Summary: Driven to desperation and with a brutal winter fast approaching, you decide to offer yourself up to the local orc chieftain in the hopes of earning yourself food and shelter.
Word count: 2.6k
[Part 1/???]
Heat from the crackling fire in the hearth licked at the backs of your calves as you stood in absolute stillness before the orc chieftain. He lounged upon a broad wooden chair layered with pelts and furs, studying you curiously with his mismatched green and yellow gaze. The remains of a mostly devoured chicken sat on a platter atop a nearby end table, its bones meticulously picked clean of meat and gristle. Your stomach gave a low growl, but you ignored it. Hopefully, if things went well, you would have a hot meal in your belly soon.
You'd risked the long journey away from your village to the orcish settlement out of sheer desperation. Last year a plague had swept through the village and taken your family with it, the farmland you once tended handed off to someone the your local lord deemed more capable. The whole unfortunate affair left you homeless and penniless. None of the poor farmers would let you wed into their family without a suitable offering. Forget about a more well off merchant or tradesman. And with winter well on its way, you knew your options were to find a new living arrangement fast or face the brutal, freezing cold and the slow decay of starvation.
Out of options and nearly out of time, there was one single avenue of survival left which you had been forced to consider, then accept. Orcish folk usually kept to themselves, their bands of hunters roaming the forests at the base of the nearby mountain range.
You had seen this particular chieftain and his band of hunters and warriors before. During the spring and summer when the roads were pleasant, they would come to your village trade furs and foraged herbs for healing poultices and other necessities. They maintained a cautious yet friendly relationship with the militia as they discouraged bandits and poachers from settling too close to the local farmland where their own influence couldn't quite reach.
But wherever the orcs went, the rumors followed. More than once you had heard whispers amongst your fellow villagers that, on rare occasions, a human could find themselves accepted into the fold of an orcish band. Upon one rather demanding condition, of course…
The chieftain ran his thick fingers down his short dark beard, a low and thoughtful hum rumbling in his chest. "A human is offering to serve this one as a bed-warmer?" His use of the common tongue was clumsy and stilted and, though it wasn't the first time you'd heard him speak, the depth of his voice still caught you off guard.
Throat dry, butterflies swarming in your gut, you gave a single decisive nod. A flush of shame prickled along the nape of your neck. If he accepted you, there would be no going back to human society. Not that you really had anyone left there anyway. Still, the thought of the pinched looks of disgust that would follow you everywhere stung.
"This one does not share," the chieftain continued. His chair creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight and a small thrill of anticipation raced down your spine. "Once taken, this human will belong to no other."
"I understand and I agree to your terms." You couldn't help the tremor that ran through your voice, yet you still managed to meet his glittering mismatched eyes.
His muscular forearms draped over his thighs as he leaned forward and peered down at you. Wobbling shadows cast from the fire flickered over the harsh lines of the many scars littering his face. He took one last lingering moment of study, just to assure himself of your sincerity, you supposed. Then, wordlessly, he raised a hand and beckoned you with a curled finger.
Hands fisted tightly in your tattered skirts, you obeyed his summons. The warmth of the fire at your back faded, replaced by the sweltering heat of his stare as he took in the features of your face, then the neckline of your dress and tunic. It felt like no small miracle that he'd accepted you as you are, all travel worn and smudged with dirt.
This close, you both paused and took a moment to study one another. His lower lip twitched around the heavy tusks jutting from the corners of his mouth. In his beard and dark, shoulder length braids there were streaks of gray that you hadn't noticed until now. It occurred to you suddenly how very little you knew about him, about all the strange differences between orcs and humans. His broad, green-skinned chest was bare, as scarred as his face, and dusted with a fine layer of dark hair. A thick leather belt studded with various bits bone bone and feathers (hunting trophies, you assumed) held up the panels of stitched pelts that covered his lap.
Without warning, he reached for you and pressed his warm, broad palm against your throat. His thumb curled into the tender skin beneath your jaw and he hummed when he found the frantic flutter of your pulse. He pulled you to him. One of his tusks grazed the curve of your cheek as he pressed his nose into your hair just below your ear and breathed deep.
"This human's scent is pleasant enough," he murmured.
You eyes widened. Was he... was he teasing you?
"Salt. Sweat," he said. "And something that is sweet."
At his further invitation, you drifted to the space between his knees, taking in the unfamiliar scent of him. He smelled of moss, damp soil, and wood smoke, though not in a way that was stale nor unpleasant. Your private observations came to an abrupt halt as his touch began to wander to other places.
The calloused pads of his fingers ran down the flushed expanse of your chest before tugging at the strings cinching your tunic shut. Rather than mess with the intricate knots, he simply flicked his wrist. The flimsy fabric gave way with a terrible and sudden rip.
You stifled a yelp, hand reaching for your lips until he caught your wrist and guided it back down to your side.
"There is nothing to hide," he chided, his heavy lidded eyes trailing down the line of your cleavage before he tore away the other layers of fabric covering your chest from him. "These pitiful human-made pelts will not keep one warm enough when the snow falls. This one will provide furs from the hunt."
Breasts exposed to the chilly air of the chieftain's longhouse, your nipples quickly hardened into stiff little peaks. He plucked at one between his thumb and forefinger, watching you carefully as the small twinge made you flinch. Encouraged by the reaction, he repeated the motion several more times, pinching a little bit harder each time until you couldn't withhold a gasp.
His eyes darkened at the sound and he spread his thighs a little further as his wide, warm hand reached beneath the hem of your skirts and left a scalding trail up the back of your leg. He cupped the swell of your ass and seemed to weigh it in his hand with a firm squeeze. Then his finger glided lower and lower, your breath hitching as his touch tickled the thatch of curls between your thighs.
All the time he'd spent exploring you, your hands remained firmly clasped at your front as you were completely uncertain what the chieftain might expect of you. But as the first thick finger parted your folds and drew small circles in the slick gathering there, you jerked forward and gripped his shoulders. Taut muscles rippled beneath your touch and for a second you froze, terrified that an orc of his rank might be offended that you touched him without an explicit invitation.
Instead he withdrew his hand for a moment, just long enough to peel away the remains of your tunic and shimmy your skirts down your legs. Once all of the fabric that had covered you was nothing more than a sad, dingy puddle on the floor, he gently coaxed your legs apart. His wide brows narrowed in concentration as his thumb traced a line from your navel, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh as he reached down and parted your folds once more.
A slowly building heat had begun to swirl and simmer low in your belly, the flames only stoked higher and hotter by the sudden delicious friction against your clit. Each slow swipe of his thumb sent tingling waves racing straight to the ache building in your core until you found yourself swaying on your feet in time with the motion.
The chieftain gave a rumble of satisfaction, the deep sound reverberating where your palms hesitantly glided across the expanse of his chest. He leaned forward, tusks and teeth grazing the soft skin of your breast before he began laving at one nipple, then the other. The wet heat of his tongue left you panting for more, the juices leaking from your cunt now soaking into your curls and wetting his fingers.
One of those fingers eased into your entrance, probing at your aching walls before being joined by another. He spread them apart inside you, the sudden pressure drawing a breathless whine from your parted lips. He angled his wrist this way and that, flexing his fingers and stretching you further from all different angles, pleasure and pain melding into a burning ache until you dropped your forehead to his shoulder with a low moan, your feet arching and toes curling into the pile of cloth on the floor.
"This human is ready," he declared and though you weren't yet entirely certain how to read him, you thought you sensed a bit of pride in his voice.
The trinkets adorning his belt clinked and ratted as he undid the clasp of his belt with his free hand. He pushed away the pelts still gathered about his waist and his cock sprang free, thick, long, and bobbing slightly from its own weight. A rush of desire nearly swept you off your feet as you gaped at the swollen veins running along his curved shaft all the way up to his twitching head colored with a dark green flush. Drops of pre-cum beaded along his slit, glittering in the firelight as they slowly trailed down, down, down...
He gripped the girthy base of his cock with the hand that had pleasured you, thoroughly coating himself in your slick with several rough strokes. "Come here."
You lifted one leg, preparing to straddle him, but he caught you in his bulky arms and lifted you himself. The way your thighs spread around his large legs pulled your folds apart, exposing your cunt to a shock of cold air. Your earlier shame had since been forgotten and replaced with brimming anticipation as you waited for his next move.
He lifted you again and paused a moment to allow you to brace yourself against his shoulders before slowly sliding you down. Your overly sensitive nipples chafed against the rough hair on his chest and you fought the urge to writhe against him and chase the sensation. The warm, plush head of his cock gently parted your folds, then rubbed along your weeping entrance.
The smooth roll of his hips stuttered as he bit back a growl and grazed his tusks along your heaving chest. "This human will belong to no other," he ground out. It was a reminder, but this time sounded more like a warning.
You nodded readily. "I know."
Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he lowered you further. The pressure of his head against you increased steadily and you wondered warily what might become of you if he simply didn't fit. Just as the worry crossed your mind, the first inch of him finally slid past your opening. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, at the way it stretched you even further than his fingers had.
That initial shock was quickly lost in the heatwave rolling through your core. He worked his way into you inch by burning inch with shallow thrusts, each one stretching you further, each one convincing you that any second you would simply split in half from the sheer girth of him filling you.
Your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as a sheen of sweat broke out over your skin. Prayers for mercy tumbled your lips, though you knew your human gods would not bother to listen, not when you had given yourself away in such a desperate manner. The chieftain's grunting joined in the chorus, his cock twitching inside you at the faltering edge of desperation in your voice.
Then your ass settled against his thighs and you knew that, at last, the full monstrous length of him was finally sheathed within your frail human body. Shallow breaths ripped through your lungs and your heart kicked at your ribs like a rabbit caught in a snare.
The orc chieftain's broad hands circled your waist and lifted you several inches before dropping you suddenly. A rush of air left you in a sharp cry as the weight of your body did most of the work of impaling you once more on his cock. He continued toying with you like that, raising you a little higher each time only to groan as your walls desperately fluttered to accommodate him on your way back down.
The shock of each drop, the complete fullness in which your body molded around his own, and the beads of sweat and tears trickling down your face suddenly swallowed you with an unbearable heat. Flashes of white overtook your vision. You shattered atop him, legs spasming uselessly on either side of him, cunt desperately clenching around his thick cock, weeping and grasping and begging for anything and everything he had to give.
He released your hips then, giving you free reign to haul yourself up the length of him and slam back down on your own accord, riding out the wave of your orgasm before you fell useless and limp against his chest.
By the time you emerged from the haze, still trembling from the aftershocks, he was back to moving you himself. He set a sharp rhythm that would have been brutal had you not already been used so thoroughly. The steady wet slap of your joining filled the longhouse, drowning out even the crackle of the fire.
You blinked at him blearily, marveling at the smudges of his shadowed features through the tears still leaking from your eyes. When he noticed your staring he made what sounded like an appreciative hum and sped up his pace.
Suddenly a strangled groan escaped his clenched teeth and a new heat was filling you, one entirely distinct from your own body. His cock strained into the very depths of you, twitching as each powerful spurt of his seed coated the inside of your womb. The warmth of it filled you with a sense of satisfaction.
This was what you had sought the chieftain out for, after all.
When his cock gave its last throbs, he remained seated in you for some time, your spent body rising and falling with his own labored breath. The sweat coating your cheek mixed with the slick sheen glimmering on his chest and you absentmindedly traced a finger down his sternum, marveling at the uneven texture of his scars.
Without a word, he lifted you and cradled you in his arms when you whimpered at your sudden emptiness. Globs of his seed and your own desire spilled from you and left a sticky mess between your thighs. He swiped up some of it with his fingers and took it into his mouth before offering you the same. You mindlessly opened your mouth and laved at the salty tang coating his finger.
Then you were gliding through the dark rooms of the longhouse, the fire in the hearth suddenly nothing more than a distant glow. A mound of soft furs- the chieftains own bedding- enveloped you and you melted into them with a sigh. The blissful dark of sleep took you shortly after, for now your hunger and worries all but forgotten.
pov: it's your honeymoon, and miguel can't seem to keep his hands off his new wife.
cw: oral (f receiving), praise, body worship, begging, cumming untouched, manhandling (if you squint), possessiveness
"please, mi vida."
"jus' wanna see you cum, need you to cum in my mouth, on my fingers--fuck baby, please."
you blush as miguel lowers until he's on his knees in front of you, trailing his kisses to your lower stomach.
miguel always had a way of making you feel like the sexiest woman on earth, but holy fuck.
this made you feel like a goddess.
the hottest man you'd ever had the pleasure of meeting was on his knees begging for you to ride his face? somebody pinch you.
you had just arrived in your honeymoon suite for the night before your flight to the caribbean the next morning, and you had barely gotten the door closed before he was all over you. "miggy, we gotta put our bags down first, we haven't even turned on the lights." you start, scratching the hair at the nape of his neck in the way he likes. he groans and presses his forehead onto your lower belly, gripping your hips for support.
"no. need you now." he growls.
you feel your knees buckle at his clear display of affection for you, a fluttering feeling in your stomach as his big hands cup your waist. miguel only gets like this when you've been fucking for a good while.
you smile and grip his hair a bit so he'd face you, relishing in the whimper he gives in result. "gonna help me take my dress off at least?"
in a flash, you're pressed against the door as miguel pulls the dainty zipper down with fervor. "careful!" you rush out, reaching back to hold his hand delicately while looking over your shoulder at him. "wanna save this for our kids someday."
it's hard to miss the outright moan miguel releases at the mention of having kids with you, a fantasy that's lived in his head since he dropped you home after the first date. "mierda..." he places his forehead on your shoulder before walking you over to the mirror, facing you towards it as he unzips your dress with much more care.
the beautiful fabric falls to reveal the lingerie you've been hiding the whole night, a gorgeous dark blue--his favorite color--with an intricate design you personally adored. miguel audibly gasps at the reveal, staring at you in the mirror before seemingly remembering he has access to the real version right in front of him. the moon--the only source of light in the room--makes you look downright angelic, and effectively shuts down miguel's brain. his mind looks as though it's running a mile a minute as you attempt to bring him back down to earth.
"i got it for our first anniversary, but i loved it so much and decided it needed to be saved for our wedding." you explain, turning in his arms right when his hands find purchase on your hips. "d-do you like it?" you can't help but feel a bit shy, this time having sex seems different. more emotional.
miguel seems to have found his words, his eyes breaking from their marveling at your body to look you in the eye with sickeningly sweet affection. "¿me gusta? cariño, eres tan jodidamente perfecta, nunca dejas de dejarme sin aliento. no puedo creer que seas mi esposa."
you giggle and reach up to wrap your arms around his neck as he stares at you like you've hung the stars. "i'll take that as a yes." you kiss him, passionate and deep, yet slow and soft. your husband groans into your mouth, fangs popping out before he can stop them. his brain is all mush by the time his picks you up to lay you on the bed.
he settles between your thighs before breaking the kiss to sit back and get a good look at you. your hair--now loose from its meticulous style--spreads around your head like a halo, illuminated by the moon light. your skin--buttery and smooth and glittery from the body shimmer you like to wear--is warm and soft as you take his left hand in yours, kissing his ring and miguel's brain short circuits at the sight. how the fuck did he manage to get the most gorgeous girl in every universe underneath him wearing his last name? he's genuinely surprised you even let him touch you.
"you're so gorgeous baby..so so fucking gorgeous..my wife.." he groans against your skin as he kisses down, practically ripping his blazer and dress shirt off when your soft voice requests oh so politely. he feels feral, like he wants to eat you whole.
you breath picks up as miguel's shaky hands reach behind you to unclasp your bra. he always had this way of making you feel so shy under his gaze. small, in a good way. wanted. miguel lets out a shaky breath as your breasts spill out from their confines, as if this is the first time he's seen them. you can't bring yourself to tease him for it, because you feel the exact same way. "oh dios, me voy a correr en mis malditos pantalones."
you giggle. "what?" you had picked up a bit of spanish over years of listening to his ramblings, but you had no idea what the fuck he just said. but none of it mattered once he dipped down to suck at your right nipple, tweaking the left with a calloused finger. "ah!"
"gorgeous, fucking gorgeous.." he mumbles to himself as he switches his attention to your other nipple before pulling off with a wet pop. he looks up at you with a fire you'd never seen before as he kisses down your torso, sucking hickeys along the way. "gonna make you feel so good, baby, fuck."
you whimper as he trails closer to your core, pushing onto your elbows to look at him while he sucks dark hickies into your inner thighs. he's off the bed, on his knees with your legs hooked around his shoulders, and he looks like he'd rather be no where else. "jesus, you're so wet. this all f'me?" he slurs, already pussydrunk.
"all for you baby. mi esposo."
the guttural moan he lets out in response would have made you flinch if he didn't immediately follow it up with a thick wet stripe up the length of your pussy, collecting the slick on his tongue before using the tip to circle your clit. "shit!"
he continues to lap at your cunt like it's his last meal, moaning into it as he shakes his head from side to side. "so fuckin sweet.." his words are muffled by your cunt and your cries out as you grip his hair, ring tangling a bit and tugging. this spurs miguel on more as the following buck of his hips against the bed is more forceful than the last.
"holy fuck miggy!" you practically scream over the lewd, wet sound of miguel in your pussy, heels digging into his muscled back as you push his head impossibly closer and grind onto his tongue. he hooks his hands around your thighs and keeps his tongue out for you like the good boy he is, and you have an overwhelming sense to tell him so. "s-so good f'me miggy--oh fuck--so g-good..."
miguels eyes roll to the back of his head as his thrusts into the mattress get more frantic, as do yours as the tell-tale signs of your orgasm come barreling towards you. miguel flicks his tongue against your clit as a thick finger curls into your cunt right against your sweet spot. the dam breaks and you back arches off the bed, stars bursting behind your eyelids as heat fills your body.
miguel coaxes you through it all before you signal him to stop.
he comes up with a wet chin and just as shiny eyes as he looks at you expectantly. you kiss him deep, tasting your juices on his tongue as you stroke his jaw affectionately. "you did so well for me, mr. o'hara. so fucking good."
and that's when miguel o'hara creams his pants like a fucking teenager.
The Grand Bazaar buzzed and breathed like a living thing.
A massive amalgamation of street vendors and hawkers from all over, though mostly locals, displayed their wares for all to see. Practically everything was for sale from daggers to blossoms.
Canvas awnings stretched far and wide overhead, linking the buildings with one another in an attempt to mute the heat of the early afternoon sun. Dust kicked up from the crowds bathed everything in a soft glow as the sunlight filtered through the patchwork fabric. Voices overlapped with one another, speaking several tongues all at once. Customers were bartering in hushed urgency, laughter flitted up suddenly and children squealed loudly in delight.
A mixture of heady scents collected over the hustle and bustle, clinging to the air. A strong burst of spice. The thick, tart smell of oil. An air current briefly picked up the soft, lovely scent of roses stored somewhere deep within the market.
Amongst the tourists and general populace strode two men, one cloaked and hooded in dark gray robes with a salt and pepper beard sticking out. The other a man of the city in brilliantly colored garb. It almost appeared as if the first one was being taken on a tour of the great market given his relaxed posture and hands clasped politely behind his back as his companion chatted amiably along. Looks were deceiving, however, and were a form of armor in and of themselves.
“Constantinople is a city that never truly sleeps, kardeşim,” Yusuf remarked with a half grin. “Even when she pretends to.” Already, the assassin’s eyes were flicking over the stalls and rows of wares, never quite settling on any one thing in particular. They were ever on the lookout for any sort of trouble.
“Nor does she ever stop hiding her secrets,” Ezio replied, allowing himself a small smile in return. Yusuf let out a short laugh as they neared one stall selling incense and brass trinkets. The instruments spread out on plush fabric looked, to a trained eye, to be cheap imitations. Ezio gently plucked up one item from the table, an aged compass, and turned it over in his hand. As he was admiring the vendor’s “handiwork”, the needle began to wobble unsteadily and never truly pointed North.
Useless.
Hiding his wince, and well aware the vendor was watching him carefully, Ezio feigned interest in the useless compass a little longer to justify the pause before placing it back down where he’d found it and thanked the seller before stepping away. Rumors had been thin today. Very thin. There had been fragmented whispers of a Templar courier possibly, a shadow moving coins and information throughout the city before drying up suddenly.
The men knew long ago that silence often meant secretive plans had already been set in motion by that point. There was additional talk of a high value Templar target planning to visit the city but that had yet to be confirmed.
Ezio glanced about him before locating his companion by a stall displaying some rather sharp looking blades when he felt it.
A presence.
Eyes. Watching him.
It didn’t feel intrusive or threatening. Not yet.
It was more… curious than anything else. Inquisitive.
The sensation then crept up between his shoulder blades, unsettling him slightly. Remaining as discreet as possible, the older assassin allowed his gaze to drift absentmindedly over the crowd as if searching for the next stall to peruse. That’s when he spied her.
She had since vacated the stall she was examining when they locked eyes. She moved with another group of women flowing through the bazaar’s narrow channels. Their heads were bowed but hers? While she kept her steps measured, even with the group, her sharp blue eyes lingered on his much longer than was necessary. There was something… striking in her gaze. The weight of her gaze held an almost ethereality to it. As if she was staring into his soul right then and there.
Whoever this individual was, she very much did not have the wandering gaze of a shopper. In place of that was a sharp awareness of her surroundings like she was constantly eyeing distance between passing bodies and knew where the exits were at all times.
Something flickered across her face then. Not exactly fear. Calculation, maybe? She turned away before Ezio could truly take note of it, her drab brown hood slipping deeper into the crowd. Ezio watched her until he could no longer make her out amongst the press of bodies around them. Right then, a faint glimmer caught his attention.
Gold.
It pulsed beneath the worn fabric of the satchel she held onto tightly. It was soft, almost organic in nature and then it vanished like it had never been there in the first place.
The assassin’s eyes narrowed a fraction. He’d seen the sort of glow before. Five years ago in Rome. Before it had been sealed away from prying eyes.
He was already in motion before his brain fully registered that he was moving. Yusuf was by his side in a blink, having picked up on the change in his friend’s demeanor.
“I saw,” the other assassin murmured, tone sharpening. “Whatever that was, I do not like it.”
“It may spell disaster here. If it’s what I believe it to be,” Ezio replied. The pair followed the foreign woman at a distance, letting the flow of bodies conceal their presence. She was never more than a few meters away and threaded through the bazaar with practiced efficiency. Had he not seen her face, Ezio would’ve labelled her a well versed pick pocket with how she moved. She never hesitated, didn’t once look back. If she was aware of her pursuers, she didn’t let on.
A moment later, their quarry passed under the final archway leading out into the square. Sunlight reflected brightly off the stone and hanging laundry that had been strung between a set of residences a street over. A flock of birds took to the air, the staccato sound of wingflaps drowned out by the music and chatter below.
The crowd had started to thin once they arrived outside. The woman continued on before them, pace quickening each passing moment. She clearly had somewhere to be and the assassins were going to find out where when the atmosphere around them changed. A sudden pressure that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
What remained of the crowd surrounding the woman instinctively parted as if sensing a wolf amid sheep.
A man stepped into view.
He was tall, broad shouldered. A full faced mask hid his identity from view. He did not wear armor or robes of any known order. The jet black plates covering the expanse of his back and torso glinted brightly in the light. The gold inlay lining the perimeter of his armor appeared to glow similarly to whatever was hidden away in their target’s satchel. The blade at his hip was long and deadly. A bandolier filled with throwing knives was affixed to his chest while a quiver of arrows was drawn across his back along with a bow. There was also an array of glass bottles attached to his belt. Whoever this was had been dressed for war.
When he spoke, he didn’t raise his voice to be heard.
He didn’t need to.
“Caelia.”
At least they finally got a name for their target before she was inevitably cut down.
The woman, Caelia, turned around upon noticing the locals departing fast. She faced her new pursuer, her body language turning defensive.
“There’s nowhere left for you to run.” The newcomer spread his arms wide as if to encompass the whole city.
Ezio held his own arm out to slow his and Yusuf’s approach, immediately sensing the threat this man carried with him. The stench of death clung to him, if not in scent then in energy. It practically surrounded him.
A low laugh rippled out from the man as he rested his hands on his hips, the casual motion a lie in and of itself. “You always did favor crowded places,” he continued in a conversational tone. “As if noise and flesh could possibly shield you. Shield what you stole.” He gestured with one hand toward the satchel at her side. “You are very far from the paths you walked once upon a time. Never thought you to be a thief.”
Ezio watched the exchange, a muscle ticking in his jaw. This man was no Templar. Something was off and very, very wrong about him. The way the crowd bent around him, the way time itself seemed to slow in his presence…
Leaning towards Yusuf and not taking his eyes off the man and Caelia, Ezio said quietly, “Go. Go now and rally whoever you can nearby. This one means serious harm to everyone around him.”
“And you?” his companion asked, turning to leave, his voice tense.
“I’m going to see if I can disrupt his plans.
Yusuf quickly clasped his friend’s shoulder before disappearing back the way they came while Ezio inched closer to the man, using the crowd to his advantage.
“You should’ve let it be destroyed,” the newcomer was saying, slowly approaching Caelia. “All of this suffering could’ve been avoided if you had just listened all those years ago. Then I wouldn’t have had to pursue you across continents.”
“And risk your chance to experience the world as it is now? Perish the thought,” Caelia countered in a mocking tone. Her gaze briefly flicked over the crowd, spotting Ezio but she didn’t dare give him away. “You’re not recovering the artifact, Lucius,” she said more sharply.
“Oh, but I am, Caelia.” Lucius’ voice dripped with insincerity, his hand drifting to his belt. “You’re simply protecting a half truth. Is it truly worth your life?”
Caelia didn’t bother to reply. They’d acted out this song and dance more times than she cared to admit. A hand shot to her belt, wrapping around a circular object stashed there. Lucius lurched into motion, his blade already in hand. Just before he reached her, there was a flash. The sound of glass shattering. Then a cloud of thick, dark smoke erupted at her feet, swallowing her whole.
Her attacker stumbled through the cloud, arms pinwheeling briefly in an effort to slow his momentum. Wisps of smoke tried to cling to his person only to fade away with the wind. His head was on a swivel, a hound taking to a scent. Out for blood as the smoke finally started to clear.
Then…
There. Movement to the left.
Caelia had since darted through the crowd and gone out the other side, fleeing down one avenue to draw distance between her and Lucius. She’d gotten out just in time. Men and women around both Ezio and the other man scattered like roaches, shoving blindly as they made for safety. One merchant hadn’t watched where he was running to and bounced harmlessly off Lucius’ chest plate, colliding with the cobblestones hard. He scrambled to his feet, hurrying away from this masked warrior.
The way that man zeroed in on her was otherworldly. He didn’t seem one to allow his quarry to slip their leash so easily. Ezio attempted to intercept Lucius but the man had already bolted forward like a shark crashing through a barricade. Fury all but outlined his body in blazing red as Lucius tore after her. His armor plating clanged together a bit louder than anticipated but he didn’t seem to care much. His trap had already been sprung and his prey had fled the scene. There was no sense in hiding his presence yet.
Oh, how much he loved the thrill of the hunt! Despite his building frustration as Caelia effortlessly slipped through his grasp time after time, Lucius lived for moments like these. It was what he had been born and bred to do. And Caelia had proven to be quite the lovely challenge.
He sprang into action, shoving aside those that remained in the area, too paralyzed with shock to move of their own accord. Boots smacked against stone. His blood sung and hummed just beneath his skin as he closed in on that drab robe, her cloak whipping in the wind. He was pleased once more to see his quarry wasn’t giving up without a fight as she toppled over stands, vaulted over carts and tossed wooden crates into his path.
Lucius leapt over them just as easily as she. If she could see his face right now, the grin he wore proudly would frighten her!
Granted, he was aware of being tailed himself. Some pesky, robed individual with a hood that surprisingly managed to stay on despite being jostled about. Lucius paid this nuisance no mind as he slowly closed in on Caelia.
The woman pumped her arms, pulling in ragged breath after breath. Her satchel bounced about on her hip as she abruptly rounded another corner into a narrow corridor. Her eyes darted back and forth as she searched for an alternative route, hearing Lucius metal plating grind loudly on the stone as he slowed enough to follow her.
A man dressed in poor clothing stepped out of a covered entrance just then and Caelia jumped on the opportunity. She shoved off the wall beside her and propelled herself indoors before the local could stop her. Inside, it was a tavern of sorts abuzz with activity. Male voices shouted, drinks and hot food were being passed around as well as an abundance of coin. It was likely a gambling den. Caelia spat out quick apologies in their language as she pushed past unfortunate servers and bounced off one table, overturning the whole thing and cards and bets with it.
A chorus of protestations and curses followed in her wake as Caelia located the entrance and stumbled through it into a main thoroughfare. Donkey drawn carts crossed paths with each other and even more vendors lined the sides of the market. Behind her, Lucius burst through the backdoor and began barreling after her. It sounded like he was purposefully running into the patrons, laughing as he did so.
Not wanting to linger long, Caelia took off in a random direction. She dodged around carts pulling wares and women hauling large baskets full of laundry or herbs from the smell of it.
“You will never lose me in this city, Caelia!” Lucius called out behind her, a mocking grin in his voice. “I will always find you!”
She couldn’t waste precious breath on a retort so she kept running across the square. Up ahead, a group of well dressed and well armored guards were patrolling the area when the pair came crashing through. Their robes were intricately decorated and embroidered, covering their armor. On their faces rode gold colored masks crowned with domed helmets. Fabric covered the domes and flowed loosely at their necks.
Caelia realized with dread that these weren’t standard militia. These were the elite Janissaries people had murmured about. She’d only been in the city for a handful of days and had yet to witness these men in action.
“Stop! Apprehend that thief!” Lucius cried out in the local tongue. “That woman has stolen an imperial relic!”
Shit!
Caelia swore under her breath as the Janissaries sprung into action, attempting to cut her off none too gently. She veered to the right, knocking a shoulder painfully into a corner, and snatched at a rickety ladder affixed to a thatched roof building. Taking the rungs two at a time, Caelia hauled herself up to the rooftop, kicking off a Janissary's hand when it wrapped around her ankle. She scrabbled her way up and tried to topple the ladder but the twine was too tightly wound the top.
A shout. A regular city guard behind her cried out for her to stop but she paid him little mind. What she carried with her could not fall into that man’s hands. Not now. Not after all this time. Lucius was up here now with a band of Janissaries spread out like a net to encircle her. Caelia kept running. Sweat dampened her hair and her clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin. Already, her boots were irritating her heels, rubbing the flesh there raw, but she still pressed on.
There was a gap between buildings and she leapt across it in one bound. Residents peered skyward, picking up on the chaos going on above them. Ezio wasn’t too far behind, running across the tops of the adjacent homes. Utilizing the rope system the assassins employed throughout the city allowed him to get closer. One Janissary stepped wrong, landed off balance when trying to clear a gap and tumbled to the ground with a crash.
Caelia racked her brain, begging for a route to open up, when she spotted a thick set of rope linking the top of that residence to the ground near a set of stables. She must be getting near the outskirts now and, gods, was she tiring. A horse would stretch her bit of freedom a little longer. If she could just-
Leaping across a wider gap, dread hit Caelia like a punch to the stomach. She’d miscalculated her momentum and wasn’t going to land feet first like she had originally anticipated. She stretched her arms out to try and grasp at the edge when she felt the bite of steel cut through her flesh.
The impact was unexpected. The pain blinded her so much that she was knocked off kilter. One hand managed to latch onto the other side but she slipped. Ezio watched, heart stopping for a beat as he watched Caelia ricochet off the side of the building and slam into a series of crates below. It was enough to keep her from being killed but did she break something? Rendered unconscious? He didn’t wait to find out. The older assassin jumped from landing to landing with a grunt, age old injuries finally catching up with him.
Then came the whistling sound of a smoke grenade. Several, actually. The bombs arced through the air seemingly out of nowhere and slammed into the rooftops at strategic points, exploding with loud bangs. The Janissaries working with Lucius, albeit under false pretenses, began to cough as the dark smoke filled the air and cloaked the immediate area. Ezio watched the chaos unfold with a grim smile.
It was a good call. Those men had been misled; there was no time to correct that. If the assassins could avoid an outright brawl with the Sultan’s men, they would. They had no true idea what Caelia’s purpose here was apart from the fact that she carried an artifact with a glow eerily similar to the Apple and this man was hellbent on securing her, it along with her.
Lucius, while irritated the assassins interfered, dropped down into the alleyway his quarry had fallen into. The blade that had nicked her was laced with poison. Slow acting. It wouldn’t kill her outright but it would leave her vulnerable and disoriented.
And not where he wanted her to be.
Clearly, she had crashed into the crates, shattering the pots they carried, and hauled herself off down the alleyway. The warrior laughed softly to himself, ignoring the shouts and curses thrown at him as the owners tried to clean up the mess.
“And you called me stubborn,” he said to himself and strode down with purpose after her, a blade in one hand. He could hear labored panting coming from somewhere. Not to be deterred, Lucius picked an alleyway and continued the pursuit.
With the Janissaries handled for now, Ezio slid down a nearby ladder upon witnessing Lucius take to the ground level and soon found himself in a labyrinth of sorts. There was angry chatter, shouts, yelling in at least two different languages as people tried to take stock of the damage that had been caused. Above, the Janissaries were being harassed and diverted away from the area. Ezio took in a breath and focused, letting the skills he’d honed over the last few decades guide him to his target.
Lucius wasn’t the only well equipped man on the playing field.
A series of rapid fire footsteps caught his attention. A splash of water as they hit a puddle. Hitched breathing. Whatever Lucius had done to his target had clearly injured her. Ezio took off at a jog, picking up on a pair of heavier plated boot-falls. That was most definitely the warrior. As he passed through intersecting alleyways, Ezio caught glimpses of Lucius still on the hunt. Caelia was just ahead of him. If he reached her then it was over.
Caelia glanced back once over her shoulder as she ran, the poison steadily sapping away her strength. Her skin felt clammy and her vision wavered but she could make out Lucius behind her just meters away. She tried putting on a burst of speed when she felt her body being violently yanked backward. Caelia gasped and yelped at the pain. The damn bastard had somehow managed to close the distance between them quickly and grabbed hold of her ragged cloak.
Fabric began to rip as Caelia struggled to remain upright. If he uprooted her…
There was a sudden scuffle, boots scraping against stone, then the smack of bodies hitting each other. She was free! Lucius had released her but why-?
“Go, signora!” Ezio yelled at her.
Ah. The robed Italian man she saw at the market then back at the entrance of the bazaar when Lucius made his initial appearance. Good. He had been following them. With a fever burning her skin, Caelia turned tail and ran like her life very well depended on it. She needed to administer the antidote before she grew too weak.
Ezio then found himself unexpectedly flung backward with relative ease, slamming into the other side of the alleyway. He grit his teeth as a sharp jolt of pain shot up his arm, acknowledging it briefly before shoving it away. Lucius stood before him, brushing errant bits of straw and dust from his clothing. The warrior practically towered over him.
Lucius regarded the human with a cold, calculating look as if Ezio was no more than a mere peon who had simply stepped in his way.
“Assassin,” Lucius said, indifference leaking into his voice. A cold bead of sweat trickled down Ezio's back in the Eastern heat but he didn't dare show any fear. “Why do you bother to interfere with matters that do not concern you?”
“I find that when a man insists something is none of my business, it almost certainly becomes that,” Ezio replies matter of factly.
Lucius cocked his head to the side, his eyes boring into the other man. He readjusted his grip on his blade, the edges glinting dangerously in the light. “You do not know what you insert yourself into.”
The assassin remained as calm as ever. “No.”
Lucius' stance seemed to almost relax, deceptively so as he studied Ezio. “The poison has already taken effect. She will not get far. And she isn’t as innocent as you believe she to be.”
“Whatever her crime may be, it does not justify this. Justice that abandons restraint becomes something else entirely and if there truly is a danger to this city, it is not the woman you pursue.”
The warrior’s eyes narrowed a fraction behind his mask, not in anger but calculation. “So,” he said a beat later in a voice as smooth as drawn steel, “you would place yourself between order and chaos. Be careful, Assassin. Men who confuse themselves to be arbiters of restraint often reveal too late which side of that divide they truly stand on.” Then Lucius moved first, swift as a snake.
Ezio hardly had enough time to bring his blade up before his adversary closed the distance between them, the sound of steel ringing out sharply once their blades finally met. The impact sent bolts of pain shooting up the assassin’s arm, a heavy reminder that the man before him did not strike like a common duelist. Lucius pressed forward immediately, forcing Ezio back step after step.
His movements were deadly, precise and strong. Stronger than any other he’d encountered before. In the back of Ezio’s mind, the fact the other man had simply not gone in for the kill concerned him. What was Lucius playing at?
“You only delay the inevitable,” Lucius was saying. “She’s already dying. I will find her.”
Ezio gritted his teeth hard enough they could crack and parried, twisting aside as his enemy’s blade narrowly grazed his torso. “If she is then you are wasting precious time on me.”
“No.” The grin was plain in Lucius’ voice. “I am ensuring you live long enough to watch it happen.”
The words hit harder than the prior impact. Before he could voice a counter, the warrior surged forward, forcing Ezio to parry once more. Then again and again. Each deflected blow further numbed his arms. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and was beginning to tire. Lucius seemed to pick up on this fact as he suddenly broke contact and slammed the pommel of his blade straight into Ezio’s chest, sending the other man sprawling backwards into another stack of crates. Wood broke immediately upon impact, vegetable scattering everywhere.
By the time Ezio forced himself back to his feet, Lucius had since turned away from him, further indicating how much of a threat he believed the assassin to be. His eyes swept down the various streets. He was too calm. Too certain. And then-
“You lost her,” Ezio said hoarsely, forcing a smile despite the ache in his ribs. His chest armor had taken the brunt of the attack but there was bound to be a patchwork of bruising there before long. The irritation in Lucius’ body language was all but televised as it bled through his control. The masked man looked back at him once, his expression hidden from view.
“Temporarily,” Lucius bit out. “Enjoy your victory, Assassin. However brief it may be.”
Then… he was gone. The ancient warrior had turned on his heel and slipped back into the city as cleanly as he’d entered it.
Ezio stood still for a moment longer, listening to the distant pulse of Constantinople reclaiming herself. Only then did he allow himself to breathe.
Somewhere darting through streets and avenues, Caelia was forcibly putting more and more distance between herself and the hunter she believed to be still snapping at her ankles. He needed to find her quickly before Lucius changed his mind or Caelia succumbed to the poison flooding her body.
—
Caelia ran. Her leather boots smacking out a rhythmless beat as she took one sharp turn after another. She prayed to gods whose names she’d long since forgotten that the interloper had managed to outlive Lucius’ strikes when he intervened on her behalf.
Another debt owed. Another debt likely paid in blood.
Another life needlessly lost.
She stuck with the crowds where she could, letting the flow of people guide her feet, her strides already swaying unsteadily. Then she slipped back into the maze of side streets where the noise became muted and her breathing grew too loud. The poison was a patient mixture. It meant to incapacitate its prey, only turning lethal after a portion of time.
Her fingers tingled then turned numb, the sensation creeping up her arms slowly. She’d dealt with this particular bout before but loathed the feeling of becoming once more disconnected with her body. Her vision blurred around the edges, colors smearing if she turned too quickly. Moved too fast. Caelia forced a dry swallow down her throat but she couldn't stop for water, even if it were just a sip. She suddenly tasted copper on the back of her tongue.
Not-not yet, she told herself. Not here.
She cut through another series of narrow passageways and very nearly missed another turn, slamming her shoulder into the stone hard to rattle her teeth. Pain flared brilliantly before vanishing, quickly overturned by the growing heaviness in her extremities. That terrified her more than the pain ever could and spurned her on ever more.
With each step Caelia took, her breathing grew shallower. Every footfall felt… delayed, like her brain needed to be reminded of what came next. She pressed a palm to the growing wetness at her side and drew back her hand to see it coated with bright, red blood. She swiped her palm across the coarse fabric clothing her.
Enough. I… need to find somewhere to… sit down.
Even her thoughts had turned sluggish.
She veered sharply down a long alleyway, only ducking into a recessed alcove midway down. It was half hidden by old bundles of cloth and debris. Her world soon narrowed to stone and shadow as she braced herself against a wall, forcing herself to remain upright as she caught her breath. Sweat trickled down her temples, landing softly in the sand beneath her feet. Her vision spun then and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through the vertigo when something shifted.
Her bow came up automatically, numbness be damned. An arrow had already been notched. Her hands trembled with effort to keep it straight as she aimed at the entryway.
Footsteps carefully approached. Someone was telegraphing their presence, making themselves known to her.
Her grip on her weapon tightened. Lucius. He was likely still playing with her now that he finally caught up. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Fear went hand in hand with determination. If it was him, she’d make damn sure Lucius paid for his arrogance.
The footsteps finally slowed as a figure rounded the archway. At first he was nothing but an amorphous blob. Caelia blinked away the poison and the shape resolved itself.
Ezio stepped into view, hidden blade out but ready for attack, eyes sharp. They lingered briefly on the arrow point lodged at his heart before flicking up to her face. The blade disappeared back into his gauntlet with a soft click.
Relief practically slammed into Caelia when she recognized the assassin at last and she let out a held breath. “Oh. It’s only you, signore.”
Her fingers slackened on the bowstring, the arrow becoming nothing but a harmless bit of wood and sharpened steel. The bow slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground as her knees buckled. She braced for a hard impact but a set of gentle hands had already wrapped around her, slowing her descent.
“Steady now,” the assassin commented as he eased to the ground, setting her back up against the wall behind them.
Caelia let out a weak laugh. “I-I don’t plan on dying in an alley.” Her fingers fumbled with the clasp on her satchel. Gold light briefly eked out, illuminating the alcove they were tucked away in before abruptly fading away. Caelia had pulled out a small vial containing a bluish liquid. She clucked her tongue at the sight before uncorking it and downing the contents, dropping the vial back into her bag.
“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back. “Always with those… damnable poisons.”
“He did mention something about that,” Ezio replied in a wry tone, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
“Well, he’ll be pleased to find out I’m now out of the antidote.” She could feel it beginning to take effect but she was going to be out of commission for some time. Pain lanced up her side right then, making her hiss through her teeth. Her hand reflexively went to grasp at the wound. Ezio, with a glance to Caelia, carefully peeled back the layers of fabric to see blood slowly oozing out. Was it shimmering slightly? No. Must’ve been a trick of the eye.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” he commented.
The next bark of laughter from the woman came out harsher than the last. “What doctor would see me?” she asked. “One look at me and they’d know I wasn’t like them. Judging by that look on your face, signore, you’ve already figured out what Lucius and I are.”
“Lucky for you, you won’t be attending the local apothecary,” came a rich voice behind them. A man dressed in local attire stood in the entryway. Several figures clothed and hooded in white were spread out a few meters away in the courtyard extending from the alcove, regarding the pair in the alcove with tentative curiosity.
“Yusuf,” Ezio named the man. His tone was friendly. Obviously, the two knew each other rather well. “Glad to see you’re in one piece.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” the man, Yusuf, replied with a smile before his expression sobered. “We will need to move soon. Inside routes only. Janissaries are sweeping the main roads.”
A short burst of air shot out of Caelia’s nose as she managed a wane smile. “You have a very welcoming city.”
Yusuf snorted. “You should see her when she’s angry.”
“The path to the den is clear?” Ezio asked as he stood, scooping Caelia up along with him.
“Hold on a moment!” she protested, weakly struggling in his grasp. “I can walk.”
“I’d rather we not exacerbate your wound,” the older assassin countered. “Or risk you falling behind.”
Caelia pursed her lips but stayed silent, lifting her shoulders up in a shrug. As much as she loathed to admit Ezio was right, she was better being carried to the shelter. The poison had sapped away a lot of her strength and she’d just barely administered her antidote. She clung to consciousness fiercely, leaning her head against Ezio’s shoulder as the man ferried her to safety.
Lucius will likely believe I’m still running, poison or no, she thought to herself.
Let him search.
The assassin den loomed in the distance, unseen by anyone who didn’t know where exactly to look.
For the first time since the chase began, Caelia allowed herself to think she might actually survive the night.
People have called Shepard many things over the years. Back when she had just enlisted, there were the slurs spat out by grunts with puffed out chests during basic — stupid names meant for FNGs from Earth, easy to nip in the bud by breaking someone’s nose.
The names didn’t get personal until years later, when she finally had a career to speak of; because that only happens by making tough choices, and of course those choices are for civilians and pencil pushers to criticize. Out loud. In public. And right in front of her drink.
Butcher this, barbarian that… and when someone was feeling dramatic, the one that amused her most: heartless. As though the heart had anything to do with doing her job.
But right now, Xiomara lies in bed looking at the man beside her, and thinks that maybe they were up to something.
Kaidan’s profile is barely visible in the dim light of the room. When he breathes, the rise of his chest under her hand allows her to feel his heartbeat… and Shepard feels a silence settle inside her that she hasn’t found in two or twenty years. Something like a sigh of relief, leaving her from the depth of her aching bones. Something like the thought that she could stay here for a long time.
A message on her omni-tool paints a corner of the room in an orange glow — the tenth in the past few minutes. Even with the thing on silent, she’s aware of every notification that has come through since they got into bed. She knows they will keep coming, that something is probably already going to shit in her absence. She also knows that, the moment she figures out what the next crisis is, Kaidan will follow her into it without missing a beat. These days he seems to be there at every turn. To make himself useful, he says in public; to make up for lost time, he says in private.
A message pings again. Shepard keeps her body still as she ponders that making up for lost time also means watching him sleep like this, unbothered, like he did the night before Ilos. She remembers the surprise on his face when he woke up then, blinking and with static in his hair, like actual rest had snuck up on him. It is strange to have a memory from before Alchera come back to her so clearly — but who else would be the reason if not him?
She wants so badly to keep him where he is. It’s selfish and she doesn’t care. She has to at least try.
What ruins most subterfuge work is overthinking one’s movement, making oneself artificially slow. Shepard rises in one quick, fluid move and stands by the bed on her tiptoes, like a teenager sneaking out of the house.
And she waits.
Kaidan shifts in bed. His arm reaches as if looking for something, and Shepard is sure that she’s busted… but then she sees him find her pillow and pull it close, burying his face in it. There is a long, deep breath as she watches him soothe himself back to sleep by hugging something that belongs to her.
There it is again: that feeling in her chest when she remembers that he wants her. A flutter that eases into warmth and makes it harder to leave each time.
She smiles as she steps away.
They can call her what they will when the war is over. She will give up whatever she has to — but not this, not tonight. For that, she doesn’t have the heart.
„Shhh.“, he whispered into Hekas ear, his chest pressed against their back.
„They‘ll hear us.“
They pressed their lips together, trying to breathe under the heavy mask as his right hand slipped between their thighs.
„Don‘t wanna get caught, don’t we?“
„Enjin-..“
A soft moan followed, as his other hand grabbed hold of one of their breasts, massaging them roughly through the fabric of their shirt.
Meanwhile his fingers found their hot core, fingers brushing through wet folds.
„In a situation like this?“, he remarked,
His voice was barely noticeable through his own mask.
It was a dangerous game, out here in the contaminated zone, trash beasts around them.
But they both had to let off steam after an intense fight, only minutes to spare while the others cleared more of the area.
Heka closed their eyes, nails digged into the sandy wall in front.
„Fuck me already, please.“
„Not without opening you up, sleepyhead.“
They only whimpered as his finger pushed into their heat, quickly followed by a second one.
„Pull this up.“, he demanded.
They nodded and pulled their black crop top up, revealing their bare chest to the cool, dusty air.
His hand didn’t wait to knead and pinch the exposed boobs, while he continued to open them up for his cock.
Which was pressing against the rough fabric of his baggy pants, eager to fuck his partner.
„Enjin please, before they find us.“
„Yes yes.“, his fingers pulled out and he took a second to appreciate the slick coating, pulling string between his fingers.
Heka quickly pulled their pants down further, while Enjin unbuckled his belt, only pulling his own pants down enough to free his eager cock.
He didn’t waste any more time, pulling their ass closer and forcing himself inside.
Enjin groaned, sound deepened by the mask. They just felt too good.
Heka felt a shiver down their spine, caused by hearing this almost feral noise.
His pace was quick and rough, not focused on pleasure, rather on release.
The only noises that could be heard were their soft moans, his quiet grunts and the slapping of skin on skin, mixed with wet the wet noises their cunt made.
Enjin could only imagine how lewd those situation looked, which caused his cock to twitch inside their walls.
It wasn’t the first time they had a quickie during a mission, but usually they did it in a car - which was way more comfortable and they didn’t had to wear their masks.
Something about the situation was still exciting. He couldn’t see Hekas full face, only their upper face half, eyes closed in pleasure. The rest was up to his imagination but he’d seen their face more than enough, he could easily picture how their mouth looked like, half opened, letting out those sweet little noises.
„Fuck.“
The grip of his hands around their hips got harder, his painted nails left marks on the soft skin.
„Enjin I’m close.“
He hummed.
„Me too, sleepyhead.“
Only moments later, Heka whimpered quietly, biting down onto their bottom lip to restrain any noises as they came around his cock.
He could feel their walls tightening around him and it was enough to bring him over the edge aswell, coating their insides with thick ropes of his cum.
They stayed like this for a moment, until their highs calmed down.
Heka could taste blood on their lips, and his warm seed inside their core.
„Keep it inside, okay? Don’t wanna see it dripping out.“, he pulled out and quickly pulled his pants back up.
„You‘re okay?“, his hands closed his belt again and he raised his brows, as they turned around.
Heka nodded and adjusted their crop top, before making sure their pants were back up aswell.
„Out of air.“
„Breathe slowly, kay?“, he stepped closer and brushed a strand of ginger hair out of their face.
„It‘s not easy with these on, right?“, he tapped his mask.
I was tagged by the lovely @isayashai and @phoenixsoul13 for WIP Wednesday! (Do I have any concept of time? Nope, so consider this a WIP Whenever!) Tagging @greenteabtch, @theflamesbeyond, @metzlishepard, @mxssrelay @urzfanclub, and anyone else who feels like hopping on!
Today we bring you a snippet of a Vallen WIP that I wrote during a work break because illicit fic writing is best fic writing. <3
His smile drew two lines that curved from the corner of his eye down to his cheekbone. They were well-defined on his sun kissed face – a testament that he’d had little rest from the outdoors lately. Variel imagined what it would be like to reach out and touch them. To rest her hand on his skin, feel his breath against the pulse of her wrist. To linger.
He glanced up at her, and she pulled her thoughts back abruptly, like janking on a leash.
➝ notes: i’ve been watching the irregulars and these two lines have not left my mind since. i know i said that under all this would be the last piece i posted before i move blogs sometime over the summer, but i lied. this was also written for @ficscafe’s royalty drabble event! special thanks to @wonwooslibrary for beta-reading this and helping me come up with a title 💖
➝ tagging: @haechanblr
He meets you on the bridge next to the pub, like he does most nights. He hasn’t even bothered to wear a suitable disguise tonight, his court garb still visible underneath an oversized coat, and his sketchbook is noticeably absent from his side.
He looks like one of those runaway princes from the storybooks, stealing away from the palace to woo his beloved—a star-crossed love for the ages.
(Kevin may be a runaway prince, but your lives are nothing like the storybooks.)
“What are you running from this time?” you ask, staring down at the streets beneath you.
“Nothing new,” he shrugs. “Another dinner, another banquet, another ball. They all start to blur together after a while.” He pauses, taking the time to study your features, an artist studying his subject. “You’re very different from anyone I’ve ever met.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have something about you.”
“And I take it you won’t tell me what it is?”
“That would take the mystery out of it,” he teases, winking in your direction.
You purse your lips, letting out an exasperated breath. “You know,” you start, turning to face him. “I was thinking of kissing you, but now I’m not gonna.”
Kevin’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. If it weren’t for the catch in his breath, you would have missed it. He briefly glances at your lips before his eyes flicker down to his hands, the tips of his ears suddenly red.
“Well, I suppose I have to kiss you, then,” he mumbles.
And he does.
First, it’s a featherlight brush of his lips against yours, as if it’s his first and last chance to do so. When you don’t pull away, he places a hand on the back of your neck, drawing you deeper into the kiss. You grab the front of his jacket, pulling him into the shadows until your back is scraping against the brick wall of the pub, his hands settling on your hips. You only kiss him harder as your hands start to wander over the fabric of his shirt, fingers bumping against elaborate buttons, tracing patterns onto his skin.
You’re interrupted by the sound of a bell tolling nearby, signaling the late hour. Dread pools in your stomach as Kevin pulls away from you, his eyes apologetic. Pressing his forehead against yours, he whispers, “Meet me back here in two hours.”
You nod silently, feeling a tightness in your chest as a part of you wonders when he’ll wake up from this dream, when he’ll return to reality and realize that the comforts of the palace remain far superior to whatever fleeting escape he may find in the twisting city streets—far superior to whatever he has with you.
And yet, despite all your doubts, you’ll wait for him.
