugh at her reaction as she gapes at him, then turns her face away.

________

It’s ridiculous for him to feel anxious of anyone finding him here. He’s merely enjoying a cup of tea on his break.

There’s nothing, no one to find.

So it vexes him that he can never shake off that sensation as he approaches the cottage. As if he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

It’s not as if he cares. he does what he wants. And if any of his colleagues have anything to say about it, it hasn’t been to his face.

So Solus doesn’t care.

The irritating feeling fades with every sip of warm, soothing tea.

________

There is something.

Something in the air. It nags and prickles against his skin, if only he could scratch it out. Then maybe he might feel some relief. But he knows not what it is, not even where it is, so there is nothing he can do but grit his teeth and bear with it.

Perhaps it is simply the poor weather striking at his nerves. It’s dark. It’s been raining for hours; he’s soaking wet and cold. Annoyed, mostly. He wants to go home, drink tea, sleep. But there’s no rest for the righteous; he’ll wait until his turn to leave. He glances at the chronometer on his wrist. It should be about time...

A sharp clicking of heels on pavement behind him catches his attention; the sound stifles and grows hesitant as their owner approaches. He turns.

It’s her. His previously tense muscles relax as he lets loose a sigh past his lips.

“Oh, the fine maiden from the woods.” Solus cocks a brow; her basket this time is covered in cloth, her head burdened by a large cap. Even her hands are covered now. The rain? Ah, she cannot write like this, can she —

“Going to the market?”

She gives a small nod.

“At a time like this? I assume it must be some sort of dire emergency.” He’s vaguely disappointed she can’t stay and chat. One curse of the rain is that there’s no one to even watch.

All he gets in response is another nod -- stiffer this time, but a new expression all on its own. “Well, I shan’t keep you. Go on.” No sense in causing the woman undue stress, with whatever it is on her mind...

He shifts away. Something about her motion is oddly clumsy this time as she makes to trot past him. The sensation grows and grows like a bubble threatening to burst.

Her foot stubs against the uneven pavement. He reaches to grasp her upper arm, but she flinches away and sprawls onto the ground. There’s indignation and confusion at her reaction --

Ah, there it is. Her dress.

The bubble swells and deflates all in a singular moment.

Where her feet should be are not heels, but hooves.

His mind goes blank. He can hear nothing but the rain and empty noise in his head.

Her...?

His tongue clicks sharply against his teeth. If this were a dream, it would be quite nice if he could wake up now...

Arianna’s fearful expression as she stares up at him tells him otherwise. Another soft sigh leaves him, and he reaches a hand to grasp at hers, pulling her to her feet.

It all makes sense. All of it. He almost feels dizzy.

All because he hadn’t wanted to...

One blessing of the rain is that there is no one else here to see.

Clenching his jaw, he gives her hand a squeeze -- not to bruise, nor to intimidate, but some vague reassurance. He isn’t mute, but he’s lost his words for the moment, and he doesn’t want her to run away.

Deep in thought, he pulls her in the direction of the woods, and she follows. They have a lot of talking to do, after all.

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antique-traveler · 4 years

Text

so long we’d become the flowers

Geralt and Jaskier were camped in the woods a few hours from the nearest town. Geralt had successfully slain a kikimora, and Jaskier had insisted that they rest and take the long route to the next town. “Enjoy the serenity and the quiet,” Jaskier had said as he began to prattle on about nothing for the next two hours. Just like any of their adventures, Jaskier spent his free time while Geralt was hunting sticking his fingers in some pies, so to speak. As per usual, multiple parties were upset, and the duo had to leave town in a hurry.

Their bedrolls lay on opposite sides of the small, smoldering campfire as grey dawn began to rise out of the trees on the horizon. Just like every day in the past nineteen years, Geralt was the first to wake. He groaned as he sat up, back to the campfire and to Jaskier. He dug his palms into his eye sockets as he turned around to face his bard and rekindle the fire.

Something was wrong. Either Jaskier had grown three feet wider in the night, or something (or someone) had joined him under that blanket. Geralt was fed up with his foolishness (however endearing it was), and tore the wool blanket off of him.

Apparently neither of his predictions were entirely right. Jaskier lay on his side, his ears now pointed and elongated, his body curled into a crescent moon shape, with massive, dark brown, feathered wings sprouting from his shoulder blades, having torn holes in his blouse. Geralt stepped back in shock. He picked up his silver sword from the ground beside his own bedroll as he nearly shouted “Jaskier!”

The bard grumbled and propped himself up on an elbow, rubbing his eyes as he squinted at Geralt. His eyes widened when he saw the tip of a very long, very sharp sword pointed directly at him.

“Woah, Geralt! Don’t you think it’s a little early for this?”

“Fucking get up.”

“I- I don’t understand what’s going on…”

“I said get up!”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming! Hold your horses.” He began to roll onto the balls of his feet before immediately falling back, his centre of gravity having obviously been meddled with, and crying out in pain as he squashed his wings. He looked over his shoulder before screaming and scrambling to his feet. “What the fuck? Geralt, Geralt, get it off of me! What is this, a fucking drowner?” He spun in frantic circles around himself, trying to get a nonexistent foe off of his back.

“Jaskier, shut the fuck up and look.” Geralt clenched his jaw and squeezed his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

Jaskier spun around a few more times before peeking over his shoulder to finally greet what had been done to him. He slowly raised his hands to his agape mouth as his eyes widened and his eyebrows floated into his hairline. He stumbled back a bit, shock clearly settling in. After a moment, he knit his brow and the wings unfurled and unfolded into what must have been at least an eight-foot span. He lowered his hands and whispered, “Geralt, what happened to me?”

Geralt’s expression softened, along with his grip on his sword. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I- I- I-” He simply stood and stared at his wings, slowly folding and unfolding them one at a time.

“Are you in pain?” Geralt relaxed his fingers and let his sword drop to the soil below with a gentle thup.

“I… no…” Jaskier finally tore his gaze away from his wings and stared straight at Geralt, eyes filled with fear and a need for something that Geralt couldn’t quite divine. It was in moments like this, moments where Jaskier completely let down all of his well-built walls and just asked for help, that Geralt was reminded of what he so often tried to forget. At a passing glance, one would think that Jaskier never held anything back, was an open book. But Geralt had learned that, while Jaskier was honest and vulnerable, he was also incredibly guarded, and was well-practiced in dancing around uncomfortable questions or conversations. And then all of a sudden, he’d be staring at Geralt like this, blue eyes each holding a sky of their own within the lens, willing to bare all his secrets to the world -to Geralt- at the drop of a hat.

Jaskier carefully folded his wings behind his back, “It feels as if I’ve had them my whole life, really.”

Geralt scrubbed a hand across his stubble, thinking. “Did you make anyone particularly angry recently?” Jaskier put his hands on his hips and raised a brow. Geralt sighed, “Are you- are you missing anything?” At that, Jaskier’s face grew solemn as he brought a hand up to his collarbone, grasping for something that wasn’t there. “Yes… yes, I had a- a medallion, my mother gave to me,” his voice shook as he became slowly more panicked, “she gave it to me before she died, I’ve never taken it off since, but it’s gone.” He gracelessly scrambled around their meager camp, looking under bedrolls and packs, obviously thrown akilter by the new weight on his back. He turned his back to Geralt and bent over, turning over stones and clothes. Geralt felt ashamed that his eyes immediately drifted toward the bard’s silk-clad arse, but soon felt grateful for their proclivity to wander when he noticed something… off about the shape of his behind, namely that it was moving.

“Jas- Jaskier.” Geralt cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “You might want to check your… arse.”

“Geralt, I hardly think this is the time for joking-” Jaskier’s eyes widened as he put a hand on his own behind and felt what Geralt was referring to. He reached below the hem of his breeches and pulled out a long brown tail, about the length of his legs and somewhat resembling that of a lion. “Holy shit.”

Jaskier dropped his tail out of his hands and let it swish around his legs a bit, staring at Geralt, asking for answers. “I’d guess there are two possible explanations here: either you’ve been cursed by some poor victim of your exploits, or that medallion was more important than you thought.”

Jaskier stared at him blankly, fully measuring the weight of Geralt’s words. “What are you saying, Geralt?”

“I’m saying that that might have been a glamour.”

Jaskier took a step towards him, eyebrows raised and wings spread. “A what?”

“A glamour. Like a… magical disguise.”

“A magical disguise for being what, a fucking bird?”

“No way to be sure for now, but we’d better find a mage to see if that’s the case.”

Jaskier stared at him in awe, mouth opening and shutting like a fish in a desert, grasping for words to describe the shock coursing through his veins.

Geralt wordlessly stamped out the fire and packed their things, keeping watch on Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. He mostly just stared at the ground, breathing deeply and purposefully. After a few minutes he found a small dagger he kept tucked within his travel pack and cut a small hole in his breeches, which he pulled his tail through with a distant, disbelieving look on his face. Geralt took note of how often he would shift his weight off of one foot and onto the other and the number of times he ran his fingers through his hair or brought a hand up to swipe across his face. He noticed the colour of the wings and tail weren’t quite the same as his hair, but a smidge lighter. He seemed to be twitching his wings the same way he often did his legs when he was nervous, just a gentle bounce or shake to let off his nervous energy, and swayed his tail to and fro. When he was finished loading their packs and bedrolls onto Roach’s saddlebags, Geralt approached Jaskier from behind, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder while he looked far into the distance.

“Are you okay, Jas?” He put quite a lot of effort into sounding gentle and comforting, though he had no real frame of reference for if it came off as genuine or not.

Jaskier quickly blinked away from wherever he was staring and flashed a false smile at Geralt. “Yeah! Tip-top.” His teeth were just a smidge sharper than they had been the night before.

“We should start on the way to the next town if we want to make it there before nightfall.”

“Right. Yes. Of course. Lead the way.” Jaskier scratched the back of his head and pretended to be relaxed, seemingly forgetting that Geralt could smell the fear radiating off of him like a roast turkey.

...

Millgrove was about half a days’ walk from their campsite, and most of it was spent in silence. Geralt tried to make Jaskier comfortable by walking alongside him instead of riding on Roach, but they had to stay further apart because of the wings, only making the situation awkward. Geralt knew Jaskier cried periodically, he could smell the tears and Jaskier made no effort to conceal his sniffles, but the only way he knew to comfort him was the occasional nudge on a wing and a concerned glance at his bard. In the last three hours of their journey, Geralt noticed small protrusions poking their way out of Jaskier’s temples, growing rapidly, though apparently not irritating Jaskier whatsoever, as he seemed to be completely unaware of them, and they shed no blood.

Geralt cleared his throat. “Um, Jaskier,” Jaskier looked at him, eyes red and puffy, ivory horns now at least four inches tall, “you…” he gestured vaguely at his own temples, causing Jaskier to mirror him and touch the horns sprouting from his head. He stopped dead in his tracks and collapsed, sobbing.

“What’s happening to me, Geralt? Why me, why now?” He fell on his knees, head in his hands, as his wings folded themselves around him. Geralt crouched down beside him and rested a hand on the small space between where his wings sprouted. His shoulders gently heaved with his shaky breaths.

“Jaskier, it’ll be alright. We’ll fix this.”

“And if we can’t?” Jaskier snapped his head up and stared straight into Geralt’s eyes, fat tears rolling down his face. Somehow, in their almost two decades of ambiguous companionship, Geralt had never found himself in this position. Despite dressing Jaskier’s wounds and aiding him in sickness countless times, Jaskier never broke down like this before. Geralt thought that the bard’s ability to hide his emotions almost rivalled his own. Almost.

Geralt weighed his words for a moment. “If it’s not something we can fix, then it must not have needed fixing in the first place.”

…

They made it to the edge of Millgrove just before dusk. Geralt instructed Jaskier to stay deep in the woods with Roach so no one saw him and acted without thinking. Millgrove was a small village, only a few cottages and one meager tavern, but Geralt was pointed to the residence of their mage with relative ease.

Enleim was an elderly half-elf living in what was easily the most run-down house in the village, but his old eyes were filled with joy and curiosity and a need to help his neighbors. Putting aside the initial shock of having his doorway darkened by a Witcher, Enleim was eager to help however he could, and was led to where Jaskier had been left in the forest just outside of town.

Enleim slowly circled Jaskier, looking him up and down as if he were a prize sow at auction. “Hmm... and you said you lost a medallion, yes?” He spoke with a thick accent, Rs rolling and words melting together like molasses.

Jaskier tried his best to stay still. “Yes, it was my mother’s. Haven’t taken it off since she died.”

Enleim was silent for a moment, finally coming face-to-face with Jaskier, and staring deeply into his eyes. “How old are you, Jaskier?”

Jaskier seemed confused. “I’m th- thirty-seven.”

He scoffed. “Now, surely you don’t believe that. Nearly forty and yet you still have the face of a babe.” Geralt and Jaskier shared confused glances. “No, I suspect you are much older. Who knows? Maybe even older than your Witcher there.”

Jaskier stepped back from the mage. “I… what are you saying?”

“Well, if my suspicions are correct,- and they usually are- then I don’t think you’re human.” Jaskier paled. “If I were a betting man, I’d say you were a Fae.”

Jaskier was silent, but Geralt spoke up, arms crossed and brows furrowed. “Fae don’t exist anymore. They’re a myth.”

“Well, perhaps they aren’t being born anymore, but they live a long time, as evidenced by your friend.”

Jaskier studied his hands, eyes sparkling with tears and confusion. “I don’t understand. I- I’m just… Jaskier.”

“I’m not denying that by any means,” Enleim crossed his arms and sighed, “but perhaps Jaskier is a different person than you previously thought.”

…

Many tears had been shed that evening, solely from Jaskier, and solely onto Geralt’s unyielding shoulder. Judging by the moon, it had to have been around midnight by the time Jaskier finally spoke something other than confused gibberish. He had stopped crying by then, instead he merely sat in silence and stared at the stars, absentmindedly feeling his tail and his feathers between his fingers.

“Before my mother died, I remember a fire. I must’ve been… three, at most, though who knows how true to reality that is. There were people screaming and running- I think they were family and neighbors- and my mother placed the medallion around my neck. It was a buttercup, encased in this… crystal. And then there were arms around her, and she was pulled away, and she was… screaming…” Jaskier stopped and sniffled. Geralt gazed at him. He figured this was an appropriate time to let down his “Witcher face”, as Jaskier so affectionately called it, and allow himself to look at his friend with pity, love even (though he would never admit to the latter). “It really all makes sense. I- I mean, I know I’m thirty-seven, I met you when I was eighteen and I’ve been with you nineteen years since, and yet, I haven’t changed, have I? Hell, I still have trouble growing a beard.” Tears still stood in his eyes, even as he joked.

There was silence for a moment, and Jaskier’s eyes fell from the stars in the heavens to the leaves and mosses at his feet. “After that I moved in with the Viscount Pankratz and his wife. And-and I know that Enleim said the glamour could affect my memory, but-but I’ve never been anything but human since! I mean, I get hungry, I bleed, I fuck, I cry, I play my lute... and now all of a sudden… I’m not anymore.”

Geralt stared at him as silence hung between them just like the planets in the sky. “Before the Trials I had parents. I’m not sure if they loved me, but I had them. They sent me off to Kaer Morhen, and I… changed. They mutated me, forced me to turn inhuman. After a few years, I returned to Rivia to hunt a bruxae, and my parents didn’t even recognize me until I said my name. They were afraid of me, said Witchers were dirty monsters. After I told them who I was, they didn’t speak to me at all.”

Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt’s shoulder, horns bumping into his head only slightly. Geralt’s massive, slow heart pounded in his chest. This was the most he’d touched anyone in… months, probaby. He indulged in the sensation of Jaskier’s soft hair against his neck and of his warm wings resting just behind them both. He allowed himself to be distracted by the comfort of it all, hardly even noticing when his hand came to rest upon Jaskier’s silk-clad thigh.

Jaskier’s head rose from his resting position and he peered at Geralt, eyes wide and mouth agape. Not a word was spoken other than Geralt’s apologetic stammers before Jaskier was crashing into him, both hands cupping his jaw as Geralt floundered. He eventually settled in, parting his lips and resting his hands on Jaskier’s waist, fingers being tickled by his feathers. Jaskier opened his mouth and Geralt accepted his invitation with reckless abandon. They took in each other’s tastes and scents, memorizing the nooks and crannies of their respective mouths until they had charted a map in each of their heads. Geralt pushed his hands up the back of Jaskier’s shirt as Jaskier knotted his hands in Geralt’s long hair.

Geralt’s heart lurched and pounded in ways it had never done before, in ways it wasn’t supposed to. With every breath Jaskier took, his stomach did a somersault and a chill ran up his spine. This. This was what had been missing for all those years.

Jaskier parted with a sigh, hands still in Geralt’s hair and on his face, staring into him with deep, almost unnaturally blue eyes. “I… I thought you wouldn’t want me because I’m- I was- human. I was too fragile, too emotional for you.”

Geralt, drunk on a day’s worth of surprises, let himself chuckle. “I thought you wouldn’t want me because I’m not human.” They rested their foreheads together (or at least, they tried to, as Jaskier’s horns got in the way of where one’s forehead would normally rest on another’s) and breathed each other in.

“What do you know? We’ve both been proven wrong.” He sucked in a breath, “In more ways than one.” They sat like that for too many moments to count, feeling each other beneath their fingertips, gently caressing hair and feathers and horns. After a while, Jaskier sat up and looked at Geralt, not moving his hands. “This morning, when you saw me like… this,” He swallowed the 'this', pushing it aside for later consideration, “were you… did you think to kill me?”

Geralt’s heart dropped. He couldn’t exactly say ‘no’, after all, Jaskier had woken up to the point of his sword in his face. But had he really planned on going so far as ending his bard’s life? “I realize that you may not have had the... best awakening, but I’ve never wanted to hurt you. To be frank, I was scared.”

Jaskier giggled, “Oh, and all because of little old me?”

…

Two days later, Enleim had crafted a new glamour for Jaskier: a small leather wristband with a single blue bead on it. Jaskier tried his best to hide his tears at returning to a body that was no longer his own, but was soon leaning on Geralt’s shoulder, staining the leather of his armour with saltwater.

After that, Jaskier would learn to live as two people: as the bard whose songs were sung and recognized throughout the Continent, and the orphan Fae, relearning what it meant to be who he was. Whenever they were in private, Jaskier would remove his glamour and relax, horns and fangs and wings and tail and all. Whenever they were in public, Geralt would plant sweet kisses into Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier would keep a hand resting on his witcher’s waist.

Soon Jaskier remembered more about his real self and his real past. He remembered how to fly, and whenever they were far enough from a village and certain enough that no passersby were near, Geralt would let him soar into the air and stretch his wings. Geralt would marvel at how much Jaskier changed before and after flying; seeming tense and uncomfortable one moment, then free and relaxed and confident ten minutes later. Jaskier recalled more of what it meant to be a Fae, eventually remembering how to make flowers grow in his steps, and how to make the wind and weather more favourable on their journeys. Without his glamour, if he stood in one place for more than a half of an hour, a small ring of mushrooms would sprout, leaving behind remnants of a race no one remembered and of which he could be the sole survivor. He learned the language of cursed beasts, saving Geralt a lot of energy and potions by calming down any hexed wolves or foxes they happened upon. He learned how to make his songs more and more enthralling, convincing townspeople to donate more generously than they might have before. He learned how to whisper the right words in Geralt’s ear to make him drop his aloof disposition and crack a smile, perhaps even lift an eyebrow if he were feeling daring.

After decades, people were still singing the songs about a Witcher and a bard on their adventures, seemingly oblivious to their company in whatever tavern or pub they were gathered in (perhaps thanks to the flick of the wrist from a well-dressed young poet in the corner next to a brawling beast of a man that most were scared to make eye contact with).

And even after that, long after all the monsters were slain and all the damsels were rescued, long after a cottage was built by two men on the coast, people were still singing the songs, never knowing if they were history or myth.

#fic #the witcher #jaskier #creature jaskier #fae jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

my virtues uncounted (1)

Day 6: Pocket

A/N: And now for something completely different! :)

warnings: fear, panic, threat of discovery, grabby giants, kidnapping?

“Shh! I think someone’s coming!”

Logan and Roman ceased their bickering immediately, drawing back to where Patton was peering out of their hiding spot.

Sure enough, there were huge steps in the distance, shaking the ground around them. As one, the three Light Sides pulled back to crowd together in the shadow of the gigantic couch arm they were next to.

“Guess that answers the question of if the Dark Sides match the decor.” Roman grumbled quietly, shielding his friends with his body against the long shadow that stretched across the floor as a dim light flickered on, illuminating the worn-down living room. It was like something out of a horror movie, but the biggest concern was how big everything was.

As soon as they had accidentally landed in the subconscious section of the mind, they’d known something was very wrong. They’d never been this deep before, for fear of running into the Others and causing unnecessary chaos in Thomas’s mind.

It was clear that had been the right decision, seeing as the entire house around them was large enough to make them look doll-sized in comparison. The three of them were crouched under a small side table, hidden from most angles by the shredded couch next to it. Roman clenched his teeth, hand on the hilt of his sword as he watched the behemoth pass them by. If a Dark Side found them in this state… It was possible they’d never make it home.

“Can you tell which one it is?” Logan asked quietly, and Roman dared to lean forwards a bit, only catching a silhouette moving quickly to the kitchen.

“No, just that they’re dressed in black, and that doesn’t help! They’re all goths!” He growled, and Patton clutched at his sash in warning. He took a deep breath, scanning for frills. “... I don’t think it’s my brother, at least.”

“That’s… that’s good.” Patton said firmly, a little pale at the thought of encountering Remus like this. Roman couldn’t say he didn’t agree.

“Whoever it is, they’re in the kitchen now. We should move.” Roman proposed, and the other two nodded. They’d all tried sinking out, but everything was different, and they were well and stuck until they figured out how to manipulate the energy down here.

If the subconscious mind palace worked the way their conscious one did, the stairs led up to the Dark Side’s rooms, and the rusty, dead-bolted front door would start them on the path back to Neutral territory. Remy would probably help them find their way from there.

Mind made up, Roman began to lead the way across the floor, an ear dedicated to listening to the muffled rustling from the kitchen. They skirted the couch, sticking to the edges of furniture and walls. Walking out in the open when you were small enough to be stepped on by mistake was a bad idea for sure. He paused, looking between the door and the arched entryway to the kitchen.

“Roman, how are we gonna get it open?” Patton asked, leaning forwards so the creative Side could hear his whisper. They all craned their necks up to look at the complicated array of locks. Even turning the door knob would be incredibly difficult to deal with at this scale, let alone all of… that.

Logan found a solution first. “Perhaps a window instead?”

Roman turned to look at the only window nearby, the one above the kitchen sink. In the kitchen. Where the Dark Side was making some sort of probably-nefarious meal. He took a deep breath, checking around the corner. The kitchen was dark as hell, the only nearly-nonexistent light coming from a flickering bulb on the far end.

However, the giant Side was still shuffling objects around on the counter, back to them. This was as good a chance as they’d get, especially if the Side chose to eat on the couch after, which would trap them for ages. He gestured for them to wait, and then sprinted across the tiles of the entryway, skidding quietly to the small space between the bottom of the cabinets and the floor. As soon as he was settled, he twisted to check on the Dark Side.

No movement. In fact, they seemed almost too still for a second, and Roman held his breath until he saw them start to move again. Whoever it was must’ve spaced. He kept an eye on them as he gestured the other two over. The Dark Side didn’t still again, busy with what looked like possibly toast. Evil toast, no doubt.

“Gonna try to find a way to get you guys up.” He said, and reached up for the edge of the cabinet door.

For once, the worn materials worked in their favor, since the wood was chipped and splintered enough that he felt confident enough to haul himself up and begin to climb.

“Be careful!” Patton whispered, and he turned his head to shoot them a dazzling grin before continuing up.

Before long, his muscles began to cramp, but he wasn’t a prince for nothing, and he pushed through the strain to finally haul himself over the edge of the counter. No time to catch his breath, he rolled back to his feet to scurry over to the nearest object he could hide behind, a cookie jar that seemed to have something crusty spilling over the top, gluing the lid to it.

He needed something to work as a rope… He scanned the counter thoroughly, his gaze eventually coming to rest on an open container of dental floss. What in the hell was that doing in the kitchen? Was one of the Dark Sides obsessed with dental hygiene or something? Not his brother, that was for sure.

Whatever, gift horses and all that. He cast another glance at the figure, now able to see the hood on him. He was gaining a fair idea of who it was, and he definitely didn’t want to draw his attention. He moved silently across the countertop to grab the dental floss before retreating to his former spot.

He wedged the small white container between the jar and the wall, wrapping the floss around it a few times for good measure, and then ran forward to the counter’s edge to toss it over.

Luckily, he had gotten it pretty close to where they’d been waiting, and he watched nervously as Logan tugged on the string and then tied the end of it into a sort of swing loop they could sit on while Roman hauled them up. The logical Side sent Patton up first, and Roman began to slowly pull the thread back up, gaze darting between his task and the giant in the room with him. He willed his hands not to grow slick.

Miraculously, Patton got up without a hitch, and then moved behind him to grab a length of the floss as Logan stepped onto the loop. They began to tug, mentally counting in sync with each pull, and for a moment it seemed like they’d pull it off.

Of course, that was when the giant turned around, a knife of all things in hand.

Any other time, Roman would have relished in the look of shock that blossomed on Anxiety’s face, a rare moment of unguarded emotion, but now he just felt his stomach drop. Just as quick, the other Side moved, blindingly fast. There was a clatter as the knife fell to the floor.

“Oh sh- !” The voice rumbled around them as Anxiety was suddenly there, his hands clapped around Logan as though he was an errant firefly. Roman felt terror chill him at how Logan was completely obscured by those huge hands.

“Let him go!” He cried furiously, voice much too small for the wrath within him. He drew his sword, and Anxiety looked up at him with a surprised glare.

“What were you thinking?” He thundered, and behind him, Patton clapped his hands over his ears. Anxiety paused for a moment, something in his expression shifting, and then continued quieter. “Are you a moron? That floss could have snapped, that fall would have killed him!”

Roman faltered at the thought, and Logan’s muffled voice said something they couldn’t make out. Anxiety looked down as though he’d forgotten who was in his hands, and Roman bristled viciously, visions of the Dark Side crushing or dropping his friend dancing before his eyes. “Let. Him. Go!”

Anxiety glanced at them with an irritated glare before setting his hands on the counter and opening them to dump Logan on his ass roughly. His face worked itself into a scowl. “What are you three doing here?”

Roman jutted his chin out, prepared to shoot back a scathing insult, but Logan answered first.

“We aren’t certain. Some sort of transport was triggered while we were traversing the Neutral area, and we ended up here as a result.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and disheveled appearance as he moved to stand back up. Roman deflated slightly.

“It was an accident!” Patton added, expression worried. “We’re trying to leave right now, promise!”

“Patton!” Roman shushed him too late, sword still in hand.

Anxiety looked at them unreadably for a moment, and then sighed. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Just get out of my hair and don’t come back. You might not be as lucky next time.”

The last part was muttered under his breath, but Roman still heard and growled at the blatant threat. Anxiety ignored him, turning back to his toast, and Patton tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the window.

A second later, there were loud footsteps and muted voices. Not from in the house. From out of it.

They all exchanged alarmed looks, frozen in indecision for a second. Roman was the only one to notice the movement in the corner of his eye, and he twisted in time to see Anxiety’s hand bearing down on him. He yelped and lashed out with his sword, but the bigger Side barely flinched before closing his hand around him and lifting him straight off the counter with ease, sword and all.

Over the pounding of his heart, he could hear the others frightened voices, and he writhed angrily against his fleshy prison, only to travel through the air at such a speed it made his head spin. He could feel something warm and liquid soaking in his clothes, and grimaced at the scent of blood despite being the one who caused it.

In the next moment, everything was darker than before, and the hand loosened. He fought out of it, landing on a soft surface that dipped under his weight, and almost immediately something warm dropped on top of him. He almost reflex-punched whatever was on him, having lost his sword somewhere in the process, but a moment later recognized Patton’s yelp as he accidentally elbowed the other in the stomach. “Patton?”

“Roman!” The heart threw his arms around him, and Roman struggled to get them to something resembling upright. Everything was moving around them, and he recognized the fabric around them after a moment.

“He put us in a pocket!” He declared, hideously offended. “How dare he- oof!”

“Ow.” Logan said in a monotone as he, too, was unceremoniously dropped on top of them. They all struggled to readjust for a second, and then the hands were back, this time pressing them up against the back of the hoodie pocket, against Anxiety’s torso. What was the point of putting them in his pocket if he was just going to squish them?!

Roman almost opened his mouth to yell with the little air left in his lungs, but the sound of the front door slamming open made all three of them stiffen and still.

There were voices, indistinct through the layers of fabric and flesh, but one of them Roman would know anywhere. His breathing sped up, and Patton gripped his hand tightly, doing the same to Logan on the other side of him. The hands around them loosened slightly, but none of them moved as Anxiety’s voice rumbled out an answer above them, vibrating through them.

“No, I found a hair in the jam. Maybe if you guys actually cleaned once in a while I’d be able to cook.” He said, tone biting, and then paused to listen to whatever the others were saying. Anxiety shrugged with a motion that thoroughly jostled them. “Whatever, I wasn’t that hungry. I’ve got work to do.”

With that, the Dark Side turned on his heel and sulked out of the room, going by the dizzying movement that made the fabric around them shift and stretch. They were even more dizzy by the time Anxiety got up the stairs, his chilled hands keeping them more or less secure on the way up.

Roman realized where they were heading as the Dark Side stepped into his room, and the three of them traded helpless glances as the door clicked shut behind them with a sort of ominous finality, all thinking the same thing.

How were they going to get out of this one?

#g/t #giant/tiny #sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #writing #my writing #hiddendreamer67 prompts #oct prompts #have you ever wondered about the reverse of the premise of repressed anxiety fic? well here you go :)#mvu #my virtues uncounted

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yastaghr · 4 years

Text

Five Blue Tongues

Pairing: Errorberry, Sanscest

Characters: Error, Blue (Underswap Sans)

Kinks:Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Breeding, Prostitution, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Shibari, Bondage, Gags, Enthusiastic Consent, Come Inflation, Mating Bites, Claiming Bites

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse

Summary: Blue and Error are just good friends. But can one little encounter change that forever?

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23821192

A dark-wood doorway rippled into view in the white monstrosity that was the Anti-Void. Well, it had once been white. It was now filled with furniture, boxes of craft supplies, and stolen food. The ceiling was dripping with glimmering blue threads that looked like the most disorganized spider web on the planet. Human and monster souls of a thousand different colors were scattered in the ropes. Against all that, a dark brown stained wooden door that suddenly appeared was hardly out of place. It would have made more sense if it had come with a wall, though. Or if it touched the floor. Instead it hovered about half a meter above the ground.

The doorknob rattled for a moment, then it fell off. Someone on the other side of the door cursed. It was a high pitched voice, and the way it swallowed the tail of the word implied that it might get in trouble for swearing. Nothing but dread-filled silence happened for a moment, then a knocking started. It was persistent, incessant, and arrhythmic. In other words, it was designed to annoy whoever was on the other side of it into opening the door.

After about ten seconds of this an irritated voice cursed it’s way over to the door, occasionally crashing into things and breaking them. This voice was glitched and smokey. It belonged to a multi-colored skeleton, mostly black with bits of red and yellow, who was wearing a paint-spattered t-shirt and gym shorts. He had a ball of steel wool in his hand. His skull was still half-covered in bubbling green paint. The other half was covered in soap that smelled like lemons.

“dAmNiT, bLuE, wHy dOn't yOu jUsT OpEn tHe dOoR? i gAvE YoU ThE KeY To...oH,” Error took in the state of the knob on the floor. “dAmN. i wOnDeR WhAt fReAk gAvE StReTcH ThIs iDeA. sToP YoUr hAmMeRiNg, BlUe, I NeEd tO OpEn yOu a pOrTaL.”

Error took a step back and opened a glitchy portal into Underswap #832. Blue was standing with his back to him, facing the door to his room that, unfortunately, still had the backside of the lock panel but no longer had a doorknob. Blue spun on his heels (actual heels, Error noticed. A simple pair of red pumps). The skirt of his 60s style halter dress spun out. Error couldn’t make out the pattern without his glasses, but it looked vaguely red on white. Both were good colors against Blue’s, well, blue magic. There seemed to be a lot of it showing today.

Blue ran through the portal and crashed on a nearby couch, panting. Error closed the portal, dismissed the door, and turned to face his friend. He looked nice, as far as Error understood the matter. Why was he wearing all that when he was just coming here? Error crossed his arms and tapped his foot, waiting to find out.

Blue gave him a sheepish smile and said, “Hi, Error. Thanks for rescuing me. Stretch is getting even more...well, he didn’t like that I was going out to a public dance with Alphys and Undyne dressed like this, so he locked me in my room. I texted Alph only to find out he’d called telling her I tripped coming down the stairs and broke both my legs, so I know what’s coming later, at least. I didn’t realize he’d decided to mess with the doorknob. He’s never done that before.”

“yOuR BrOtHeR Is aN AbSoLuTe fUcKeR. aRe yOu sErIoUsLy gOiNg tO LeT HiM BrEaK YoUr lEgS JuSt tO KeEp uP ApPeArAnCeS?” Error growled.

He hated Stretch, like, a lot. But Blue had made him promise not to kill him. He’d said something about it being a problem with Stretch’s soul that he’d fix as soon as they got to the Surface and he made it through medical school and got his MD that way. Stretch had to agree if it came from a doctor, right? Error didn’t believe it for a minute, but a promise was a promise, and, anyway, it was the only way he could convince Blue not to try and lecture Ink for hurting him so much. Ink would probably turn on him like he turned on Dream after he announced that Nightmare and he were going to soul bond and raise kids. That had gone horribly. Error didn’t want the same thing for Blue. Dream was a god. He could survive wounds that would kill Blue. No backtalk at Ink.

Blue looked down. “Well, you said Chara wasn’t going to leave the Ruins this round, so I just need to keep things going until they RESET. I don’t know how long it will be until they get bored. So I have to.”

Error grumbled, “yOu wOuLdN'T If yOu'd jUsT LeT Me tAkE SoMe dUsT FrOm aNoThEr uNdErSwAp sAnS AnD LeAvE It iN YoUr rOoM WiTh a nOtE. iT'S NoT LiKe hE WoUlDn't bE HaPpY FoR YoU To gO.” The way Blue talked about it, everyone would.

Blue sighed. “I don’t know, Error, I just...I don’t want to do that to Chara. They’re a nice kid, and they need me to get to the Surface.”

“tHaT WoUlDn't bE A PrObLeM If yOu'd jUsT LeT Me tAkE ThEiR SoUl sO YoUr wOrLd fReEzEs aGaIn. No oNe bUt yOu aNd tHeM WoUlD KnOw.”

Blue huffed. “Error, drop it. I’m not doing it and that’s final. Now, how did your-”

The whole Anti-Void convulsed with a red aura. Error and Blue both flinched.

“rEaLlY, aNoThEr oNe? FuCkInG HeLl, InK, jUsT LeT Up fOr fIvE MiNuTeS, wOuLd yA? hEh. SoRrY BlUe. YoU KnOw hOw iT Is. I'Ll bE BaCk iN No tImE. lItErAlLy. HeH.”

Blue waved a bandaged hand at him. “No, no, go ahead. Try not to let Ink hurt you, but if he does, I brought my medical kit. Have fun!”

Error’s eyes gleamed. “oH, i wIlL. tHiS TiMe iT'S An uNdErSwAp. I CaN TeAr sTrEtCh aPaRt aLl i wAnT AnD StIlL KeEp mY PrOmIsE. hEh. If oNlY I CoUlD Do iT To tHe rEaL OnE.”

“Error,” Blue said warningly.

Error opened a portal to the new Underswap copy Ink had made and waved Blue away. “i kNoW. sEe yOu wHeN I GeT BaCk.” Then he stepped through the portal and left Blue to his own devices.

=====

The first sign that Error had returned was a low growl that shook the souls in their web. The next thing was a smoky scent, the kind of smell that comes off a burned out computer. Underneath that was a musky smell that had Blue sitting bolt upright in his chair, blushing. Was Error going into rut? Maybe he should leave...no, first he should make sure that Error had someone to help, then he could leave. He knew how hellish it was to suffer through a heat alone. A rut probably felt similar for an Alpha.

“Error! I’m in the knitting room!”

Thumping and grumbling followed a convoluted path. Finally Error walked through the nonexistent wall from the kitchen and flopped into the other chair. He had more paint all over him, and one of his arms looked like it had gotten splashed with acid. Blue immediately pulled out his medical kit and started tending to it. He let some small talk float between them.

“So, Error, I didn’t realize you were an Alpha. That’s a lovely scent you have there. Who are you going to share your rut with? One of Nightmare’s gang?”

Error looked at him with a deadpan that just barely hid confusion. “yEaH, nO, i'm nOt gOiNg iNtO RuT. i'm nOt dUe fOr aNoThEr...tWo wEeKs? SoMeThInG LiKe tHaT. sO YoU DoN'T HaVe tO FuCk oFf aNd wE CaN JuSt gO BaCk tO KnItTiNg iN PeAcE.”

Blue secured the end of the bandage he’d been wrapping and stood up, right in Error’s personal space, but still conscious enough not to touch him. He could already feel his resonant heat starting. Error’s smell was strong, and Blue’s heats could be set off so easily after all the monsters he’d been with. Time to use that to his advantage.

“Error, take a whiff of my scent and tell me what you feel.”

Error reflexively sniffed. His face focused and blushed with yellow heat. He panted, “iT SmElLs sO FuCkInG GoOd, BlUe, I-” He teleported a few feet away. His face was a ticked off scowl. “nO, yOu'rE TrIcKiNg mE. sToP It.”

Blue calmly sat down on the start white “floor” of the Anti-Void and spread his legs open obscenely wide. “There’s no trick here, Error. I resonate with just about everyone, so your rut kicked off my heat. If you want me to leave, I will, but I am completely available for you to use to get over your rut.”

Error laughed giddily and wiped a hand across his face. “hEh. YoU'Re jUsT MaKiNg iT Up. YoUr dAyS As a pRoStItUtE ArE CoMiNg bAcK AnD YoU JuSt wAnTs tO FuCk tHe oNe pErSoN WhO DoEsN’T HaTe yOu.”

Blue winced. That one hit a little bit too close to home. Reluctantly, he said, “You’re probably right. My heats have been unbearable because no one would help me with them. This is the first time there’s even been a chance. :But I said you were free to kick me out. I wish you luck finding someone you actually want who will help you through this rut.”

Blue brought his legs together and attempted to push himself to his feet. Familiar blue strings wrapped around him and bound him in place, leaving only his hands free to move. Blue watched Error stomp over to him. He set his hands on his hips and loomed over Blue.

“tHaT’S NoT WhAt i mEaNt aNd yOu kNoW It, BlUe,” Error barked at him.

Blue gulped, swallowed his excitement, and asked, “What did you mean, then?”

The yellow blush on Error’s cheeks was quite lovely. The glitched stammering was, too. It sounded almost like a song. Finally, Error strung together his words. “sHuT uP!”

Cheeky giggles escaped Blue’s mouth. “You should make me, Error.”

Error growled and pushed him back with a slipper-clad foot. Blue went down willingly, opening his legs wide and inviting Error to have his way with him. “I can still speak, you know.”

Blue strings snaked around his skull and bound his mouth wide open. It hurt a bit at first, but his body got used to the stretch and calmed down. Error did not. He summoned a sharp bone and carefully sliced his way through Blue’s dress. Too bad. He loved this little rose-covered halter dress, but letting Error be in control was more important. Error needed this. He was an Alpha; Blue was an Omega. That was all that needed to be said.

=====

Error raked his eyes over Blue’s many scars. His eye lights lingered on his lowest left rib, which was still over calloused after being broken. His hand reached over to touch it, but froze a millimeter away. He just couldn’t bring himself to touch Blue. Even though it was Blue, his haphephobia was still too strong. This was going to be a problem. Error glared at him, willing himself to come up with a solution. Finally, he had one. He’d never had a problem touching someone’s magic before. If Blue just summoned enough magic, Error wouldn’t have a problem touching him.

“sUmMoN ThAt wEiRd tHiNg wHeRe yOu wRaP MaGiC ArOuNd aLl yOuR BoNeS,” Error ordered him. Blue complied. A thin ecto-body came into existence with a sound like ‘gloop’. It started at his collarbone and extended down to his ankles and wrists. It was pretty light blue, almost a periwinkle color. There weren’t any visible scars, but Error knew better than to trust that. He wanted to see the real Blue. “nO, nOt tHaT OnE, tHe rEaL OnE. i kNoW YoUr bRoThEr hAs gIvEn yOu sCaRs. ShOw tHeM To mE.”

This time the ecto-body Blue showed him was almost tragically thin. There were scars everywhere. A few were even fresh, not bleeding but not healed. There was a giant slash that cut between his plump breasts that Error knew every Sans had. Most of the rest, the newest ones anyway, were from Stretch.

Error reached out and touched one of those scars, a circle-shaped divot a few centimeters across that lay just above Blue’s iliac crest. It was pitted, but Error loved the texture on it almost as much as he loved getting to touch his best friend. He explored the feel of it, then another, then another. Before long he had touched every scar on Blue’s body, and he loved them all. Blue had never shown them to anyone but him. That made them his.

Blue wriggled underneath him and Error smiled. His strings held Blue down with just enough force to let him wiggle like a worm, but not get away. Speaking of strings, he felt like adding a couple more. He pulled a few strands out of his eye and quickly wove them into a rope. He made a loop halfway through it, tied the loop off, and pulled the tails on either side of Blue’s neck. Then he made what looked like a chain ladder down the front of Blue’s body, ending with the tails separated on either side of his crotch.

Then Error slipped the tails underneath Blue without crossing them and fed them through the loop he had made at the beginning. He then made a very pretty double zigzag that attached to either side of the rope ladder and pulled it tight across Blue’s chest. He finished the ropes off just below Blue’s butt, which was loose and jiggly.

The sight of Blue wrapped up prettily in all his strings made Error horny as hell. He slipped the thumb of his right hand under the hem of his shorts and revealed his dick. It was the classic short, thick shape of every Sans dick done up in neon blue. There were several uneven ridges along the length of it, almost like error bars. Beneath them was a thick, thick knot. All in all it was an intimidating dick that made Blue salivate.

“hEh. SeE SoMeThInG YoU LiKe tHeRe, BlUe? DoN'T BoThEr aNsWeRiNg. YoU'Re lUcKy i'm iN RuT RiGhT NoW, oThErWiSe i'd nEvEr sToOp sO LoW As tO ToUcH YoU. nOw, SuMmOn a dEcEnTlY BiG PuSsY FoR Me. DoN'T FoRgEt tO AdD A WoMb. I ThInK YoU'D LoOk gOrGeOuS AlL KnOcKeD Up wItH A LiTtEr fOr mE,” Error chuckled evilly.

The pussy Blue summoned was better than Error could have imagined. There was a big clit throbbing for him, and blue slick pooling on the white floor of the Anti-void. The lips were puffy, and he could see the shape of Blue’s whole reproductive tract through the glow of his magic.

Error growled through his smile, “i kNeW YoU'D Be eAgEr tO Do tHiS. i cAn't wAiT To fEeL YoU ArOuNd mE.”

He started rubbing his dick in Blue's juices. It wasn't anywhere near the strong, confident strokes he had intended. There were way too many glitches for that, and he just couldn't bring himself to thrust too hard against Blue. He knew how fragile his best friend was, and he really didn't want to see what his dust looked like. It was bad enough that he had to kill other versions of Blue. He didn't want to kill this one.

When those first few strokes didn't hurt Blue, Error grew more confident. Soon he was rutting into Blue like a rabbit.

Error's growls turned into panting. The look in Blue's eyes made him impatient. It was drawing him in, willing him to fuck him now. Who was Error to argue with that? “I cAn’T fUcKiNg WaIt AnYmOrE!” Error warned Blue. Then he hilted inside of Blue’s pussy in one quick move. He didn’t wait long before setting a rough place. Blue’s boobs jiggled like jello in an earthquake.

The fast, hard pace had Blue moaning around the gag in his mouth. His lovely, sweet scent was driving Error mad. No wonder he’d been so successful as a prostitute in his world. Error would have paid good money to get to have his way with an Omega that smelled this good. He didn’t understand how people could just abandon him. He was scrumptious, but he was also smart, kind, and absolutely devoted to the people he loved. Why didn’t someone snatch him up like the perfect little mate he was?

Error growled as his impossible pace sped up. “yOu’rE So fUcKiNg tEmPtInG, bLuE. i nEvEr tHoUgHt i’d gEt tO FuCk yOu. YoU’Re sO FuCkInG TiGhT It’s uNbElIeVaBlE. sO SoFt, ToO. yOu fEeL So gOoD AgAiNsT My rIdGeS. i hOpE ThEy fEeL JuSt aS GoOd tO YoU.”

Blue nodded as much as he possibly could around the restraining and gagging strings. Error’s insane grin widened. “gOoD. i cAn’t wAiT To fIlL YoU To tHe bRiM. i wOnDeR HoW MuCh i cAn mAkE YoU SwElL WiTh mY CuM. yOu’rE LiTtLe bElLy wOuLd lOoK So nIcE RoUnDeD OuT WiTh mY MaGiC. hEh. It wOuLd lOoK EvEn bEtTeR RoUnDeD OuT WiTh mY BaBiEs iN YoUr bElLy. I WoNdEr hOw mAnY I CaN PuT In? NiGhTmArE’S BeEn aNnOyInG Me wItH HoW MuCh hE BrAgS AbOuT DrEaM’S BiG LiTtEr. YoU’D BeTtEr gIvE Me mOrE BaBiEs tHaN ThAt pAlTrY NuMbEr. We’lL NeEd aT LeAsT SiX, bUt i kNoW YoU’Ll bE A PeRfEcT PaReNt fOr tHeM. iF YoU CaN TaKe cArE Of tHaT FuCkInG BaStArD Of a bRoThEr yOu cAn tAkE CaRe oF AnYtHiNg.”

The eye lights in Blue’s sockets had widened the moment Error’s monologue had turned to breeding, but Error could see the eagerness in his face. If that wasn’t enough, Blue was nodding almost desperately. Nothing could up a monster’s confidence like that kind of consent.

Error let his thoughts wander into some fantasies that he’d been harboring for a long, long time while he pounded into Blue’s tight cunt. “i wOnDeR WhAt iT WoUlD Be lIkE? i’d cOmE HoMe fRoM ThE EnD Of a lOnG DaY DeStRoYiNg aUs tO FiNd yOu aLrEaDy wAiTiNg iN ThE AnTi-vOiD FoR Me, SaFe AnD sOuNd. YoU’D Be eAgEr tO TeNd mY WoUnDs lIkE AlWaYs, BuT NoW It wOuLd bE JuSt a bIt oF A ChAlLeNgE. hAvInG ThE BaBiEs gRoWiNg iN YoUr bElLy wOuLd mAkE BeNdInG So mUcH HaRdEr. YoU’D LoOk aBsOlUtElY GoRgEoUs lIkE ThAt.”

Error was close, but he didn’t notice. He was too wrapped up in his fantasy. “tHeN I WoUlD PuLl yOu cLoSe aNd iT WoUlDn’t hUrT BeCaUsE YoU’Re mY MaTe. I’D GeT To hUg yOu aNd kIsS YoU… oH, fUcK, bLuE!”

He buried himself inside of Blue, then pushed his knot inside Blue’s pussy with a pop. He rocked excitedly into Blue as the balloon of his womb expanded and expanded, filling up with Error’s cum. His grin expanded, too. Five blue tongues licked his lip as he watched himself cumming. Then he threw all caution to the wind and pressed his lips to Blue’s own. It… didn’t hurt? He was touching teeth to teeth and bone to bone, and it wasn’t hurting! Did that mean-

Error pulled back to look into Blue’s eyes and saw the naked desire in his face. Then he watched as Blue deliberately bent his head to one side, exposing his neck in a very plain show of raw submission. Blue wanted him. Blue wanted him.

He growled and dug his teeth into Blue’s shoulder. The blood and raw magic on his tongues was amazing. He poured in his own magic, marking Blue as his for the rest of their shared lives.

Error didn’t bother to release his grip when he felt his knot give out. He just shifted his hips, pulled his dick out of Blue, released the strings that held Blue to the ground and the ones that gagged him, and wrapped himself around Blue in their place. If he was going to get to touch Blue without it hurting he was going to take full advantage. Besides, being close would strengthen their bond. They had the rest of his rut to spend together. Error wasn’t going to waste a second of it.

=====

Blue felt like he was on cloud nine. Error’s magic was rushing through him, not just in his uterus but in his blood now, too. He’d claimed him. He’d actually claimed him. He wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to cry. He’d wanted this for so long, but he’d never thought it would be Error. But those words had sparked a desire in him that was even stronger than he’d ever imagined. He was so, so glad to be Error’s.

Still, it was probably a good idea if they talked about this some more. Communication was essential in a healthy relationship. “Error,” There was no response, “Error,” Blue said, putting just a bit more force into the words.

Error prized himself off of Blue and shot a glare at him. The glare held no real ire whatsoever. “wHaT?”

He hesitated. What was it that he wanted to say? He let the first thing that popped into his mind pass his lips. “You felt comfortable and in control, right Error?”

The black-boned skeleton laughed. “i wAsN’T ThE OnE WhO WaS TiEd uP AnD GaGgEd, BlUe,” Error said. Blue gave him a look. It was the one that said, ‘this is important to me, so please answer my question’. Error grudgingly admitted, “iT wAs FiNe.”

Blue smiled and rested his head against Error’s shoulder. “I’m glad. Um…” Blue hesitated, but the feeling in his stomach pushed him on, “... Did you mean what you said about me carrying your children? I know you just claimed me, and that makes us mates now, but I don’t want to assume that you really meant that.”

Error looked down at him as if he was mad. “oF CoUrSe i mEaNt iT.”

“That’s good, then, because… I can kind of already feel the souls developing inside of me? I can’t tell how many there are, but the little sparks are there. Is… that okay, Error? Error?”

Blue looked up at him, then giggled. The loading bar hovering above them told him everything he needed to know. Blue shifted just a little, finding a comfortable position to wait in. He was looking forward to seeing Error every day, too.

#undertale lemon #errorberry #error sans #underswap sans #sancest #yastaghr

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marrella-splendens · 3 years

Text

hinchinbrook

it was getting into mid-july, so for a little walk outside valentine only needed to grab a relatively light jacket and gloves. after weeks of seemingly unending clouds, the sky had finally opened up, and seeing as she was off-duty at the moment, nothing was stopping her from spending a few precious moments at her favorite sitting spot. beverly and myrtle were both up at the top of the light, cleaning off the fresnel or something. it was about 7pm, but at this latitude at this time of the year, that still gave them a good two or three hours of leeway before sunset. she'd check in on them later. daisy, however, had been sick with a particularly tenacious cold for the past several days, and she sniffled pathetically from her bed across the room. she turned over on her side, watched through the dark sweaty bangs covering her eyes as valentine prepared to go out.

"you're going out, val," she mumbled blearily. it was phrased like a statement, but something in her intonation was questioning.

"yup," she replied. "s'clear out. I'll draw you a picture of it, if you want. hell, see it yourself if you can get out of bed before the clouds roll back in." daisy just groaned, and rolled back over. barely a minute went by before valentine could hear her snoring again. that was probably for the best.

pulling on her cleanest wool hat, she stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. the sun hung low in the southwest. it'd be skirting above the pacific for a little while yet. she fished a pair of bent aviators out of her pocket, and thought about how stylish she looked, at least for a lighthouse keeper. she slowly trudged along the path, making her way to just behind the outbuildings next to the cliff.

while the island was known for having a few rather nice beaches, valentine actually appreciated being able to watch the ocean from up here. it felt safer, and knowing the mercurial nature of these waters, she needed all the comfort she could get. it was bad enough thinking about the earthquakes that had hit, back in the late twenties, that had forced a slight relocation onto sturdier ground. for now, though, everything was calm and quiet and stable. she found her favorite spot, a nice clean tree stump, and pulled out her notepad as she sat down.

from somewhere up and behind her, she heard a dull thump followed by the muffled sound of uproarious laughter. she clicked her tongue disapprovingly, but if bev and myrtle had fucking broken something again, they probably wouldn't be laughing. not this hard, anyway. as long as they were working, and not getting... distracted, again. she shook her head.

the first part of a drawing, at least for valentine, was the ever-important date at the top left corner. she was known for meticulously dating all her notes, regardless of their pertinence to her work, here. it calmed her down, to know when things happened, to have it all sorted out in her head. she mumbled to herself as she scribbled, "july fourteenth, nineteen seventy two." and with that, she was free to get to business.

the vista itself was not always, well, terribly majestic. she was certainly used to it, staring out at the horizon, watching where the ocean met the sky. what was interesting was... yes! there. over the course of a minute or so, she started to see a shape appearing, a vague blob that barely passed for any kind of seafaring vessel at this point. she dutifully sketched it, however, making note of the time, drawing it again and again as it crept more into view. based on its size and apparent heading, it was an oil tanker, slowly lumbering its way up to valdez. like just about all sea traffic, around here.

on more interesting days, the atmosphere might present her with a fata morgana, allowing her to see incoming ships from farther away, as images and inverted images of ships, stacked on top of one another, bent their way around the horizon to her. she liked to watch those, as the shapes tended to waver and adjust rapidly. gave her more things to sketch.

as the tanker moved along and back out of sight, valentine started to sketch all the little clouds that still persisted after the veritable blankets, that had entombed them until today, finally decided to part. she liked the shapes they made, little wisps of icy cirrus, here and there. playful, almost; forming lines and waves and gentle curves as the wind rolled them around, distorting and reforming them. the sun, moving more laterally than anything, continued westward, starting to hide a bit behind the trees, and casting long shadows everywhere.

the chill was starting to set in. nothing at all like winter, but cold always seemed to find its way to you regardless. she rubbed her hands together, stood up and ran in place, and did her best to warm back up. she knew that if she wanted she could go back in, have some coffee. maybe check up on what the girls were doing, or perhaps not doing. but she felt compelled to stay. as if to drive the point home, a large flock of seabirds soared past overhead, and val was already back to her notebook, doing her best to do justice to the beautiful forms that nature was kindly presenting to her. she barely noticed when the light came on, behind her, starting to blink lazily, casting occasional shadows here and there. the sun had finally fled the scene, leaving the sky a deep, almost uniform blue.

somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew her work shift was going to start, soon. with daisy out of commission, the few short nighttime hours would be left to her, and her alone. it was about when she had this thought, thinking about sitting around, checking on things, staying awake all night, that she started to hear something. something hissing, from behind her. immediately her mind raced; what kind of wildlife lived here that could make a noise like that? she knew there were bears around, and wolves. stuff like that. but hissing? it almost sounded like some kind of gas leak, but they didn't even have that out here. she forced herself to turn around.

at first, besides the sound, nothing at all seemed particularly amiss. the lights were on in the main building; she even saw a silhouette in the window for just a moment that looked like bev; nobody else she knew had hair quite like that. she looked around, into the woods. nothing but spruce and hemlock stared back at her. and then she thought to look up.

almost directly above her, an entire constellation appeared to be falling out of the sky. at least, that was her first impression. she sat down on the dirt, incredulous, forcing her hand to continue what it had been dutifully doing for the past couple hours. shaking from cold and a creeping sense of fear, she did her best to render in graphite what her eyes hardly believed they were seeing. suspended above them, hanging in the indigo sky, about a half dozen fireballs burned through the air, in formation. she would have thought they were moving, as they left fiery trails in their wake, wisping off in streams of burning red and orange and green, but none of them even appeared to be moving.

it was difficult to take her eyes off them, even to draw. the hissing noise grew louder, and ever so slightly, the fireballs began to move, circling almost, seeming to burn away in some nonexistent wind. she found she could barely move, or open her mouth to speak. her eyes wide, she wanted to scream, to call for help, to at least call somebody to witness this with her, but she only felt her eyes well up with tears. they left trails of biting cold down her cheeks, in the slight breeze, but she could not move her hand to wipe them away. the image of the fireballs burned into her, leaving ghostly trails on her retinas. the noise was unbearable, so loud she thought the ground would crumble away underneath her, that the cliffside would finally fail and she'd be dragged down with everything into the maw of the pacific.

the fireballs were close now. if they had been made of fire, she surely would have felt some heat off of them; they were about level with the top of the lighthouse now. surely the ladies inside could see this, or at least hear it! but if they did, they did not come running outside, to check on her. the sound was absolutely unbearable.

suddenly, without any apparent prompting, one fireball broke from the group, approaching her. surely now her diaphragm would produce a scream, but all she heard was her own voice, croaking in her throat. she was holding on her her pencil so hard she thought it would crack. she looked, stared up into the fireball, as it filled her vision, and for a moment, she thought she saw something staring back.

when she woke up, it was dark. the stars were out, glowing beautifully; jupiter hung right over the horizon, bright enough to leave a faint trail of reflection on the water, which seemed relatively calm. there was no noise, no more hissing, not even the slightest breeze. and she was sitting on her stump again. hadn't she gotten up? she wasn't sure. it took a few more moments to notice a presence next to her. "hey val, you alright?" asked the vague blob in her peripheral. myrtle, based on her voice. kinda raspy.

valentine turned her head, as if submerged in tacky glue. "uhhh..." she began to answer. she realized, though, that she didn't know what to say. wasn't sure if she had just been dreaming. "you didn't happen to, um." she felt stupid. they'd laugh at her for this, no doubt. "there were, uh. some shooting stars. did you see those?"

myrtle just chuckled, and patted her on the shoulder. "I was inside, remember? cmon val, you're cold as ice, and we need some relief. let's get some coffee in you, alright?" valentine didn't resist as she was led back along the path, back indoors. she couldn't really complain; she had almost started to forget what warmth felt like. once her fingers stopped burning, she carefully pulled her notebook out of her pocket, flipped it to the latest entry.

a half dozen very shaky fireballs.

she closed it and tucked it back into her pocket. she had work to do. daisy, from her bed in the corner, laughed to herself, and managed to pull her body up into a sort of halfway sitting position. it looked uncomfortable, but daisy didn't seem to mind at all. in fact, if you had asked her, valentine would have said she seemed completely healthy again, if it weren't for the ugly crust of dried snot around her nose and at the corners of her mouth. she looked right at her. right into her eyes. and seemed, almost, as if she was about to speak, but instead only winked, and climbed back underneath the blankets.

two days later, she died, without having said another word. they buried her near the edge of the woods. bev even liberated a decently sized gravestone from near the cliffs, careful not to fall down herself. they did what they could for her. when valentine was due to return home again, later that summer, she knew she wouldn't be coming back. she'd find another line of work. something less remote. only a couple years later, the lighthouse was automated, making their jobs obsolete anyway.

valentine didn't even hear about the lighthouse again until 1981. she had been chatting up some members of a tanker crew, in a little dive bar in anchorage. the windows were drafty as all fuck, and they huddled together near a space heater, telling stories about life on the sea. the guy next to her, matthew, brightened up when she mentioned cape hinchinbrook. "ya worked there, huh? ya don't say. useful light, yaknow." she chuckled to himself, and his companion, and older guy named chuck, just grunted.

"don't even start about that nonsense, matt. we can hear it coming a mile away," he said, looking like he might spit at the thought.

matthew brushed it off. "cmon, it's a good one. now, val, it's really funny, not long after you left, we were passin' there, as we used to do, and it was gettin' kinda late in the evening,"

"christ," groaned chuck, as he got up to get another beer. "fuckin' sick of this shit. call me back over when you've got somethin' original to spout off about."

"anyway!" matthew laughed, "it was... I think it was seventy three. we go past and, at first I think it's just a star, right? a bright star. but it's moving! circling around the lighthouse, like it fuckin owned the place! almost looked like, I dunno." he started to look discouraged. "like somethin' on fire, I guess. anyway, they say it's 'uninspired' or some shit. but I swear to you."

valentine took a drink. "just the one, you say?"

honestly, matthew just looked relieved to not be laughed at. "yeah," he said. "just the one."

#fiction #ufo #lighthouse #alaska

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