everybody wants to be a cat.
leona kingscholar, for all his power and status and pride, remains akin to a cat. a very anthropomorphised, handsome cat bestowed with destructive magic, but a cat nevertheless. you’d know - he’d given you the same scorned look your cat used to upon being risen from a blissful nap. in his defence, you had stepped on his tail. you may or may not have gushed a little after apologising. not your fault if you really like cats.
“wow, you really are just like a cat.”
he had sent you a puzzled look. there you were, crouching in front of him, a little grin on your face, taking him in, from his striking eyes to his tail swishing on the ground. he’d grumbled, then.
“don’t push it, herbivore. you wouldn’t want me to bite you.”
in the long run, he ends up overblotting and sinking his claws into your arm. here you are, a strangled scream dying on your tongue as his claws draw blood, blot dripping down your skin with a sickening sizzle.
pain. burning pain. blinding agony takes a hold of you and brings you to your knees, perfect supplicant under the wrathful gaze of the king of beasts.
you can feel your arm start to decay in his grip, skin like fine sand under his fingers. you grasp leona’s wrist, nails digging in his ashen skin - nevermind the blot dripping down on you, nevermind the pain.
“leona, please, let go.”
you don’t know if he does. you can’t find it in yourself to blame him - not with how his past is being poured down in your mind, not when you taste the bitterness of it in your very marrow until you black out.
when you open your eyes, you find yourself in the familiar sheets of an infirmary bed, with strong arms wrapped around your middle, careful not to press against your bandaged arm.
your eyes widen.
“leona?”
a low rumble. you freeze. leona kingscholar, second prince of sunset savanna, is cuddling you up, thumbs drawing abstract patterns on your waist. and he’s purring, the vibration low and soothing against your back, until you find yourself smiling ever so softly.
“always knew you were just a big cat.”
he nips at your nape.
“don’t push it, herbivore.”
you don’t tell him you can feel his lips curl against your skin.
596 notes
·
View notes
Consequence of Action Pt. 12
I lied. One more chapter! Have a little soft boys chapter while I try to figure out how to wrap this thing up!
TW: recovering whumpee/caretaker (because they both went through it), aftermath of noncon (nothing explicit mentioned much but it's there), self-blame, comfort
Prev - Next
Quinn awoke slowly.
He felt as if he was pulling his body through molasses and back to consciousness one molecule at a time. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and out again, his body winning the war with his mind and demanding he tend to the pain bleeding back into his awareness.
He peeled open his eyes, letting out a soft breath at the sight of Collins sitting at his desk across from him.
The thrill that ran through his body quieted, turning quickly to concern, as Quinn passed his eyes over the man.
Collins was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head down between his shoulders. He had one hand clenched into a fist and a glass of water in the other. Somehow, he looked even more tired than before.
Quinn remembered them practically stumbling onto Collins' bed after Freely properly stitched up the wounds on his back and patched up the many cuts and scrapes across Collins' body.
A weight laid heavily between them while they were in the infirmary. They didn't speak more than answering the simple questions Freely had asked them about their various aches and pains yet they couldn't seem to let go of one another.
Quinn swears he could still feel Collins' fingers intertwined with his own, even now, as he sat so painfully far away and out of Quinn's reach.
There was still so much hurt left over that couldn't be tended to with needle and thread.
Guilt and shame rolled off of Collins' slumped body in cloying waves as he sat there at the desk, eyes closed and the tense line of his shoulders trembling slightly with exhaustion.
“Hey.”
Collins' head shot up, his eyes bleary and his face drawn.
“Quinn,” He said urgently, moving all the way to the edge of his chair and opening his hand. Two little white pills sat in the center of his palm. “Here. You're overdue but, I- I didn't want to wake you.”
Quinn couldn't help the tired smile that crossed his lips.
They were safe. The ship was now Prim's to command. Collins no longer had to pull him out of the prying, grasping hands of cruel men and hide him away. Yet here he was, watching over Quinn as he slept like his personal sentinel.
“Did you sleep at all?” Quinn asked as he moved to carefully ease himself onto his back and rest up against the pillows.
Collins' left eye twitched as he fought an internal battle of whether or not to set down the medication and help Quinn adjust himself on the bed or keep holding out the pills awkwardly until he was settled.
Collins opted for awkward, waiting for the pain lines to smooth across Quinn's face before reaching his hand out again.
“Take these,” Collins practically begged as he inched closer to him but refusing to come up off the chair.
Quinn took mercy on the man and reached out, plucking the pills from his palm and chasing them down with the entire glass of water.
The tense line of Collins' shoulders immediately eased back and he sighed with relief, dragging his hands down his face and up into his hair.
Quinn knew that they needed to talk. He really did. Even as his entire being wanted nothing more than to just hold this man in his arms and shush away the anguish in his eyes.
He reached his hand out across the cool, empty side of the bed. Not demanding, but gently asking.
Collins' eyes tracked the movement and he swallowed hard, dropping his head down between his shoulders again and wringing his hands together.
“Quinn-” he croaked out, tears clogging up his throat.
“Just, will you come closer, please,” Quinn asked, keeping his palm pressed into the mattress in the space between them.
Collins worried his mouth before he stood slowly and sat as far off the edge of the bed as he possibly could.
That was okay. That was something. Quinn didn't move his hand.
“I don't know how to do this,” Collins said, his eyes set firmly on Quinn's hand.
Quinn's heart crashed into his chest. He took a slow, calming breath.
“Us?” he asked quietly.
They hadn't exactly talked about it. There hadn't been any time. But Quinn knew that something had started between the two of them. Not just something born out of fear and desperation, but something real. He knew Collins felt it too.
He watched a tear slip down Collins' cheek. Quinn swallowed the urge to reach out and stilled his body instead, waiting patiently as Collins seemed to sort through the many thoughts warring in his mind.
Collins reached out his hand.
Quinn's finger twitched and he fought to hold it perfectly still as Collins slipped one finger underneath Quinn's palm. Quinn gasped at that subtle touch, his entire body reacting as if Collins had blown a gentle breath across every inch of his skin. Collins dragged his finger under the side of his palm until he stilled just under his pinkie, dropping his thumb over the top.
Quinn's head was empty. All his plans for conversation flying out the window as he watched Collins idly play with the delicate joint of his finger, contemplating his words.
“How," Collins began, "after everything, after what I did, Quinn, you should hate me.”
Quinn tore his eyes away from their hands when Collins' voice cracked over his name. His heart stuttering in surprise to find Collins looking right back at him.
The expression set deep into Collins' eyes lite a fire in Quinn's heart. That fire felt like anger, but not at Collins. He was angry at the thoughts that had so clearly tied this man up in knots while Quinn slept.
He was blaming himself. For all of it. For all the actions of vile men that would have, and did, do the same to Collins the moment they were given the chance. All this guilt and shame laying like a thick blanket over Collins' back, he deserved none of it.
Quinn clasped their hands together.
“Come here,” he said, pulling Collins towards him.
Collins' face crumbled and, to Quinn's surprise, he went willingly into his arms. He pressed his face against Quinn's chest and wrapped his arm low around his waist.
Somehow, the larger man fit perfectly. Quinn wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other curled around Collins' head, pressing him in as close as possible.
“I'm so sorry,” Collins whispered.
“Shhh,” Quinn hushed, rubbing circles across his back and scratching his fingers through his hair. “Whatever you think you need forgiveness for, you have it.”
He felt Collins' breath hitch in a silent sob as he held onto Quinn as if he'd fall to his death if he ever let go.
Quinn kissed the top of his head and smoothed his hair back from his face. He still couldn't quite see him, tucked against his chest like he was. Quinn brought one finger to his chin and Collins let his head be tilted up.
Whatever Collins saw when he finally managed to look Quinn in the eyes brought a small, sad smile to his lips. He leaned his head back to rest against Quinn's shoulder and just watched him for a while as Quinn brushed his thumb across his cheek and down his jaw. He could feel Collins' body start to relax against him and Quinn drew his fingers back through his hair, then back across his cheek again and down his jaw, and then again. He watched as Collins' eyes slipped shut before widening again and dropping closed once more, Quinn never ceasing the gentle, rhythmic touches.
He thought he'd finally fallen asleep when Collins drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.
“We need to talk,” Collins said tiredly.
Quinn smiled, brushing his hair back again, “We will, I promise.”
He couldn't help the surprised grin that took over his face when Collins pressed up and Quinn instantly moved to meet him in the middle. Their lips grazed against each other in the briefest touch. Collins smiled against Quinn's mouth and kissed him once more before dropping his head back onto Quinn's chest and holding him tight.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his eyes slipping closed again.
Quinn rested his cheek on Collins' head and closed his eyes.
“It's more than okay.”
Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness
39 notes
·
View notes