#He will fucking bury you six feet under if you cause trouble

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

one of my pet peeves for modern aus is the ones where they make izzy ed's best friend or longtime friend because if ed's gonna have one... its jack. it's literally supported by canon. like put izzy and jack next to the revenge crew and your answer for who fits in better is jack, whose only crimes in the show were trying to pull ed away from stede and committing seagull murder (all of which to save ed in a plan IZZY made) im so salty about all the hate jack gets in fics

Oh for sure. My least favoriate thing ever is when people put Izzy in another character's position. Jack is Ed's buddy at the very least. Izzy is just a coworker. Jack is who Ed would choose to hang out with 100% of the time if his options are Jack or Izzy. Also if you're gonna give Ed a best friend who is antagonistic to his new boyfriend, Stede and Jack being mean to each other is so much more fun in my personal opinion because Stede is mean to Izzy and Izzy's head explodes and steam starts coming out of his ears like he's in a cartoon and he yells something incoherent, where as Jack and Stede can have a bitchy little back and fourth that leaves Jack crying for sympathy and Stede's self esteem buried six feet under. It truly is the dynamic ever.

I don't usually have a problem with Jack hate in fics actually because jack is hateable and there often needs to be a villain, and in Our Flag so far the roster of villains has been Izzy, Jack, and the interchangeable badminton twins. Maybe the rich french fuckers but I don't want to give them that much credit tbh. so you know he's one of three and a half bad guys so I get it. However! there is one trope that frustrates me, and I think the main reason that it frustrates me is because its a trope that I hate with all of my guts and is pernicious in the calicobeard tag and that is the idea that Ed and Jack's relationship was non-consentual. There are tons of reasons to hate him, you don't have to turn him into a rapist. That's my pet peeve and my line. Otherwise yeah he's a villain, good. I like it when he causes problems. It's my favorite thing.

That being said I do think he's the most easily rehabilitated villain out of every villain in ofmd (I'm only counting Nigel, Chauncey, Izzy, and Jack as villains.) Simply because he's a pirate that we frankly don't actually know that much about. We don't even know why he's doing this. Yeah Izzy probably slid him a slice of that sweet sweet navy money under the table, but for all we know Izzy had that meeting with Jackie and Chauncey, found Jack afterwards and went "Hey man, so me and Blackbeard are on the outs right now and he's got this new boyfriend who is being super hunted by the British navy, the boyfriend is a rich guy and I know how much you hate those. But anyway Blackbeard doesn't know that Stede is being hunted and I just told them where they can find them so somebody should probably go get Blackbeard out of there and it shouldn't be me, because he's mad at me right now." and Jack said "Oh my god, you made a deal with the british navy? I'm gonna love watching Blackbeard kick your ass when I bring him back here. I'm going to now go do some insane shit to save his life again. Yeah sure I'll make sure the boyfriend dies just so that Beardy doesn't run back and get his ass killed, but only if you slide me a few dubbies for my troubles." It's also possible that he's full chaotic evil joker mode and when Izzy told him the plan he went "Yeah alright, haven't seen Beardy in a while could be funny." We simply do not know. Is he destitute because he's been mutinied three times and he needs the money? Has he never been mutinied in his entire life and he's minted because he's Calico fucking Jack and he's just here for shits and giggles? I tend to go with the "he cares about Ed" reading because I want to fuck him, but it's up to you. His backstory is wide open baby. What we do know Ed likes him a lot actually, Ed cares about him and Stede getting along. We know he saved Ed's life, even if he does hold it over his head because he's a shit head(although how often he does that is also a question mark, there's so much blank space to work with with him, he can be anything you want him to be other than nice).

And you know what, until the thing with Karl the crew liked him too. The crew never liked Izzy, whatever Jack's got going on is way more compatible with the crew than Izzy, and yet I see all these fics and headcanons where the idea that Izzy will stick around after all of this is over is just taken for granted. But they could easily forgive Jack if he sucked Ed's dick, moonbathed with Buttons, and slid Olivia some birdseed because he's funny and cool and Ed's buddy. Where as Izzy can never ever be trusted in a million years, he was never fun to be around, and no one likes him. (I'm sure Jack and Ed have fucked each other over before, they're messy bitches.)

Now I don't think Jack's getting rehabilitated in cannon, in fact we're probably never gonna see him again. I'm hoping for a flashback but I won't hold my breath. It's part of why I'm writing I'm Not Going Anywhere. Because somebody needs to put this man through the st*ddyhands treatment and it's not gonna happen in the show, so it is the realm of fanfiction and no one else is doing it. Jack was fucking built for an enemies to lovers because he's the kind of man who stands too close to his romantic rival at the urinals to prove his dick is bigger. Enemies to lovers is incredibly fun to do with Jack and Izzy because Izzy is eminently bullyable and also the kind of guy belongs in one of those "don't bully me I'll cum" shirts, but it can also be fun to do with Stede "pissboots" Bonnet. I'm not sure if INGA is going that direction I haven't decided yet, but someone should do it post haste I'm so serious.

I don't necessarily want everyone to see him how I see him. I'm fine with being his only apologist. back in april the universe decided he'd gone long enough being the most hated character and decided he needed one apologist and it spun the wheel of OFMD fans and it landed on me and I became the public defender appointed to him. I am over worked and underpaid and he is a terrible client. I have made him take a plea deal on the Karl murder charge.

This has gotten unhinged thank you for letting me chew on Calico jack for like 25 minutes.

#Calico Jack apologia #ofmd #our flag means death #calico jack #calico jack ofmd #izzy hands #izzy critical #this post isn't actually izzy critical i just don't want fights in my notes for days to come

[fridayisbestday]

A continuation of This

Tonight has been a shit night. Tonight, he has single handedly thrown out any chances of him and Midge being anything more than friends, so he's been trying to trick himself into believing that there was nothing precious about the colour blue.

However, before he could fully bask in his self pity the phone rang. He wanted to ignore it, but he thought better of it. So he slowly crawled out of his bed and answered the phone with an annoyed and tired tone.

“Hello?”

“Listen here and listen good.”

“Susie?”

“You pull that shit again, you’re dead, got it? Kaput.”

“Pull what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Bruce.” She warned, “I know guys who can cut your thumbs off and pull your fucking teeth out then bury you six feet under without giving two shits about your fucking jacket. So why the fuck did you do that?”

“My jacket?” He rubbed his hand across his face.

“Hey asshole, you don’t get to ask questions after the shit you pulled, you owe us a fucking explanation.”

“I don’t owe you shit.” He argued.

“Don’t give me that bullshit! You and I know you fucking love her, so what the fuck?” Love her...

“Susie!” Her voice scolded her manager, he could recognise that voice anywhere in his sleep or in a loud, crowded seedy club. Hearing her voice made him wonder for a second, just for a second. Why….? Why did he do that? Why was he so fucking stupid?

Before remembering his reasons, “I’m not worth the fucking trouble! Alright?!” He shouted into the phone, but really he was shouting at himself for not being good enough, “She’ll do better off without me and my fucking problems.” He paused, “Just tell her to forget about me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She yelled slowly with exasperation.

“What?” Her lack of reason angered him, “She’s gonna do good, better than good, better than me, she’s gonna forget about me anyway, I'm just pulling the plug early.” He reasons, “I’m not dragging her down with me.”

“Like she would give a shit.”

He ignored her comment and continued, “She gonna be a fucking star without me. Just tell her to forget about me, even being friends will do her more harm than fucking good.” His voice sounded less confidant than he wanted it to.

“You fucking coward, you think she will just 'cause y'asked? We’re talking about the same Midge here, right?”

“Susie, aren’t you her manager?! Do your fucking job and manage her! ‘Cause I’m not doing it again!”

“Fuck you!”

The last thing he heard was a slam and the line going dead.

Tonight has been a very shit night.

#tmmm #midge maisel #susie myerson #lenny bruce #midgelenny #midge x lenny

[lance-o-lot]

-Cheese is here and Lance is going to have to deal with them in the shop with a blowtorch-

“C’eese, ah swear teh gawd ah will bury yer arse in teh yard if yeh try sumt’in’ wit’ dat torc’ in meh s’op. Yeh been warned.”

#IC {Lance} #ask #answered #forgetthegouda #Lance: Don't you fucking dare #He is serious #He will fucking bury you six feet under if you cause trouble

[a-coulter-winchester]

Midnight Snack

Eric Coulter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut! Its all consensual! Oral, slight voyeurism and dirty talk. this is mild plot but mostly smut. 

(might do a part two with Four..) 

You woke up a little startled but mostly stuck in a haze of sleepiness. Warm soft and hungry lips trailed along your neck and jawline leaving wet marks behind. The sensation made your entire body break out in goosebumps but underneath it felt electrified and hot. Strong large calloused hands worked their way up your abdomen searching slowly for your breasts. A large muscular leg slumped over your thighs and pushed between them forcing you to spread your legs and pinning you in place.

The fingers danced along the swell of your breasts. You twitched at the feeling and your hands sluggishly reached for the wrist buried under your loose night shirt. You tried to pull down and remove the hand but you were too weak. The wondering Fingers found your nipples and teased them until they peaked. They pinched and tugged gently at the puffed up nubs. You couldn’t help but lean into him and moan softly. The feeling caused a bolt of arousal to stir an aching flame between your thighs.

“Wh-what are you doing.” You mumbled barely piecing the correct words together.

There was no reply but you were silenced with a mouth. Your lips locked and opened in the middle. He consumed you through a kiss. His tongue slipped in and You welcomed it. He began to tug and pinch your nipples harder making you arch your back and moan into his mouth. You wanted him to stop for all right reasons yet you never wanted someone to take you more than you wanted him to right now. You should of hated this, You should have snapped out of it and screamed at him. You could probably lose friends for sleeping with him or even your ex Four.

He tasted like mint and honey but smelled of smoked cedar and fresh water springs. You felt so warm pressed up against his muscular body. He exuded a heat that could keep you warm in the winter time.

You gasped again as he took one nipple in-between his thumb and finger. Your hands relaxed and you allowed him more room to work. You were so lost in a war deep inside your mind. Between what felt right and what was morally correct. That you hadn’t noticed his lips peppering kisses away from your mouth until his teeth and tongue grazed over your sensitive tips. He switched from one breast to the other making you whimper into darkness.

“Stay quiet.” He hissed around your nipple. It made your blood run cold. You knew he was right given the fact that six other initiates slept only a few feet away.

It also angered you. How was anyone to stay quiet when someone such as Eric was so skilled in making a person quiver and come alive the way he did.

It was the way he made you feel that kept you submissive to him. In these late hours he could probably get you to do anything he wanted. While during the day. Your mouth and stubbornness often got you in trouble. The fear of getting caught is what kept you from fighting with him now. You covered your mouth with your hand. Trying to control your breathing would help but it would only get worse.

“Good girl.” He taunted you. Knowing you hated when he said that. Something about it made you wet while also making you cringe.

Maybe it was the acknowledgement of his success in having power over you. Everything he did was controlled and calculated.

You tried to clear your mind. Eric left your breasts and slowly disappeared into the darkness. All you could do was stare up at the jagged ceiling while his lips kiss and nipped at your stomach. You held your breath when he was centered over you sex. He made sure to not touch the most sensitive parts.

His movements slowed to a very gentle and loving nature. This always confused you because it seemed out of place for Eric. He was usually cold and rough, straight to the point. This was where it was dangerous, if you didn’t keep your guard up this is what could make you soft for him. This is what would make you fall for him.

His lips felt hot as he pressed them into your inner thigh. It felt like he was branding you. He nipped hard enough to catch the skin, not enough to really hurt you. He sucked on the tender flesh and it made your groan deep in your throat. Your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths and your legs shivered. He kissed moving down. His hand gripped the outsides of your thighs keeping you right where he needed you.

The warmth spread across your mound and you wanted so badly to thrust your hips up so that he would be aligned with your sweet spot. Instead he went right to the other thigh. Kissing and then biting again to suck on the supple flesh. The teasing was starting to really set in. You wanted him more than anything and the urge to beg sat on the edge of your tongue.

“Eric!” You whispered harshly. It was a warning as he placed a chaste kiss against your folds like he would to lovers lips.

You swore you could feel him smirk against you. His grip tightened on your legs as you threatened to shut them. He continued to kiss your softness. Tasting the moisture that was collecting there. Feeling heat that was building deep inside of you. Your body shivered again and you tried to wiggle away but his grip was too strong and only added to the effects he had on you.

Slowly and gently he parted your folds with his lips. It made you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, anticipating what would come next. He breathed against you letting cool air hit your molten core. You whimpered alerting him that your guard was fully down and that you were his now. He stuck his tongue out and slowly slid it over your entrance and up towards your clit. You gripped the sheets and gritted your teeth waiting for it.

The Bastard stopped and only continued to softly kiss around your thighs again.

“Eric, pleeeease. Please. I need more.” You cried as softly as you could hoping he could hear but no one else would.

Eric seemed to ignore your pleas. He planted a hot wet kiss right over your clit. His tongue darted out quickly causing you to jerk at the sudden attack. A strangled moan slipped up causing you to slap your hand over your mouth.

The man was cruel he had teased you until you couldn’t take it anymore. And now he was licking and sucking on your clit with no mercy. You couldn’t hold back anymore you let out soft quiet moan and your hips started to push up and down. The bed creaked quietly enough to make you slow your movements even though Eric didn’t let up. Your whole body shook and it wouldn’t be long before you spilled over the precipice.

“Fuck you’re wet.” Eric whispered against your hot folds as he slipped a finger inside of you. You were tight but so wet that his finger just slipped right in. He pushed in until he was buried up to his knuckles, then he flexed his finger around in search of your G-spot.

“No!” Was all you could say as he hit it. You wanted to scream and cry out how good he made you feel but you had to remain quiet.

He sucked on your clit, giving a few good thrusts with his finger before he had you mewling into your pillow. You came hard and Eric didn’t let up. There was no way to stay quiet at that point. You moaned loudly into the pillow gripping it so hard that your knuckles turned white and it started to become hard to breathe.

To your horror the bed creaked to your left and you both froze. Eric moved away from your thighs but laid still against the bed. You peeked out nervously from the pillow to see Will turning to face the wall. After what seemed like an eternity he stilled and his breathing went back to a deep almost snore like rhythm.

You took a deep breath and turned to Eric who was now positioning himself at your entrance. You could feel his tip at your entrance as he leaned forward one hand went to your mouth covering it fully to keep any moans or whimpers in the palm of his hand. His free hand gripped your shoulder as he pushed in. Your eyes fluttered as he stretched you and filled you up. You were thankful for his hand because a groan of pleasure erupted in your throat.

“Isn’t this better than fighting me all the time?” His voice deep and full of lust. He whispered into your ear before nipping at the lobe.

He didn’t give you much time to adapt to his size but from being well lubricated it didn’t hurt. He pulled back and pushed in slowly it was almost agonizing. You could feel every inch and detail of the shape of his cock pushing past your walls.

He grunted softly staring down at you. It was more for his pleasure to watch you squirm and moan for him than it was to be intimate with you. You thought to look away but your eyes were locked onto his. Those beautiful yet devilish blue eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tried to match up with his thrusts.

Something changed and you suddenly felt like you could relax and totally let him take care of you. He kept his same slow tempo, only he was starting to push deeper a little harder. Every time he’d brush against your sweet spot, the patch of nerves deep within your sex. 

“Next time you mouth off to me at training. I’ll take you like this behind the punching bags.” Eric kissed your neck pushed in deep. You arched your back another orgasm slowly building this time it felt more intense.

“Would you like that? The risk of Four and everyone knowing what a slut you are for me?” Eric gripped your shoulder tighter and pumped in and out of you faster.

The metal frame creaked in the room. All noises seemed to echo around the cement structure and Eric didn’t seem to care anymore if someone heard you. You moaned lewdly into his hand. Both your eyes became glassy as both of you neared your ecstasy. Eric grunted a deep and guttural grunt you could almost feel it through his chest. You begged him with your eyes. He seemed to know what you were saying. He moved his hand to replace it with his mouth. He kissed you passionately and hard as he picked up the pace. Both you were Moaning as your tongue sloppily danced in your mouths. His hand found your breasts and he flicked his thumbs over your nipples sending you faster over the edge.

Your arms wrapped around Eric’s neck and you held him tightly to you as if his oxygen was the only thing keeping you alive. Your toes curled and your body shook violently as your walls clenched and released. Eric groaned loving how tight you felt around his cock.

You felt sensitive and overheated as you came down from your high. Eric nestled himself in the nook of your neck as he neared his own orgasm.

“Eric, please don’t come in me.” You begged him calmly. You meant it but you were stuck in a world of bliss. You meant to say it confidently but your voice cracked into a soft moan. 

Eric only replied with growl as he pressed himself deep inside of you before coming himself. He stayed inside of you until he was sure there wasn’t even a drop left. Both of you lay there a hot sweaty mess. Eric didn’t lean back or pull out until he was completely soft. Once he did you could feel it drip out of you making a small puddle on the bed. Eric said nothing he just pulled up his pants and left.

———-

The next morning you felt sore and tired. You were still forced to get up early and to go to training. You knew today would be hell. All you wanted to do was stay in bed and sleep until tomorrow morning.

“Y/N are you ok?” Tris asked with look of worry on her face.

“Yeah, you look like shit.” Peter said pushing past to get ahead of the group. His comment and pushiness earned him a few eye rolls.

Your lack of sleep showed, you could barely throw an elbow or punch. You felt like a ghost trying to move a solid object. Eric walked by and everyone went silent. You swallowed hard and turned to see him staring at you. Once you made eye contact he smirked slightly, just enough for you to notice. He subtly licked his lips. That was it just that one gesture and you came undone. Your knees felt weak and the fire deep in your core came to life. You turned away and bit your lip, trying to focus on throwing some punches.

“Looks like I know how shut you up now.” Eric said in your ear sending shivers down your spine.

You would let Eric have his victory because now all you could think about was when the two of you would have a chance to be alone again.

#eric divergent #eric fanfic #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter x you #fanfiction smut #divergent fanfiction #divergent series #Smut #jai courtney

[silksaddle]

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing. 

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath. 

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours. 

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him. 

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view. 

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

-

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand. 

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area. 

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort. 

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…” 

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband. 

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.” 

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly. 

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.” 

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion. 

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon. 

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair. 

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

-

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye. 

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands. 

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness. 

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt. 

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

-

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap. 

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you. 

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.” 

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.” 

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away. 

-

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe. 

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground. 

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips. 

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?” 

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order. 

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.” 

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace. 

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.” 

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!” 

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it. 

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!”  You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

-

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey​ @javier-pena​ @javierpcna​ @astroboots​ @userdindja @pedros-mustache​ @princessxkenobi​ @trashcora​ @writerdee1701​ @thelemongeneration​ @libraryofrecs​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @herb-welch​ @writeforfandoms​ @queenofthecloudss​ @leannawithacapitala​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @kesskirata​ @fuck-goes-on​ @lawfulgranola​@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza​ @xemmaloveskillianx​ @littlemissoblivious​ @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @little-big-mac2​ @recklesswit​ ​@frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed! 

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal #agent whiskey #pedrostories #userastrid #tuserdaniela #userdindja #xuserannie #userhai #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #western au #jack daniels i love you forever #no devil dealings here...

[sparkbeast20]

You’re my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt15 Final

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8 Pt9 Pt10 Pt11 Pt12 Pt13 Pt14

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature.

Previously

“Okay, now here’s the Plan” Satan start discussing about how to trap Lucifer and make sure that he and Mammon stay in one place and not make the same mistake as before.

“Why do I have to carry the two of ya” Mammon as Levi and Belphie are in his arms. While you are with Beel upfront and Satan with Asmo is behind of two, as Beel following Lucifer’s scent.

“Because your more bigger then Beel right” Levi answer him, and Mammon just groans at him.

“I didn’t realize how soft your feathers are Mammon, this could be great for pillow stuffing” as Belphie said it, he nuzzles his face on to Mammon’s arm. Hiding the fact that he misses his big brother.

“OI! Don’t get any idea!!” Belphie sleepy laugh at Mammon’s bash reply, which Belphie scoffs.

Beel track down Lucifer’s scent in the mountain’s valley near the woods where Mammon’s treasure cavern is, soon you all hear a shrike from the distant, to both Mammon and Satan displease with the latter which clench his fist so tight he dug his nails into the palm of his hand.

“Satan, are you okay…...your trembling” Asmo asks as he feel Satan shaking.

“It’s fine Asmo…... it’s just my instinct kicking in, maybe because we’re in his territory I start acting like this. Shit I didn’t expect this strong of a demonic presence, this ruin the plan entirely”

“So, what now?”

“Our best bet is y/n’s pact with Lucifer, pinning him down long enough for at least on of us cast a chain spell on him, then Mammon can make sure he doesn’t escape”

After minutes of flying, both Asmo and Beel to feel weak and unease, and Mammon sees it.

“Oi, what’s going on with you two”

“I don’t know…... its like my body is getting heavy” Beel can barely say it, he felt like something is causing his body to feel numb.

“I think…... I can’t go on” Asmo started to slowly decent down, as Satan tries to talk to him.

“Asmo! You need to~”

Suddenly both Asmo and Beel felt a surge through their body, they felt that their wings are getting heavier.

“Shit! I can’t move wings” Beel is trying his damnedest to keep flying, eventually he can’t take it anymore and decided to make an emergency landing in one of the path ways between the mountains, and Asmo followed suit with Mammon not far behind.

“Beel! Are you okay!” Belphie immediately rushes to his twin’s side as Asmo can barely stand, while the rest looks around to see where you guys landed.

“Mammon…...” you called out to him, with a worried tone in your voice, as if you felt someone or something is watching you.

“Stay right there, I’ll come to you” Mammon start walking towards you, when he stops and his feathers immediately stand upright, and his wings is spread out in a defensive way.

You quickly turned around to see a black griffin-like demon with six pair wings, a tail with seven peacock feathers on the tip end, familiar horns and eyes with the sclera ink black with crimson red eyes staring directly at you.

“Lucifer…...” you mutter under you’re breathe as your eyes start to shifted, scared of what’s is going to happen.

Lucifer shrikes, launches himself towards you, but Mammon leaps over you, and colliding with Lucifer. The two of them fall on the ground and quickly got up and take a defensive stance as they growl at each other.

“Lucifer! Snap out it. Your better than this. You know us, you know me!” but the only thing that Lucifer did was shrike at Mammon and rushes at him. But then.

“Lucifer. STAY!?!” Immediately Lucifer was pinned on the ground, and try to struggle out of the invisible force on his body down.

Mammon turns around to see you with one hand reaching out and your pact mark with Lucifer glow on the right side of your chest, but Mammon can see that you’re struggling to hold down Lucifer.

The others finally got up, then Satan start casting the spell while the others circle around the two older brothers.

“Lucifer!!” Asmo calls out to him only met with anger shrike, then Levi and Beel start walking close to the two.

Feeling surrounded and threaten by his brothers. Lucifer, let out an eerie shrike causing the other brothers halted in place as they can feel their body twitching uncontrollably as they feel an uncontrollable force making their body weak causing them to fall on their knees all expect Mammon who fought the effect of Lucifer’s shrike, as he makes his way to him.

He sees it in Lucifer’s eyes. Fear, panic and confusion in his eyes just remained when he was like this, not even fully changed yet, and he was terrified. But you were there with him before and after transformation to keep him company and you might know it, but you were his guide back to his sanity when he was lost in his own instinct, now you’re helping him with Lucifer’s own beast.

This time he’ll be the guide for his brother, now he towards over the avatar of pride subdue state, with the attend to remain him of the promise he made with him long ago.

“Lucifer” Mammon calls out to his brother with sincere and honest in his voice “I’ll still stand by you, Lucifer” He stop shrike, and look at Mammon with confusion in his eyes. “Remember what I said to you long ago, I never regret following you and never will we need you Lucifer."

Mammon, will not let this happen, losing him like this. not even in a fight.

But he didn't know that Lucifer can hear him and remember that night.

The night he took Mammon's advice, and that draw him back to his senses, as Mammon continue on.

"And if I have to beat that to your thick head to make you realize that we need you and how much you need me. I know you’ll never say it~”

“I do need you Mammon….” He’s eyes widen to hear Lucifer talk to him, even his like this “I…...I’m sorry…. for lying and…... everything”

He got to him. He knew that Lucifer can hear him.

Mammon chuckles to Lucifer’s apology, to think his never going to hear this from him once this all over.

Meanwhile Levi was the first one to get back on his feet, and witness what he always wanted. The two talking with out turning into an argument. With Mammon comforting Lucifer in his own way.

“Oi, you can’t say things like that here, what if Satan or Belphie hear ya” he getting through to him. “Lucifer, listen. We’re gonna stay in the cave until you get a hold of this. It’s too dangerous to go back home yet. Don’t worry I’m stay and help ya through this” he smiles with eyes at Lucifer.

“Your …... enjoying this aren’t you” even with the demonic voice, Mammon can tell that Lucifer sound tired. Maybe once there in the cave, he can tease his brother.

“y/n its okay, he’s calming down”

“Are you sure” he nodded in respond, so you lower you hand and sigh in relief. Then let the first and second be alone while check on the others.

Once the force of the pact was gone, Lucifer got up with his head hang low. Disappoint at himself for using the book, he thought it was necessary with Mammon’s state. He was wrong, then he looks up to see Mammon who is trouble maker, stepping up took charge, when he was gone. He might be mentally exhausted but he can clearly see how Mammon has grown.

Lucifer walk up to Mammon and lean his head on Mammon's Shoulder, and let out a satisfy squawk. Then he pat Lucifer on the head, just glad that his calming down

“Good to have ya back, brother”

Once he reaches the nest in the cavern, Lucifer flop in the center nest and immediately fell in sleep, while Mammon watch from the mouth of the cavern.

After making sure that Lucifer is fully asleep, he heads towards you and the rest of his brothers to entre way of the cave.

“How is he?” you ask as you walk over to him.

“he’s asleep, he would be tired after all of that flying after changing” he answering you, before puling you into hug and holding you tightly. “Make sure our room is clean, by the time we get back kay’” you hum in respond as you bury your face into him, and start sobbing. “Hey! Its not like I’ll be gone forever. It’ll be a week, or even least with Lucifer prideful head, keeping him in control.”

You look up to him with tears gathering in the corner of your eye. “I know, is just I couldn’t help to feel responsible to cause all of this” tears start fall, but Mammon use the back of his hand to wipe it off.

“y/n even if we didn’t go to the casino that night, I would have done everything to make sure your save and sound, you’re my treasure after all” you blush and hide your face in his feathery chest and he laughs at your action “Hahaha. Now who’s flustered now!”

“Shaddup”

“Oh my, your even talk like him. You really need this time to be apart” Asmo chipper in as he and Beel are getting ready to fly back to house.

“Come on normie! We can’t waste more time here anymore. I’ve missed three days’ worth of events and login~”

“Oi! You’re not going anywhere; you’re staying here with me and Lucifer.” Mammon cuts off Levi and quickly grab him by the helm of his jacket and drag him back.

“This so unfair!?! Why do I’ve to stay?”

“Welp we’re off” Satan grab hold on to Asmo, he and Beel with you and Belphie arm on each of his arm took off leaving a pleading Levi yelling to take him with you.

Once you all are far way from the cave Asmo flew closer to Beel, Satan start talking to you.

“Enjoy the next couple of days with no Lucifer, because once he and those two come home, expect your name to be written on the ceiling”

“Satan!” Asmo butts in “Lucifer wouldn’t do that to our little human, he might be cruel but he’s not that heartless”

Satan looks up to Asmo with a grin on his face, telling him that to eat his own words.

“I can’t believe you would do that to our human Lucifer!?! How could you!”

“Asmo, I will not hesitant to strung you up to, for giving a headache this early in the morning”

“So, Lucifer how’s it feels being back to chaos and piles of paper works”

“You two, better enjoy your freedom now. Because once Diavolo approve the use of the book. You’ll be first two are going to change and I’ll make sure of that”

After returning from that cave with Mammon and Levi, two days ago. Lucifer had been catching up with a week worth’s of reports, bills, and paper works.

Now Asmo is at his side nagging and Satan just being Satan, as he makes his way to staircase where him strung you up by the waist after finding out that it was you who drag Mammon at that Casino in the first place.

As he got there, he saw Beel looking up to where you are being hanged.

“Beel what are you~” he Immediately cuts himself off when he looks up to see that you were gone and the rope is cut. Satan and Asmo try not to laugh at the whole thing.

“Ah? Lucifer” he glances over to Beel who is holding a white feather in his hand. “I find this~”

“MAAAMOOON!”

At the roof of the house was you at Mammon arms just being at each other’s presences as you two heard Lucifer screaming his name.

“Looks like that our que to fly out of here”

“Where do we go?” as you ask Mammon lifted you up in his arms, and quickly shifted into his tame form.

“Where do ya want to go?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, lean in to kiss him on the cheek, then set you head on his shoulder.

“Anywhere, as long your there” he chuckles “ya got it, treasure” and take off, flying to the dark sky. Happy and content.

Fin

Note: I didn’t expect for this story to take this long.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me reader x mammon #obey me monster love #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me blue lotus petals

[annmarcus63]

He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up  that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  · ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ··  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  · ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ··  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  · ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·

An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask”  said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

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First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

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Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

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Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #injury #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

[santigarcia]

Camping 🏕

Human Touch Part Eight

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

word count: 3.4k

rating: M for smut, dirty talk, hurt/comfort (pls don’t read unless ur 18+!)

summary: You and Nathan go on a camping trip in your backyard.

a/n: thank you all so much for reading this series! let me know what yall think! thank you to @punkpascal​​ and @sergeantkane​​​ as always!!

Nathan bolts upright in his sleep. His gasp for air wakes you. He’s up and out of the bed before you can ask him what’s wrong. His feet carry him fast across the floor into the bathroom. He doesn’t even close the door all the way before he’s turning on the shower and stepping inside.

You can’t help but worry, so you quietly get up and walk into the bathroom.

“Nathan?” no answer.

You turn the corner and see him sitting on the shower floor. He didn’t even fully undress. His boxers are sticking to his wet thighs. He’s covering his head with his arms.

“Nathan?” you touch the top of his head and he looks up at you. His eyes red from crying. “What’s going on? The dream again?”

He nods.

He struggles to turn his mind of, with you at his side it helps. But it’s not a permanent solution. Sometimes, most times it’s good. That mind of his needs to be working. But there’s a negative side. Nightmares plague his mind. Not often, but often enough it’s troubling to him.

His most frequent one involves you dying at the hand of his AI. Him stuck behind a glass door watching as you fall, covered in your own blood.

“Ok baby, stand up.” You reach for his arm and ‘pull’ him up. There’s no way you can pull him, but he stands up with you. You peel off his shorts, and you take off your sleep shirt. You shove him under the spray and grab his beard wash. You lather it up good and dig your fingers into his beard. He sighs heavily, he’s beginning to relax.

“You had to strip me naked to wash my beard?” he quips.

“There he is,” you grin and kiss his shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk tomorrow ok? Get some fresh air.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I have those fucked dreams when I overwork.”

“I know,” you nod gently. “Fresh air will do you good. Get out of the house for the day.”

The next morning Nathan is up bright and early. He wakes you up with kisses before the sun’s come up.

“Rise and shine!” he bounces off the bed and throws a pair of your jeans on the bed.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” your eyes creak open and you snort out a soft laugh. “Do you need to go for a walk, boy?” you tease.

“Stop,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll reconsider my plans of taking you up against a tree.”

“No please! Anything but that!” you giggle and throw the blankets back.

While you get dressed, he talks. He’s packed backpacks for you both, and he throws you a piece of fruit for breakfast.

“It might be chilly this morning, so take one of my jackets,” he looks at you softly. You have plenty of jackets, but he likes seeing you in his. “Pick your favorite,” he tells you and you walk right over to his closet and grab the one you always grab. It’s the warmest. It’s also his favorite so it smells like him.

“Ready?” he asks while you pull on his jacket.

“Ready,” you loop your arm with his and you step out the back door together.

He’s better at hiking than you are. If he could he’d sprint up the cliffs and see if he could beat his time. But he likes walking with you. It’s slower, but he can appreciate the view. It’s a gorgeous day.

“Are you just talking about my ass?”

“Maybe,” he grabs a handful causing you to squeal. “It really is a beautiful day.”

“It’s a little chilly for my taste though,” you shiver when a gust of wind blows. You shove your hands in the jacket pockets and you feel a small velvety box. “Nathan?” you pull it out. You stand frozen in the middle of the trail, he’s a few steps ahead of you when he turns.

“Open it.”

You click the box open to find a beautiful diamond ring.

“What’s this for?” you gasp softly.

“Well, you – kitten,” he smiles softly. “Will you marry me?” he comes closer taking the ring out of the box.

“Nathan…”

He puts the ring on your finger and kisses your fingertips. “I’m gonna need an answer kitten.”

“We’re married you goofball! We have been for like three weeks now!” you laugh.

“I know, but I wanted you to have this. I completely forget to take it with me when we got married.”

“How long have you had this?”

His eyes get a little wide and he clears his throat. You swear he’s blushing. His cheeks are pink from the wind, but that’s not it.

“Like a week….after…”

“After what?”

“We met,” he bites his lip, his face is really red now and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Nathan,” your throat feels tight and you put your hand on his chest. His heart is thudding rapidly under your palm. “You secret romantic.”

“I knew what I wanted,” he shrugs. “So, that’s a yes?”

You shake your head laughing, but you give him a resounding yes.

“Good, I was scared there for a minute,” he leans in to kiss your lips. Then again. Then one more time.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he cocks his head.

“You need a ring!”

“I was going to make one.” He takes your hand in his and you start walking again. He tells you about the plan he has for his ring, and why he didn’t make yours. How he would have spent too long on the details and it was easier to buy one than to agonize over it. You smile listening to him ramble. He’s excited.

“Well, I love it,” you tell him, outstretching your hand to look at it. When you reached back for him, you took a wrong step and your foot slips between to rocks. “Nathan, my foot! It's stuck! I think I twisted my ankle!!” you scream louder than you mean to, but the pain and sudden falling scared you.

He whips around and reaches for you, “Ok, whoa, hold still for a second. Let me help you out.” He’s very calm, he doesn’t panic. His hands steadies your teetering body as checks you’re alright.

“I can’t move it!” you start to panic.

“Hey, whoa,” he gently cups your face. “Stay with me, I need you to stay calm. It’s gonna be ok. Let me help you.”

“Ok ok,” you lean into his touch. “It really hurts,” you hiss out in pain. “Sorry I ruined this hike.”

“Don’t worry about it, ok? I know it hurts, I’m gonna help,” he brushes your cheek. “It’s gonna be ok.” He kneels then to check your ankle his hands steady on your leg. “Put your hands on my shoulder- keep your balance.”

He carefully moves one of the rocks aside, and you cry out when your ankle is free.

“I know, baby,” he rubs his thumb gently over your swollen ankle. It’s dirty and there’s a scrape from the rock when you slipped in.

“What now?” you wince.

“Let’s see if you can put weight on it first. If not, I’ll carry you back.”

“You are not carrying me down this mountain Nathan Bateman,” you grunt trying to steady yourself. His hands are on you, keeping you steady. You have your hurt foot up; it hurts too much to step on it. “I- I don’t think I can put weight on it.”

“It’s ok, baby. Let’s get you home, ok?” he wraps his arm around your waist and holds your hand with his other. “Walk with me ok? One step at a time.”

He walks in tandem with you for the rest of hike down. His hands are strong in guiding you, making sure not to let you slip. You squeeze his arm tight when it gets slippery, but he never lets you fall.

“Did you just flex your arm?”

“Maybe,” his eyes flick over to yours and he looks forward quickly. “I coulda carried you, ya know.”

“Nathan-“

“Have a little faith, baby, I know you’ve checked me out when I lift,” he smirks. And yeah, he could carry you. But his arms would have fatigued from the length of the journey. You kiss his cheek; it means everything he cares enough to even think about that.

“You like when I check you out,” you bury your face in his shoulder.

“You know I do.” Smirk. “Gets me hot.”

“Ok focus up baby, don’t get hard out here when you can’t do anything about it,” you giggle.

“Hey, I’m trying to distract you,” he chuckles softly. “I can function with my cock a little hard, I’m not a teenager.”

“distract away then. If you think you can make it,” you tease him.

“I was looking forward to you letting me fuck you up against the tree at the top. Or at least let me finger fuck you. Shit, I’m addicted to your pussy.”

“That was what I wanted too, but then I slipped and well, here we are,” you groan softly. “Now I'm thinking about your fingers.”

“I’ll give you my fingers when we get home and get some ice on that ankle, how does that sound? If you’re feeling up for it,” he teases back.

Walking with him is nice, despite the pain in your ankle. He keeps the mood light and makes corny jokes and promises of pleasure when you get home.

“My ankle is hurt not the rest of me!” you snort. “I’m not looking forward to the ankle wrap. It’s really hurting.”

“I know, but it’ll help you heal baby. Will you let me at least carry you through the front door? Since we’re officially married now?”

“Nathan!” you laugh but you let him. He holds you for one second and then sets you down- just enough to cross over the front step.

“Alright, let’s get you taken care of yeah?”

You can’t help but cling to his jacket sleeve a little too tight. He turns when he feels your tug.

“I know, baby. It’s gonna be ok. You could put a little weight on it, so I don’t think it’s broken, it just needs to rest a little bit. I’ll get you some painkillers and then we’ll get that ankle wrapped.” He kisses your forehead, and he wraps his arms around you again to help you walk through the house.

“I'm sorry I'm being such a baby. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“It’s ok, cuz you’re my baby,” he chuckles softly. “I’m always gonna take care of you, baby. It’s part of the husband package.”

“I like the husband package,” you laugh, but the moment the words come out of your mouth you laugh for a different reason. “Don't say it, I know you're thinking it. Don't say it!”

“I know you like my package,” he pumps his eyebrows. “I’m sorry! You can’t just set me up like that and expect me not to say it!” he laughs out loud. You like when he laughs, he’s freer. More relaxed. You’d been worried you ruined the day by falling, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all.

“Ok,” you take a deep breath. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s carefully taken your shoes and socks off, and slowly peeled down your jeans. He was extra careful about your ankle. “I’m ready,” you tell him.

With warm water he cleans the dirt off and disinfects the scrape. You recoil but he’s stronger than you.

“I know kitten.” He kisses your knee and your shin before he starts wrapping your ankle. “Let me know if it’s too tight?”

You watch him as he wraps you up. His smooth fingertips brush your skin. It’s calming. He’s entirely focused on wrapping your ankle and you can’t help but smile at the way his brow creases in concentration.

Having him take care of you, and the image of him kneeling in front of your spread legs is getting you hot for him. The moment he’s done, you grab his hand.

“Nathan?” You put his hand between your legs, and he starts to rub you through your underwear. “I need you here.”

“Fuck, you went from concerned to horny so fast…”

“You’ve taken such good care of me and you mentioned fingerfucking- oh-“ you throw your head back on a sigh as his fingers press a little harder. He slides your panties down your legs and spread you open for him.

“I’ll definitely give you my fingers, baby. Still ok?” he looks up at you after he pulled your panties off your legs.

“I just can’t move my foot.”

“Try and sit still, let daddy work. Where do you need my mouth and fingers, baby? I wanna hear you say it.”

“I want your fingers in me.”

“Where kitten? In your mouth?” he slips two fingers in your mouth and you moan around him. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your clit, and you gasp around his fingers. “Fuck, I love the way you taste.”

“Wait,” you moan and pull his hand away. “Put my leg over your shoulder, it’s hard not to move it.”

He kisses your thigh as he lifts your thigh over his shoulder. He’s gentle not to aggravate your hurt ankle. But this position is much more comfortable.

“Better?”

“Yes,” you giggle, “please keep going.”

“Eager?” he teases and slips his fingers now into your heat. His mouth closes around your clit and he sucks hard while his fingers curl in deep. “Feel better baby?”

Your moan is your answer, and he smiles.

“Fuck, you taste amazing.”

“How many times have you eaten me out and you still say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he moans licking your heat. He moves his fingers so he can get a better taste, and he puts his fingers back in your mouth. He chokes out a groan when you suck on his fingers, his dick aching with need from feeling you.

“Right there!” you gasp around his fingers, and he repeats the motion with his lips. His beard tickles your thighs, and he chuckles softly when you hit your high.

“Feel better kitten?” he asks when he pulls off you. He gently lowers your leg and kisses your knee again. He unzips his pants, and you watch him pump his cock with his wet fingers.

“You need me baby?” you sit up, but he presses his hand to your chest. He gently pushes you back down.

“Let me take care of you? Yeah?” he stands to lower his pants and he lines himself up with your entrance. He stays standing while you lay on your back. His hands grab your thighs, and he pushes in slowly. You both groan as he slides in all the way. His hand stays on your injured leg, so you won’t move it, but he lets you wrap your other leg around him. His free thumb presses onto your sensitive clit and he doesn’t stop touching you until you’re pulsing around him. He knows how to drag it out, and he has the endurance to do so, but right now he wants to come fast and hard. So that’s what he does.

He moans louder than you when hits his high.

“Nathan, you came so hard,” you giggle watching him. “You’re turned on by the wedding ring, aren’t you?”

“Fuck,” his cock jumps again inside you. Your laugh mixes with a moan.

“You are full of surprises,” you sit up and press a kiss to his shoulder.

“And you’re full of me,” he hums. He kisses the top of your head before he pulls out. “You want me to draw you a bath baby girl?”

“I’d love that,” you sigh.

“I’ve got something I need to work on, so I’ll let you bathe in peace yeah?”

“You better not- Nathan! You need an off day!”

“It’s not what you think woman!” he kisses your cheek. He adjusts himself in his pants and leaves to start you a bath. He helps you in the tub, and he disappears to work on his secret project.

You soak for a long while, it feels amazing and soothes your aches. He wanders back in a little while later just in time to help you out, so you won’t fall.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says grabbing a towel and wrapping it tight around you. He sets down a stack of clothes for you, which includes some fresh underwear, some sweatpants, and one of his shirts.

“What have you been up to?”

“Get dressed and you’ll see,” he smiles. He helps you step into your clothes and it pricks at your heart how gentle he is.

Once you’re ready, he guides you down the hall to one of the rooms in the house that’s not being used for anything currently. He covers your eyes with his hands and when he moves them, you see there’s a tent set up on the floor with sleeping bags. There’s a little lantern on the floor illuminating the space, and you see a package of marshmallows and chocolate for s’mores. It was your original plan before you slipped and fell.

“Nathan!” you gasp looking at all of it.

“I thought I’d bring the campsite to you,” he smiles and motions for you to come sit on one of the sleeping bags.

He walks over to a laptop he has set up and you start to scold him, but he pouts.

“Just one thing, let me do just one thing!” he laughs and punches in a quick code. The ceiling then lights up with stars and a soft hue of Aurora Borealis. “I wanted to do this on the deck, but it’s raining. Guess it ended up better we were here after all.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile.

“Now,” he sits down next to you. “How do you want your marshmallows?”

“How are you cooking them??”

He flicks out a lighter and holds it under a marshmallow he has ready on a wire coat hanger.

“Nathan-“

“How do you want your marshmallow?” he’s rotating the stick over the lighter.

“Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Golden brown and gooey on the inside.”

He closes his eyes and clicks off the lighter. He sighs and looks at you with a cocked brow for a solid 20 seconds.

“I fuckin’ hate how adorable that was even though that was a terrible joke babe. One Nathan marshmallow coming right up-“

“So, you don’t deny it.”

“Deny what?” he asks while he starts cooking the marshmallow.

“That you’re gooey on the inside.”

“I am perfectly golden brown,” he grins, “but yeah ok I’m gooey for you. Only you though.”

He makes your s’more and hands it to you while he starts on his own.

“I like mine burnt to a crisp,” he states, sticking his tongue in the corner of his mouth while he burns the marshmallow.

“Please don’t burn the house down,” you tell him while you bite into the sweet treat.

“There’s a sprinkler system, it’s fine.”

He makes his s’more and eats it happily. You watch him devour it and you can’t help but laugh at him.

“Good?” you giggle.

“I haven’t had one of these in forever,” he says shoving his hand in the bag to get another marshmallow out.

Before he starts to cook it, you lean up and kiss his cheek. He turns to look at you, his eyes soft.

“Thank you for taking care of me today. And for all this,” you cuddle into him.

“It’s what I’m supposed to do,” he says. “That reminds me-“ he reaches into his sweats pocket and pulls out a little ring. “Made this too,” he hands it to you.

“What’s it made of?” You ask holding it in your palm. It’s silver.

“A leftover piece from one of the AI. A reminder.” He holds his hand out to you, telling you to slide the ring on his finger. He kisses your lips; his kisses taste sweet. There’s chocolate in the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” you tell him when you pull apart. “Even though you have marshmallow stuck on your beard.”

“I love you,” he replies, “even though you made a really lame joke,” he winks.

You curl back into him as he starts again on his next s’more. Besides from your twisted ankle, this night couldn’t be more perfect.

This time he just pops the marshmallow in his mouth. His mouth is full, but he still asks, “So round two in the tent?”

tagging: @pascal-isaac​​​, @wasicskosgirl​​​, @velvetmel0n​​​, @huliabitch​​​, @shadow-assassin-blix​​​, @writefightandflightclub​​​, @aellynera​​​, @softboywriting​​​, @veuliee2​​​, @spider-starry​​​, @mylifeliterally​​​, @millllenniawrites​​​, @ntlmundy​​​, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire​​​, @mandoplease​​​, @anetteaneta​​​, @feelmyroarrrr​​​, @artsymaddie​​​, @shakespeareanwannabe​​​, @poedameronsbeard​​​, @deanfanatic67​​​​, @magicsuperheroes​​​​, @phoenixhalliwell​​​​, @that-one-weird-one​​​​, @mariesackler, @yourbucky084​​​​, @woakiees​

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman imagine #human touch series #part eight #my writing

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 11: Warmth in the Ashes

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, master kink, fingering, nipple play, penetrative sex, oral sex, biting

Summery: In wake of Sturm Heisenberg gets back to the grindstone with easier projects. Juniper on the other hand is always a distraction

Feedback appreciated. 18+

Rock music blared from the old speakers, radio static mixing into the chorus of sound. Heisenberg stood over a new soldat, pulling a rod free from a machine. The rod was connected to its holder by a thick wire. He deftly flipped a lever, the rod sparking to life.

Ropes of electricity arched around the metal end of the rod. The bright flash caused Heisenberg’s silhouette to become a black shape against the red light.

Juniper watched him through the doorway, worry keeping her from getting closer. She liked to watch him, especially in one of these moods. He was passionate and ever moving forward, even in the way of a glaring failure like the day prior.

He was like a Phoenix, she mused.

The music drowned out all extra thought, the task before him consuming his mind in the moment. He took the rod, the electricity alighting his shades, shoving it into the chest of the soldat.

The power jolted though the corpse, it’s form trembling.

He was the perfect picture of a mad scientist. Heisenberg extended his hand, the lever flipped back down without his touch. He pulled the rod free of the flesh, stepping back.

The soldat sat up, muscles twitching under its stitched skin. It’s core glowed warmly as its feet met the concrete floor.

“Yes.” Heisenberg smiled widely, “You’ll do just fine.” He patted the Soldat’s arm, leading it towards its holding area.

Juniper sighed with relief.

~

Heisenberg fiddled with another core, trying to rewire it to match his updated schematics.

“Hey Heis?” Juniper’s brows were in a knot, looking down at the necklace compass in her hands.

“Hm?” He pushed away from his desk to look at her.

She was sitting on an operating table, bare feet swinging off the edge. Her gaze was very intent.

“I don’t think this compass works.” Juniper frowned, “It always points in different ways.”

“Maybe you should stop moving around then.” He spoke matter-of-factly.

“I’m serious.”

“Let me see.” He stood, striding over to her.

He took the compass from her hands and looked it over for a second. He turned it over in his gloved palm, going as far to move it around himself in different directions.

“Nah, it’s fine.” He concluded, handing it back over.

Juniper pursed her lips as he sat back down.

Her pondering was shattered however when realization struck her like an arrow.

“Oh my god.”

“Yes?” Heisenberg didn’t look up from his work.

“It’s you!” She jumped to the floor, holding the compass out in front of her.

“It doesn’t point north at all!”

“Took you long enough to notice.” He pointed out cheekily.

“Sorry I’m not used to my men being magnetic.” She scoffed.

“What can I say,” he smirked, “I’m one of a kind, baby.”

As the evening grew on Heisenberg began to transcribe audio recordings into files. Juniper found herself in his lap, facing him and cuddled into his chest. He had his chin resting on her shoulder, writing away. Juniper’s face was buried in the crook of his neck, her breathing slow and peaceful.

Her warmth put a blanket of comfort over him, his free hand pulled her a bit closer. He had never sought out companionship, thinking himself ostracized.

Sighing heavily, he thought of all the times he tried to become unfeeling entirely. But then Juniper fell into his lap; an outsider that didn’t view him as unapproachable. Her compassionate understanding and endless affection started to buff away his rougher edges.

She made him realize he still had the ability to feel such things. Not only that, but he could also reciprocate them. That fact still baffled him.

He realized he had long stopped writing, looking down at the still pen as the recording droned on. He carefully reached out and pressed stop on the recorder, moving back more comfortably in the chair. He joined his now free hand with his other, folded in the small oh Juniper’s back.

Heisenberg let out a steady breath, just enjoying the moment.

His eyes grew heavy, lulled by the rhythm of Juniper’s tender snoring and the hum of machinery.

Hours passed by in a dreamless sleep. By the time he woke his muscles were stiff and sore, complaining about his choice of bed. Juniper had scrunched up more into his chest, hands tangled up in his coat. Feeling wetness he glanced down. She had drooled through his shirt.

He rubbed his face for a moment, trying to wake up more.

“Buttercup.” Heisenberg spoke loud enough to try to wake her.

“Huh?” Juniper’s head shot up, voice still thick with sleep. Her cheek was red and moist where her face had been plastered to his shirt.

“My legs are asleep.” He chuckled softly, patting her ass.

She looked down over him, trying to figure out exactly where she was. The grogginess eased as she pushed up into a more sitting position.

“Not the wetness I’m used to from you.” He smirked and looked down at his shirt. Juniper's cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Sorry.” She squeaked.

They made their way back to the apartment, Heisenberg stretching out his sore muscles as they went.

Juniper donned a thin nightdress, jumping into the bed on-top of Heisenberg. He grunted out at the impact, her falling into his bare chest.

She was a mess of giggles as she ran her hands down his bare sides.

Heisenberg tightened, squirming a bit under her.

Juniper’s lips widened into an evil smile, “Oh! Is his Lordship ticklish?”

“No.” He growled, trying to keep his composure. Juniper doubled down, sitting on his hips and fluttering her fingers down his sides.

He couldn’t hold it in, his chest heaving under her onslaught. He surged upwards, grabbing her and overpowering her quickly. He flipped her over, switching their positions.

Heisenberg went limp over her, pressing her into the bed, snickering.

Juniper squealed under him, the sound becoming a gasp.

“Karl! I’m dying!” She tried to wiggle, but he was too heavy over her. He could still hear the laughter in her voice, telling him she wasn’t in any real discomfort yet.

“No mercy.” He growled out playfully. Juniper tried to scramble out from under him as he started to laugh.

She finally admitted defeat. Heisenberg felt her muscles go slack under him. He lifted a bit, “Buttercup?”

“I died. You killed me.” She murmured, keeping her eyes shut.

His lips curled as he bent down, giving her a few kisses over her face, smiling wider as she tried not to giggle.

She blinked up at him sweetly, “Hey Heis?”

“Hm, love?”

“I’m hungry.”

“So?”

“Let’s make food!”

Heisenberg gave an exasperated sigh, knowing she wouldn’t let him rest until they made something.

They headed to the kitchen, Juniper instructing to get butter, bread and cheese. Heisenberg eagerly complied, happy that they weren’t making one of her ‘healthy’ meals.

Juniper started making something she called a ‘grilled cheese’. He was very used to eating bread and cheese, but mostly just ate them cold.

Juniper placed a plate down in front of him, resting upon it was a toasted sandwich.

Heisenberg picked it up. It was still warm and melty. He took a large experimental bite, crunching into the buttery exterior.

He swallowed, sitting the sandwich down and looking forward for a long moment. His eyes were glazed over and he looked almost astounded.

“You like it?” Juniper giggled as she made one for herself.

Heisenberg nodded slowly. He picked it back up and ate it in a few ravenous bites. “Can I have more?” He asked, voice muffled around his last bite.

“Sure.” She nodded happily.

Five grilled cheeses later Heisenberg was laying in the bed groaning out. Juniper rubbed his stomach softly, “Was six too many?”

He shook his head, “They were fucking great.”

She cuddled up to him, “God help you if I ever make pizza.”

~

Heisenberg sat at the steel workbench, attempting to finish transcribing the audio files from the day previously. He was having trouble concentrating however. His legs were widely spread, Juniper’s head slotted between his knees. She knelt under the desk, holding his legs open as she nuzzled into his clothed thigh.

Her eyes were alight with playfulness as she blinked up at him. He tried to ignore her, scribbling away with his pen.

That is until her hands drifted up his calves, fingernails scratching deliciously through his trousers.

He tapped his pen for a minute tensely, pressing stop on the recording. Juniper smiled up at him with mock innocence.

“It’s hard to think when you’re doing that, Doll.” He huffed.

Nuzzling deeper she purred, “You don’t need to think, all you’re doing is copying words.”

“I still have to concentrate.” He argued, feeling her cheek brush over his concealed groin.

“My apologies, my Lord.” She tried to say the last word seductively, and watched for a reaction.

He chuckled dismissively, “The ‘Lord’ bit doesn’t really do it for me. Reminds me too much of the stupid village girls.”

Juniper huffed hearing him start up the recording again. She thought for a moment before smiling deviously.

“Sir?” She chirped, when he didn’t respond she purred out, “Or….Master?”

Now that word went straight to his dick, and Juniper could instantly feel his reaction. She felt him throb through his trousers, the material tightening.

He clenched his free hand trying to continue writing evenly.

“There we go.” Juniper smiled with victory, her hands drifting up to his belt buckle. She undid his belt then moved to his pants, freeing them enough to slip his rapidly hardening cock.

“Let kitten be good for her Master?” She hummed. Her hot breath combined with that delectable word sent blood rushing to his member.

She gave a small giggle to his reaction, flicking her tongue out to lap at the tip.

He coiled above her, his muscles tense as his pen-work teetered on the erratic.

 

Being very mindful of her teeth she took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue. She heard the recording stop, and the sound of him changing out the tape. She gave a little moan as she pulled her lips free of his cock.

She glanced up to his pale eyes watching her, piercing and direct without the darkness of his shades.

She smiled up at him, his cock sending a shadow across her sweet face.

He squared his jaw, “Get up here.”

“Hm?”

“I said get your ass up here.”

“Yes, Master.” She couldn’t contain the victory shimmering in her eyes. He pushed the chair out, giving her room to rise. She bounced excitedly beside him, watching as he cleared up the more important papers from the desk.

Heisenberg leaned back in the chair, giving her a long tight look.

“Strip.” He commanded.

“Yes.” She nodded, and started to lift her dress.

He stopped her, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” She responded cheekily, taking her dress off. She took more time with her bra and panties, drawing the act out to rile him up.

She saw the muscle of his jaw twitch as she continued. She had lost her boots much earlier.

Now standing before him, naked save for her compass necklace, she waited patiently for her next direction.

Heisenberg began to pull his gloves off slowly, pointing to the desk once his hands were free, “Get on the desk.”

Juniper paced over, starting to sit onto the steel. He made a sound of displeasure, making her change her position. She leaned over the desk, pressing her breasts into the cold metal, looking back at him for approval.

He nodded, standing. He stripped his coat, placing it in the free chair, before closing the distance.

“You’ve been such a brat today.” He palmed the back of her head, gently forcing her face down against the desk. She murmured, wiggling her butt back towards him.

He chuckled a bit, seeing her so needy.

Instead of giving her what she was practically begging for, he smacked her ass. Her core clenched as she whimpered, him giving her another smack.

He continued until there was a pronounced red print on her pale ass. She was whimpering and trembling on the desk, her legs wobbling a bit to keep her supported.

“What was that kitten?” He leaned over her a bit.

“I-Im sorry.” She answered but quickly added, “I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be good.”

“Mhm.” He nodded, not at all convinced. His hand drifted down to her core, moisture dripping down her thigh. He traced the opening before plunging two fingers in, not giving her time to adjust.

She jumped under him, mewling out as he set a quick pace. His fingers quickly made obscene wet sounds from her arousal.

“You’re such a little whore.” His voice was low. He kept up the rough pace until he felt her start to clench and buck under his hands. He pulled away, a string of liquid connecting his fingers to her cunt.

She whined out at the loss of contact, earning her another smack to her, already tender, ass. She quieted down, putting her head back down dismissively.

Heisenberg lifted his fingers to his lips; sucking them free of her slick, groaning at the taste. His free hand loosened his trousers, they fell and bunched around his ankles.

 

He dove into her hot core, cock first. She cried out at the feeling, of him stretching her out. He gripped her hips, pulling out almost completely before snapping his hips forward burying back into her.

Juniper cried out with every thrust, trying to lift her hips to meet his. Heisenberg pushed her head back down, leaning over her and trapping her between his chest and the cold desk.

She was too caught up in the feeling to notice when Heisenberg pressed the record button on the small tabletop recorder.

His lips split his face in a devilish smile, seeing the small red blinking light on the machine.

He started to rut into her harder. Juniper mewled out, feeling the coil tighten in her stomach.

“Tell me what you want.” He growled, fingers digging into her hips.

“To, c-come…please!” She cried out, “Please master!”

He thrust into her like a piston, snaking a hand down her belly. His fingers found the sensitive bundle of flesh, teasing it in time with his thrusts.

The coil snapped, she wailed like a cat in heat.

Feeling her walls clench around him he growled, “That’s it, be a good little whore for me.”

He pulled out of her fully, watching her core tremble from the loss of his cock.

He lifted her, flipping her over into a sitting position on the desk, pulling her to the edge and filling her up again.

She cried out as he started bucking into her anew. Juniper grabbed his arms for support, her face a mess.

Heisenberg bent forward, taking one of her peaked nipples into his mouth. He sucked feverishly, keeping up a good tempo with his hips.

Juniper tangled her fingers into his coarse hair, her nails scratching his scalp. He groaned into her flesh.

He felt her legs tighten around him, promising another release. He bit into her soft breast just enough to break the skin and hear her mewl. He lapped away the blood, soothing the wound.

The pain mixed with the pleasure being all too much for her.

He pulled back enough to place his forehead against her own. He smiled at the glassiness of her eyes, watching her fall apart.

She clung onto him as she came.

The way her cunt was gripping him he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. His thrusts became erratic, breaths coming out in gasps.

His hips sputtered as he tried to speak, “Tell me w-where you want it.” He demanded, “Beg for it.”

Her vision was hazy with pleasure and words were foreign. She made a gurgling sound looking down. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, holding her hip with his other hand.

“In me…p-please Master!” She cried out, begging him, “Fill me up!”

He groaned, hilting himself fully inside her. Juniper could feel his balls tighten as his cock jolted with his release.

Heisenberg huffed out hotly, her core milking his cock for everything he had. His legs wobbled a bit as he fell forward. He supported himself on his arms above her. Careful to check that she was too blissed out to notice, he quickly pressed stop on the recorder.

He smiled toothily, that tape would definitely come in handy later.

She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, little sweet breathes ghosting his skin. He dropped a kiss into her hair, gathering her up, his cock still fully hilted in her soaked folds.

“You are such a little tease.” He whispered, unable to hide the smile that tugged at his lips.

She murmured something, holding onto him.

“Hm?”

“I said, you love it.” Her voice was thick with tiredness. He patted her thigh, chuckling as he began to head back to the apartment.

As he rode the elevator up he complained halfheartedly, “How am I ever going to finish making those damn files with you acting like a bitch in heat?”

Juniper murmured something into his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“You could just ask me to work on it while you work on haulers.” She giggled slightly, “Didn’t think of that, did ya big boy?”

There was a long pause, before Heisenberg cursed under his breath, “…fuck.”

It caused Juniper to snicker into his shirt, and him to grumble.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart #heisenberg smut #resident evil

[kariachi]

First part for the day.

Kevin’s turn to have another breakdown.

~~

(‘You’re never going to get anywhere.’)

(‘You’re wasting your time.’)

(‘May as well drop out now, skip town.’)

(‘Save you debt and everyone else the trouble.’)

(‘Five out of six people can’t be wrong.’)

“I’m right on track, I’m doing fine, I’m doing fine,” Kevin hissed under his breath, sat at his desk and scribbling aimlessly on a piece of paper. It wasn’t much, but it kept him from pacing or hitting something or tugging at his hair while he rode out another fucking breakdown. Nothing’d even happened! He’d been having a good day! Yes, he’d had to send back his new binder in exchange for a larger size, but that was hours ago and far from just cause for the spiral he was dealing with.

(‘Congratulations, you’re worthless and crazy.’)

“I’m fine.”

(‘You’re going to die alone and unfulfilled and no one will mourn your passing.’)

“That’s a lie.” He tensed as the lock on the door clicked despite damn well knowing better. He’d texted Gar, let him know he was having A Time, it wasn’t any surprise when he came in. So why the fuck- (‘As if he doesn’t have better things to do’) Oh, yeah, that.

“Kev?” Turning to look at him, Kevin didn’t even bother trying to smile.

“Hey.” Fuck, he sounded near as bad as he felt. Gar frowned and Kevin beat back the urge to give himself more shit for worrying him. They’d discussed this. Shutting the door behind him, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Kevin’s shoulders with a squeeze, sneaking a peak at the paper.

“Did something happen, or is your brain just being mean?” Burying his face in his neck as best he could, Kevin took a deep breath of him. He couldn’t smell him, but just being that close was enough to ease the knot in his gut some.

“Just being mean,” he said. It was the only explanation. He’d been fine, then he’d misread a math problem, corrected it, and now he wanted to cry. It made no sense.

“Okay.” Gar squeezed tighter. “You are brilliant. You are good. You are worth and deserve worlds. Everyone who’s told or convinced you otherwise was a filthy fucking liar and if I met them on the street I would hurt them.” Kevin couldn’t help snorting at the firm and protective conviction with which he said it. He didn’t necessarily believe it (‘How has he not figured you out-’) but he wanted to and he’d promised to try.

“Sounds fake, but alright.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“On a Wednesday?” Pulling away, Gar leveled him with a Look and a smile.

“Kevin.” Forcing a tiny smile, Kevin rested his head on his arm.

“Thanks, babe.” It did help, kind’ve, a bit. (‘Seriously, how-’) He felt a bit more leveled out, at least.

“You’re welcome.” Gar stroked his hair and gave him a soft kiss, then dropped his hands to grab Kevin’s. “Come on, let’s get you some sunlight and food.” That sounded nice. And a nap, maybe. Breakdowns were exhausting and he’d been at it at least half an hour, probably longer.

“I don’t deserve you.” As soon as he was on his feet, Gar kissed him again, gentle and sweet.

“Oh, you deserve so much more.”

#fanfic #in which the boys are learning to handle their own and each other's shit better #good news i am figuring out a title so i'll be able to go back and tag all of these #something just like this

[divineluce]

Point of Origin || Alcher & Luce

Timing: May 14th, 2021

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @zahneundklauen & @divineluce

Description: Alcher can smell fire in the wind-- she finds Luce instead.

Shuffling around the edge of the burnt out clearing, Luce scrutinized the bits of charcoal, half-burnt branches, and the charred earth that remained. As far as she could tell, it was all just burnt pieces of wood, but she needed to find the anchor point, the place where the phoenix had first been raised. The books she’d gotten from Rio were about as clear as mud, but as far as she could tell, she needed… a piece of the phoenix. Which was easier said than done. The feather she and Adam had found was incredibly volatile on its own. And besides, just because they’d seen the phoenix, that didn’t mean this was where they’d reincarnated. For all she knew, they could have come here from another goddamn state. “Fuck.” She muttered to herself as she continued to look around for anything that might help her. “Like looking for a needle in a haystack full of fucking needles.” Luce said as she made her way through the woods, twigs and leaves crunching loudly under her boots. 

A familiar smell had awoken Alcher from her nap on the stoop. Smoke and charred wood was a scent that Alcher was sure she would never-- could never-- forget. The strangeness came in the lack of pain. Fire always triggered a fear response in Alcher, but this time, all she felt was-- something distant. She did not have a word for it. Still, it worried her. If there was a fire in the forest, it could reach the farm. She needed to act fast. But as she ran, something else familiar began to come into her senses. It smelled like-- Leah. Was she here? Was she the one that caused the fire? Alcher did not know much about phoenixes, but she knew that this could mean Leah was in trouble. Her feet carried her fast, despite being human. There was the smell of a human nearby as well, mixing and lingering with the smell of the ash, the burnt wood. Alcher stopped mid stride when she heard leaves crunching under boots. She could see the opening up ahead, where the fire had caught the trees, the ground, the brush. Her head swiveled and she followed the scent line. A woman, younger. She was rifling through the burnt remains as if looking for something. Or, perhaps, someone. Alcher stepped forward tentatively. “Are you looking for something?” she asked, showing herself fully, making sure to stay nonthreatening. Whoever this woman was, she could have answers about what happened here.

The sudden presence of another person made Luce flinch, her fingers instinctively flexing as though to call upon magic. But, her flames were still dead, buried under six feet of ash. She couldn’t start a fucking candle like this. She glanced down at the charred bits of debris around her and then to herself. Yeah, a tattooed lady in ripped jeans and a crop top didn’t scream “Nothing to see here, official park business,” so she couldn’t even lie about why she was here. But, the lady didn’t seem like she was with the cops either. Standing up, Luce shrugged. “Sorta. I’m looking for… whatever started this fire.” She said, not entirely a lie not entirely the truth. “Just. Looking out for the forest, you know. Civic duty and shit.” Luce said, her voice trailing off as she squinted at the woods around them. Were there other people just lurking in the woods? It wouldn’t surprise her if that was the case. She should have come here at night. But, that would just be a whole host of other problems. Turning her attention back to the other woman, she asked, “What are you doing out here?” 

What was Alcher doing out here? Had she really expected to come here and find Leah? And if she had, what would she have done? She did not want to see the other girl. She did not want to see the pain on her face as she looked at Alcher and saw only the wolf who tried to kill her. Alcher idled for a moment before pointing to the charred earth. “I smelled the fire,” she said, “it was...close to my home.” The farm, the pack, that was all that mattered right now. If a fire had reached the property, Alcher didn’t know what she would’ve done. Claws and teeth can not fight fire. She brought her attention back to the other girl, who smelled of ink and metal and-- “Ulfric.” She spoke his name slowly. It was small, but it was there. This girl had been somewhere Ulfric had been, enough to let his scent sink in. She tilted her head, curious. “Why are you looking for the source? What do you wish to do when you find it?”

She smelled the fire? What did that mean? The fire had been out for days, there was no way the woman would have smelt the remains of the smoke now. Luce kept her expression neutral, even as she tried to piece together what this lady meant by her answer. “Your home. You live all the way out here?” This part of the woods was far from the rest of town, deep in the outskirts. If this woman lived out here, it was in a place tucked away that Luce wasn’t familiar with. That or-- Blinking at the mention of her boss’s name, she frowned. “How do you know my boss?” She asked, though even as she did, pieces were starting to come together. She’d said she had smelt the fire, even though it was long since dead. And she said it was close to her home. The only person who lived this deep in the woods was Ulf, and his farm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been there, but… “You’re like him, aren’t you?” She asked. If this woman knew what she meant, good. And if she didn’t, she could brush it off. Say she mistook her for some kinda… Viking lady or whatever. 

Blinking in confusion, Luce glanced down at the melted shards of rock, lumps of molten earth that had fused together from the heat. “I’m trying to help. Whatever happened here, whoever did this, they’re hurting.” She’d seen them, trapped in that half form. They had to be hurting, “I just want to help.”

Alcher approached with less caution as the girl spoke. She kept her eyes sharp on her, though even just a few feet away, her figure was blurry. “I do. On a farm. My--” she paused, thought on it a moment, “--family lives out here.” But it seemed this girl was more than Alcher had previously thought. She worked for Ulfric. He had mentioned a few of his employees but Alcher often had a hard time recounting stories about humans she did not care for. She wondered which one this girl was. You’re like him. Ah, so she knew. Tentative, Alcher nodded. “I am. In a way.” She mused on the thought, her sentences short and punctual, her accent slipping thick as the weight of her burdens continued to press down on her. “While he is...what you would call feral, I am patient. Controlled.” Though she would not show her full hand yet, she bent down to examine the earth as well, running her finger through the ash before bringing it to her face. The scent was unmistakable. “A bird who smells of ash and human,” she murmured, “you are looking for a phoenix, yes?”

On a farm. That clinched it. This woman had to be another wolf-- and the confirmation came a moment later. Luce nodded, listening to the other woman speak. A controlled werewolf? Color her surprised. Not that she doubted that people who could do that sort of thing existed, but she’d never heard much about them before. Granted, outside of casual conversation with her boss, Luce had never paid much attention to the particulars of werewolves. The woman lifted a handful of dried, cold ash to her face-- wild. In a near literal sense, too. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” She said, shifting her backpack on her shoulders. “I need to find where they came from and get some kind of… essence. A piece of them. There’s something wrong with them and I just-- I need to help them.” Because this was beyond a want. She rarely wanted to do things for people she didn’t know. No, she needed to do this. To atone. 

Alcher stood back up, dusting the ash from her hand on her leg. Her plastic joints creaked as she rocked back on her heels and closed her eyes, letting the scents of the forest come to her. Familiar were most of them, but one stood out. It smelled just like the ash in front of her. “A feather?” she glanced around, but she doubted there were any feathers here. At least none that would’ve survived this purge. She turned her golden eyes to the girl who smelled of ink and wondered what she would want with a phoenix, why she would want to help them. Perhaps she knew them. Perhaps she knew Leah. It was all speculation without confirmation. “Why do you need to help them? Has something happened to them?” The unasked question being-- have you done something to them?

“Yeah. Essence.” Luce repeated, looking again at the ground. It was useless, she knew that. This place was a husk, burned and devoid of anything that might help her. All that remained was glass and ash, which was of very little help to her. As the woman stared back at her, Luce held her ground, in spite of the strange luminous eyes that held her gaze. She might not be feral in the way that Ulf was, but Luce knew that there was no such thing as a tame wolf. If this woman wanted to take her out, she could do it and Luce would be powerless to stop her. That reality made Luce’s next answers all the more important. “Yeah, something happened to them. As far as I can tell, they were reborn on corrupted ground. And I need to find that place, so that I can figure out how to help them. They’re… in pain. Or at least, I think they are. They way they were stuck between shapes, it can’t be good for them.” She paused before tackling the other question. “As far as needing to help them, I just have to. I didn’t do this, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s just… the right thing to do.”

Just the right thing to do. Alcher hadn’t thought humans capable of empathy outside their own species, but then again, did she have that ability? She thought of Nicole. Of Nate. Did they count? Her eyes traveled back to the scorched earth and she thought of Leah. Maybe, if she helped this phoenix as well, then her heart would forgive her for what she’d done to Leah, too. She nodded astutely, approached the girl and held her hand out. “If you have a piece of them, I can track that place for you,” she said, as if that were the simple answer presented in front of them. “It can not have gone far, considering these burns are fresh and the smell of smoke still lingers here.” She would help this girl, she decided-- this human-- because it was, as she’d said, the right thing to do. And in all of the horrible things Alcher had done lately, perhaps some atonement could do her good.

Luce blinked in surprise, unable to hide her confusion. Why was this woman helping? She had no stake in the game, she didn’t need to do anything. She’d figured out that her home-- Ulf’s farm, Luce guessed-- was no longer in danger from the flames. She should be content to go her on way. And yet, she was offering to help? Why? What did she stand to gain? “I don’t have anything of theirs. I don’t know them. I’m not sure that any of their stuff would even still be here, their fire, it burns so much hotter than anything I’ve ever seen.” She said with a shake of her head. Squinting around, Luce looked at the wide swaths of destruction, the burned out tree trunks that littered the area. “Okay. That’s a good start.” Kicking out with her boot, she began to sift through the ash and debris that littered the ground. When she and Adam had first tracked down the phoenix, she remembered seeing footprints that had been seared into the ground, glass forming where sand had been superheated and fused together. “We might be able to backtrack? They melted sand into glass, dried up a stream in the middle of the woods. Problem is, they cut through Scorch Street at some point and that place is a mess of magic and fire already. I’m not sure where they came from before that.”

Not being able to differentiate between scents was such a human problem. One Alcher had never dealt with. She tilted her head at the younger woman, but retracted her hand and nodded. Once they were away from the main source of the scent, she was sure she’d be able to track the location that way as well. She nodded towards the path of burnt ash that led away from the quarry, and picked up a fist full of the burned grass, rubbing it into her palms before they departed. It would keep the scent fresh for her, and distinguishable from the original source. “Even fire has its own scent,” she said as she looked over at the younger woman, “once we find a path, I will be able to follow it.” She motioned towards the treeline and made sure to keep her from wiping her hands off too much. She pushed through the bramble and back towards the town. A phoenix whose fire had corrupted them. She’d have to ask Leah about that someday.

What? Fire had a scent? Smoke, maybe, but fire itself? Or was that just a werewolf thing? Luce wasn’t sure what the woman meant by it, but she followed after her all the same. “Okay.” She said cautiously, doing her best to keep up with the woman. The way she moved was distinctly inhuman, as though she was more at home in the woods than she was anywhere else, which made it a bit difficult to keep pace. But, Luce was no stranger to the woods either. They walked in silence, with the woman leading a path that seemingly had no rhyme or reason to it. “What’s your name?” Luce asked after some time. She’d only just realized she’d never gotten the woman’s name. “I’m Luce. Ulf might have mentioned me. I’ve helped ward his farm a few times before.” She said with a nod. 

The woods were like home, perhaps even more some nights than the farm. Alcher moved through them with an ease that did not suit humans in any fashion. Crouched and low and slinking along through the bramble as if it were simply water being parted. She did not look to see if the other woman was following. Not until she spoke up, and Alcher turned her head to gaze back at her. “Alcher,” she said, deciding that she, too, could trust a human Ulfric did as well, “you are...one of the artists.” She remembered her smelling of metal and ink. “You carry it on your scent.” Tattoos were not something Alcher had ever thought about, but the ones she’d seen on Ulfric, and the meanings they had for him, made her wonder if she might want one, too. How did one carve an entire family lost onto their skin, though? How did one carry such an intangible pain? She stopped and closed her eyes. They were close. “This way,” she pointed, taking off again before the artist could ponder on her words.

Branches scratched against Luce’s arms, the woods not parting for her as easily as they did for Alcher. Was it because they remembered what she’d done to them? The trees, did they remember how she’d burned and raged and brought ruin to the forest? As another branch smacked against her shoulder, Luce brushed away the thought. No. It was just a branches. Just stupid branches and stupid trees and… she was going to help this phoenix. She was going to fix this. “Nice to meet you, Alcher.” Luce nodded. “Yeah, I work for Ulf. I was his apprentice for a while and when I finished, he took me on full time.” She said, continuing to follow behind the woman. Small talk. She hadn’t done much of that outside the shop in a hot minute. When Alcher came to a sudden stop, Luce nearly bumped into the woman. But, she stopped just in time to change directions and follow the woman at that quick pace. “How do you know Ulf? Birds of a feather? Or whatever it is for wolves?”

“Ah, the apprentice,” Alcher nodded, “Ulfric speaks well of you. And often.” The scent of rusted metal reached Alcher’s nose, and for a moment, the fire was gone. She lifted her palm to her face and drew the scent back in, checking the area. There, at a trailhead, burnt trees, bent over from the exhaustion of the heat. It was old. She stepped up to it and ran her fingers along the ash, watching bark crumble to the ground. “This way,” she said, and her eyes fell on an old coal mine, machinery long abandoned, and a curling sense of dread tainting the ground. This place was cursed, with a dark energy. She could feel it. Lyssa’s Peak was nearby, after all. Perhaps the human touch had tainted its natural magic and left behind this, the curse of a broken phoenix. She pointed towards one of the cave entrances. “Through there.” Went to continue her way forward, but paused. “Birds of...yes. We met through another wolf, a pup. He is...what a human might refer to as my beta. My right hand.” 

It wasn’t often that Luce heard things like that. She knew her boss liked her, valued her, even considered her someone he trusted. But, it was still nice to know that he spoke about her at all. Particularly to another wolf. It was good to know that even now, he still cared about her. Her work had been fine the last few months, but her creative spark-- similar to the magic-- was lying low. “Thanks.” Luce said awkwardly, not really sure how else to respond. Luckily, she didn’t need to as Alcher led the way towards the creepiest fucking thing she’d seen in a minute. It was an abandoned coal mine lying derelict, forgotten by the town. As Luce stepped towards it, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She didn’t need Alcher’s to tell her that something bad had happened here. She could feel it in the air. “Christ. Yeah, let’s go,” She said, hefting her backpack on her shoulders as she stepped into the darkness.

The air underground had a chilly edge to it, but the underlying current of magic made sweat roll down Luce’s temple. What had happened here? What had the people who’d been operating this mine before been looking for? And why would a phoenix be here? As the plunged deeper into the darkness, Luce did her best to keep as close to Alcher as she could. She couldn’t summon a ball of fire to light the way as she normally would and the lighter in her pocket wouldn’t be much use while they were on the move. “Do you see anything up ahead?”

Could she feel it, too? The tattooed woman? Perhaps there was more to her than Alcher had previously thought. If the air was filled with magic, maybe she was, too. She didn’t stop to ponder on it long, though. She did not necessarily care. All she knew was that she wanted to help this phoenix, and that was enough for Alcher. They walked slower through the mines, Alcher’s bare feet tripping on old wood planks left by humans, and crumbling posts. Her eyes were no help in the dark of the mine, and the further they strayed from the sun’s light, the darker it became. It felt almost...created. A thick film of darkness that coated even their skin. “I do not see much,” she commented, and opted to simply close her eyes and let her ears, her nose, guide her. They never failed her, not like her eyes did. She pointed again. “Left,” and turned down a side tunnel, that reeked of metal and rust and-- “There.” Her eyes opened and a low, red light illuminated the walls of a cavern. One that was neither natural nor man made. The rocks were scorched, as if a bomb had gone off inside of it, smoothing the rock down to their grain, like glass. She ran her hands along them and felt the cool touch they had taken on after they had become incinerated. “Is this the place? What you were looking for?”

“Shit.” Luce muttered under her breath as she followed behind the other woman, feet stumbling in the darkness. She didn’t like this, being surrounded by what was clearly malignant magic that had soaked into the earth. What had this mine been used for? What had they been digging for? As they made their clumsy way through the darkness, the magic in the air continued to grow. But, it reached its peak when they stepped into a cavern, the radiant magic practically suffocating. It wasn’t a cavern so much as it was like… blown glass. It was as though the earth had been superheated in a single burst of flame, she could see the way the rocks had shifted and melted into one form. Luce leaned against the cave to steady herself, her hand touching dark obsidian-- similar to the glass shards she and Adam had found. “Fuck.” Luce breathed as glanced at the ground. Unlike the winding tunnels they’d followed, she could actually see here and she hadn’t stopped to question it until she’d looked down. In the center of the cavern, was a pile of glowing ashes, the same bright red color she’d seen emanating from the feather that had melted through Adam’s shovel. 

“Stay away from the center of the room.” Luce said in warning, dropping to her knees to pull a few glasses from her backpack. They were jars with thick fireproofing wards etched into the glass-- remnants of a simpler time. Back when she’d been hell-bent on studying the will-o-the-wisps that lingered on the outskirts of town, when her biggest problem had been trying to escape Bea’s shadow. Walking up to the ashes, Luce gingerly scooped up the glowing ashes into the jar. The glass heated rapidly in her hand, hot enough to make even her wince in pain, but the glass held. Holding the glass up, she nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think this will work.” Belatedly, she added, “Thanks. For… helping. You didn’t need to.” Why are you helping? I still don’t understand.

Alcher examined the human as she made her way into the glass cavern. Her curiosity for the younger woman had never left her as they traveled, but observing her now was a different situation. The look of horror on her face was not lost on Alcher, despite the dimly lit room providing little for her eyes to catch. Whatever had happened with this phoenix was not just a tragedy, but a danger. Something burning this hot could destroy almost anything. One could not fight heat in the way one could fight a fist. She didn’t need the warning for the other woman, but she heeded it anyway and stayed in the doorway as she observed her pull out a small, glass vial and do exactly what she’d been warned against. Whoever she was, she knew about fire. A human who played with fire. Fascinating. She met her eyes as she stood back up and tilted her head. “Odd,” she said at first, “why would I not?” It confused her for a moment, before she remembered how often humans denied each other the same hospitality supernaturals in need gave each other. “Need and want are two different things. I know I did not need to, that does not mean I did not want to.” She shuffled from her flesh foot to her plastic one. “Is that all you need from here?”

Staring at the glowing pile of ash, Luce watched as they clouded the jar with trails of smoke. In the gray vapor, she could have sworn she saw the image of a bird, flapping dark wings in the jar. But, the smoke filled the space until the glass held a swirling, shapeless mass, a crimson glow emanating from the bottom. Setting the jar back in her backpack, Luce stared at the ground the ash had come from. The ground here had also been superheated and cooled, forming that glassy black surface. But, unlike the other places she’d seen it, the surface had been shattered and broken into fragments. Luce grabbed another jar and did her best to scoop some of the crushed earth into the bottom of it. Whatever had happened here… it wasn’t good. But maybe she could fix things. Fix the earth, once she’d finished trying to help this phoenix.

“On the other hand, why would you?” Luce asked, matching Alcher’s question with one of her own. “But… yeah, that makes sense.” The differences between need and want. Hm. Something about the words-- there was something about them that stuck in her mind. But, she didn’t have time to dwell on that just now. Rising to her feet, Luce brushed some of the dirt from her knees. “Yeah, that’s all. This place… it’s not right. We shouldn’t be here.” No one should be here. 

Alcher contemplated the words for a moment. “Because that option doesn’t exist,” she answered simply, as if it made sense to anyone what she meant. While wolves were at the top of the chain, other supernaturals were the only other beings that mattered. And if they needed help, she, as a leader, was to help. Perhaps not in the ways she would another wolf or her pack, but helping was the only option. She looked at the inked woman and punctuated her statement with a nod. “Let us take our leave, then,” she agreed, stepping aside as Luce came towards the entrance of the cavern again. She looked down under her feet and saw the ash, knowing her soles were covered with it. She would carry the stench of this corrupted earth with her home if she did not wash it off. There was a river nearby, though. She could stop there. “Follow me, then,” she instructed, and began to head back through the pitch dark tunnel, wondering to herself, was it really just the phoenix she’d ached to help? Or had she really allowed herself to help a human.

#p: alcher krieg #chatzy #wickedswriting #p: po

[nerdyfangirl67]

Supposed to Be Easy - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Tony DiNozzo x reader, Spencer Reid x reader

Warning: language, angry!Spencer, brief moment of cheating

Word count: 1700

Requested:  @that-damn-clown-movie​

A/N: I hope this is what you were looking for darling! This story is a continuation of the Everywhere But On one-shot. It can be read as a stand-alone as well. A beautifully tragic moment for both NCIS and Criminal Minds fans. Guys, I don’t like the ending very much but was struggling to end it with either one or another character. As always, requests are open!

Six months, that’s how long it took for your life to completely change.  

You had become an established member of the white-collar crimes task force and had helped in the apprehension of major fraud criminals, famous art thieves, and bank robbers. You had been such an asset to your new team, with your background from various different FBI units, that you were being fast-tracked to become the next unit chief.

You had become a mom, not to a child, but to a stray cat that had wandered into your apartment through a window you had left cracked open by the fire escape after a near oven fire during a frigid, fall day. The next morning you had taken the cat to the vet for a microchip check, as well as a health check, and after finding nothing, you had not so reluctantly brought him home with you. The cat had come in and never left, quickly becoming attached to you, and you to him.

You had moved out of your crappy, three-room (the room count of which included the kitchen and bathroom) apartment into a posh, chic apartment that felt more like a house than an apartment. It was clean, the building manager was prompt with answering service calls, and the kind lady next door checked on your cat, whom you called Agent (for obvious reasons), and baked you sweets.

You had gotten a completely new hairstyle, one you’d been wanting for months but you’d been too scared and stuck in your look (because changing it meant leaving behind a part of you that was connected to Spencer, the love of your life). After much deliberation and a few mimosas, you’d booked the salon appointment for the next day and had forced yourself to go through with it. You were glad you had because you loved it.

-----

And on this particular day, a late Friday evening in the dead of winter, you were enjoying the fact that you had the weekend off by curling up on the couch in your favorite pajamas, wrapped in your warmest blanket, a mug of (possibly spiked) hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of you as you binge-watch your favorite TV show. Despite knowing you should have been to bed over an hour ago, you couldn’t bring yourself to be anything but content.

A knock on the door bursts the peaceful bubble you had built around yourself. You let out a soft groan of displeasure, knowing a visitor at this hour would only mean trouble. You heave out a frustrated sigh before climbing out of your warm cocoon on the couch.

As an FBI agent, you should have thought to look through the peephole on the door, but you didn’t. Instead, you pick up your standard-issue from where you keep it up on the coat rack, pull it out of its holster, and while holding it in one hand, use the other to open the door. Out of all the possibilities that had started circling around in your head since the knock, this was not one of them.

You were so surprised by him arriving at your door, that you hadn’t realized the grip on your gun had loosened, sending it clattering to the floor. After jolting you out of your stupor, you pick up your weapon, reholster it and place it back where it belongs. You grab his wrist, knowing if you twined your fingers with his you would lose your resolve, and pull him back out into the hallway, leaving the door open just a crack behind you.

“Spencer.” You say, hating the way your voice cracks and makes you sound, just as much as feel, vulnerable. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, hoping to either calm your now frayed nerves or make this horribly painful and confusing mirage go away. Upon reopening your eyes, you know that you succeeded in doing neither of those things. So instead you focus your attention on the man in front of you.

His slender, lanky figure feels smaller somehow, almost as if he has decreased in height, which you know isn’t right. His shoulders are hunched together as he unconsciously leans his body towards you. The next thing that catches your eyes is the way the material of his button-down dress shirt strains slightly across his chest and over his arms, in a way you hadn’t ever seen. His hair is just as unruly as it always is, and regardless of you wanting to card your fingers through it, it isn’t what was keeping your attention from what he was saying. Your eyes were currently fixated on the scruff that covered the lower half of his face.

You had never seen Spencer Reid with anything more than a five o’clock shadow and the very obvious beard on his face now was making it hard for you to concentrate. And being the genius that he was, he could tell that you hadn’t heard a word of what he said. He halted his talking, for how long you weren’t sure, because after what felt like hours, you finally realize that the low hum of Spencer’s voice in the background had stopped. Your intense scan of his appearance abruptly stops as you lift your eyes to connect with his.

Still, he was silent. Pent up feelings of frustration, hurt, rejection, and sorrow come to the surface as you snap at him. “What do you want Spencer? You said all you needed to say all those months ago.”

“I thought I did too. But after not being able to see you every day or talk to you like we used to, I realized that what I said didn’t match what I felt.” His voice is filled with something akin to guilt.

You clench your teeth together to prevent yourself from spitting out a few choice words, followed by a long buried truth. You chose to instead ignore his words and asked him the question that’s been running around in your head.

“How did you find me? I explicitly asked Garcia to not tell you.” As much as you loved your friend, she did have a knack for spilling secrets if she deemed it was for the ‘greater good.’

His face fell at your blatant neglect of his words before he answers, “Garcia didn’t tell me. After I went to your apartment and, after a few midnight visits found you weren’t there, I begged Garcia to tell me. When she wouldn’t I desperately tried to run into you at work. Finally though I went to HR and made something up so they’d tell me.”

Your heart squeezes painfully as you hear the despair and hopelessness in his voice. Again, you don’t answer because you know your facade would crumble if you did.

“Well if that’s all you came to say, I think it’s time for you to go. I am not in the mood to have the ‘friends but also I love you’ conversation with you Spencer. Now if you’ll excuse me.” You turn back towards your door, a hand on the knob when his voice stops you.

“We weren’t meant to just be friends and you fucking know that.” His voice is deeper and louder now, and you know you got under his skin. You don’t turn because you know if you do, you’d be in his arms before you could stop yourself.

“Look at me Y/N and tell me you don’t feel the same and I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone but I need to know if you do.” A hand on your waist has you spinning around into his chest. You move to shove away from him and suddenly his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately and fast. And not only are you enjoying it, a lot actually, but you’re kissing him back, just as intensely.

You can’t keep track of your hands, as they are rapidly roaming his body. Fingers through his hair, which is just as you remember, a hand on his chest, which is far more defined than you thought, a palm dragging over his beard, tickling your hand in the process.

You pull back when your need for air takes over your thoughts. His eyes are blazing, but with something other than anger, as he stares at you.

“Why didn’t you do that months ago?” You question brokenly, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

His eyes search yours as he runs a gentle thumb over your cheek. “I wish I had.” His words have tears collecting in your eyes, which you roughly brush away as you step back. You had to clear your head because the way this “conversation” was going, you knew it could become something more if you let it.

“I-I...I can’t do this Spencer. I lived a life that was so entwined with yours, I couldn’t see where mine ended and yours began. I’ve finally made a life that doesn’t focus on you and here you are, wanting in.” You answer, your voice cracking as you stare at your feet.

Neither of you say anything for a while before you lift your eyes to his. He is staring directly at you, a sea of emotions swirling in his hazy brown-green eyes. A few you can name, disappointment and love, but also a few you couldn’t.

The spell is broken when a voice sounds from deep inside your apartment, causing the two of you to rip away from each other's gaze. “Doll, where are you? You said you were going to come to bed an hour ago and I need you in my arms.” The voice of the man you’d come to love, albeit in a way entirely different than the way you loved the man in front of you, calls out to you.

You give Spencer a small shove, pushing him out of your doorway. “That’s Tony. You have to go Spencer.” Another hand pushes him away, although it lingers slightly as you release him. You return to the apartment, closing the door behind you. You didn’t know if that was the last time you’d see Spencer, causing your heart to squeeze tightly.

#criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds imagine #reader insert #reader #fandom #imagine #fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #reid x reader #reid x you #tony dinozzo #tony dinozzo x reader #tony dinozzo x you #dinozzo x reader #dinozzo x you

[alessandriana]

For @missximagination​! This may or may not be precisely what you wanted, haha. I got shoved under an unexpected truckload of feels when I started thinking about Jin Ling having to go back and forth between the Jin and the Jiang all the time, and added in the mix was also this absolutely gorgeous art by @yutaan​, and-- yeah. So this is mostly a large dose of Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling feels, with some added JGY & JC interaction.

***

Jin Ling was bawling by the time Jiang Cheng crossed the border between Yunmeng and Lanling. Jiang Cheng was halfway to doing the same, though it manifested mostly as a fierce scowl that made his face ache and only got worse as the ridiculous excess that was Carp Tower came into view on the horizon.

"I don't wanna," Jin Ling sobbed, face red and miserable where it was pressed into Jiang Cheng's shoulder. At six years old, he was old enough to know what was happening and too young to understand why. "I want to go home, I want to go swimming and play with the fishes and--" he hiccuped, "and I don't like it there, no one likes me, I wanna stay with you, jiujiu."

Okay, fuck. Jiang Cheng's arms tightened around Jin Ling and he descended abruptly out of the air to land in someone's field. Grass rose knee-high, nearly swallowing Jin Ling entirely as Jiang Cheng set him down and he flopped onto his stomach to cry into the dirt. Jiang Cheng crouched down in front of him, then sat down in the dirt himself, ignoring what it would do to his clothing and the way Jin Guangyao would very politely refrain from commenting on it while the rest of his retinue giggled behind their hands.

"Hey, hey, A-Ling," he said, putting a hand on Jin Ling's back, and then wincing as Jin Ling flinched away. "I'm sorry. I know you want to stay at Lotus Pier-- I want you to stay at Lotus Pier--" god, did he-- "but I don't have a choice."

Jin Ling lifted his face, smeared with tears, and said, "Don't you want me?"

Fuck! Jiang Cheng reached out and gathered Jin Ling into his lap until Jin Ling finally turned and wrapped his arms tightly around his jiujiu's neck. Jiang Cheng buried his face against Jin Ling's hair and closed his eyes against the hot press of tears. His jaw felt like it was going to crack, he was clenching it so hard. "I want you a lot, A-Ling," he managed. "You have no idea how much."

The compromise he had made with Lanling Jin had been simple. By all rights, A-Ling belonged with his father's side of the family. They could have shut him up in Carp Tower and only allowed Jiang Cheng to visit once a year, had they been so inclined. But Jin Guangshan had seen an opportunity in the depths of Jiang Cheng's grief, and he'd offered a deal: Jin Ling would spend six months of the year in Yunmeng, and six months of the year in Lanling. In exchange, Jiang Cheng had promised to make Jin Ling his heir, and neither marry nor sire any children of his own.

It was a nearly ruinous deal. If Jin Ling inherited, Lanling Jin would gain significant control over the Jiang. They would lose their independence, becoming little more than another subordinate sect-- albeit a wealthy one. Jiang Cheng's mother would have called him a sentimental fool for even contemplating it.

Faced with losing the only remaining member of his family, Jiang Cheng had taken the deal in a heartbeat.

Jin Ling, of course, being six years old, was aware of none of this. All he knew was that every six months like clockwork, Jiang Cheng dropped him off at Carp Tower and didn't look back.

Jiang Cheng rubbed Jin Ling's back and let him cry until he'd exhausted himself. They were going to be late, but that didn't matter. Jiang Cheng's head was pounding with the effort of not giving into his own emotions.

Once Jin Ling's crying had tapered off except for the occasional wet sniffle, Jiang Cheng took out a handkerchief and began methodically wiping off his face until it was clean again. The mud on both their clothes mostly came off with some brushing and a quick spell A-Jie had taught him, though there wasn't much he could do about the wrinkles. It would do.

Then Jiang Cheng lifted Jin Ling into his arms, pulled out Sandu, and lifted back into the air.

Jin Guangyao was waiting for them at the top of the staircase at Carp Tower, as always. The ladies who were in charge of taking care of Jin Ling at Lanling-- Jin Guangyao himself did not, of course, take care of children on his own-- were standing behind him; they bowed with utmost respect, but Jiang Cheng could see the covert glances they were throwing at his clothing.

"Jiang-zongzhu," Jin Guangyao said, ever-polite. "I'm so glad you made it safely. I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"Jin-zongzhu," Jiang Cheng greeted in return. He'd managed to reduce his scowl to something more neutral, though the effort had been considerable. It would do neither of them any good for him to appear visibly distressed-- Jin Guangyao might be less of an outright bastard than his father, but he would have no compunctions about using it to wring more concessions out of the Jiang. "It was fine. My apologies for being late. The weather was good, so we stopped to look at some animals A-Ling wanted to see."

Well, Jin Ling had probably seen some bugs when he'd had his face in the dirt, anyways.

"It's no trouble, I assure you. I'm sure he enjoyed that. Clearly he's very tired out!" Jin Guangyao smiled at where Jin Ling was practically passed out in Jiang Cheng's arms.

That was Jiang Cheng's cue; he lifted Jin Ling off his shoulder. One of the ladies stepped forward, as if to take him, but Jiang Cheng set Jin Ling on his feet instead and knelt down in front of him with a hand under his arm until he was awake enough to support himself.

"A-Ling, it's time for me to go," Jiang Cheng said seriously. "Are you going to be good for your xiao-shushu?"

Jin Ling rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist, yawning. He looked back and forth between Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao. For a moment Jiang Cheng thought he was going to start crying again, but then he just nodded, downcast.

"A-Ling," Jin Guangyao said, as he bent down as well and reached into his sleeve to pull something out, "do you want to see what I brought you?" It was a shining metal carp, enameled in orange and yellow, with articulated joints that caused it to wiggle like a real fish when you moved it. Jin Ling's eyes brightened and he reached for it with grasping hands, completely and utterly distracted.

"Say thank you to your uncle first," Jiang Cheng snapped. On the one hand, he was more than a little aggravated by Jin Guangyao's obvious attempt at bribing his way into Jin Ling's affections-- it was not the first time, and Jin Ling was starting to show signs of being spoiled. On the other hand, if it took that sad look off his face, Jiang Cheng would have bought a hundred more fish just like it.

Jin Ling dropped into a credible bow, and said, "Thank you, xiao-shushu."

"You're very welcome, A-Ling." Jin Guangyao handed over the fish, and Jin Ling started waving it around, delighted.

Jiang Cheng stood, hoping to get away while Jin Ling wasn't paying attention. Jin Guangyao rose as well, and walked with Jiang Cheng a few feet towards the stairs. "You're more than welcome to stay for dinner, or even a few days," he said. "We'd be happy to have you. Jin Ling could show you the new training field we put in in the south wing for him; the training master is going to start him learning how to shoot this time, I understand."

The last time Jiang Cheng had taken him up on that offer, Jiang Cheng had left having agreed to lower the tariffs they charged Lanling by five percent in exchange for having Jin Ling come home during the Spring Festival. So. Better to get out now, before he truly bargained away the rest of the Jiang Sect. "I appreciate your kind offer," he said, and with a tiny bit of malicious gladness added, "Actually, I started teaching him how to use a bow earlier this year. But I'm sure he'll benefit from Lanling Jin's expert instruction as well."

Jin Guangyao's pleasant expression flickered, then returned. He said, "How wonderful! I'm sure he could have no better teacher than yourself. Jiang-zongzhu is well known to be the best archer in Yunmeng."

A muscle in Jiang Cheng's jaw jumped as he read the unspoken coda: now that Wei Wuxian is dead. But there was no way to tell if that jab had been intentional or not. "You're too kind." He added, "I'll take my leave now."

"Jiujiu!"

Jiang Cheng turned, and caught Jin Ling just as he flung himself at Jiang Cheng, that stupid fish still clutched in his grubby hands. They clung to each other, and for a minute Jiang Cheng let himself not care what their audience thought.

But it couldn't last forever. Finally Jiang Cheng had to peel himself away. "Hey, A-Ling, no crying in public," he said, roughly.

Jin Ling sniffled. "Yes, jiujiu," he said, face solemn.

"Good kid." Jiang Cheng stood, ignoring Jin Guangyao, ignoring the stupid retainers who were probably laughing at him. "I'll see you in three months for the Spring Festival," he said. "Then you'll be back in Yunmeng for the summer. Got it?"

"Uh-huh."

And with that Jiang Cheng turned to go, because if he didn't leave right then he was going to start crying in public.

Carp Tower faded behind him.

Someday Jin Ling would grow used to this, to being shuttled between families, to spending half his life in one clan and the rest in another.

Jiang Cheng wasn't certain he ever would.

#the untamed #mdzs #jiang cheng #jin ling #jin guangyao

[taxicabinmemphis]

Prince Charming - Chapter 4

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six

Word count - 4,094 Pairing - Intrulogical, Prinxiety (I didn’t plan it, it just kinda happened and I rolled with it), pre Moceit Warnings - some characters are a lil insensitive in spots but I wouldn’t call them unsympathetic, creativitwins angst ig, swearing, food mention, self-deprecation from most sides bc they’re all wrecks, character injury, pining, and then there’s Remus-typical behavior (body horror mentions, sexual innuendo/mentions of sexual stuff, and other stuff heh), if there’s anything else that should be tagged or put in the warnings, tell me!

The six sides and their horses eventually arrived in Azeria. Remus had abandoned his plan that would allow Janus to escape and instead was pondering his best friend’s love life. Logan and Janus were tired of the adventure and wanted to leave, while Patton and Virgil were hoping to finish so they could treat their injuries. The brothers, however, were having fun and expressed no desire to leave.

“Well, we’re here!” Roman stated as they got to the stables. He dismounted.

“Finally,” Virgil muttered under his breath, before dismounting. “Where should I put Sally, Roman?”

“Over there is fine.” He pointed to where Virgil should leave his horse.

All the other sides dismounted and left their horses in the stables. They walked into the castle, entering the tower where they kept the crown jewels.

“Care to do the honors, Patton?” Roman offered, as Patton was currently wearing the backpack which held the jewels.

Patton walked over to the open glass case. He opened the backpack, removed the jewels, and placed them carefully onto a velvet blanket which covered the bottom of the case. Roman closed the case after Patton finished, and Virgil clapped a hand on the fatherly side’s shoulder.

“Good work, Dad,” Virgil praised. “Thanks for carrying the jewels and keeping them safe.”

“Out of our dirty hands, you mean?” Remus teased.

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” Virgil said, malice in his tone.

Janus put an arm around the emo’s shoulders. “Oh come now, Virgil. You’ve beaten us once, we know not to try again.”

“Hmmph,” Virgil huffed, shrugging off Janus’ arm. He glared at him, suspicion evident on his features.

Janus gave a small laugh and turned to Roman. “What happens now, Roman?”

“Does this scenario end?” Logan asked, masking the hopefulness that would otherwise have been clear in his tone.

“There’s so much more we can do in this adventure!” Roman argued.

“We’re already having dinner way later than normal….” Patton objected quietly. “We shouldn’t hold off on it for much longer.”

“Patton is right,” Logan agreed, “we wouldn’t want to eat too late and end up having trouble getting to sleep on time.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “How about we go to the courtyard and clear everything up. You know, finalize what happened and such.”

“That sounds acceptable,” Logan said.

The sides then left the tower, exited the castle, and went to the courtyard, the flowers surrounding it making Patton’s face light up. The pristine white walls of the castle surrounded them fully on one side and partially on two sides, and the grass was a healthy shade of green. The darker, evening sky inhibited a clear look at their surroundings, though the pretty blues and purples above them seemed to make up for it. The sun would set soon, and the six would likely get the pleasure of watching it, depending on how long it took to end the adventure.

“May I sit on that bench?” Virgil asked, pointing to an ivory-colored bench near where they were standing.

“I’d like to as well,” Patton added, raising his arm slightly.

Roman nodded. “Of course. We can talk near the bench.”

Virgil and Patton sat next to each other on the bench. The four others stood in front of it, each of them standing where they could see each other.

“Okay, so we have the crown jewels, Remus and Janus are in custody, Virgil has been released and is now a citizen of Azeria, and us knights are okay. Anything else we should clarify?” Roman said.

“I was given full permission to annoy Logan while in custody.”

Roman rubbed his temples in annoyance. “No. Logan is a valued knight and respected citizen, we wouldn’t subject him to your company.”

Remus laughed. “Logan visits me in prison, then we fuck-”

“Remus!” Patton exclaimed, hitting his arm.

“Sorry, Pat, but yeah.” Remus shrugs. “That’s what happens.”

The sides looked at Logan, whose face was ducked and buried in his hands.

“No, it isn’t,” Roman disagreed firmly. “Anything else?”

“Reptania and Azeria eventually work out their problems and become allies?” Patton suggested.

Roman stared at him for a few moments, blinking a few times before answering. “I mean, sure. We don’t want these crazies in our dungeons for too long. They would get annoying.”

Virgil snorted. “True that.”

Silence surrounded the group.

“Well then,” Janus said, breaking the silence. “It seems that we’re fini-”

“Look,” Patton interrupted with a gasp. “The sunset.”

The five other sides trained their gazes on what Patton was looking at, and their faces all contorted to an expression of surprise and wonder. The sky was painted in a beautiful display of reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples which contrasted with the canvas of dark blue incredibly well.

“Preeeeeeeetty,” Remus commented softly, holding out the ‘e’.

“As pretty as Logan?” Roman mused, glancing at his brother shortly, before returning his eyes to the colorful sky.

Remus’ face pinkened. “As pretty as Virgil?” he shot back with a scowl.

Roman let out a low sound of annoyance, but he left the conversation at that, preferring to appreciate the sunset than argue with his brother.

The sides spent a good five to ten minutes admiring the sunset, Patton making sure to snap pictures.

Janus cleared his throat. “We really should get going, as it seems that we’re finished.”

The others nodded, slowly tearing their eyes from the sky. Roman snapped his fingers and his fellow sides returned to their normal clothes.

“We could’ve just done that instead of changing earlier?!” Virgil asked incredulously.

Roman shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe, but I don’t think so. Who knows? But now you don’t have to struggle with removing chainmail.”

Virgil groaned and threw his head against the back of the bench.

“Next time, Roman, you should play the villain!” Remus said teasingly, leaving the castle grounds and walking towards the door out of the Imagination, his fellow sides joining him. “Bet you’ve never done that before!”

Roman shook his head. “I am a prince, not a villain. And why not let the resident villain play the part? Besides, I’m the only side here who knows how to be heroic, romantic, and charming.”

Remus’ footsteps slowed, but he eventually reached the door, his mood having soured immensely. He left the Imagination, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Patton, Janus, and Logan followed him out the door, Roman walking towards it himself. His hand grasped the doorknob, and he opened the wooden door slightly, only for his efforts to meet an opposing force that stopped the door from opening further.

The prince looked behind him to see Virgil standing there, left hand on the door.

“Hey there, Princey,” Virgil greeted quietly.

“Virgil,” Roman replied, showing clear confusion.

The purple-clad side took a deep breath. “I was hoping we could discuss something.”

Roman’s eyes widened in surprise, his grip on the doorknob slipping. He hardly registered Virgil closing the door after his hand fell to his side. Roman quickly concluded that Virgil’s previous statement was a softened and less anxiety-inducing version of the phrase “we need to talk”.

The realization made his stomach drop.

He followed Virgil away from the door and back over to the courtyard. They stopped at its entrance, and Virgil turned to face Roman.

“Roman, I have a few questions about some of today’s events,” Virgil said slowly. “As you know, I’m anxiety. I pay attention to behavioral red flags and abnormal actions and they will bother me until I get answers. So to spare future Virgil insomnia, could I please get clarification on a few things?”

Roman took a moment before answering. “And...none of the other sides’ behavior bothered you? Just mine?”

“Afraid so, Princey,” Virgil replied with a grimace. “At least when it came to the way they acted with me. Everything with Patton and Janus followed, except for one thing I managed to figure out. And no one else talked with me much.”

“Alright then,” Roman said, clearing his throat. “Fire away, I guess.”

Virgil shifted his feet. “I suppose I should start with the most recent source of alarm...back during the ride from Reptania? We were talking, and I rejected the idea of riding faster due to my soreness, and you said you wouldn’t cause me any harm or some cutesy shit like that, and then you ended up speeding up? I’m not mad by it or anything and I was eventually able to get used to the added pain it caused but I’m still confused by your actions.”

Roman felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Virgil’s sarcasm towards his care for the anxious side had angered him and slightly hurt his heart, so he sped up to be petty. He didn’t take Virgil’s injured state into account when committing the action, but now wished he did.

“Was that nice thing you said before you sped up sarcastic or something? I mean it was very dramatic like sarcasm often is, but you’re extremely dramatic so I thought it was you being you...maybe I read you wrong-”

“No, Virgil,” Roman finally spoke, raising a hand to halt his companion’s spiraling speech. His head was ducked down and he refused to meet Virgil’s eyes. “The comment was sincere.”

“Then why…”

“I…” Roman really didn’t want to answer this question, “I’m sorry. Your sarcasm after my comment wounded me when it really shouldn’t have because you’re such a sarcastic person by nature. I then forgot all about your injuries and sped up to be petty. I’m so sorry Virgil, and I am absolutely disgusted by myself for causing you pain. Especially after declaring I wouldn’t. You must be so angry...so rightfully angry.”

Virgil looked at the prince for a few silent seconds, blinking while he contemplated his dramatic and apologetic exposition. “I...I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was flattered and didn’t know what to say so I reverted to my normal sarcasm. I should’ve realized what I said might hurt you. And...I’m not angry, Princey. I was just confused and maybe a little annoyed.” Virgil paused for half a second, pondering whether or not to say his next words. “Don’t be angry at yourself, or...disgusted. Lashing out without care is normal, especially for someone as passionate as you. I’m fine now, the additional pain has faded, and I’m not annoyed anymore.”

Roman slowly lifted his head and let himself make eye contact with Virgil. “I...But you still suffered, Virgil, at my hand.” Roman clenched his fist and closed his eyes.

Virgil let out a tiny laugh. “Seriously, Roman. I’m fine. I didn’t suffer or anything that dramatic. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Roman stopped, looking back to Virgil. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I acted insensitively out of anger. It was stupid. I apologize. I understand that you were...wait, flattered?” Roman stopped, remembering what Virgil said earlier.

Virgil’s eyes widened. He forgot he’d said that. “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. “‘Your safety is my priority’? ‘I will instigate nothing that will cause you harm’? Those are some pretty sweet words you said there, Roman. I guess it, uh…—” he lowered the volume of his voice, “—made me feel a little special.”

Roman’s face had reddened at Virgil repeating Roman’s declaration from the horseback ride and emphasizing its kindness. But he smiled too. He made Virgil feel special.

“Not to say I’m not aware of how drama and bold declarations of action and emotion are basically your main way of interacting with others,” Virgil started to backtrack, “and maybe it shouldn’t have flattered me the way it did, considering you always act like that, but it did, and I’m sorry it made me say something that hurt you.”

“You needn’t apologize further, Virgil,” Roman said, a fond smile adorning his features. “I am aware of how passionate I am, especially towards you, and I should have considered that before I did what I did. If what I say bothers you, please tell me. I have no desire to hurt you.”

Virgil’s gaze was on the grass from Roman’s offhanded flirtatious comment. “What you say doesn’t hurt me or anything, and I know it’s just you being you. Compliments aren’t something I navigate well either and it’s not like anyone else speaks half as dramatically as you, so if you say something nice, it’s really nice and I don’t know how to respond. That’s all.”

Roman chuckled, the smile staying on his face as he glanced over and internally marveled at Virgil’s lovely facial features. “Hmm, flustered Virgil. Something that seems so alluringly impossible but is existing before my eyes. Truly, a wonderful sight.” Roman’s smile only widened at Virgil blushing, and he got back on topic. “What else did you wish for us to discuss, Virgil? I remember you mentioning that there was more than one worry on your mind.”

“I, uh, yeah,” Virgil said weakly, still bashful from Roman’s words. “Roman...Patton’s hit to my stomach didn’t knock me out. It couldn’t have, to be honest. And I remember everything that happened. Everything that was said.”

Roman frowned. “What are you trying to say here, Virgil?”

“Why were you so angry?” Virgil asked softly, looking into Roman’s eyes. “You were so mad, so incredibly furious at Patton…. No one else was. And you didn’t know the whole story.”

“Virgil…”

“Again, I’m not mad,” Virgil clarified. “Or disappointed, or anything of the sort. I’m just confused. I mean, as soon as you learned Patton was the one who knocked me down, you were so angry! You didn’t even listen to his defense...it took Janus yelling at you and his explanation to shut y-- to stop your anger. Your apology was fine and sincere and Patton understood your actions so, again, I’m not mad. Why were you so angry, though? No one else was. But you were. Why?”

“I…” Roman trailed. “I care about you, Virgil. You know this.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased. “Is this your way of telling me the others don’t?”

“No!” Roman exclaimed. “I just...didn’t like to see you hurt. My fight with Remus, while it got a bit angry verbally, neither of us were injured. The same happened in Janus and Logan’s sword fight. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that no one should be hurt. I didn’t think that you getting hurt was fair. And so I lashed out at Patton...the person who seemed to break that rule. I know it was wrong to do so as I didn’t have all the information and am very aware of how much he loves and cares for you, but I wasn’t thinking. I was just angry. I apologize. I know how much Patton means to you, and I’m sorry for making him feel bad when he shouldn’t. When he didn’t deserve it.”

Virgil nodded. “I get that, I guess. You don’t need to apologize any more though, you already did. Again, I’m just...shocked that you were the one who got so mad at him….”

“Is that really so hard to believe, emo nightmare?” Roman asked with a smile. “I’m the one in the group who goes after those who I believe have done wrong, I’m the one who doesn’t listen when I should—”

“Roman…”

“—and I’m also the one who tries to valiantly protect people. Not anyone else.”

Virgil chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need to protect me, Roman. I’m fight or flight, right? I can do the fight part for myself, you know.”

“Aww, but what if I want to protect you from harm?” Roman teased.

Virgil hit Roman’s shoulder lightly. “You don’t need to. Besides, the harm had already been done.”

Roman chuckled, taking a tiny step closer to Virgil. “Don’t try to stop me from protecting you, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Virgil snorted. “I can try.”

Roman laughed, shaking his head. “Why can’t you let me show my love for you the way I know how to?” The question was light, joking, casual. It meant next to nothing to Roman when it left his lips.

However, it had the opposite effect on Virgil. He looked down towards his feet, noticing how Roman was four feet away from him. The anxious side didn’t know whether to be happy the creative side couldn’t see his blush or sad he wasn’t closer.

“Y-Your love for me?” Virgil asked quietly, still looking at the grass.

“Of course, my raisin oatmeal cookie. You are my fellow side, my friend, my lovely Incredible Sulk! Don’t we all love you?” Roman replied, more nervous than he let on.

“O-Oh, yeah.”

“And even still, how could anyone not love you?” Roman said with a laugh.

Virgil’s face reddened further. “Can’t be too hard. I seemed to do it without trying.” The nervous side chuckled, approaching the worrisome comment casually, trying to impart sarcasm. He figured a joke would divert any possible attention from his blush.

Roman frowned, looking at the ducked head of Anxiety. “Well, that just won’t do.”

“...What?”

“My wonderful Charlie Frown, we can’t have you not loving yourself,” Roman said, dramatic but soft. He then put his hand under Virgil’s chin and delicately lifted it so he could meet his eyes. He gazed into them, admiring the beautiful shades of purple and green.

“Oh, Princey, it wasn’t that serious-” Virgil started to object, glancing away from Roman.

“No no no,” Roman silenced him, moving his hand from Virgil’s chin to in front of his lips, his index finger pointed up as a signal for him to stop talking. “You have to know how amazing you are, or at least learn.”

Virgil shook his head rapidly. “No. No, no. We are not doing this. It’s not that important anyway. Please don’t do this.”

Roman shook his head. “Do what? Tell you how spectacular you are?” His hand dropped from in front of Virgil’s mouth.

“Spectacular is subjective,” Virgil objected. “But yeah. Don’t do that.”

“Hmm…” Roman seemed to be pondering this. “Considering we are supposed to be talking about other topics, I guess I’ll do so another time, my dazzling Doctor Gloom.”

Virgil exhaled lightly. He was free of compliments for the time being. He didn’t dare argue, as that might cause Roman to take back what he said and say nice things about him. Virgil didn’t think he could take all of Roman’s dramatic sweetness, especially considering it was all platonic...right? He did say ‘friend’….

Roman looked at Virgil, his friend, his former enemy, with overwhelming love in his eyes. While it would be wrong of him to compliment him now, he couldn’t just leave that at that. He had to do something to demonstrate that Virgil should love himself. At least, that he was loved by others.

“Oh, Roman, look.” Virgil’s voice was small with wonder. His eyes left Roman’s and rested on the night sky above them. “The sun has set and the stars are out. There’s so many of them!”

Roman turned his head from Virgil to look. “Indeed. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Yeah…”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

“You corny son of a bitch!” Virgil exclaimed, whacking Roman’s arm. “You said you’d stop complimenting me. And gosh, even if you still did, that was too cliché.”

“What? You walked right into it,” Roman defended with a shrug. “I’m not wrong either.”

Virgil took a deep breath, repressing his annoyance and a blush that wanted to crawl across his cheeks. “No more, Princey.”

Roman laughed, glancing at Virgil. His eyes lingered on the anxious side and the unique way the stars lit up the face Roman already adored so much.

Virgil glanced at Roman, doing a double take when he noticed the creative side’s eyes already on him. “What is it, Roman?”

Roman chuckled, placing his hand and laying his gaze on Virgil’s jaw, finger grazing over the white foundation that covered the emo’s face. He flicked his eyes up to meet the purple and green ones of his companion. “Oh, Virgil. Sweet Virgil.” Roman could see the red even through the makeup. He took a few steps closer to him. “May I kiss you?”

Virgil’s eyes widened. This was one of, no, the last thing he ever expected to leave Roman’s mouth. He stared at Roman—looking so absolutely majestic in the moonlight, so unbelievably attractive. His prince, his creativity, his talented, charming Roman was asking if he could kiss him.

“Please,” Virgil whispered, the one word laced with clear desire.

Roman smiled widely, looking down at his emo and placing his lips against his. They both closed their eyes, Roman’s hand not leaving Virgil’s jaw and his other arm encircling the purple side’s waist. Virgil wrapped his left arm around Roman’s neck and rested his right hand on the prince’s chest.

The kiss was delicate and so incredibly loving. It was purposeful, but soft. There was no lust but oh so much romance, no need for more but also quite desperate. The kiss wasn’t short—and it seemed just long enough—but it still had the two treat every second of it like precious gold as they savored the other like rich chocolate consumed on a warm evening. It left the two addicted to the other in a way that made sure what had just occurred would happen many more times in the future.

The two pulled away at the same time, letting their lips part so terribly slowly it was as if they were trying to make the most out of the last couple of seconds. Their eyes stayed closed, their arms not moving from where they were positioned on the other, and their faces flushed from the kiss.

Roman opened his eyes first: slowly, and with reluctance. He swept his thumb under Virgil’s closed right eye lightly, across his eyeshadow, and smiled at the beauty that was his emo. A part of him wanted him to lean down and kiss him more but another wanted to watch his radiant romance process what happened.

Roman watched as his purple prince opened his eyes slightly and smiled at him. Roman, already smiling, just looked at Virgil with fond wonder, always thinking the side couldn’t get more attractive and then constantly being proved wrong.

“Was it nice?” Roman asked after a comfortable silence, voice low and quiet. He moved his hand from Virgil’s jaw to brush hair out of his face.

“Nice? No,” Virgil replied at the same volume, sliding his right hand up Roman’s chest and around his neck. “Wonderful beyond words? Definitely.”

Roman put his forehead against Virgil’s, humming as he placed the hand formerly resting on his love’s face around his waist. “It is my sworn duty to make you happy.”

Virgil chuckled. “I suppose I shall have to take that ‘sworn duty’ upon myself in reference to you now, hmm?”

“Oh, my darling, you don’t have to do anything for me except exist happy and healthy in my arms.”

Virgil snorted. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

“Yes, I do.”

The two stayed where they were in comfortable silence. Admiring the other, admiring the stars in their peripheral vision, relishing the magnificent feeling that came from being in each other’s arms.

“I had another question, you know.”

Roman hummed in acknowledgment.

“Why did you cast me as the cursed prisoner?”

“You were being annoying. Endearingly so, yes, but the fact still stands.”

“I’m always interrupting you with sarcasm,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “You wanted to save me, didn’t you? The prince, rescuing the prisoner. Very ‘damsel in distress’-esque, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, give me a break. Who can blame me for wanting to save you, and what did you expect when I was given the opportunity?”

“It’s fine, Princey,” Virgil stated with a laugh. “It’s cute. Adorable, really. Very romantic.”

Roman groaned and gave his Virgil a kiss on the jawline. “Take it as a way to tell you that I will protect and save you from harm, especially throughout...whatever we have going on here.”

Virgil chuckled. “I can’t wait.”

The two heard the door to the Imagination open, but they didn’t move away from each other.

“Aww, you two,” Patton cooed. “I finished making dinner. Come now, kiddos, we’re already eating way too late.”

Virgil and Roman gave Patton a nod of acknowledgement and gave each other a short and final kiss before heading out of the Imagination.

~

Prince Charming Taglist -  @the-sympathetic-villain @justanotherhumanstuff @thistledown15

~

Hope you liked the next installment of this fic! Feel free to ask to be on the taglist, if you want.

#prinxiety #ts fanfic #roman #virgil #romantic prinxiety #patton #remus #logan #janus #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #intrulogical #pre moceit #romantic intrulogical #prince charming #fic #swearing tw #food tw #food mention #injury mention #julia writes

[foxpaws10]

I know as a fandom we’ve decided that Blood//Water by Grandson is an AFTG theme song but I’ve been going through his other music and holy cow, this dude is writing a revolution through music, but could easily be writing the music for an aftg Netflix series!

Bury Me Face Down is a perfect Neil Josten song:

(When I go into the ground I won't go quietly, I'm bringin' my crown When I go into the ground Oh, they gotta bury me, bury me face down

/

There's a whole damn army thinkin' that they're gonna harm me Say goodnight, I'll never get free Oh, I got troubles that won't let me be But I won't get tired, set the town on fire 'Till my troubles got trouble with me

/

I've been on the run Since I was a boy But now I'm done runnin', got another thing comin' Watch my enemies get destroyed Oh, I've got troubles of more than one kind But I never sleep, gotta bury me six feet deep Where the sun don't shine

/

I've been counted out, left for dead Wanted with a bounty on my head But somehow, someway, I'm-a keep movin' along, movin' along)

Overdose for Andrew/Seth:

(I was higher than the nosebleed

/

I can't just do one now, no I've been way to numb now I'm living on the run now Oh I gotta get out of this town somehow

/

Better tell me what's your life worth I think its time for a change Cause the drugs don't work anymore

/

I couldn't find the fill again Couldn't seem to kill the pain I was living in the moment Searching for a little serotonin But this shit ain't so fun now I can’t deal with the come down

/

Overdose, all fun and games till I hit the floor comatose)

Blood//Water is perfect for the Baltimore scene or Neil’s time with the Ravens:

(We'll never get free Lamb to the slaughter

/

The price of your greed Is your son and your daughter

/

Look me in my eyes Tell me everything's not fine

/

You thought you could go free But the system is done for If you listen real closely There's a knock at your front door

/

Beg me for mercy Admit you were toxic You poisoned me just for Another dollar in your pocket Now I am the violence I am the sickness Won't accept your silence Beg me for forgiveness)

Darkside for Andrew:

(He never went to check under his bed He was living with the monsters in his head Sick of getting beat up He listened, what they said Told him do some very bad things And when the time comes That he count to ten Ain't nobody ever gon' fuck with him again Feeling all alone, it was him against them)

I’m not going to go through them all but oh man, they’re perfect for the foxes! So many would be amazing to play in the background of Neil’s “You know I get it,” speech, or when he punched Riko (6:00 sits well for it imo).

Do yourself a favour and listen to Best Friends, Oh No!, Die Young, 6:00 and  Despicable for just a few as well as the ones above. 

#aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #the raven king #trk #neil josten #the foxes #Andrew minyard #seth gordon #grandson #mine #the kings men #tkm #nathaniel wesninski

[thepandapopo]

Absolute Truths

This idea wormed its way into my head and for the life of me I couldn’t get it out.

This oneshot is a little longer than the stuff I usually write (a whopping 8539 words), but I loved every minute of it. I tried editing it to the best of my ability, but honestly I suck at that. No beta, we die like Glenn. #SorryNotSorry #TooSoon ?

Please note this is non canon. The time frame for this is sometime after the Battle of Gronder post time skip and it is a mash up of the GD and BL routes (ie. Dimitri joins Claude and is no longer crazy; Rodrigue still dies. RIP).

Cross posted to ao3.

Pairing: Sylvain x Felix

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and PTSD

Synopsis:

When Felix and Sylvain get hit with a dark magic spell that reverts them back to children, the Resistance Army gets a deeper look into their bond and learn 5 absolute truths that form the foundation of their relationship.

OR

5 undeniable facts of Sylvain and Felix’s relationship.

Word Count: 8539

“Felix!”

Fuck. Sylvain loses sight of him for only a minute but that is all the enemy needs to overwhelm the already bombarded swordmaster.

Pulling the reigns sharply to the left, the Paladin charges across the battlefield, skewering any unfortunate enemies that dare block his way, the lance of ruin glowing like a beacon of fury despite the thick coating of blood on it. The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and dark magic, making it hard to breathe and blurring the red head’s vision. Regardless, Sylvain presses on; determined to get to his best friend in time before the group of mages over the hill finish casting… whatever ominous looking spell they are aiming at Felix.

“Sylvain, get out of here!” Felix shouts angrily, not even pausing his fighting to face the sight of Bella charging her way through the throng with her master astride her.

Shit. Felix cuts down another enemy.

It is never ending. No matter how many falls to his blade, another two enemies take their place. Felix isn’t stupid – he can see the group of mages prepping a dark magic spell in the distance, which makes him even angrier when he spots Sylvain riding to his aid.

Like hell he’ll give his childhood friend another reason to toss himself into harms way. Felix isn’t weak. He doesn’t need protection. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Sylvain to be the one who gets hurt trying to fix his mistakes just because he got a little too cocky and split from the rest of his battalion.

“Fuck.” Felix grunts and pushes his sword hard to disengage the thief that has him in a sword lock. He doesn’t bother to see if he is being pursued and dashes towards Sylvain who is now dismounting a short distance away, Lance of Ruin making quick work of anyone who strays too close for comfort.

Sylvain was undoubtedly within hit range of the spell now. If that idiot insists on being his usual self-sacrificing self, then the least Felix can do is use his own body to shield the older man and take the brunt of the damage.

The tell-tale crackle of magic behind him sets the hair on his nape standing.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

He isn’t going to make it. Damn Sylvain for being so slow – this is exactly why he keeps telling him to take his training more seriously-!

“Fe!”

The last thing he knows before succumbing to the darkness is a hard chest plate knocking the wind out of him and warm, strong arms that remind him of summers spent with a heart lighter than air.

----

1.       Sylvain always has, and always will protect Felix until the day he dies.

Leonie is one of two on the first shift of babysitting duty.

Undeniably, the orange haired paladin would be the first to admit that she wasn’t the greatest with kids, however there is only so much the tiny, and thankfully unconscious, Fraldarius boy can do given his current predicament.

No one really knows what happened after the enemy spell envelops Felix and Sylvain, the larger of the two curled protectively around his companion as they fall. No one even knows what the spell is.

But what they do know is that now, instead of a regular sized Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier, they have a chubby cheeked blue haired cherub and an unfairly-cute-even-as-a-child ginger.

It is in the middle of bemoaning her poor luck at drawing straws when the mini-Felix begins to stir and she feels panic clawing its way up her throat.

“Ngghh…” small, unscarred hands balled into fist come up to rub at bleary amber eyes before they widen almost comically as they take in his surroundings.

“Uhh… hey.” His gaze snaps towards Leonie and she can feel her terror rising with mini Felix’s hysteria, clearly evident by the shiny glaze beginning to cloud his eyes and the fat crocodile tears gathering at the edges of his almond eyes.

“It’s okay, Felix. It’s just me.” She reaches out a hand tentatively in a placating gesture, but quickly withdraws back as young Felix lets out a squeak and scurries as far back into the corner of the bed as he can get, taking his older self’s wool Fraldarius crest blanket with him, as if it could shield him.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” The poor thing is absolutely terrified and damn it, Leonie wants to comfort him, but she is equally as distressed here and this is exactly why she didn’t want to babysit.

“It’s me, Leonie. You don’t… you don’t recognize me?”

It comes out sounding more like a statement than a question.

It’s so painfully obvious that little Felix has no idea who she is.

Which means he doesn’t have his memories.

Which means they are down two of their best generals.

Which means they are well and truly fucked.

So, Leonie does the only thing she can logically think to do.

“Come on,” She says, rising from her bedside chair and reaching for his arm. “We need to go tell Linheartd that the situation is much worse than we had originally thought.” But as soon as her hand wraps around his forearm, Felix screams.

“Oh shi-! Felix! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you!”

If anything, this just seems to have the opposite effect and the wails increase to near piercing.

Leonie thinks it may be a trick of her mind, and probably her ears because holy crap does little Felix have a set of lungs on him, but she is pretty sure that Felix is screaming out a name.

Specifically, a name belonging to a certain red head that is, the last time she checked anyways, unconscious two doors down from his room and currently being watched over by Caspar.

“Fe!” The door bursts open and suddenly there is chaos.

Was being watched over by Caspar, Leonie amends in her mind.

“Get back here!” The blue haired warrior lunges and swipes his arm out trying to catch mini Sylvain who is slipperier than a fish in water, using his short height to duck between legs and launch himself onto the bed.

“Leave Fe alone!” Honey brown eyes that are so very familiar yet also so different, are glaring holes into Leonie and Caspar, proudly defiant and blazing with determination. Short arms stuffed into the smallest adult shirt they could find on short notice stretch out protectively, completely shielding Felix from sight.

“S-Sylvain,” comes the little sob from behind him and the older boy spares a second to throw a comforting smile behind him. “Don’t worry, Fe. I’ll protect you.” And Goddess, he sounds so genuine and earnest that it makes Leonie wonder what happened to cause their Sylvain to hide behind fake laughs and charming lilts of the tongue.

“Sorry, Leonie.” Caspar is gasping for air like he has just run a marathon. “I tried to keep him in his room but as soon as he heard Felix screaming, he was out faster than I could blink.”

“Ugh. Just go get Ingrid and the Professor.”

----

2.       Sylvain hates himself and his crest, but Felix likes him in spite of it.

A day later finds Ingrid watching over the five year old Felix (“What?! He’s five? But he’s so tiny.” “Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll cry again.”) and seven year old Sylvain.

“Just stay in this area, okay?” She calls out over the din of raucous laughter echoing throughout the courtyard. “I don’t want you two wandering off and getting into trouble.”

The play wrestling pauses for a brief moment and little Sylvain sticks out a tongue at her.

“We don’t get into trouble! You’re just a party pooper!”

“Yeah! Party pooper!”

Shoving down the urge to smack her childhood friends into the next moon, Ingrid settles for watching with pursed lips as Felix dissolves into giggles, Sylvain’s grabby hands finding purchase in his sides and tickling him relentlessly. The look of such carefree happiness on their faces makes her heart clench and eyes sting.

If Ingrid is being completely honest… she misses this.

She remembers what it was like not carrying around a broken heart for a man buried six feet under, his remains not even whole enough to bring home. Back when she could play wrestle with Fe, Sylvie, and Dima in the dirt and then go to Glenn to kiss her knee better when one of them inevitably accidentally activated their crest and used too much strength, resulting in tears and scrapes and bruises.

It doesn’t do her any good to dwell on the past.

The dead should be left to rest, and the living should move on.

For an emotionally constipated guy, Felix is dead on with his philosophy.

Though she has long come to terms with her betrothed’s death, the small sliver of envy she has for her two oldest friends still lingers in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.

They’re lucky that they still have each other, even though they spend half the time bickering and denying their feelings.

“Is that the Gautier boy?”

Two monastery staff members stop beneath the path archway and look with undisguised admiration.

“So handsome at such a young age!”

“And I hear he’s incredibly charming too.”

Ingrid knows that Sylvain and hear them. He has always been keen of hearing, especially when it involves others gossiping about himself, for better or for worse.

Felix takes advantage of Sylvain’s distraction to get the upper hand and rolls on top, completely oblivious to the onlookers.

“If I were his mother, I would have secured him a betrothed as soon as he was tested for a crest.”

A hum of agreement. “Yes. His family is blessed with good looks so it would not be hard to secure an advantageous match. The Gautier line will likely continue on stronger than ever with such a prized heir.”

“Sylvain? Why did you stop?”

Felix is all wide eyes and adorable pouty cheeks, staring confusedly down at his best friend underneath him who has gone strangely silent with a strangled expression.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

The two gossipmongers snap to attention at Ingrid’s sharp tone, her expression clearly telling them to get the hell out of here or risk facing her wrath.

With rushed replies of “yes, sorry miss!” and “our apologies”, they scurry off down the pathway and disappear around the corner.

But unfortunately, the damage is already done.

“Sylvain? What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

Gently, the older boy extricates himself from Felix’s death grip of a grapple and stands up with his eyes cast downwards. “Sorry, Fe. I… I don’t want to play anymore.”

“What? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m tired. I want to go back to our room.”

It only takes one look at Sylvain’s expression before Felix is latching his fists into the fabric of Sylvain’s pants with a scowl on his face.

“You’re lying to me. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, Fe! I don’t want to play anymore.”

“We’re best friends aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, of course we are.”

“Best friends don’t lie to each other.”

Ingrid has patiently watched the exchange between Felix and Sylvain to this very moment, hoping that they can sort out this argument without her intervening like she always did as a child, but through years of experience, she can sense that one of them is about to snap and she would very much like to avoid that.

“You know the only reason we’re best friends is because our parents are friends and we both have crests.”

There it is.

It’s absolutely heart breaking how Sylvain has already learned to self destruct at the tender age of seven. If Miklan were still alive, Ingrid would skewer him a thousand times over for instilling the mantra of ‘you’re not worthy of love’ into Sylvain’s head.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go-“

“You’re a stupid head if that’s what you think.” Felix’s interruption shocks her. His usually bright amber eyes are fixed in a watery glare leveled at the boy opposite him. Right now, Ingrid may as well be invisible for all Felix cares.

“What?”

“You’re a stupid head!”

Sylvain looks absolutely affronted.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are!” a few tears have managed to slip beyond the barrier and trail down Felix’s cheeks. “I don’t care that our parents know each other. And I don’t care about any stupid crests.”

Felix marches up to Sylvain with all the anger he can muster in his five year old glory and reaches up to smoosh his cheeks together. “I’d still pick you to be my best friend in the whole wide world because you’re funny and nice and I’m always happier with you than Ingrid or Dima.”

Sylvain can only stand there with his lips parted in round ‘o’ from his cheeks being pushed together and a dazed look in his eye. Felix takes this as a sign to continue his little tirade.

“And I know you’re smart so you should stop being such a stupid head because I don’t care what you think. You’re my best friend and I’ll always pick you over any stupid crest.”

“Fe…”

She recognizes that tone. Ingrid looks away then because she fears that if she doesn’t, the part of her heart that belongs to Glenn might just twist its way into her throat and choke her with envy.

Sylvain is giving Felix that look that she has seen many times throughout their lives whenever she watches her two friends from afar. It’s one that everyone, except for Felix, has seen a million times and knows that to Sylvain, the world around him has fallen away except for one person.

“You’re my best friend, Sylvain. So, don’t lie to me.”

For the first time since the gossipers appeared, Sylvain lets a smile slip through.

“Okay. I promise.”

Felix eyes him warily and searches for any hint of a lie in Sylvain’s expression. Once satisfied, he loops his own pinky around the one outstretched to him.

“Good. Now let’s go play Knights and Bandits!”

Perhaps it is because Felix is always looking ahead that he never sees how Sylvain looks at him like he was the one who hung the stars and moon in his dark sky, illuminating his life with happiness and love.

----

3.       Felix feels so much and Sylvain is the only one who understands him even without words.

A collective sigh echoes throughout the monastery when they find out that mini Felix and mini Sylvain aren’t too picky with their food.

Granted, even as a child, Felix shows a proclivity towards eating meat; but with a little friendly jostling from his best friend, even the youngest Fraldarius son can be convinced to eat his brussel sprouts.

Which is exactly why Claude is so baffled when Felix starts to protest eating during mealtimes.

“What do you mean he won’t eat?”

He’s well aware that he probably sounds like an idiot, if the exasperated look Lorenz is giving him is anything to go by; but they haven’t had any trouble before so it makes absolutely no sense that Felix would start being picky now.

“It’s exactly as I said,” Lorenz frowns. “We were all simply sitting together enjoying a meal, when Felix stopped eating and refused to finish his dinner. I’ve been told this is now the third occurrence in a row that his has happened.”

“Was he full?” Byleth pauses from looking through some supply requests to chime into their conversation. Although she has not outright said anything, Claude knows his love well enough to tell that she is stressed about their current predicament. Felix throwing a silent protest against food is just one more thing to add to her pile of worries that she doesn’t need.

“Don’t worry, Teach,” Claude winks and flashes his signature grin. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You just worry about securing our supplies for the next moon, yeah?” His chair lets out a deafening screech as it drags across the floor, drowning out any protests their former professor may have and providing Claude the distraction he needs to usher Lorenz out of the room with him.

“Claude, are you sure you know what you are doing?” The doubt rolling off Lorenz would have offended a lesser man, but Claude has spent his life being the underdog and he lets the words bounce harmlessly off him. “Felix is not an enemy to be outsmarted. He is simply a child who only adheres to emotion.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“Then why do you look as though you are about to hatch a scheme?”

Because he is.

And although Felix is not an ‘enemy’, per say, doesn’t mean that Claude can’t use his usual tactics of watching and observing his opponent until he has hatched a plot to take them down. Hence, leading to Claude’s current position tucked away in the far corner of the mess hall during the following breakfast.

Even on his off days, Claude is always watching and learning. He knows the favourite foods of all his fellow comrades in arms and he also knows whom everyone’s preferred companion is.

There is very little that escapes his notice, and the Resistance Army leader is confident that he will have a plan by sundown at the very least.

It is a little past 8am when the two children sleepily trudge their way into the dining hall with Bernadetta, their ward for the day, close behind them.

Nothing seems particularly strange or odd when they join the line to retrieve their meal; and nothing remarkable happens either when Bernie leads them to the only empty table left in the middle of the hall.

“Good morning, Bernadetta!” Raphael greets cheerily and shuffles his mountain of food over to join the trio at their table. “Good morning, Felix, Sylvain!”

The little ones mumble back a greeting, but their voices are lost in the din of the morning meal chatter.

So far, so good. Felix is still eating his porridge (albeit with an adorable frown on his face) and talking animatedly about goddess knows what with Sylvain, who occasionally turns to answer a question from the adults.

“Oh, good morning, Bernadetta, Felix, Sylvain!”

Slowly but surely, the table begins to fill as their friends meander into the building in search of food to start their day. Greetings are exchanged and unsurprisingly, Felix and Sylvain garner a lot of attention due to their current forms. Sylvain, ever the chatterbox that he is, fields most of the questions; Whether it is because he is being considerate of his quieter friend or if he simply relishes in the attention is debatable, but Claude cannot help but notice how his eyes constantly dart back towards Felix who grows increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, you’re just too adorable!” Annette’s squeal of delight reaches even Claude’s remote corner and he assumes that the wince he sees from Felix is due to the sheer volume of the orange haired mage. Sylvain, the current object of attention, just flashes her his prize winning smile; his dimples making him look even more endearing than he already is.

The adults gathered around the children don’t even notice that Felix has stopped eating. Nor do they see Sylvain quietly reach below the table to grab Felix’s smaller hand in what looks to be a gesture of comfort.

In fact, it takes another five minutes of cooing and fawning before Raphael, of all people, notices that Felix is now glaring with teary eyes at his bowl of half eaten porridge.

“What’s wrong, little buddy? Not feeling well?”

Immediately the attention shifts to him and the effects are just as disastrous as Claude predicts.

“I’m not hungry.” Some of the porridge finds its way onto the table as Felix pushes his bowl away with such ferocity, Claude is half surprised it doesn’t completely tip over.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry?” Annette frowns. “This is the fourth time you’ve left a meal unfinished. Are you not feeling well? Do you need to go see Mercedes?”

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Felix? We just want to make sure you’re not getting sick.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s a big fat lie and anyone with half a brain can hear the distress and frustration in the blue haired boy’s voice. One lone tear manages to squeeze its way out of Felix’s water logged eyes and that’s all it takes for the table to burst into a flurry.

Claude almost feels bad for Felix as the adults descend on him like a pack of vultures, all of them crowding him and trying to coax the reason for his distress out of him. The Almyran prince has half a mind to go over and rescue his friend in arms from a situation that is probably in his top ten worst fears, but before he can even get out of his seat, Sylvain is already bounding out of his chair with a teary Felix in tow.

Sylvain shouts something about ‘Knights and Bandits’ and they’re out the southern doors before Bernadetta can even process what has happened.

Felix’s half eaten bowl of porridge sits on the table completely forgotten.

----

At lunch, Claude decides to test a hypothesis.

He asks Mercedes and Hilda to sit with the kids at lunch and pay special attention to Felix.

To everyone else, he gives them strict orders to leave their table alone.

Satisfied with how his experiment is set up, Claude finally seats himself back in his observatory spot with his own lunch sitting in front of him.

He’s not expecting amazing results. In fact, he’s not expecting his first hypothesis to be a success at all, but he wants to try it none the less because there is always the possibility that mini Felix fundamentally operates much differently than the Felix that he is used to.

What he doesn’t expect is for Felix to immediately shut down the minute Hilda tries to engage him in some conversation about the games him and Sylvain play in the courtyard.

Today’s lunch special is Daphnel Stew and Claude has it on good authority that it is a favourite of Felix’s (technically Dimitri is a reliable source, right? They were childhood friends after all).

Sylvain tries his best to jump into the conversation and pull some of the attention to himself, but Hilda is every bit as smooth of a talker as Claude is; deftly maneuvering the conversation back to Felix no matter what Sylvain does.

This time, it is Felix that reaches for Sylvain’s hand under the table.

Except instead of just holding Sylvain’s hand, Felix starts to pull at it every time Mercedes or Hilda asks him a question, as if pleading for his friend to save him.

At least Claude could now say for sure that Felix is not, and never was, a fan of being the center of attention.

When the first afternoon bell tolls signaling the end of lunch, Felix’s stew remains uneaten and untouched. On the way out of the hall, Claude looks the other way and pretends not to notice when Sylvain steals an apple from the pantry.

His experiment doesn’t exactly succeed, but he cannot write it off as a failure either. The information gathered from his two observation sessions is plentiful and a solution is forming within his mind even as he makes his way up to the war room to meet Byleth for their afternoon strategy session.

By the time he pushes open the door to his usual haunt, Claude is absolutely certain of two truths.

One, that Sylvain knows Felix better than anyone could ever hope to compare, and two, Felix Fraldarius is incredibly lucky to have an attentive best friend like Sylvain because stars above, does he suck with using his words.

----

When the hour before dinner time rolls around, Claude makes sure to talk to everyone he passes by and give them the order that no one is to approach Felix and Sylvain’s tables at mealtimes anymore. He tells them to pass the word around and it doesn’t take long before the entire monastery is in the know of their Leader’s command.

“Care for company?” Byleth smiles and sets her tray down beside his own without waiting for a reply.

Claude does a quick survey of the area to make sure no one is looking before leaning in to land a quick peck on Byleth’s cheek. Joy flutters in his stomach at her rising blush and he merely laughs and winks at her stuttered protests.

“Check it out,” Claude quickly changes the subject and nods his head over to where Bernadetta sits exhausted with a now cheerful Felix and Sylvain. The latter nodding enthusiastically to their conversation with the occasional laugh and both of their plates near devoid of food.

A tiny rush of pride swells when he sees the relived expression on Byleth’s face.

“Told ya I’d take care of it.”

Underneath the table, he flips his palm facing upward so that he can intertwine his fingers with her searching ones.

“Yes, you did.” The unspoken thanks lingers in the air between them, louder than the constant buzz of activity in the room.

For the first time in a while, the former professor looks more at ease. And Claude, being the shit stirrer that he is, cannot help but toss a little fuel into the fire.

“So… who do you think will wear white at the wedding? Between the two of them, I think Felix is the better choice.”

“What?!”

----

4.       Felix has an unwavering faith and belief in Sylvain that he’s not afraid to stubbornly stand by to the bitter end.

“Annie, are you sure this is a good idea?”

If Mercedes is concerned, then Lysithea is absolutely certain that no, this is most definitely not a good idea.

They are at the part of the training grounds where the various magic users can come to practice and hone their spells. The ground is singed with charred marks from stray thunder and fire spells, the black streaks contrasting starkly with the pale stone underneath. To the side, there is also a sand pit where mages can practice some more destructive flame based spells.

“I’m just a little curious, is all!” Annette whispers back. “I know Sylvain is really good with magic even though he never uses it. He was the one who helped me understand that magic formula that I was stuck on for a week, after all. I was thinking maybe he might show an aptitude for Reason as a child.”

“That’s fine and all; but I’m not really sure how safe it is to teach a child how to conjure a fire spell. That just seems like a recipe for disaster.”

The orange hair mage cannot help but look slightly put out by Lysithea’s comment.

Yes, maybe it wasn’t the safest idea ever… but Annette just really wants to find out the extent of Sylvain’s inherent abilities. Even after she makes him promise to take his training more seriously, she still feels like he is holding back on her when they are paired together.

“What kinda magic are you gonna show us?” Felix is eager and bouncing on his toes. The House Fraldarius specializes in swordplay, not magic, so this is a treat for him and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Oh well, I was thinking we could start off with a basic fire spell!”

“Oooh, fire!”

Annette really hopes that Felix doesn’t have a penchant for pyrotechnics.

As much of a bad idea as this is, Lysithea can’t exactly bring herself to leave them in case something goes terribly wrong. She is the strongest, most advanced Gremory the Resistance Army has; with her around, she’s confident that the worst that could happen would be some singed eyebrows and possibly an impromptu need for a haircut. But even that is an outcome that she is hoping to avoid.

Once the target is set up, Sylvain and Felix eagerly make their way over to the sidelines to watch Annette demonstrate a basic fire spell.

It’s nothing special really. Even the older Felix and Sylvain could probably cast it without much problem, but to their younger versions, the small ball of fire is so grand and spectacular that it warrants oo’s and ah’s and enthusiastic applause.

“Wow! That is so cool! Isn’t that so cool, Sylvain?”

Felix is pulling on Sylvain’s sleeve and the older boy nods emphatically with admiration shining in his eyes.

“Do you think you could do it too?”

Lysithea is startled to hear the question Felix asks Sylvain. Of course, Annette was already planning to ask the Gautier boy to attempt the spell, but that was out of curiosity.

From the shining look on Felix’s face, Lysithea knows that he is asking because in his mind, there is nothing that his smart, talented best friend in the whole wide world cannot do.

“Magic is difficult to learn and takes time. It can take years for some to learn just the basics.” She cuts in before Sylvain can answer.

She doesn’t want Felix to unwittingly trap him with an unrealistic expectation that he cannot meet and she figures it is better to disappoint him now rather than allow the red head to try and then feel guilty when he disappoints his friend.

“Sylvain is smart. I bet Sylvain could do it!”

Felix is pouting in that way that they are all quickly learning means ‘I’m right and you can’t convince me otherwise’.

“I’m sure Sylvain is very smart!” Mercedes agrees and gives the boys her best placating smile. “But I’m not so sure that a person could learn how to cast a Fire spell in one day! Why, it took Annie and I at least a week of practicing before we could do it!”

“Yep, I remember I almost burned my eyebrows off the first time I tried! But I can teach you the basics maybe and then we can bring you here again next time to practice?”

The urge to verbally reprimand the warlock for her relentless pursuit to satisfy her own curiosity rises and Lysithea has to physically clutch her biceps to stop herself from bursting.

Fine. If they were so eager to set themselves down this path, then so be it.

“Yeah!” Felix is literally vibrating with excitement and Sylvain looks nervous but determined to not let his admirer down.

Heaving a sigh, Lysithea moves to settle next to Mercedes who sends her an apologetic smile.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

----

Unsurprisingly, Felix does not do so well with learning the basics.

The diagrams and symbols are a little too much on the side of complex and it becomes apparent rather quickly that there is a reason the Fraldarius men carve through the battlefield with swords instead of magic.

“Aw, it’s okay Fe! You’re still the best with a sword anyways. You don’t need magic!” Sylvain ruffles his hair and smiles. “You’ll always beat me at swordplay.”

The small admission is enough to cheer Felix up and after a bit more nudging from the older boy, he runs off to play around with the wooden practice swords they have on the other side of the training room while Annette and Sylvain continue to work on creating basic magic circles.

It’s only after the third hour and Mercedes has long left to attend to various chores that Lysithea turns to watch Felix go through rather crude sword forms instead.

“You need to spread your feet farther apart.” Using her own foot, she nudges Felix’s left heel to the side to widen his stance. “Try striking again now.”

The wooden sword wobbles a bit in its trajectory, but the swing is undoubtedly much better than before. The sheer delight that lights up in Felix’s eyes almost makes Lysithea laugh out loud because she recognizes it as the same gleam she sees in the older Felix’s eyes when he executes a particularly hard maneuver.

“Why aren’t you watching Sylvain and Annie?”

For a five year old, Felix is incredibly perceptive.

Rather than lie to him, Lysithea opts for honesty because she is sure that’s what older Felix would have wanted.

“I don’t think he’ll succeed.”

Felix frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I know how hard it is to learn magic. I’m sure Sylvain is very intelligent, but it takes a lot of hard work to use Reason.”

“Sylvain can do it. I know he can.”

She sighs and turns a baleful eye down at Felix. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you.”

“Glenn said that to me too when he didn’t believe me that I could stay up all night waiting for Sylvain.”

“And did you prove him wrong?”

Felix turns to full face her, expression full of gravity.

“Yup.” The dead seriousness of his tone looses Lysithea’s first laugh of the day and she cannot help but be drawn towards this little boy, the same way she was drawn to his older self.

Deigning not to continue a lost conversation, the cake loving Gremory opts to turn back and watch the progress that the other two have made, leaving Felix muttering to himself about his steadfast belief in his best friend.

----

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The sun is setting and it is nearly time for dinner by the time Sylvain and Annette break away from Magic and Sorcery: Vol 1. to actually put some practice to the theory they have spent all day studying.

“Now, don’t be too disappointed if you can’t get it.” Annette says while moving out of the way. “You did just learn the basics and it takes a lot of practice!”

Lysithea has not moved from her perch from a nearby bench. She’s still extremely skeptical that Sylvain will manage to do very much at all. Yes, it is true that he had a budding talent for Reason during their academy days, but Sylvain hardly ever applied himself to any of his studies. The professor had to literally force him to attend one on one magic lessons with her before his aptitude for spells finally emerged.

Although, she muses, this younger Sylvain seems to be more enthusiastic to participate in things he was interested in. Even now, the scrunched up look of concentration on his face is indication enough that the Sylvain Lysithea is used to is a much different creature than the one before her currently.

House Ordelia does not really have any established trade routes with the Gautier territory, but the Ordelia heir has heard enough to know that the current Margrave is an arrogant, crest-obsessed prick.

It doesn’t take a prodigy to connect the dots and surmise that Sylvain’s carefree attitude and refusal to apply himself to anything is a product of his father’s suffocating expectations.

Fuck Margrave Gautier.

Maybe Lysithea does want Sylvain to prove her wrong and succeed; then at least he can go back home and light his father’s breeches on fire.

She’s only slightly disappointed when her expectations prove correct and the best Sylvain can conjure is one tiny flicker from a lone flame in his hand. However, it is still much more than she thought Sylvain would be able to do and for that, she is genuinely impressed.

Annette is also very much awestruck with Sylvain’s quick learning and happily informs the boy of this all the way to the dining hall. Sylvain is uncharacteristically quiet as he listens to the older mage praise him, but he is not yet skilled enough in the art of hiding behind a mask and the slight downward tilt of his lips does not go unnoticed.

“You really did an amazing job learning so much in such a short time, Sylvain! Don’t be too disappointed that you couldn’t do it.”

Sylvain gives a weak smile in return, but it is Felix who ultimately responds; one hand clasped tightly in the Gautier’s and the other one balled into a fist.

“Sylvain can do it. Just watch.”

----

Dinner passes without much fanfare and the boys are eventually tucked in for the night. Claude and Byleth have long decided that a full-time night chaperone is no longer necessary; although occasionally, one of their friends will peek into the room in the dead of night before they retire, but very rarely do they find anything wrong that requires their attention. A week has already passed with no incident, so there should be no need to exhaust their soldiers by keeping them up at night.

Except this time, when Petra nudges the door to their room open – being extremely careful not to open it too fast lest the hinges squeak – she does not see any sign of Felix or Sylvain anywhere.

It is the dead of night, but Garreg Mach Monastery blazes alive with a flurry of panic at the toll of the emergency bell.

“You’re absolutely sure no one saw them leave their room?”

Seteth slams his palms on the table and interrogates the night shift guards; his brows furrowed and mind racing a mile a minute.

If the enemy has somehow managed to sneak into Garreg Mach and kidnap the children, then they are well and truly fucked. They may have to abandon their home base or at the very least do an extensive investigation of their current ranks and re-evaluate their current passive defense.

“There were no signs that a struggle was happening.” Petra voices from her place around the war table. “I am having confidence that they left with willingness.”

“Goddess, please keep them safe.” The situation leaves a bad taste in Flayn’s mouth; it is much too reminiscent of when she was kidnapped and although it has been years since the incident, the memories still plague her.

Byleth’s voice leaves no room for discussion, “everyone split up and search the grounds. Most of our facilities are locked up at night so that should help limit the number of places we need to search.”

Everyone dashes out of the room with their orders and branch off at the second floor corridor. Those once belonging to the Black Eagle house comb through the main hall while the former Blue Lion students check all surrounding independent buildings; the Golden Deer fanning out to cover the outdoor grounds of the monastery.

An hour passes. Then another. And another.

Soon it is 3 in the morning and the panic is truly beginning to set in, giving rise to an unsettling fear clawing its way up from the depths of the night.

“Dimitri, Dedue! Have you found anything?” Ingrid pants and skids to a halt just below the stairs to the Sauna; the rest of her Blue Lion classmates run up to join her and debrief their findings.

“Nothing,” Dedue’s tone is flat as usual but his strangled expression is enough to betray his underlying worry. “We have searched all the open buildings and the grounds. There is no sign of them at all.”

Annette is near tears now and Mercedes places a hand on her shoulder, offering her silent support even while she herself is fiddling with her shawl, an attempt to keep her mind occupied before it spirals.

“It’s not like them to run away,” Ashe frowns. “Did anything happen today? Were they acting weird at all?”

“Not really. All we did was practice magic at the training grounds.”

Mercedes frowns. “Perhaps they left something there and went back to retrieve it?”

“The training grounds should be locked at 11PM. No one should be able to get in or out until sunrise.” Dimitri shakes his head.

“Well then we’re clearly running out of ideas here!” Ingrid throws up her hands in frustration and rakes them through her hair which is on the verge of looking like a bird’s nest. “We’ve checked the dining hall and the greenhouse but –“

“Your Majesty.” Dedue’s raised voice cuts Ingrid short and they look over to see the doors to the training grounds swing open slowly with a slight push of the man’s hands. “The doors were not locked as we thought.”

It takes only a heartbeat for them to scramble through the large wooden doors and down the hallway, their rushed footsteps echoing like thunder in the stone corridor.

“Oh Goddess. I smell smoke. Does anyone else smell smoke?” If her heartbeat accelerates any more, Annette is pretty sure she will have a heart attack.

“It’s coming from over there!” Their King leads the charge towards the magical training arena where the smell of smoke is the thickest.

When they burst into the open area, they are prepared for the worst. Weapons are drawn and hands raised with spells on the tips of tongues, but the sight they are greeted with is enough to shock them into stasis.

There in the middle of the sandpit, hunched over and panting hard, albeit with a brilliant grin on his face, is Sylvain. The practice dummy a few feet in front of him is alit with flames, illuminating the room with an orange glow, casting shadows along the stone walls that flicker like a live audience.

And off to the side bundled up in a woolen teal blanket that they all recognize, is a tired, but extremely proud looking Felix Fraldarius staring directly at the newcomers.

“I told you he could do it!”

----

5.       Sylvain has given Felix all the pieces of his fragile, fractured heart, even if he isn’t aware he possesses it.

Although once his greatest secret, Ignatz no longer hides his passion for art from his fellow Resistance Army members.

It’s not uncommon these days for people to find him at random places in the monastery with his art supplies sketching away at preserving a moment in time on blank paper forevermore.

Today, he is sitting on a bench next to a large oak tree, just a stone’s throw away from the main grounds. Beneath the shade and tucked between two large roots lie Sylvain and Felix, both completely tuckered out from their earlier attempts at climbing the towering tree. Sylvain is starfished on the ground with his arms stretched wide; to his left, Felix lays curled away from him with his head pillowed on the outstretched limb.

Sylvain and Felix have been the talk of the monastery for the past week and it is pretty obvious why. It’s not every day that you see two high ranking generals revert back to their child forms. Especially the most notorious bother-me-and-I’ll-bite-your-head-off and if-it-breathes-I’ll-flirt-with-it Generals to boot.

Of course, stories of their shenanigans and troublemaking usually fill the daily meal conversations, but there is one topic that floats above all else; the one that makes the maids in the kitchen giggle and even the burliest of knights crack a smile:

It is clear that even from a young age, Sylvain Jose Gautier and Felix Hugo Fraldarius are absolutely smitten with each other.

The two are inseparable and Ignatz is pretty sure that even a blind man would be able to see the absolute trust and unspoken devotion they have towards each other.

Ignatz has spent the day watching Felix and Sylvain, not just because it’s his turn to babysit, but also because he is fascinated with their bond. He had once thought that the Goddess was the most beautiful thing in the world, but the rawness and purity of their relationship fills him with more piety and awe than any portrait or statue of Sothis ever did.

It is like they are two parts of a well-oiled machine. Where one gives way, the other will step in to fill the gap; whenever Sylvain’s insecurities flare up, Felix is always there to chase the demons away with clumsy words and a physical display of affection, using his own body to ground his best friend and keep him close. Likewise, whenever tears well up in the youngest Fraldarius’ eyes (which is unfortunately quite often), Sylvain is there to wipe away the salty tracks and light up Felix’s heart with a smile warmer and brighter than sunshine.

Ignatz’s original plans were to draw the oak tree and the beautiful meadow of primrose flowers, but it seems that there will be a last minute change in muse.

Taking up his piece of charcoal, he begins the outline of what he thinks will be his fondest work to date.

Ignatz doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench hunched over his sketchbook in silence with only the occasional birdsong floating through the silence. It’s so calm and peaceful that he doesn’t even notice that Sylvain has begun to stir until he looks up to find one of his subjects in a different position.

Leonie had warned him that Sylvain has a tendency towards nightmares. She had discovered that unfortunate fact in the first three days when each time she tip-toed into their room to check up on them, she found Sylvain wide awake with wild terror in his eyes and a sleepy Felix clinging to him comfortingly.

Strangely enough, Sylvain also does not startle awake from his nightmares. Instead, he slowly rouses himself as if from a deep sleep and if it weren’t for the glaze of lingering fear in his eyes, none would be able to tell that he had just woken up from a night terror.

That same glazed look is now flickering rapidly around him as if searching for the shadow of a monster that exists only within his mind.

“Sylvain…?”

Wild brown eyes finally settle on steady molten amber ones.

“Fe.”

“It’s okay, Sylvain. I’m here...”

Felix yawns and shuffles around until he is half wrapped around Sylvain with his left hand settling over Sylvain’s pounding heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you…” Small hands curl around the material of Sylvain’s shirt in a death grip. Felix’s loyalty and protectiveness so painfully evident even when the boy himself is half asleep. He manages to cling to the realm of the conscious for a little while longer, until the rapid thump thump thump of Sylvain’s heart slows to a steady lulling rhythm, pulling Felix back down under the veil of sleep.

Ignatz has silently watched this entire exchange and to be honest, he’s not really sure that Sylvain or Felix even remember that he is here with them. He cannot bring himself to make his presence known, so he continues to watch and observe.

He watches as the fear that was once in Sylvain’s eyes slowly recede again, the monsters inside his head vanquished in the company of his best friend. It only takes one more glance at the boy cuddled up to him with a hand protectively hovered over his heart to melt away the chains that bind him to the expectations of the people around him.

Here under this oak tree in a field of blooming young love, there is no crest or Miklan or nobility. There is only Felix and Sylvain.

Sylvain holds onto that truth as he wraps his free arm around the younger boy, tucking him more securely under his chin, letting the cool summer breeze lull him back to a dreamless sleep.

Ignatz pulls out a new page and starts a fresh outline. It takes him a little longer than anticipated to finish his drawing, but he figures it’s not such a bad thing since he likes this new version much better.

Later, as he trails after the now energetic boys back towards the monastery, Ignatz tucks his newest masterpiece securely under his arm, being very careful not to smudge the drawing or crease the paper.

After all, Claude did mention something about a wedding and Ignatz thinks that his drawing will make a fine gift.

----

Bonus: They’re just two idiots in love.

“Go away. Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my meal?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Felix! You know, the younger you was much cuter. Definitely less prickly, too.” Dorothea pokes his cheek and snatches her hand away before Felix can stab it with his steak knife.

It’s been roughly a week since Felix and Sylvain have returned to their normal sizes, the dark magic having run its course and fizzling out without so much as a final spark. To the rest of the Army, this is a joyous occasion as it means that two of their best generals are now back to normal and can command them again. But to the last class of the academy… it is bittersweet.

Of course, they want their friends to return to normal. But that also means that Felix will go back to hissing and spitting with all the fury of a spooked cat and Sylvain will go back to seducing any individual that makes eye contact with him for longer than half a second.

“Better do as he says, Thea. Felix’s looking extra grumpy today and we wouldn’t want you to lose a pretty little finger.” Sylvain winks at her as he sets down his own meal and settles in the seat across from the swordsman.

The opera singer snorts, “right back to the flirting as usual. Save your hollow words for some other girl.”

“Ouch. Give a guy a break! I just recovered from a dark magic spell after all. Doesn’t that warrant some pity?”

“The only pity is that you immediately lost all your innocent and cute appeal when you reverted back to your regular body.”

Felix scowls at them, “if you insist on continuing your flirting, I’ll just eat my meal elsewhere.” He moves to stand but Sylvain is quicker and grabs his wrist, preventing him from moving.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Just stay, okay? Please? For me, Fe?”

Sylvain is looking at Felix with that expression which he knows he cannot resist and Dorothea takes this opportunity to slip away while the two engage in a silent conversation with only their eyes.

“Fine.”

Their meal continues with little fanfare and easy conversation. Around them, their old classmates are scattered in their own little groups and if they notice, none of them mentions anything about how everyone seems to avoid sitting at Felix and Sylvain’s table.

Easy conversation flows into dessert, or more specifically: Felix wordlessly giving Sylvain his peach sorbet and Sylvain beaming a rare genuine smile and promising to join him at the training grounds first thing tomorrow morning.

The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon when Sylvain and Felix gather up their dishes. On their way out of the dining hall, Ignatz stops them with a heartfelt congratulations and a bundled up package that looks suspiciously like one of his works.

“Congratulations? For what?” Artfully tousled red hair shifts as Sylvain tilts his head in confusion and reluctantly accepts the gift.

“O-oh, well Claude just said…”

Dread rises up from the pit of Felix’s stomach. “What did that schemer say this time?”

“…He said that you two were getting married.”

“What?!”

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