#I NEVER NOTICED HE SAID ODDITY INSTEAD OF

[gorillaxyz]

2001 A SPACE ODDITY.

[onmyyan]

So I'm imagining a bit of a silly concept, but imagine delivery driver!reader with yanderes Dick and Jason. Like they'll keep ordering from the place reader works in hopes that reader will show up (and she will - your boss got fed up with all the 1 star reviews when anyone other than you shows up) but they act like creeps trying to get you to join in on their movie night or whatever. They totally don't realize they're being creeps, though - this is their darling! They would never scare her! But like reader gets fed up with them "propositioning" her so she has her boss put them on the do not deliver list. The boys are surprised (they knew her boss was sending all those other drivers on purpose! 🙄), but it's nothing a call to Barbara can't fix (she wants to be an Auntie ASAP - platonic yan Barbara, perhaps?)

It starts with a simple delivery to Wayne Manor, one insignificant package set their sights on you, but could you blame them? That smile when you handed Dick the package, the pretty laugh you let out when Jason said something witty, it wasn't their fault you enamored them with a single meeting, and it didn't help when you delivered their second package, about a week after the first, and remember their names, the audacity to do such a thing and not expect them to fall in love.

Anytime someone other than you shows up they're met with the coldest glares, Dick is short with them, no banter no charm, Jason straight up doesn't speak to anyone that isn't you.

They don't start to get creepy until about week three, that's how long their resolve lasts before Dick is inviting you in for a drink, you must be hot in that uniform of yours, why don't you come inside? It's cool in the manor and he's sure your boss wouldn't miss you for a few minutes.

Jason, to his credit, really does try to be casual about his interest, of course it's anything but casual, he pretends to be working on his bike when you come to get his signature, purposely showing off as he takes his time signing, intense blue eyes staring at you with an intensity that made you sweat. He says a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to work so hard, that you should have someone to take care of you, you grit your teeth biting out a smile as you snatch the tablet back as soon as he finishes signing.

It isn't until your latest delivery do you put them on the do not deliver list, as usual they were together when you rang the doorbell, Dick smiles so brightly at you, you'd think you were delivering the stars in a neatly wrapped box. "Hey (y/n)!" He greets you like a long time friend instead of someone you'd only spoken to a handful of times, "You mind bringing that inside?" He asks the question and despite its oddity, you comply bringing the package inside.

Jason closes the door behind you, causing you to jump, when the hell did he get here?

"Good to see you bunny." He was always calling you pet names, far too intimate for your liking, he smirks before taking the box from your hands, his fingers purposely brushing against yours. "You're like a little messenger fairy."

You choose to ignore him, turning to Dick, you hold out the tablet for him to sign. "We'll get to that in a minute- why don't you sit down for a sec?" He sits on the couch patting the spot beside him. "I gotta get back to my route-"

"it's midnight, you guys stop delivering after midnight right?" Jason speaks up causing you to look at him, he looks way too satisfied with himself, catching you in a lie. Feeling trapped you sit on the couch reluctantly. "What's up?" You ask looking between the two, Jason remains standing his beefy arms crossed across his chest. God he made you uneasy.

"we've noticed how hard you've been working lately and since we're friends-" you don't hide the confusion on your face at the proclamation, "-We figured you could use a break." Dick spoke almost as if he was nervous. "Come on bunny, take a load off." Jason finally sat down sandwiching you between the two.

"or- and hear me out on this one, you sign for your package and I leave?" They share a look before Dick is almost sadly signing the tablet. "Well if you ever wanna just chill or something-"

You don't hesitate you leap off the couch and run out the door, heart slamming so hard in your chest you felt the rumble in your throat.

You thought you'd be done with them after putting their names on your company's do not deliver list, and for about a week you are, until they realize what's going on and collectively lose their minds.

Barbara couldn't stand seeing two of her closest friends so down, so unlike themselves, once they explain the situation to her she's quick to act, understanding their... particular intensity when it came to love, and clearly you'd stolen their hearts, she couldn't stand to see them so upset so she quickly devizes a plan to get you back where you belong.

All it takes is hacking into your company's files to find your route and schedule, it's like child's play to her to set up the meeting, she ordered a shit ton of stuff all for you unbeknownst to you of course, all items you'd need for your upcoming vacation, Bruce had a few private islands for situations just like this one, and it be the perfect place for Dick and Jason to break you in. By the time you left the little slice of paradise, you'd be a perfect little darling.

With a smile too pretty for her deeds, she presses confirm on the order and sends a text to the guys.

"Your Darling is approaching with your order."

[reallyromealone]

Wonderland gifts

Leona kingscholar x male reader

Reader is a bunny, fluff, cute

(name) was hiding.

Why?

Well... He had been secretly leaving wonderland courting gifts for Leona and the other man had caught him, judging by the look he wasn't happy with the bunnies secret courting.

He knew Leona wasn't a fan of herbivores like (name) but he couldn't help it! He was so cool and handsome! God was he in over his head? God, he was stupid to think he would want him!

(Name) wanted to cry as he talked himself out of it.

For the past six weeks Leona had been finding strange gifts for him, tiny cakes and nonsense poems and tea flavors that were strange combinations to say the least. "What the..." He lifted a tiny bottle that said "drink me" he wasn't going to but he was going to figure out what the potion was-- well he was getting Ruggie to do it as he couldn't be bothered to do it himself.

"Luck potion?" The small gold potion sparked under the lights in the dorm "super hard to make apparently, whoever made it for you must have taken forever to get the ingredients~" Ruggie said with a sing song voice and Leona looked at the bottle with a bored expression.

Interesting.

Little trinkets and oddities made their way to Leona, the lion had yet to see just whom it was who left him these gifts but each one was more personal than the last, weird gifts but they were nice none the less.

"A pillow?" He mumbled as he looked at the note "an enchanted pillow that is always cool and never lumpy" oddly specific but the admirer took into consideration of his naps instead of chastising him.

Then he saw it.

Heartslabyuls little white rabbit putting a pocket watch on his desk.

"It's you" Leona said passively as he stalked towards the bunny who looked *stressed* to say the least "I-im sorry!" He yelped before bolting, surprisingly fast though Leona should have expected it from a bunny.

He was cute he wouldn't lie.

Now to find the bunny.

(Name) was anxious as he fiddled with his pocket watch, hiding in his burrow as he did his homewor-- well he tried at least, god he felt like such an idiot! Leona looked so annoyed at him!

The entire Heartslabyul dorm noticed the bunnies down mood, having barely left his room to eat-- hell Ace tried luring him out with carrot cake and nothing!

(Name) tried his best to keep his head down but that was hard when the entire savanaclaw dorm was practically hunting you down.

God was Leona really that annoyed?!

"There you are" (name) turned to get pinned against the wall, panic flooding him "courting me only to run off?" Leona teased as he leaned close "are herbaceous little things like yourself always so skittish?"

"I-I apologize... I was to nervous to give them to you face to face..."

"My... How should I punish a herbivore like you, little bunny " Leonas had a cocky grin on his face as he got close enough to his lips nearly touching the poor rabbits who in all this poofed into rabbit form, causing Leona to laugh "you're coming with me little bunny, punishment is napping with me"

[sorrowsofsilence]

If you take asks/requests can you do something with reader refusing any type of help or assistance in anything but she's so used to everything being thrown in her face or used against her so now she is just super hyper independent. She meets Noah and for a long time he doesn't understand why she never lets anyone help her until she opens up and quietly tells him that she can't trust people to not use the help they gave her against her eventually.

Super self indulgent here 🥺😟

if im here • n.s

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!reader

words: 2k

warnings: none

note: thank you so much for this anon. this is so relatable, and writing this felt so... therapeutic? i hope you enjoy this xx

THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

+

At first, Noah merely noticed it as a quirk; an oddity of hers that was borderline admirable. Any time he offered to help her carry anything, she would politely, but firmly decline. Once, when she was struggling with a stubborn jar of pasta sauce, he'd tried to help, only to have her snatch the glass away with a fierce glint in her eyes.

It was clear that she didn't need or want his assistance.

Even in times that seemed dire, she refused him. The time her tire popped and she struggled to fit it back onto the rims, and the time the bowl from the top shelf fell against the floor, smashing into pieces and cutting her hand.

He always assumed it was pride or a stubborn sense of independence. But over time, he realized there was something deeper lurking beneath the surface; a sort of wariness, a guardedness that was difficult to penetrate.

One evening, after they'd grown closer, they were sitting on Noah’s living room floor amidst several takeout boxes from the local chinese place. She was battling with a particularly tricky fortune cookie wrapper when Noah instinctively reached out to help.

"No," she said quietly, pulling her hand back as if his touch burned. Something in her eyes flickered, a strange mix of defiance and vulnerability that made Noah pause.

He sat there, watching with a defeated brow as he placed the chopsticks in his box of chow mein, shoulders slumped.

“Y/N…” Noah whispered, his eyes saddened as she struggled, throwing her head back in a frustrated growl.

“Why won’t you just let me help you? Ever?”

She sighed, placing the untouched cookie on the coffee table. Her hands folded in her lap, shoulders hunched as if bracing against an invisible force.

For a long moment, she was silent, refusing to glance at Noah as he waited, knowing better than to press.

"I can't trust people," she admitted, not meeting his gaze, "I can't trust them not to use the help they gave me, against me eventually."

Noah was silent, processing her words. His heart twisted at the bare honesty of her confession, the raw pain that lurked behind her fierce independence. He realized this wasn’t about jars or boxes; this was about survival, about safeguarding herself from the world around her that had done her wrong, time and time again.

"No one should ever use kindness as a weapon," he said softly, respecting her space but wanting her to know he was there, "And I promise you, I won't. Not now, not ever."

She looked up at him then, her eyes clouded with a wariness that made him want to reach out and reassure her. But he knew better now, knew that the last thing she needed was empty reassurances or hollow promises.

Instead, he simply held her gaze, letting his words hang between them as his promise to her. He wanted to show her that he was different and that not everyone would use their kindness against her.

She held his onyx gaze for a long moment before finally looking away. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but there was still a guardedness about her. It was clear that it would take more than just words to convince her.

But Noah was patient; he knew that trust wasn’t built in a day.

It was something that had to be earned and nurtured, piece by piece. He might not have been able to erase the past or change the people who had hurt her before, but he could certainly try to be different, and show her she deserved to be cared for.

Over the next few weeks and months, Noah did his best to show her he was a man of his word.

He never imposed, never assumed. Each time a situation arose where she seemed in need of help, he waited, letting her make the first move.

Bit by bit, they began to navigate around this invisible barrier - a silent dance of respect and understanding. When she stubbed her toe and cursed under her breath, Noah remained silent, only moving when she held out her hand for assistance. When her car broke down one icy winter evening, instead of rushing over as he instinctively wanted to do, he waited for her call.

It was a slow process, one filled with silent understanding and unspoken words. But with each day that passed, Noah could see the progression. There were moments when she would hesitate just before refusing his help; moments that filled him with hope and reassurance that he was doing the right thing.

One day when an unexpected rainstorm caught them off guard on their way back from a late-night movie, he held out his coat as they stepped out of the theatre. He prepared himself for her usual refusal, the quick shake of her head and the pulled-down brim of her hat as she braved the elements herself.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, she looked at his proffered jacket for a moment before finally nodding, tugging it around her shoulders with a shy smile.

His heart leapt in response.

It was a small victory, but for Noah, it felt monumental. It was the first time she had willingly accepted his assistance without that familiar flicker of fear in her eyes. The rain sliced through the night, drenching them despite the coat, but neither cared.

One small step towards trust. One small step towards un-guilted help.

“Thank you,” She whispered, smiling up at him. Noah wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a comforting hug as they headed to their apartment.

“I would do anything for you,” He said, placing a kiss in her hair.

Her shivering body vibrated against his, her hands clinging to his dampened shirt for support.

In the silence of the rain-soaked streets, under the flickering street lamps, she believed him.

Not because she wanted to, but because he had proven it - time and again - through his patience, his understanding. He had seen her fears and her scars and had not flinched away, but stood firmly by her side, always waiting for her to reach out first.

"Noah," she murmured, as they unlocked the door of their shared apartment, her damp hair sticking to his face. "You're different."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, an acknowledgement of what they both already knew. He smiled into her hair, warmth spreading through him despite the cold rain dripping from their clothes onto the hallway floor.

"I hope so," he murmured back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before stepping back, giving her space once again as they moved inside.

She smiled at him then, one that reached to her eyes.

It was a rare sight and Noah cherished it because he knew how much courage it took for her.

That exchange marked a turning point in their relationship. His promise uttered in the heart of the storm, wasn't just an empty phrase spoken to comfort her.

It was a vow that he intended to keep, not just for that night but for every night thereafter.

In the following days, she became more comfortable in accepting his aid. She even let him help her carry groceries to their apartment, a task she'd always insisted on doing herself before- all ten bags looped up either arm.

But that day, he was allowed to carry five.

There was still that flicker of unease every now and then, a shadow that crossed her eyes whenever he offered his help; however, those moments were becoming less frequent with time.

Noah proved himself to be a man of his word. He stood by her side, not as a knight trying to save a damsel in distress, but as a constant companion who honored her strength and respected her space.

Their souls danced around each other in the ever-evolving rhythm of their companionship - sometimes colliding, sometimes distancing, yet always spinning in synchrony.

One cool spring afternoon, they went to a local park and found a solitary bench that overlooked a still lake. The water mirrored the sky, capturing its changing moods from cool blue to fiery orange as the sun began to set.

They sat there in a comforting quiet for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Noah opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself just in time. He respected her need for space - physical and emotional both. His gaze fell on her profile - her eyes closed and tilted towards the setting sun, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in the crisp air.

"Is your mind always this quiet?" she asked after a while, turning to meet his gaze. He noted how her eyes held a certain softness now, a less guarded curiosity, “Or this patient?”

"No," he confessed with a soft chuckle. "I’ve had to learn patience over time."

"Because of me?" she asked, her voice low.

He turned to face her, taking a moment to really look at her. The setting sun reflected in her eyes, giving them an ethereal glow.

He admired her- every part of her. The good, the bad. Everything.

"Partly," he admitted, "But also because of myself. I've realised that sometimes the best way to help someone isn't by charging in like a hero. It's by waiting…giving them the space they need to heal."

His words stretched between them as she processed, her gaze never leaving his. Noah noticed a hint of something different in her eyes; not fear or apprehension, but something akin to gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said softly, echoing the words she’d whispered weeks before in the rain.

"I'm trying, Noah," she said quietly, "I'm trying to trust again."

He nodded, understanding all too well what that meant for her. It was a leap of faith - an act of trust that was foreign and strenuous to her very being.

"I know," he replied softly.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand gently, a small comfort against the enormity of what she had just shared, “And you’re doing an amazing job.”

She smiled, looking down at their entwined fingers.

“I’m proud of you,” Noah breathed.

Her heart raced with armour as they sat there, their hands linked while the sun slowly disappeared beneath the horizon. The world around them was bathed in a tranquil glow, almost as if it was recognizing the sacredness of their moment.

Noah squeezed her hand gently, his chest full of emotions he couldn't quite put into words.

He took a deep breath, his gaze still locked onto the surreal sunset before them. This woman sitting next to him, she was strong. She had been through so much, but instead of hardening her heart, she still allowed herself to be vulnerable, for him. Of all people, him.

Her voice brought him out of his thoughts, "I think I'm ready."

Noah turned to look at her, surprised by her sudden declaration. She looked back at him, determination shining bright in her eyes.

"To rely on someone," she clarified, trailing a finger along the flower on the back of his hand, "To trust again... with you."

There was no hesitation in her voice, just a raw honesty that pierced through the quiet evening.

Noah felt his heart surge with a myriad of emotions: hope, joy, relief; but above all, there was a sense of honor.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently, not wanting to rush her.

He knew the gravity of what she was saying, the importance of this moment.

But she simply nodded, meeting his gaze with an unwavering certainty.

"Yes," she whispered. "I think I am."

Her simple affirmation held so much weight. It was her declaration of surrender, but also a confirmation of faith in him.

And that meant more to Noah than any grand gestures or professions could ever do.

He leaned over, closing the distance between them and pressed his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled in the cool dusk air, creating an intimate bubble around them while the rest of the world faded into insignificance.

"I'll be here for you, whenever you need.”

tags:

@xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @thefallennightmare

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers @anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-2 @sweetwombatpizza

[somepsychopomp]

A Fair Contest

So a little bit ago I drafted an idea for an AU where, instead of the golden apple saying 'to the fairest' it says 'to the most amorous king'

And instead of the ladies fighting over the apple, it's Zeus & Poseidon. In order to determine who exactly is the superior lover (and king + who gets bragging rights), the two brothers select one (un)fortunate mortal that both of them shall take to bed...

and the judge they select for their little contest is none other than Odysseus.

(Takes place pre-Trojan War. In fact there's basically no Trojan War to begin with. Also Odysseus is betrothed but not yet married to Penelope)

Consider this chapter 1 of this fic. I really hope I can finish it because I stayed up to almost 4 am writing this, which is amazing because I've been dealing with a major cold and writers block for a while now

Word Count: approx. 4400

There's no smut yet but I do confess to giving Ody a bubble butt. Also in a world where Ruthlessness never happened/is yet to happen... Poseidon has a thing for strong thighs & is absolutely smitten with Odysseus

Also in my head, I'm imagining Neal's character designs but I think I've kept it vague enough for now that you can imagine whatever designs you like

+++

The wedding had been a most splendid sight, with revelry among both men and gods. The small mortal king, Peleus, was of course honored to host such a wide variety of the gods and have them witness his union with the divine Thetis. Zeus gave the couple his own blessing and permitted Dionysus to pour out his strongest wine for the occasion. 

Well into the night, the attendees danced to a tireless band and feasted upon the finest foods available. Gods mingled with mortals, some sneaking off with a young maiden or cupbearer for some more illicit fun. 

All was going well until the first beam of daylight shone upon a pedestal that no guest noticed before, where a golden apple awaited. 

Curious onlookers clustered around it, wondering where it could have come from. The mortals believed the apple to be made of real gold, thinking it was a lavish wedding gift. The gods were equally mystified, knowing that something so perfect and beautiful could only be given by one of their own. Hera pursed her lips at the sight of it. 

The king of the gods made his way to the center of the crowd, the other guests parting for him with their eyes averted in deference. He regarded the apple with mild curiosity, having a treasury greater than all of Greece’s wealth upon Olympus. A ribbon was tied neatly to the apple’s stem with a message embroidered upon it. 

“To the most amorous king.”

Zeus chuckled at the oddity of this little present and moved to take the apple. 

Only for another hand to grab it at the very same moment. 

The two gods stared at each other. 

“What do you think you’re doing, dear brother?” Zeus asked, the smile falling from his face. 

Poseidon rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Taking my prize.”

“You?” Zeus said, his voice dripping with outrage, “You dare defy your king like this?”

Poseidon’s voice turned sharp and cold. “I am lord of the seas! The gift doesn’t say ‘to the king of the skies’, now does it? No, you read it yourself.”

The mortal guests, including King Peleus, began to make their quick exit from the venue. Some of the lesser gods were also making their sneaky escape, fearing the worst was about to come. 

Hera approached her husband and wrapped her arms around his own, “Darling, it’s just an apple. If you want one, I’ve got a whole orchard full.”

It was true that Gaea, the very earth itself, gave Hera a grove of enchanted apple trees as her wedding gift. The trees were immune to all illnesses and sprouted fruit of pure gold all year round. In all likelihood, this very apple was stolen from the Queen’s orchard.

The god-king’s most favorite child appeared at his other side in an attempt to soothe his growing rage, “Father, listen to Queen Hera. This is a trick meant to sew discord, nothing more.”

Zeus ignored his daughter Athena as if she weren’t there. 

“Let it go, my love.” Hera said, “After all, why have one apple when you could have hundreds?”

Zeus gave her a sharp look, his golden eyes burning with a harsh, radiant glow. The queen of the gods was so taken aback that she shrunk away under the weight of his glare. Zeus said, “I am the god of judgement! No matter how trivial of a token it is, I will not let my brother take what does not rightfully belong to him!” 

Poseidon threw his head back and laughed, not one to be daunted, “Oh, is that so? And how will you prove that it doesn’t belong to me, hm?”

He tossed the golden apple into the air, catching it in his other hand. Zeus bared his teeth and snatched Poseidon’s wrist, unwilling to let elder brother even hold the thing. 

It was now apparent to all the remaining gods what this was really about. 

Neither king would secede when their pride and egos were in jeopardy. For either of them, letting the other take the apple now, after they’ve already started bickering, would mean admitting they were the more feeble lord, a less competent lover. And such a slight against their reputations would never stand. 

“Ahem,” a voice said. 

A lovely woman with flawless bare skin for all the world to admire, a translucent shawl draped around her arms and roses in her pale tresses, stepped forward. 

Zeus barely spared her a glance. “What is it, Aphrodite?”

She smiled, though not without a hint of mischief in her eyes, “I think I have the solution to this little conflict of ours, one that will minimize any substantial damage to our family… or the known world.”

Zeus inclined his head in interest. Poseidon gave the goddess his ear, as well. Zeus let go of his brother and the sea god set the apple down. 

Athena bit her lower lip, knowing that Aphrodite’s schemes were almost never more than just that: schemes. Games to amuse herself with. She had something else in mind. 

Aphrodite snapped her fingers. A large, circular mirror gilded in silver and gold appeared in the air behind her. The surface rippled the same way a pond did when met with rainfall. 

A beautiful young maiden with a long braid of black hair tended to her garden. The image rippled and was replaced with what was clearly a princess being dressed for the day by her servants. Again, the image shifted and showed a handsome young man in a short chiton as he shepherded his flock of sheep. 

Aphrodite said, “Now, I’m sure you two could spend eternity bickering back and forth, boasting of your skills and past conquests, but as the goddess of love myself… why not have more of a practical examination?”

The two brothers exchanged a look, coming to the same conclusion. 

“You want us to share a lover?” Poseidon asked. 

Zeus added, “And have them decide?”

Aphrodite winked and gave them a cheerful smile. “Well, what do you say? There’s no shortage of pretty boys or girls across the land. Come, take your pick!”

Zeus stroked his beard, a few sparks crackling across his fingertips. Poseidon crossed his arms in contemplation. 

“Father, Uncle!” Athena said, trying to catch their attention, “This is madness, can you not see?”

But neither god answered her. Athena was in disbelief. 

All this over a golden apple that neither needed or really wanted. This was all about their reputations as accomplished lovers, which they shouldn’t even have considering they were both married men. 

And Aphrodite, it was clear she was only doing this to make a story out of it, the way she and her son Eros loved to couple mortals together, only to break them apart. No doubt some terrible fate will befall the chosen victim, no matter who they named the superior lover. 

In Athena’s mind, she could only imagine the loser of this game casting some bitter curse upon the poor mortal as revenge. But that was the fun of it for some gods, to see the doomed fate of some poor soul after getting mixed up with the divine. 

Behind Zeus’ back, Hera threw her hands into the air before storming off, summoning her chariot pulled by winged horses to return her to Olympus. 

Athena threw a disappointed look at Aphrodite before leaving as well, deciding to go where her counsel would be appreciated. 

+++

By mid-morning, Odysseus’ back and brow were already covered in sweat as he endeavored to finish the roof over his wedding bed before an unfortunate rain could sully his hard work below. 

The house he was raised in was perfectly fine, but with all the servants and guards on top of his family, it was not the largest of castles. It was also an old thing in constant need of repairs. Odysseus always envisioned a proper palace atop Ithaca’s mountains, one where his own family could grow large and have plenty of space to themselves. 

So, before the eve of his wedding, he endeavored to complete the house of his dreams for his new wife to enjoy. He started with their olive tree, a living symbol of his devotion to his betrothed. Odysseus labored day and night to carve part of it into one of the four posts for his wedding bed, taking extreme caution to not cut away so much that the tree would die. 

The largest bough of the olive tree would overlook one of their windows, with a perfect view of the vast ocean beyond it. Odysseus already carved the other three bed posts and constructed the frame, but there was always more work to do. As the common larborers constructed the foundation and walls for the other rooms in the palace, Odysseus went to work constructing the roof for his bedroom. 

With a sizable living tree in such close proximity to his quarters, he trusted no one but himself to complete the project without damaging it. 

Taking up hammer and nails, hauling wood and stone, and fitting everything into place almost entirely on his own was unusual for a king. Odysseus knew this, but the labor brought him joy like no other. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, imagining opening the door for the very first time as a married man. He would carry Penelope to their wedding bed, built entirely by his hand, and spend the rest of his life with her. 

Focus, he told himself. 

For now, Penelope still dwelled in her natal homeland of Sparta. As soon as her new home was completed, she would set sail for Ithaca.  

Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow as the sun beat its rays upon his back. Maybe it was foolish to fear the coming rainfall, but he could see the grayish clouds on the horizon.

By midday, he was hopeful he could have the roof finished by nightfall. As Odysseus dropped from one of the wooden rafters into his nearly-complete bedroom, his tunic must have caught on a nail or perhaps a large splinter. He heard the sharp tearing of fabric and grumbled at the gash across his front. One of the room’s alcoves had some of his clothes, since he didn’t have time yet to build the chests or wardrobe. 

Thinking better of a tunic, Odysseus merely replaced it with a rectangular length of cloth fastened at the waist. It was something his mother wove, a lovely shade of blue to match the sea, embroidered with red and white thread. 

From somewhere nearby, he heard the familiar clicking of an owl’s beak coming to greet him. He smiled and turned around, draping his tunic over his arm as his mentor approached him in the form of a brown and white speckled owl. She sank her talons into his arm and flapped her wings as if in outrage. 

He let her perch on the alcove’s lip as he fasted a leather pauldron to his left shoulder. She hopped back on and Odysseus could feel her talons clench and unclench even through the tough leather. 

“What troubles you, Athena?” Odysseus asked. 

He set out through the bedroom’s heavy oak doors, finding himself in a long hallway that was finished, but not yet furnished or cleaned. 

She spoke into his mind, Sometimes, I wish I could belong to any other family but my own. 

Odysseus chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear.”

While he loved his parents and sister dearly, he knew that Athena often butted heads with her siblings and uncle. 

Odysseus counted the windows that still needed shutters and curtains, along with the patches in the roof that had yet to be filled in. Farther along, the great hall where they would entertain guests was still only a skeleton. Only half of the supporting beams and columns were installed and the whole place reeked of sweating men. 

Athena paid the laborers no mind as the citizens of Ithaca bowed for their king as he walked by. 

You know I’m not one for gossip, but I fear something terrible is about to strike the land. 

“Is that so?” Odysseus asked, his smile dropping. 

Yes, a terrible tragedy yet to come in the form of my Uncle Poseidon and my father. 

A servant approached Odysseus with a serving platter. He took a cup of water and drank deeply, and snatched a small bowl of olives before going on his way. 

“They’re angry with us?” Odysseus asked, fearing what this might mean for his people.

No, Athena said, accepting an olive and biting into the tender flesh with her sharp beak, Not quite, but their egos are yet again showing themselves. If you find unusual weather patterns in the next few days, pay them no mind. 

“Ah, I see.”

In truth, he didn’t understand Athena at all. But she seemed in the mood to vent about her personal feelings and seeing as she didn’t do so often, Odysseus was careful to listen. 

Athena clacked her beak in irritation. Odysseus bit into his own olive as he felt a sharp nibble on his ear before she started combing through his damp hair. She must’ve found something in his hair, a bit of dust or a wood chip, because he could feel her tugging at him. 

How goes construction on the new palace?

“Every day, I can see the way it’s growing.”

Odysseus passed by a group of men sitting in a loose circle, taking swigs from a water skin as they fanned themselves. One caught sight of Odysseus and they all scrambled to their feet. 

Odysseus held out a hand to put them at ease, “Catch your breath if you must. A tired man is more prone to making mistakes, and I will not have any in my new house.”

The men all sighed in relief and went back to their break, waving goodbye as he continued onward. Athena cooed to show her approval in his decision. He thought her mood was improving, but not a moment later, she said, I just can’t believe them sometimes. 

“Oh?”

Odysseus thought Athena said her piece already. She clicked his beak right in his ear. 

You would think that the god of law and order would have some sense in his head. But no! Apparently my mother Metis still possesses it. If only Father would listen to her, if not me.

Odysseus said nothing, having never heard Athena speak like this before, especially about her father. He thought it best to remain silent; perhaps Athena could complain about Zeus without punishment, but he knew far better. 

Athena clicked her beak with a different sense of urgency and Odysseus gave her another olive. She held it in one foot while balancing on the other, dropping the pit when she was finished devouring the flesh. 

“You seem awfully worked up,” Odysseus said, “Anything I can do to lift your burdens?”

Athena shook her head. No, I’m afraid this is something that no one man can solve, as frustrating as it might sound. 

He crossed the central courtyard and approached the war room, one of the few nearly-complete parts of the palace, where his chief architects and advisors were waiting to update him on their progress. 

Though Odysseus was primarily trained in the art of war, he was also well-versed in song and poetry, history, oratory, and arithmetic, all courtesy of Athena. He wasn’t an expert in architecture yet, but he had his own hand in designing the layout of the palace. 

“Good day, my friends.” Odysseus said, parting the curtains that served as a makeshift door until the palace was fitted with proper ones. 

One of his elder advisors squinted at Athena upon his shoulder. “My liege?”

Before they could go over any potential issues in the construction or their budgetary concerns, Odysseus wandered over to the window and let Athena take off. She disappeared through the trees, though he knew he’d see her again soon.

+++

Despite the fact the sun was about to set and the two godly kings had been bickering all day long, Aphrodite hadn’t lost her patience yet. In fact, she was even reveling in her task at hand. 

They moved their business to her abode on Olympus, where her many mirrors were put to good use. Zeus and Poseidon scoured the lands for a suitable judge to measure their sexual prowess, each of them interested in different aspects of what made up a potential lover. 

Zeus was pleased with just about any pretty face that breathed, but Poseidon was a bit pickier with appearances. He didn’t want his maidens or young men to be too skinny, and he seemed to have a preference for those with strong legs. Aphrodite could certainly work within those bounds. 

At the same time, Poseidon was more open to sharing a lover with some previous sexual experience, thinking it’d make the whole process easier. Zeus wrinkled his nose at the idea and insisted he wanted someone “new”, not wanting to muck about after some vastly lesser mortal man had his way with their chosen judge. 

Aphrodite agreed that was a good point, so instead of letting the two kings squabble, she put her talents as a matchmaker to good use. After a brief consultation, she put together a list of minimum requirements that satisfied both gods. 

One, their shared lover had to be attractive, preferably with appealing legs. 

Two, they had to be virginal. 

Three, they all agreed that the mortal should come from high standards, so some form of royalty. They could be a princess or a prince, or even someone lesser than that, but anyone of a noble bloodline would be preferable to a random maiden. Of course, both kings had their fair share of peasant-girl chasing, but for such an important competition, Aphrodite understood their concerns well. 

And lastly, the judge should be someone intelligent. Someone who wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of their assigned task and would be able to use not just their body, but logic to determine the true and indisputable winner. 

No doubt each god had their plans to bribe the judge, but who wouldn’t?

If it was Aphrodite competing for the apple, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a few tricks of her own. An idiot might be easy to bribe, but that also meant they’d be easy for the competition to bribe as well. To each of the male gods, an intelligent lover would certainly be able to recognize a superior bribe.

“Sadly, your stipulations exclude Helen of Sparta,” Aphrodite said, waving away the image of Helen in her largest mirror, “She’s had children by now, though she’s still quite lovely.”

Poseidon made a noncommittal sound, as if he might reconsider, but Zeus urged Aphrodite to move onto the next candidate with a flick of his wrist. The two of them sat before her best mirror, looking almost comical in her rose-colored, dove-ingrained armchairs. 

They went through a few more potential candidates, including Penelope of Sparta and Ctimene of Ithaca. Neither god was very impressed by her choices, but just as Aphrodite was about to move onto the next candidate, Poseidon held out a hand. 

“Wait a moment,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Who is that in the back?”

“Oh?” Aphrodite asked. She returned to the image of Ctimene. She was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, her veil fluttering in her wake as her handmaidens walked with her. They seemed to be exiting some great ruin, but on closer inspection, the gods could see men at work. They were building a great palace, it seemed. 

Well, great by the standards of mortals. 

Behind Ctimene, a bare-chested young man held out a hand and seemed to be directing a group of others. Aphrodite’s mirror rippled and showed them the young man in greater detail, leaving young Ctimene out entirely. 

“Oh,” Zeus said. 

Aphrodite concealed her eager smile, more thrilled than ever at this sudden twist. She examined the young man’s features, including the sharp angles of his nose, his dense locks of dark brown hair, and his high cheekbones. He bore a striking resemblance to Ctimene. As the goddess of love, there were a few other details Aphrodite could parse out just by looking at him, but she would conceal her thoughts for now. 

She said, “Why, that would be none other than King Odysseus of Ithaca!” 

Though the young ruler was about the same height as his sister, he was no slight-of-frame weakling. His broad shoulders complimented his strong chest and arms, certainly the build of a warrior. His stomach was a flat plain and below his garments, well muscled thighs teased them almost playfully. 

A pale scar ran along the inside of one of his thighs, but it only added to his character. Though Poseidon maintained his interest, Zeus scoffed. 

“King, you say?” Zeus nudged his brother, “You know what that means.”

Poseidon was still appraising Odysseus’ thighs, “Plenty of whores in and out of his bed?”

“Actually!” Aphrodite said, clapping her hands, “You’ll be beyond pleased to know that young Odysseus here… is virginal.”

Now that had both gods’ attention. The King of the Gods seemed incredulous.

“How old is he?” Zeus asked. 

“Twenty years, my dearest king.”

“And he’s still a virgin?” Poseidon asked, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. “Why? Is he stupid?”

Aphrodite giggled behind her hand, “He’s determined to save himself for marriage, like a maiden! But it can’t be helped. I do believe he’s Athena’s pupil, after all. And I’m sure she holds him to what she perceives as a high standard.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, “Whatever the case may be, he’s remained celibate thus far. Perfectly ripe and ready to be plucked, if you would.”

The gods of the sea and sky shared a look. 

Zeus said, “Show us more.”

Aphrodite was more than happy to do exactly that. She waved her hand and the stationary image of Odysseus began to move. There was no sound to accompany the vision, but all three of them remained silent as they watched Odysseus work. 

He carried multiple rucksacks full of supplies up the spiral staircases of his house while other laborers stopped to eat their dinner. He seemed more than intent to get somewhere, not stopping until he came across a large bedroom with the roof still letting in sunlight in a few patches. Interestingly, while the bed was large and well made, it lacked a mattress or rug thrown over the rungs. Perhaps that would come later. 

Odysseus hopped out the window, seemingly ignorant to the fact there was a steep drop right below him, as he grabbed hold of a tree bough and climbed into the roof. It looked like he was intent on using every last bit of sunlight to his advantage as he finished laying out the clay shingles. 

The sweat across his body glistened like stardust as the sky above him glowed with the most beautiful shades of red and gold. He put his strong body to use by covering the few bare patches of his rooftop, stopping only to retrieve a shallow clay bowl from his pack, filling it with oil and floating a wick on top before igniting his lamp to give him a bit more light. 

Zeus snapped his fingers. In an instant, Hermes was fluttering at his side. 

“Yes, Father?”

Without taking his eyes off of Odysseus, Zeus said, “Contact Helios. Tell him to wait a while longer before dusk arrives.”

Hermes spared Odysseus a brief glance before nodding and flying off. Though the mortal didn’t seem to notice, the sun did indeed stop setting. 

Odysseus set down his hammer to dab his sweat-soaked face with a rag. He was tiring now, but intent on finishing his job if the determined look in his eyes was any indication. 

Poseidon held up one hand and curled a finger toward himself. 

The hammer that Odysseus just set down began sliding toward the edge of the roof. 

“Brother…” Zeus warned. 

Poseidon said, “Trust me.”

Odysseus snatched the hammer before it could fall, but found himself quite close to the edge now. 

Poseidon cupped his hands around his mouth and blew softly. A wind coming off Ithaca’s coast kicked up, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. As Odysseus stood with his hammer, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled his hair and clothing. 

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, instantly recognizing the game Poseidon was playing. She added her own flare as well, using just the slightest twirl of her finger to undo the belt holding young Odysseus’ garments in place. 

The poor young king seemed baffled by his sudden misfortune, moving swiftly to capture his garment before the wind could steal it away. Aphrodite froze the image without being told to do so, but she was quite proud of her timing. 

Odysseus stood in all his mortal splendor, revealing his tan skin scarred by past adventures. He was healthy, with the body of an athlete and his arm outstretched to better display the toned muscles under his skin.  

“What a surprise!” Aphrodite said with mirth, tracing her finger along the surface of the mirror, “Look at his little dimples!” 

Indeed, a twin set of dimples rested over his lower back, no longer concealed by his clothing. But that was not all. Some men were cursed to be rather flat in their rear, leaving them looking awkward or incomplete at times, but Aphrodite was equally pleased that Odysseus had something worth looking at below his dimples. In addition to the well-defined muscles in his shoulders and back, he sported the most grabbable bottom. 

If Odysseus was not doomed to be the plaything between kings, Aphrodite might have been tempted to take him for herself. 

She held out her hands as if Odysseus was nothing more than an exotic animal on display. Poseidon was leaning forward in his chair, his head tilted with interest. Zeus, too, seemed sold at last. His golden eyes sparkled more brightly than usual as he traced over the little king’s backside. He ran his tongue over his teeth. 

Aphrodite smiled, “So, my dears… what do you say? Is Odysseus of Ithaca to be your judge?”

...

Read an excerpt of Chapter 2 here!

[yanderes-galore]

I also saw that MHA is on your list, so can I request a Midoryia oneshot with a reader who keeps trying to escape him? Like the reader used to have a massive crush but after he kidnapped them they started to not want to be with him in fear for their safety. (If that makes any sense..)

Sure! This is a Pro-Hero AU, you two knew each other in school.

Faltering

Yandere! Izuku Midoriya Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Delusional behavior, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Babying, Degrading behavior (He treats you like a misbehaving child), Forced relationship.

You knew Izuku Midoriya when you were both in school. Back then he was such a scrawny kid, going from quirkless to having a quirk. Despite the oddity of that you still managed to be attached.

You knew he was always so ambitious. Izuku always said he wanted to be like his idols and go Pro. His dreams were cute and you often wanted to support him.

So you made it such a goal when you both went to U.A. You called it your heart guiding you as you managed to land yourself in the Support Department. You forced yourself to learn how to create support gear with help from your upperclassmen.

Pretty soon you became skilled in the field... originally just to help your crush.

You tried not to let your feelings cloud your mindset when you trained in U.A. You saw him occasionally when you delivered gear and were always greeted with such a sweet smile. One that made your heart flutter whenever he looked at you.

Izuku would always give you a sweet 'Thank You' before offering to chat. With pink dusting your face, you'd indulge before being dragged off to work on another project. You're pretty sure Izuku never used any other equipment unless you helped make it.

You liked watching him grow stronger. He always worked out and was looking more and more like a Pro. You never acted on your crush as you knew he had a big role to fulfill.

You didn't wish to be in the way.

Izuku, however, had similar feelings. He wanted to be closer to you. He wanted to date you. Yet work often got in the way, leaving him unable to.

Even he could tell your crush was huge, though.

Izuku couldn't help but be infatuated with you. He often tried to visit your department or meet you at lunch. Although, your departments often had different schedules.

Instead Izuku resorted to... unsavory means of fulfilling his own crush. He noted down things he liked about you and what you did that day in a notebook dedicated to you. He even asked friends you had about you and how you were doing. He couldn't help but follow you as though he really was part of your life.

Izuku kept every piece of equipment you made for him. Every prototype, every version, he collected them. Safe to say your crush was mutual... but he was a worse lovesick fool.

Even once graduation rolled around you were surprised to see him on TV. Your blush only darkens when you watch the TV in your apartment, seeing how Izuku went from that small kid you used to know to a hulking Pro Hero that everyone adored on TV.

You couldn't help but grin when you noticed the outfit he begged you to make. The one with the cape and everything. Your crush felt unrelenting when it came to him.

It only seemed to get worse when you were both adults... for him.

You two drifted apart when you graduated from U.A. He focused on his Hero work and you focused on making better equipment. It was never just for him anymore.

You had other heroes to work with for equipment and your crush simmered down eventually. Now you primarily focused on your job and being paid. You still found yourself fawning over Izuku occasionally, but that was it.

Izuku, however, had only gotten worse since the last time you saw him....

You weren't sure what to think when Izuku started showing up at your lab. You had been tinkering on some new tech, only for one of your fellow engineers to squeal at you about how Deku was here. Were you hearing that right...?

You didn't have much time to question it when Izuku came into the room, eyes sparkling when he saw you and came over. The blush was back. Yet you couldn't believe he came over to see you.

This became a common occurrence. Even when he didn't have orders in, he'd stay by you to ask about your equipment and day. You didn't mind it.

In fact, you didn't mind it even more when he asked you to join him on little outings. You kept telling yourself it wasn't a date. Although, Izuku kept telling himself it was.

You had no idea he was that delusional... that your crush was downright crazy...

Until a villain had attacked your lab and Izuku was quick to respond.

By the time you woke up you saw Izuku by your side, features morphed into worry as he sat beside you. You were on a bed that wasn't your own. It took you a while to realize this might be his house.

According to him, he had been concerned for you when he saw you collapsed on the ground in your lap. So, in order to keep you hidden, he took you to his home. Too caught up in your haze of emotions... you accept it.

Only to slowly realize... Izuku may not be planning to let you go.

As time goes on you wonder if he planned this out. Perhaps Izuku wasn't the person you thought he was. He seems so... different.

You began to realize this when you got into an argument with the Pro Hero about leaving. It was after this your crush began to be replaced with concern and resentment. You needed to leave and get back to work.

But Izuku merely blocked you off with his built body, his green eyes glaring down.

"And let you go back to that apartment? You deserve so much better than that.... Come on, you can stay here with me! I'll take good care of you...."

The offer normally would've made your heart throb...

But now it was just... sinister.

It only got worse when Izuku preyed on your past crush on him. He'd manipulate you into staying in his home by flirting or telling you he's scared you'll get attacked again for a couple days. You try to put your foot down...

Only for him to drop a bomb on you.

"I know you love me... So won't you let me love you too?"

You realize that Izuku took you in not because he was concerned... he had darker intentions. Expertly the hero managed to manipulate you into his home. He kidnapped you and you didn't know.

Your old feelings were quickly smothered when Izuku began to treat you like a child. He gave you your own room and when you fought he'd just send you there. You were no child to be taken care of.

Which lead to your escape attempts.

They were never all that successful. Soon you learned Izuku had announced you were "dating" to the press. He often came up with excuses when he had to pick you up and carry you off like some misbehaving toddler. It was all over the news.

He never liked physical punishment all that much... but he locks you away again.

He often scolds you like you know no better. He tells you to sit in your room or make it up to him. It's cruel and degrading... but he plays it off as care.

"Escaping again? You should know better than that, baby... So mean to your boyfriend who's trying to care for you...!" Izuku would scold, yet his tone always playful.

You don't find it funny.

Ever since he kept you in his home, your crush had finally been smothered. You weren't in love anymore. No, instead you were scared.

You were scared to know your age-old crush was not the man you thought he was.

Your crush had faltered long ago... yet your fight was also leaving too. Izuku always managed to find you and drag you back. He never harmed you luckily, just squeezing you close to his chest as he whispers soft words to you.

Younger you would've loved this. You would've fantasized about it. Yet now it's a nightmare....

The doors are locked, the windows are shut tight, and your only companion is Deku. Izuku's face always looks so flushed when he sees you. You're his one and only...

Forever and ever in his eyes.

"Don't you love me too?" He asks you. Whenever you said 'No' he would just get more persistent. He never left you alone until you admitted you loved him.

You wonder if this was what you wanted. Didn't you always want him to love you? He loves you now, doesn't he?

Yet you crave freedom much more than the suffocating grip of his arms.

"I love you, baby..." He murmurs when he cuddles into you, his arms restraints in the cage you call a 'home' now. There's no escape, even if you wanted to. Your heart aches, conflicted.

"Love you..." You murmur, as though it was a trained phrase. Izuku grins, holding you tighter to kiss your soft lips.

"Mmm... Mine~" He purrs against your mouth as though he's been waiting for this moment. Perhaps he was... maybe even longer than you have.

The kiss he gives you doesn't even feel how you imagined it to be...

It's needy and possessive... a reminder of what you are to him.

His.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Chapter 4. The Artist

Summary: If he does not leave his hiding spot willingly and upfront, you will squeeze in sideways to reach him. Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 1,446 Listen to: Growing Sideways -by Noah Kahan A/N: Reblog or comment, pls! -Danny

"May I inquire about your family, then?" Benedict stands with both hands behind his back. "Unless you consider it none of my business..."

You smile at his teasing. "Depends on what you wish to know."

"Silly nothings," he leans sideways on the stone bannister. "If you're having fun in London... Why are you in London when you could be in further interesting places..."

"You don't think London is interesting?"

He tilts his head a moment, narrowing his eyes. "I think it's old and damp."

"On both we agree. Although I do not see its age as a bad thing."

"And the dampness?"

"That I do hate," you say with a sheepish smile, "But I had to make this visit nonetheless, I would've never left Genovia on my own, so my family came to support me. I should've started my rounds at social events seven years ago when I debuted."

"You've been postponing this for seven years?" He can't tell if this amuses, or rattles him. "Good lord... I must admit it is somewhat heartening, that a royal admits they dislike these... events. Makes me feel less of an oddity."

"You are a bit odd if you dislike balls," you push a strand of hair away from your delicate brow. "I long for a gathering where I can be myself without bringing my usual mishaps into it. A man such as yourself, handsome, social, and intelligent, never lacks approval."

"Yes, well, that is the problem," he scowls at a point in the distance. "Too many people claiming to like me when they don't even know me. The debutants, most of all. They search for a husband in me, which I'm not. I don't think I'll ever be one."

"A bachelor who wishes to be noticed instead of admired?" You raise a brow. "That speaks of depth. Lady Danbury said you like art, are you an artist yourself?"

Benedict's eye twitches before he adopts a fake smile. "Your Royal Highness, my duty tonight is to entertain you, so allow me to steer us towards our next activity—A stroll around the garden."

"Have I reached an uncomfortable topic of conversation?" You ask bluntly.

"Not at all," he guides you to the steps that lead down to the open grounds. "I don't wish to bore you with a story that has no substance."

"Now I'm more curious," you reply playfully, your gaze on him even as you walk down the steps.

"I want to keep my private life private if you don't mind," he steers you in the direction of a bush of big, red roses.

"And what shall we discuss, the weather?" You steer to the other side of the path to examine the lavender.

"Your Royal Highness wanted to know more about my family," he points out, keeping a respectful distance two steps behind you. "I'd be happy to talk of each and every member of my bloodline if you wish. In fact, I feel obliged to let you know my younger sister, Hyacinth, yearns for a chance to meet you."

"I would be delighted to meet her, is she in attendance?" You respond without looking away from the flowers.

"She's thirteen, but so clever she could surpass any debutante in conversation," he informs you, discretely pulling your skirt out of the bushes with his foot. "She's a precocious little thing."

"And yet not a single hint of chastisement in that declaration," you smile at the daisies. "You're quite proud she is that way."

"Well, you see your sister grow into a lady that will not be swept off her feet by any regular rake, and you can't help but rejoice in it, especially when you're a... man yourself." He stumbles over his words before calling himself a rake.

You notice there are telltales in Benedict's behaviour that indicate he's trying his best to be plain, which bugs you. You wish to speak with the man who stumbled upon you at Hyde Park and teased you like a friend, not this curated version of him. If he does not leave his hiding spot willingly and upfront, you will squeeze in sideways to reach him.

"You have paint on your hand." You say as casually as possible. Benedict looks down in alarm and you laugh. "Ah-ha! You are an artist!"

"You—" he purses his lips before he can blurt out affront. "I'm not! I thought I'd touched something freshly painted!"

"Oh, yes, that is a common occurrence, fresh paint is everywhere," you reply sarcastically. "You're an artist, Mr Bridgerton. I'm willing to be you own a sketchbook. Are you good at drawing with coal?"

"Charcoal," he corrects unable to stop himself. "I burned that wretched thing a year ago. Please—"

"I keep a diary," you continue steadily, "and I draw the herbs and flowers I find in my trips, but I'm not good at it."

"I'm not a teacher," Benedict says promptly, his feet itching to turn away from the conversation.

"You will be now," you give him no chance to refuse, your expression adopting a royal severity you've learned to master thanks to your mother. "You'll be here on Monday at noon to discuss our lessons."

"Are you out of your wits?" His personality slips out as he glares at you. "Or is this your way of punishing me for my impertinence?"

"Neither," you say without reacting to his tone. "I want your company for this season because I find you..." You push your shoulders back and squint as if trying to read him. "Engaging. Your sister Miss Hyacinth is invited, too. I'll write to her in the morning. Now, let us return to the ballroom."

Benedict watches you retreat, barely able to keep his animosity under control.

When the ball ends you reunite with your sister, excusing yourselves for the night and walking together to your chambers. 

"Who was that gentleman you clung to the whole evening?"

"I did not cling, he wouldn't stand close enough for me to do so," you grumble.

"But who was he?" Marie insists.

"My new art teacher," you disclose proudly. "He'll come back this Monday."

"Art teacher?" Marie gives you a look. "Since when do you draw?"

"If I knew how to draw, I wouldn't need a teacher, would I?"

"There's something you're not telling me." Your sister sees right through you nonchalant act.

"Let us get to my room first," you grab her hand and pull her forward.

You kick off your shoes and huddle up on the lounging chair, where she tells you about the dashing gentlemen she conversed with and the debutantes she befriended, the funny incident one of your brothers suffered with a redheaded lady, and how she's made plans for the week ahead.

You listen, and when it's your turn to speak, you don't know where to start. "Well... Yesterday while everyone visited the castle grounds, I went to Hyde Park for a stroll—"

"Y/N!"

"Nothing happened!" You say defensively. "I had a lovely time. This gentleman approached me and initiated a conversation, which I quite enjoyed." You blush. "I didn't know he'd be here tonight, but it's a good thing he was. I do not have kindred spirits in this particular side of London 'cept for him, it seems."

"Oh, you've barely left the castle at all!" Marie huffs stubbornly.

"I'm not completely opposed to meeting more people even if we don't fit," you shrug, brushing off the wrinkles on your dress. Benedict feels like a comfortable risk, something that your parents can see as progress without having to put yourself out there in a real way. "I simply want to secure this acquaintanship."

"Because...?" Your sister prompts, a knowing glint in her eyes. 

"Because he's nice to look at," you reply without matching her energy, "is that what you want me to say?"

Marie rolls her eyes. "Oh, you'll get your sense of humour back soon enough, so I won't take your rudeness to heart. All I ask of you is that you tell me if this becomes something else... or if he's open to one-night encounters with his student's sister," she winks at you and gets up.

You toss a small cushion at her and she exits the room laughing. Your smile fades as soon as she's out and you slump on the chair, taking off the pins on your hair one by one and tossing them to the table in front of you. 

All these effort—you think grumpily as your hair cascades down your shoulders—and no one looked at me... not like he did in the park.

Benedict is an easy target, something to keep yourself busy and ignore all the ways you cannot come out of your shell as a grown woman. Vexing him is better than embarrassing yourself in front of large groups three times a day. 

He's getting paid for all the trouble, so really, what is there to complain about? This will be the best season of his life.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@babypink224221 @Booknerdlife @djsporks @lght-roastcoffee @marii-ren @mythical-goth @omgsuperstarg @creepytoes88 @sarahskywalker-amidala @23victoria @shadowolf993 @squirreljoe @syxtiramishuui @stargirl-mayaa

[magicalbats]

Flesh-Devouring Part 4

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 25,488

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, some mild violence/blood, a big fat serving of angst, cunnilingus, blowjobs, light bondage, nipple clamps, piv sex, creampie, spanking

A/N: The final part is here! Sorry for the long wait, but I hope the climax ends up being well worth the journey and everyone enjoys what I cooked for these two! I had a lot of fun writing this short series, maybe I'll get to do another in the future!

Header credit goes to the oh so lovely @jymwahuwu💕

⭐

You liked Sigewinne. Really, you did. But the way she looks at you is always a little strange, her gaze lingering on a spot about two centimeters from the center of your face rather than your eyes, and you’re never quite sure what to make of it. 

The first few times Wriothesley steered you down to the infirmary — for “safe keeping” while he tended to other matters, or so he’d said — you’d been so convinced that there was something on your cheek that you had quickly excused yourself from her in hot faced embarrassment, but there wasn’t ever anything there when you would check. It was certainly odd, but you’d realized soon enough that it was better just to pretend like you didn’t notice it. 

While that was certainly easier said than done she was still sweet, and you liked the Melusines. You didn’t want to make her feel bad, thinking perhaps she couldn’t help it, but especially not when you had neither the interest nor the right to judge anyone else for their little quirks or oddities, least of all over something as benign as this. 

The exceedingly strange things she would say to you from time to time were another matter entirely, though. 

“Your facial muscles really are very interesting, you know. I quite enjoy getting to observe them like this.” She tells you, perfectly polite and innocent as she hands you a small plate of cookies. Trying very hard not to squirm under those big, doe-like eyes, you hesitantly accept it with a soft word of thanks. 

You didn’t have the slightest clue what to make of that, but if she notices your uncertainty she doesn’t show it. 

“The first time we met I couldn’t help but notice that there was some tension in the way you would hold yourself. Almost like you were always on the defensive, or anticipating a fight of some kind.” Hopping up into the chair beside you, Sigewinne pulls one of those god awful milkshakes she’d once made for you closer to herself so she can cradle it between her daintily gloved hands. “But now you look really rather relaxed and even happy! I’m so glad you’re feeling more at ease now.” 

“Thank you, miss Sigewinne. That’s very kind of you to say.” It takes a great deal of effort to keep your voice steady, and an even greater effort to stay seated instead of bolting from the room in a flustered panic. Relaxed and at ease was certainly one way to put it … ever since the fundraiser ball two nights prior, you’d felt like you were floating on a soft little cloud everywhere you went and you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out why. 

It was love, wasn’t it? 

“I hope this doesn’t come out the wrong way, but I think you look so incredibly beautiful now. Almost like you’re glowing.” 

You cautiously inch your gaze up to peek over at her from the corner of your eye. Glowing? You’d always heard rumors that the Melusine’s perceive the world a bit differently than humans do and you had no idea what she was seeing in that moment when she looked at you, but it makes you flush all the same. Dammit, Wriothesley, how long was this going to take? You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to keep your reactions in check. 

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you but you always look very fresh and dewy faced as well, miss Sigewinne. I hope you’ll share your beauty secrets with me one day?” 

She seems quite pleased to hear that, sitting up a little straighter in her chair, and you quickly bring your cup of coffee up to sip, glad for the ready distraction. 

“Oh, there’s not much to share, I’m afraid. Just a bit of cream before bed and cold water in the morning to chase away any puffiness is really all it takes. I’d ask for your secrets and tips, but I unfortunately don’t have any gentlemen friends to help me with the application.” 

You choke on your coffee with a violent lurch, very nearly dumping the whole mug all over the counter in your haste to set it down. Whipping your head around, you just gape at her in barefaced disbelief but she only smiles that perfectly innocent smile again. 

“Don’t worry, miss. Your secret is safe with me.” Sigewinne assures you, passing a handkerchief into your lax fingers. “I’m just glad you and his grace are getting along so well. He seems rather relaxed recently too, doesn’t he? Oh, that reminds me!” 

Left reeling like a stray buoy lost out at sea, helplessly carried off by the tumultuous, stormy waves, you numbly watch her dig back into the pocket of her apron for a brief moment. Idly, perhaps even a bit hysterically, you wonder what other secrets she’s got hidden away in there. 

“As it turns out, I actually have a gift for you today! I do hope you’ll like it.” 

You sincerely hope it’s not another of her desolate tasting concoctions as you turn your shell shocked attention down at the hand she sticks out toward you. Genuine surprise promptly rushes into the forefront of your mind though when you realize she’s holding a … small tube? 

“Is this lipstick?” You venture as you cautiously take the petite, gold burnished item from her. 

“Yes, it is. I think that color will look lovely on you and really compliment your complexion. His grace is quite fond of the color red, you know.” 

You nearly drop the damned thing at the startle that races up your arm. “Miss Sigewinne, please! Although I appreciate your thoughtfulness in gifting me such a thing, I really don’t think …” 

The long, upright ears atop her head give a sudden twitch that makes you trail off, and then you hear it too just half a second later. A hurried rush of footsteps coming down the hall. Heartbeat quickening, you stiffly find your feet in time to watch a young inmate come stumbling into the infirmary with wide, nervous eyes that quickly dart around to take in the room. 

“Has anyone seen his grace recently?” He stammers between out of breath gasps. “We, um, we have a bit of a situation out there.” 

Your stomach drops like a lead weight. Then, before you even realize you’ve already made the decision to do so, you’re lurching into motion. “What’s going on?”

“Oh! Uh, well, on the central platform - -“

“Wait!” Sigewinne yelps behind you, but it’s too late. Your legs are already carrying you past him, out the door and down the hall, boots smacking against the metal plated flooring. 

You didn’t even really understand it yourself, this sudden choking feeling of dread that makes your throat almost cinch shut to leave you struggling to pull in enough air long before you should have run out of stamina. All you could think about was George. Seeing the way his wrist had been engulfed by a much bigger hand when it flashes across your mind, again and again on a continuous loop. How easily it had snapped. 

The sound. 

You did not want Wriothesley to get involved if you could help it. That was the one and only thing you knew with any certainty. 

You hear the commotion as soon as you reach the end of the hall, just in the near distance. It sounded like a brawl. Leaping down the metal staircase with your heart lodged in your throat, you dash towards the noise headlong — not sure what you were going to do, if you could even do anything — but the sight you come up to pulls you short a few yards away. 

There were already guards working to pull the mess of prisoners off of one another. That was a good sign. The Clockwork Meka in the area were also making their way over, a few already subduing some of the inmates that were standing on the outskirts of the greater commotion in the center. An even better sign. 

And in all of the chaos Wriothesley’s tall, unmistakable silhouette was nowhere to be found. It was the best sign of all. 

Haltingly stiff, you force yourself to draw oxygen into your constricting lungs and take a cautious step closer. You scan the discordant scene, trying to figure out what was even happening or if there was something you could do to help when a starburst of red abruptly catches your attention amidst the shouting and flailing bodies. It’s all over the floor. A few of the prisoners in the center are stained with it. The distant, numb chill of a vertigo-inducing free fall grips you all at once. You see it when the meka separate the two men who seem to have been at the epicenter of it. The knife. 

“What are you doing here?” 

A blocky hand closes around your elbow from behind and roughly yanks you back a step. You don’t need to look to know who it is, but you still find your neck slowly craning back anyway. Wriothesley’s dark brows are pinched in what you think is probably anger, but you try to tell yourself it’s just concern. He never got angry with you. Not truly. Not like this. 

“There’s a fight.” It’s the only thing you can think to say. 

“I can see that, but that doesn’t answer my question.” He practically hisses at you. Giving your arm a tight squeeze that stops just short of pain, he leans over you to bring his face close and he drops the volume of his voice so that only you can hear. “We will discuss this later. I want you to go back to my office and wait for me there while I take care of this mess, do you understand me?” 

“I can help - -“

“No, you cannot. I’m not going to tell you again. Now do as I say. Quickly.” 

You stir slightly from your dumbfounded shock. “Do not take that tone with me, your grace. You can’t shield me from this forever! If I am to be with you then - -“ 

The sharp twist he gives your elbow startles a hurt little gasp out of you, and he uses that moment of stunned shock to get right on top of you now. “So help me if you speak one more word instead of heeding my orders, I promise you will not like how this ends. Get yourself to my office. Now!” 

You can’t help the way you cower from him, wrenching back in his hold with wide, frightened eyes that almost seem to look right through him in that moment. He lets you go, thankfully, and you stumble a step as he turns with a quick pivot of his heel. Wriothesley doesn’t even look back at you once as he purposefully strides towards the chaos, and the mess of limbs and bodies, the Clockwork Meka, and the blood, and you nearly trip over your own feet when you back up another pace. You hear Sigewinne calling out somewhere behind you, her little legs carrying her as fast as they can by the sound of it, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and look at her. Not when it felt like you were seconds away from shattering like a fragile piece of glass that had been mercilessly dashed against the wall. 

Suddenly feeling blind and numb to everything going on around you, you make a run for it. Your legs carry you without any input from your brain telling them where to go. The only thought going through your mind now is that you had to get away. Couldn’t let anyone see you break. You knew you would. It was only a matter of when, not if. 

If you could get behind the safety of closed doors where you could cry your eyes out in peace without the shame of anyone watching to hang over your head. 

If you could find the peace and quiet of seclusion in time, or if someone would spot you, stop you, and bear witness to your humiliation first. 

If you could keep it together just long enough to find a nice dark hole to crawl into so you could curl up and die alone. 

And somehow you’re not the least bit surprised that your legs obediently take you straight to Wriothesley’s office, just as he’d commanded. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You’re not sure how much time you’ve spent just sitting in the dark, pitifully weeping until there was nothing left for you to cry, when you hear Wriothesley come in through the door. You don’t look up from your spot huddled in a tight ball on the chair behind his desk but you figured you probably didn’t need to anyway. He was likely still mad at you, given the way he’d parted from you earlier, and even if he wasn’t you were still mad at him. 

Truthfully you didn’t even want to be in the same room with him right now, but you’d been too scared of what would happen if he returned to his office and found it empty to get up and leave. You’d thought about it many times over the last minutes, hours, days, months — however long you’d sat here in your misery, hating everything but most of all hating him. 

He’d never once raised his voice at you like that. 

The sound of his boots on the floor ratchets the exhausted tension thrumming through your body, but his footsteps are slow. Weary, as he makes his way over to stand next to the desk. You feel a brief spark of concern for him, wondering if he’d been hurt, but the thought quickly fades. It would serve him right, you think. 

Resounding silence seems to stretch on for an eternity in which neither of you moves or speaks. It doesn’t even sound like either one of you is breathing at all. Then, at length, he finally draws a carefully controlled inhale. 

“Why are you sitting in the dark, little miss?” 

“Do not call me that.” 

A terse pause. 

“Are we back to that again?” 

You squeeze your fists hard enough to hurt where they’re wrapped around your knees, hating the press of the lipstick Sigewinne had given you in your palm. You wouldn’t be needing it any longer. She could have it back. 

“Yes, your grace.” You rattle out, your voice hoarse and thin, but slowly gaining strength the more you talk. “I must apologize for the lack of foresight on my part, but it has just occurred to me that I seem to have made a very big mistake. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may cause you, but I think it’s time we go our separate ways.” 

“Inconvenience?” Scoffing, Wriothesley appears to stir from his own fatigue, and he moves to turn on the lamp. You wince against the sudden wash of light across your burning, aching eyes, but still you refuse to look at him when he continues on. “Don’t be silly. You know it’s much more than that. If you want me to apologize for snapping at you earlier I’ll gladly do it.” 

“I don’t want anything from you, your grace.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” You insist, hissing now. “You have — you’ve been nothing but a blockheaded, rocks for brains oaf the entire time I’ve known you and I’m not sure what came over me for my common sense to falter this badly, but I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of you! It’s obvious you think so little of me that you see me as more of a pet than a person, and I’m finished with it!” 

“I think no such thing.” Wriothesley volleys right back, perfectly calm now and still standing next to the lamp, but it just makes you even angrier. Everything about him was suddenly making you so damn mad. 

This room that was so resoundingly his, the smell of him everywhere and mixed with the distantly comforting, lingering aroma of brewed tea. The weight of his presence here with you and the memories you’d shared within these walls, both the good and the bad. His voice, always so reasonable and even, except … except when it hadn’t been. You couldn’t seem to erase the way he’d sounded out on the platform from your mind. He’d scared you, hadn’t he? And that infuriated you. In fact you had half a mind to chuck the lipstick in your hand right at his stupid, smug face but you refrain for the simple fact that you didn’t want to tempt fate like that again. 

He’d trained you well, evidently, but your bitter feelings only grow at the thought. 

“I know you’re unhappy with me right now,” He finally says when you neither move nor speak. “And I can’t exactly fault you for that, but at least hear me out first before you start calling an end to everything. You know I don’t want to see you go. I would rather die than let that happen.” 

You choke on a vindictive laugh. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you yelled at me in my face like that. You had no right! Despite how you so often treat me, I am not a child for you to boss around and bully into submission!” 

“You’re wrong about that.” He says, so reasonable and sincere that it finally startles your head up. Did he seriously have the gall to - - “This is my fortress and I make the rules here. We’ve been over this before. I’m in my right to do whatever I please, whenever the mood so strikes me. You know that. Not once have I ever led you to believe any different. Not even when I’ve had you wrapped around me begging to get you off have I ever changed that narrative.”

“Do not bring that up right now!” You quake. “And you said - -“ 

“I said you had the power in our relationship because I wanted you to have it. If I’d really felt so compelled to force myself on you and take you without any concern for your feelings on the matter, I could have easily done that at any point. And as long as I did it here, in my fortress, there isn’t much you could have done about it. Even if you’d run straight to The Steambird or right into Neuvillette’s no doubt sympathetic arms, I likely would have just gotten a slap on the wrist for it and nothing more. Do not mistake my kindness for something it’s not.” 

“Kindness! Is that what you call it?” You’re suddenly on your feet, staring him down across the desk. Your entire body shakes with it, this overwhelming desire to reach out and slap him. Claw at him. Just really, really hurt him. “Well, isn’t that just a wonderful note to end this ridiculous farce on! Was this all just sport for you then? A meaningless way for you to pass your abundance of free time? I knew you had a selfish streak, your grace, but I didn’t quite realize just how deep it actually ran!”

Wriothesley frowns at that, like you’ve struck a distant nerve. “That is not what I meant and you know it. And I wouldn’t consider myself selfish for wanting to protect you.” 

“Oh, here we go again! Tell me all about how much you care for me while completely steamrolling everything I say at the same time! Go on! Let’s hear it then!” 

He takes a moment to breathe deep, his broad shoulders rising and falling in the gloom cast by the single lamp. “I think you need to calm down, little miss. You’ve got yourself worked up into such a fit right now that you’re just saying whatever you think is going to get under my skin, but it’s not going to work.” You suck in a sharp, venomous inhale, readying to spit vitriol at him, but he holds a hand up to stop you. “Just hold on and listen to me for a moment. Can you at least do that? I’m not going to say ‘or else’, nor do I have any mind for punishing you for the way you’re acting. I’m well aware you’re deeply unhappy with me right now and that’s understandable, but I’m sure we can talk this out.” 

“What is there to even talk about at this point!” 

“You nearly scared the life out of me today.” 

You jerk back as if he’d physically struck you. “… what?” 

For once — possibly even for the first time since you’d met him — Wriothesley is the one who lowers his gaze to look elsewhere. “This may not be what you want to hear, but try to think about it from my perspective. The last time I saw you, I’d left you with Sigewinne. I thought you were in the infirmary. When word got to me about the brawl that broke out on that floor I was under the impression you were somewhere safe, far away from any of the violence or danger. Imagine my surprise when I arrived and saw you standing there, not even twenty steps away from all that mess. I thought my heart was going to give right out. I wasn’t mad at you, little miss. I was scared for you.” 

The following silence almost breaks you, and you have to force yourself to start breathing again when the ache in your chest becomes too great. “Is that supposed to make it okay?” You whisper into the suddenly fragile stillness. It felt like a pin drop would irreparably shatter everything in the room. 

“No, but calling this off isn’t going to make it okay either. For what it’s worth I am sorry for yelling at you, and grabbing your arm like that. I hope I didn’t hurt you.” 

With a faint start, you reach up to gingerly touch your sore elbow where he’d twisted it. The muscles were just a bit tender, possibly bruised, but still in one piece. “I’m fine.” You lie, squeezing the petite lipstick tube with your other hand. You could feel your anger at him starting to falter and you hated that. Desperately, you try to cling to it. “I’m not sure how you expect me to rationalize this. If you care for me so much and want me to be yours, then what do you expect is going to happen? Will I just be another prisoner here in your fortress? You can’t … Wriothesley, you can’t protect me from everything that goes on here. I wanted to help you. I want to help them! Someone was — someone was hurt, weren’t they?” 

You sway on your feet with the rush of smothering dread that comes over you, suddenly feeling lightheaded enough to faint dead away. The blood, the knife, the tangle of bodies and limbs. It all flashes across your mind in a nauseating stream of images, but he’s standing there next to you in the time it takes you to blink. Carefully, he reaches out to steady you by the shoulders. 

You let him do it because … because you’re not so sure you can steady yourself anymore. 

“I was worried about this. Come on, let's get you sitting in the chair.” 

“Wriothesley - -“ You mewl, weakly pushing at him, but he won’t hear it. “You always do this to me!” 

“Just try to relax a little bit.” He tries to soothe you. “I’m not silencing you or brushing you off, sweetheart. We can still talk but you need to sit down before you hurt yourself. I’m not sure what I would even do if you busted your head open from hitting it on something in here.” 

The note of genuine concern in his voice, so soft and hushed, is what convinces you to comply, and certainly not the mental image of you bleeding out there on his floor. It was almost enough to make you regurgitate everything in your stomach right down to the bile. 

Reluctantly, you let him guide you back into the chair. He hovers over you for a moment to make sure you’re properly situated first and then, much to your gaping surprise, he sinks down on one knee to peer up at you from below. You can’t exactly hide your face like this, so you just stare at him in silent, miserable wonder. 

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, pretty girl. Will you do that for me?” You offer him a brief nod, too drained to fight it anymore. Too tired to fight with him. Too sick. “Both of those men are going to be just fine. Relatively speaking, of course. I’m sure they’ll wish otherwise once I properly get my hands on them, but neither of them sustained any life threatening injuries today. No one is going to die just because you weren’t there to do anything about it.” 

Your heart seems to freeze over with something you don’t recognize. Something you don’t want to recognize, and you start to pull back, too stunned to even respond. But he reaches up to clutch your wrists in his big hands and he holds you in place, preventing you from retreating. 

“It’s okay. Just listen.” He goes on, not giving you a chance to throw up your walls or come up with something blithe to say. “I finally understood why you act the way you do when you told us about your father the other night. You’re a lovely girl. So clever and strong willed, and terribly, terribly passionate about everything you take on in this world. Your ideas for prison reform and rehabilitation. The way you just want the best for everyone. How you put up with me. You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing but no matter how much you might want to, you just can’t save everyone. It simply isn’t possible. Some people don’t want to be saved. Some won’t let you save them. Others are simply a lost cause. You have to understand that on some level even if you aren’t happy about it … right?”

Wriggling one of your hands free of his hold, you reach up to furiously swipe at the tears suddenly streaming down your face. “Of course I know that, you big oaf! I’m not stupid.” 

“Then tell me what you thought you were going to do back there. What was going through your head that would make you get that close to such a big fight? Huh?” 

You draw a quick breath, so sure you had the answer right on the tip of your tongue, but your words fail you at the last minute. Hesitating, you slowly close your mouth and then try again. Still, it won’t come out. Suddenly you wished for the courage of your anger back. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Softly shushing you, Wriothesley smooths his thumb over the still captured wrist in his hand with sedate, comforting circles of the calloused pad. “Take your time if you need to. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A threadbare, wet little laugh bursts out of you. “I’m afraid you might not like the answer, your grace …” 

“That’s alright. I won’t get mad.” Bending over your lap, he presses a firm kiss to the back of your hand. “I promise.” 

With a great deal of effort, you manage to suck in a faltering breath and it all comes rushing out in a sudden stream. “I was worried about you. I’m not sure why, but … I kept thinking back on what happened with George. Maybe it doesn’t even make any sense. It probably doesn’t. It’s just — I was so scared that you were going to show up to put a stop to the fighting and … hurt someone in the process.” 

Wriothesley lets that ruminate for a long beat, just idly toying with your hand while he seems to deliberate over something. At length, he finally speaks again. “Why does it bother you so much to think about me causing harm to others? You don’t really believe I’m above acts of violence, do you?” 

“It’s not exactly that …” You tell him slowly, thinking that was a very strange way to word such a question. “It’s just hard for me to make any sense of it in my mind. The strong, handsome, sometimes annoyingly affable duke who I shared a bed with and … the frightening prison warden who can hurt people without a second thought. Where does one end and the other begin, your grace? How will I know for certain what will set you off and what won’t?” 

Loosing a clipped, tired sigh, he sits back enough to pin you with an unexpectedly resigned look. “I think the two are probably a little closer to being one and the same than you even think, pretty girl.” 

Your brows slowly draw inward to accompany the vague sense of dread that washes over you. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you feel up to hearing a story? I’ve been meaning to tell you about this for some time now, but I’m afraid it’s a bit of an unpleasant topic …” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Listless and drained of the energy to do much of anything else, you roll over in your bed to stare up at the ceiling. It had been almost a week now since you’d shared this space with Wriothesley and somehow everything had changed so drastically in that time that you weren’t even sure if you were ever going to occupy it with him again. 

His parents? 

You’d never heard of anything quite so cruel and disgusting in all your life. Who in their right mind would adopt children just to turn around and sell them for profit? Disposing of those that didn’t find any buyers or the ones who learned of their deep, dark secret. Adopting more. Continuing the cycle. How many orphans had lost their lives before Wriothesley … 

At first you almost hadn’t believed him. Didn’t want to believe him. It was hard to process even now when you’d spent countless hours letting it all turn over in your head without end, just trying to make sense of everything, but a kernel of truth had still rung true in his story. Maybe it was the unfaltering way he’d spoken of it, just pure and simple factuality in his voice, or perhaps it was the way he’d looked you straight in the eye while recounting the whole sordid tale. So casually he’d laid his dirty past on your lap like some gruesome little offering. 

Well. If nothing else that at least finally explained why he was so unlike any other aristocrat you’d ever known. Why he didn’t seem to fit in. Why he was so rough around the edges and uncouth, and ill mannered, and rascally to the nth degree. 

He was … he was actually not that much different from you. 

That was almost as hard to rationalize in your mind as the fact he’d killed his parents — not without reason; even you couldn’t say he didn’t have good cause, or at least an understandable motive for doing it — but still. He’d killed not just one but two people. No wonder breaking someone’s arm had seemed like such a nonissue to him. It really wasn’t that big of a deal in comparison, relatively speaking.

“Gods, I hate this …” 

Your ceiling doesn’t respond. It doesn’t offer you any comfort or advice, or even a friendly pat on the shoulder in consolation. The flat had never felt quite so resoundingly empty and lonely before, and you’re distantly aware of children playing outside in the near distant street through the window on the opposite wall. Children. His parents. Dead. Your own father, dead. Stabbed. The knife, the blood, the limbs, the bodies, the scuffle of feet on the metal floor, the - - 

Lurching up off the bed, you manage to grab for the little garbage bin in the corner with just enough time to spare for you to retch into it. You were making yourself sick. All this thinking and stressing, and agonizing was catching up to you. 

You couldn’t stay locked up in here another moment longer. 

Quickly cleaning yourself up and getting dressed, you practically run out of your apartment just to escape the buzz in your head. It doesn’t exactly work though. Not really anyway, and you spend a very long time just walking around the city without any destination or higher thought process in mind. You weren’t even really sure where you were going when your head was such a mess of static white noise, but you do start to feel marginally better the more fresh air you breathe in and the more the sun caresses over your face. 

At least it had more comfort to provide than your impartial, uncaring ceiling. 

So caught up in your low mood, you almost walk right past him — the only thing registering vaguely in your peripheral is the Melusine shaped figure and the tall man standing with her — but then the soft little ‘oh’ that floats after you turns your head. You’re very surprised to suddenly find monsieur Neuvillette standing before you like that, as if it was a totally normal thing for him to be doing. 

“What a pleasant surprise.” He starts to smile, small and polite, and kind, but something in your face gives him pause. The pull at his brow is so slight and minuscule that it barely even registers, but you still recognize when he looks at you in concern. “Are you alright, mademoiselle? You look as if something is troubling you.” 

You start to tell him you’re fine, not to worry about it, you’re just feeling a little under the weather is all, hahaa — but then you think better of it. Something curls in the back of your mind. A memory, so close to being forgotten your fingers slip right through it the first few times you make a grab at it. What had Wriothesley said about the honorary Iudex once before … 

Then it hits you. 

Your heart twists, and you impulsively close the distance between you and him. “Monsieur Neuvillette, do … do you have a moment to speak with me?” 

He looks a little surprised at both the close proximity as much as the tinge of sorrow in your voice but, still, he gives you a gracious nod all the same. “Of course I can spare a few minutes. Although I’m not sure how much I’ll actually be able to assist you, mademoiselle, I will make every attempt to be of help. Shall we find a bench to sit and chat?” 

You jerk your head in the affirmative, already scanning the area while he says his farewells to the Melusine he’s been speaking to when you happened to pass by. This was almost suspiciously coincidental to run into him in such a way and a part of you doesn’t exactly trust it, but you were a little too desperate for answers to let any of that dissuade you. Finally spotting a street bench just down the road, you make a quick beeline for it with Neuvillette close in tow. Luckily his legs were more than long enough for him to keep up without facilitating the need to hurry. 

Anxiously, you peer over at him. “Sorry for taking up your time like this, your honor. I’ll try to make it brief. It’s about Wriothesley.” 

He sends you a slow, strange look. “I do hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but I didn’t expect it to be about anything else. Has he done something to upset you?” 

Somehow you actually find the grace to be embarrassed about that, and your cheeks start to grow warm. “Yes. Sort of. But not really. Oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I am simply at a loss!” 

Making it to the bench not a moment too soon, you half collapse onto the seat while your unexpected companion moves to get himself situated beside you, sitting a polite distance away. For a long moment you just slouch there, having no idea where to even start while city life continues to move on without you but he’s patient in a way that feels infinite and it slowly puts you at ease. 

So you tell him everything. 

Well, most everything. You leave out the sordid details of your sexual, oft times confusing relationship, of course, but you tell him all about what happened with George, the fight you’d had afterward, the way Wriothesley made you feel grounded and safe most days but then just the thought of him hurting someone sent you straight into a panic. You finish with the brawl at the prison, telling him both sides of the story so he knew that you weren’t the only one who’d been frightened. You’d scared Wriothesley too, and you believed it. He didn’t really have any reason to lie about that. 

And although Neuvillette does look mildly uncomfortable at certain parts, he does indeed listen and he listens well. Just getting it all off your chest makes you feel worlds better, not having had anyone to talk to this entire time. But at length, after a moment of careful consideration, the Chief Justice of Fontaine finally draws a carefully tempered breath. 

“I see. That is indeed quite the harrowing tale. Not that I’m particularly surprised, mind you. It seems like romance between people most often is. I’d say that’s relatively par for the course … however, I believe what makes this situation between you and mister Wriothesley so different from the norm is that neither of you are normal people.” 

You can’t quite hide your reaction, but he’s quick to soothe you. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, mademoiselle. Please do not fret over my poor choice of words. What I meant to say is just that both of you are exceptional people who have lived very exceptional lives. There isn’t anything mundane about either of you.” 

Was he — praising you? “Thank you, monsieur Neuvillette. That’s very kind of you to say, but - -“ 

“But that’s not what you wanted to hear from me, is it?” At your nod, he tips his head slightly to one side. “Do you doubt the authenticity of mister Wriothesley’s story?” 

“No. I believe him. I just can’t imagine he’d ever lie about something like that and that wouldn’t even begin to explain why? What could he possibly get out of it?” Sighing wearily, you fix your attention on your hands where they’re neatly folded in your lap. You were so tired. “I suppose I just want you to tell me … is it true? What he told me his adoptive parents were doing?” 

“I’m afraid so. There was a thorough investigation, of course, and the evidence was conclusive. I felt nothing but sympathy for mister Wriothesley when he stood before me in court, and even now I can’t imagine how he must have felt learning the truth or how he had to make his decision to react in the face of something so terrible.”

“And you still sentenced him to prison?” 

“I did.” 

A long stretch of quiet passes between the two of you, interspersed only by the darkening sky overhead that sends much of the crowd out on the street looking for cover from the sudden storm clouds overhead. Neither you nor Neuvillette were concerned about it enough to move from your bench, though. 

“Do you think,” You venture at last. “If he’d made a different decision and his parents had been the ones to stand before you in court, would you have given them the same sentence?” 

“Yes.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Worse, in fact. The number of laws they broke was substantially greater than his … two charges.”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, turning everything over and choosing your next words carefully. “Do you think he’d kill someone again, monsieur Neuvillette?” 

So slowly it’s almost eerie, he turns to look at you there on the bench. “If the need ever arose, yes. I haven’t a doubt in my mind about that. Mister Wriothesley is a truly steadfast and resolute individual. Not once did he ask me for leniency nor did he try to excuse his actions. He was well aware that he’d committed not just one but two very serious crimes and he was fully prepared to accept whatever the punishment for that might be. But he is also a very kind and gracious person as well, mademoiselle. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. If he was anything other than the way I’ve just described I would not have fought so hard to make him the Duke of Meropide. I didn’t go to such lengths simply out of a sense of guilt or anything as sentimental as that.” 

Blinking owlishly, you turn to find him giving you a very soft, almost secretive little smile. 

“If you want my honest opinion on the matter,” He goes on in a gentle voice. “I believe that there is a difference between someone who is a murderer and a person who has killed. Mister Wriothesley would fit into the latter category, don’t you think? I’ve seen nothing to suggest he felt any joy in killing his parents. It was a grim task that he took upon himself, and he did so to protect his siblings as well as to stop any future children from becoming victims of the same scheme. If he hadn’t acted as he did, if he’d simply allowed them to dispose of him after learning the truth, then who can really say how many more innocent lives would have been destroyed in the interim since then? Incidentally, in regards to more present matters, I have reason to suspect that this is how he views you as well.”

You sit up a little straighter. “Me?” 

“Yes, mademoiselle. I do pray you don’t misunderstand my meaning in saying this, but there is in fact a certain kind of innocence in you that I can see as well. Had I not seen it I might not have been quite so willing to introduce you to Lady Furina. She’s the same way, you know. Her heart is often in the right place, but she … ah, I suppose that isn’t really relevant right now, is it? What I mean to say is just that you are very kind and passionate when it comes to the feelings and wellbeing of others. I think mister Wriothesley wants to protect that innocence, if you’ll allow him to.”

You have to try very hard not to start blushing at that. Goodness, you hadn’t expected to have this conversation turned right back around on you like this. “T - that’s all very sweet of you to say, your honor, but … do you really think it’s feasible? If I’m going to be with him — if we were to … wed then wouldn’t it stand to reason that I would spend a great deal of my time inside the fortress? If he’s so busy trying to protect me that he won’t even let me help him when there’s a problem then is there really even any point to it? Wouldn’t I just be like a bird in a cage then?” 

Thoughtfully, Neuvilette touches fingers to his chin in consideration. “I do see where your concerns lie. While I am certainly no expert on the topic, it is my understanding that such things are usually worked out and compromised between the two participating parties with the understanding that their love for one another makes such efforts worthwhile. If this is something that you want to reach an understanding with mister Wriothesley on then I suspect you will have to work together to rectify it.” 

A pause. 

“Do you love him?” 

“Yes.” You don’t even stop to think about it. 

Suddenly realizing what you’ve just said, however, you lurch forward with a strangled gasp. The quiet sound of Neuvillette chuckling beside you draws your attention around, and you just stare at him in dumbfounded silence. 

“You are precious, I will certainly give you that.” He says, trying to hide his lingering smile. “I understand what mister Wriothesley sees in you, and I think you now have your answer. If your feelings for him seem like they’re worth the trouble of finding a compromise then you should go to him. Based on how you’ve described the situation, I don’t doubt that he’s waiting for you.” 

You sit there, frozen for a long stretch, before decisively nodding your head. “I think you’re right. It’s worth a shot at least, isn’t it?” You start to get up but think better of it, quickly sitting back down again. “Wait. I have one more question, monsieur Neuvillette. You and lady Furina …” 

Slowly, his brows lift in vague surprise. “Is that really of any importance right now?” 

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was rude of me, your honor.” Jumping up to your feet, you shyly turn to look at him with a nervous little smile. “Thank you for having this discussion with me. I really appreciate it. You’re a good listener.” 

He offers you a polite smile back, hands lacing together atop his bent knee. “Thank you, mademoiselle. I do try. I’ve had a great many years of practice to hone the skill. And …”

“And?” 

“Please do not give much thought to your last question. I’m sure Lady Furina will be happy to divulge the details of our relationship in short order. The general idea of it, at least.” 

You don’t miss the edge of exasperation in his voice by a long shot, and you soon find yourself grinning from ear to ear. It was funny, wasn’t it? This outwardly serious yet soft man, and the quirky, dramatic girl seeing over all matters, big or small, in Fontaine together. They made for quite the pair in your eyes. 

Was this how you and Wriothesley looked to anyone looking in from the outside? 

You’re so caught up in this fluttering thought when you take your leave of Neuvillette that you almost don’t notice that the sky has cleared back up without dropping so much as a single bead of rain. 

You’re so focused on trying to figure out what you should say to Wriothesley, how to apologize for all the mean things you’d said in your anger and how to work this out with him that you barely even register making your way through the city. 

You’re already mentally penning your letter to him when you finally make it back to your flat and bring your head up to reach for the door — only to nearly jump right out of your skin when you find Wriothesley himself standing right there on your doorstep. 

“Your grace!” You gasp in barefaced shock, making his mouth pull in a lazy, almost tentative smirk as he turns to face you there on the step. 

“In the flesh. Hope you’re not too disappointed to see me.” 

“I’m not disappointed at all.” You rush to say, and it surprises both of you given the way his brows lift and your heart skips a beat. 

“Alright, I admit that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting … what are you up to?” 

“Nothing!” You huff, in the middle of digging around in your pocket for your key. “I just thought about it some more and I think I was unfair to you. I owe you an apology, your grace.” 

This time his brows take a very expeditious trip up to his hairline. “I’m sorry — do you want to run that by me again? I don’t think I quite heard you correctly.” 

Floundering under that uncharacteristically wary look from him, you self consciously look elsewhere as you fumble to get the key out. Damn him for never making anything easy on you by simply reacting the way any normal man would. “Do not be like that, you scoundrel! I’m being serious here! I just … I said some very unnecessary things to you the other day, in your office. I’m truly sorry about that and I don’t actually want to call things off between us. I promise. But I think we need to have a very serious discussion about our expectations going forward. Can we do that?” 

He intently studies you for a long, drawn out moment, standing there together on your stoop. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding the key this whole time, half poised to click into the door, until he reaches out and gently takes it from you. 

“Of course we can, little miss. We can talk about it as much as you’d like.” 

You’d expected to feel relief at that but, watching him get the front door unlocked and opened, you actually start to feel sick with nerves again. You were a little too strung out from spending almost three days cooped up inside your flat and agonizing over the situation. Abruptly, you realize that you aren’t even sure when you’d last ate something was. Had you thrown up anything of substance earlier, or just bile?

Wriothesley’s hand sliding across the small of your back makes you feel marginally better though, and you let him guide you into the apartment. He locks the door behind him as he always does, evidently not wholly trusting your neighborhood, and then steers you over to the loveseat against the far wall. 

“Do you want something to drink?” 

“No. Just sit with me.” You murmur, tugging him down to join you. 

The brush of his thigh against your leg brings you a certain amount of comfort too, you’re a bit surprised to find. You’d thought for sure you wouldn’t have been able to look at him ever again without feeling fear and revulsion after learning of his past, irreparably dooming your relationship forever, but that is not what happens. Instead you feel yourself warming to him and it does wonders to soften the tense, almost awkward atmosphere between the two of you. But, still, it’s a little hard to figure out what to say when you’d been expecting to have to write him first, or make the trip out to Meropide to see him. You’d expected to have the time to plan and script out what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it. This was so unexpectedly sudden that for a moment you just flounder. 

“Were you waiting long?” 

“No, only a few minutes. I was actually just starting to give serious consideration to the idea of kicking the door in though.” 

The soft note of humor in his voice makes you laugh even though you try very hard not to. “You are truly hopeless, your grace.” 

“Apologies for that.” He lightly, playfully nudges you with his leg. “I thought you were treating me like a boogeyman you needed to hide from, and I just couldn’t bear the thought. I was starting to get desperate. All jokes aside though, I’m glad you wanted to talk.” 

“Me too …” 

Decisively, you turn on the cushions to fully face him. 

“Let me say my peace first,” You reach across his lap to carefully take his hand, and he gladly turns the palm up to lace his fingers with yours. He doesn’t say anything though, giving you your chance to speak, so you force your lungs to expand on a shuddering breath. “I feel no ill will for you, Wriothesley. None at all. I understand why you do the things you do. It’s to protect me, isn’t it? The only way you’ve ever known how to protect anything.” 

He nods once, further bolstering your courage. 

“I appreciate it. All of it. Everything you’ve ever done for me. It means more than I could ever hope to put into words, and I’d like to someday be able to give you even a fraction of that same happiness back. But I need you to understand that — that I’m not helpless. I probably seem it from your perspective, but I’m not. I was much more rattled by what you did to him than I was about George actually grabbing me, and the other day I was so caught up worrying about what you were going to do that I didn’t even have a chance to be worried about myself. You were right that I shouldn’t have gotten that close to that fight when there was nothing at all I could have done other than get in the way but … you understand why I did it, don’t you?” 

Another nod. “I do, little miss, and I’m sorry for putting you in that kind of situation. In trying to protect you, it seems I just pushed you closer to the danger.” 

“Don’t apologize. I’m not upset with you for it. I just want us to … find a compromise.” 

Wriothesley quirks a brow at that. “Compromise? That doesn’t sound like you at all. You’re even more obstinate and stubborn than I am.”

“Do not tease me.” You warn, though it lacks any real bite. “I’m not sure how much this will mean to you right now, but I realize you’ve put up with a great deal of my nonsense this whole time so … I would like to put up with yours too. If you’ll let me. I’d like that very much.” 

The corners of his mouth slowly tug up in a soft, teasing little smirk. “Oho? And is that your way of confessing your feelings for me, pretty girl?” 

“I said don’t tease me!” 

Rumbling a soft laugh, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and lifts it to his mouth for a hard kiss pressed into the backs of your knuckles. “Don’t worry. I have no desire to tease you right this moment. But even if you can’t say it yet, that doesn’t mean I won’t.” Another kiss, one that lingers this time. “I love you, little miss. You’re very special to me even when you’re being difficult or throwing a fit over something, but especially when you get that tiny wrinkle between your brow. I find you irresistible and charming even on your worst days, and I wouldn’t trade your nonsense for the world. I love you, and that’s why I’ve tried to protect you so fiercely this whole time.”

“O - oh,” Quaking there on the couch, you shyly avert your gaze, not having expected such an — ardent proclamation from him. But Wriothesley only brings his unoccupied hand up to cup the side of your cheek, tipping your face up at him with a gentle nudge. 

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. I’ll tell you as many times as it takes until you’re ready to accept it.” Bending close, he presses his lips to your nose. “I love you.” Your fluttering eyelashes. “I love you.” Your cheek. “I love you beyond all reason and logical sense, but I love you just the same. Thank you for still being willing to have me.” 

“You needn’t thank me for that …” 

“I do, precious girl. I love you, so I’m going to show you my gratitude for that.” Tipping his head slightly, Wriothesley finally finds your mouth and he kisses you for a long time until it feels like you’re sinking to the bottom of a peacefully still lake. You don’t exactly know what to think of it. All of it. But you decide that you don’t really need to think about it at all when he pulls back just enough to look at you with those pale sapphires in his eyes. “It might take me some getting used to, but I promise I’ll work on giving you more freedom when you’re in Meropide. I still don’t want you wandering around by yourself unaccompanied but I think I can let you off my apron strings for a little while.” 

He chuckles at the flash of annoyance across your face, giving your cheek a soft, affectionate pinch to make you squirm. 

“If you can promise not to worry so much about what I’m going to do,” He continues warmly. “And worry more about yourself, then I can promise to keep my fists in check. That doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen where I won’t need to use them again, but I do solemnly swear to not give you any reason to think the worst of me. For better or worse, you hold my leash. Your command is mine to obey.” 

You pin him with a wry look as you untangle your fingers from his and bring your hands up to curve over the strong ridge of his jaw, tugging him in closer. “My faithful guard dog?” 

“Until my dying breath.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wriothesley leaves, and then he comes back later that night at your invitation to have dinner together. He’d mentioned that he wanted to make sure everything was still in order at the prison first and also grab an overnight bag for himself while he was at it, and you were very glad for the chance to get yourself situated in that time. You enjoyed a very long, very relaxing bath, ate something for the first time in who knows how many days, and even found the opportunity to take a much needed nap on your loveseat. By the time he returns, you’re feeling pleasantly refreshed and eager to spend the evening with him. You hadn’t even realized just how much you’d actually missed getting to see him and talk with him until after the storm clouds had passed, and you were eager to rekindle the intimacy you were now used to sharing. 

The two of you end up in your kitchen, cooking together for the first time, and it is decidedly nice to have to shuffle around each other in the cramped little space. He’s very soft and tender with you, as if making up for the time spent apart, while he quietly murmurs that not-so-dreaded-anymore ‘L’ word at every possible opportunity he gets. His hands brush yours often, and he occasionally grabs handfuls of your hips to pull you in against him. At one point those warm, lingering embraces even morph into a slow dance around your kitchen, and he gently sways you while the roast simmers in the oven. 

You’re sure it has to be impossible for anyone to feel any happier than you do in that moment. For as frustrating and headache inducing he could be, Wriothesley really was sweet. You wished you hadn’t said all those mean things to him in his office but he was willing to forgive it, and you were likewise willing to forgive him for the way he’d yelled at you. 

It almost seemed silly in retrospect, actually, but you’d gotten a little too used to his always calm demeanor, the deliberately careful way he handled you with intent and purpose. You’d almost forgotten what he was in that time, but you vowed not to let it happen again. If you really were to hold his leash then it wouldn’t stand to reason for you to worry so much about what he was going to do or what he might do. You just needed to trust him to do what was right by you, whatever that might be. 

You sit at the table and eat together, discussing what had gone on at the prison since you’d last been there a few days ago. Wriothesley assures you everything is going well, that the two instigators from before were very much still recovering and would soon be on the receiving end of a personal visit from the duke. He also takes the time to mention that Sigewinne sent her regards, and that she hoped to see you in the infirmary again soon. Thinking back on the last conversation you’d had with her before everything blew up past the point of recognition, you soon find fluster settling over you and of course Wriothesley doesn’t miss it. 

“Should I even ask what’s got you making that face?” He teases, sitting back in his chair with a glass decanter of whiskey clutched loosely in his hand. Just smiling over at you. Content and relaxed. He looked like a king on his throne. 

You weren’t much a fan of harder spirits and had only picked up the bottle for him when it started to look like he would be spending much more time at your flat, and you somewhat anxiously twiddle the stem of your wine glass for a distraction. “It’s nothing, really. Kind of silly, if i'm being honest.” 

“I think I might be in the mood for silly.” He murmurs, sending you a meaningful look. “Out with it, pretty girl. I’m all ears.” 

Unable to stop yourself, you fix him with a vaguely suspicious frown. Sigewinne hadn’t told him about all of that nonsense … had she? “The last time I was there, right before that mess with the inmates, she gave me something. Makeup.”

“Oh? That doesn’t seem so strange for her. Nothing to make you start squirming, anyway.” 

You watch Wriothesley lift the stout glass to his mouth, and he watches you back over the rim while he sips. It was like you were playing a game of chicken or something. But surely he didn’t know what she’d said about the makeup, otherwise he would have been teasing you for it. You almost start to think he’s fishing for something, but then it hits you. 

The subtle heat in his eyes had nothing at all to do with Sigewinne or the gift she’d given you. He was feeling a different kind of hunger that could be satiated with neither food nor drink, and certainly not makeup. 

A warm tendril curls in your lower belly, prompting you to shift in your seat and you smile at him now. He’d given you this power because he wanted you to have it. Had said so himself. It seemed like it would have been a waste to squander it, and you quickly decide you can play this game with him a little longer. 

“She gave me lipstick, your grace.” 

Lowering his glass, he tips his head to one side in thought. Obviously interested. Clearly curious. The scoundrel. 

“I see. That was very nice of her, wasn’t it? She very much enjoys giving gifts to those she likes, so I’m sure that won’t be the last one you receive.” One of his dark brows lifts as if to say ‘your turn, little miss” and you start to wonder how long you’ll be able to last when he looked so terribly ravishing like that. 

“Yes, I was very flattered. The last time she said she had something for me it was one of those awful milkshakes you warned me about, so it was a relief not to receive another. It’s a very pretty shade of lipstick but she did say some interesting things when she gave it to me, though.” 

“Hm? Like what?” 

Inching to the edge of your chair, you lean towards him slightly. “Miss Sigewinne informed me that you’re rather fond of the color red, your grace, and that was why she gave it to me. So that I might wear it for you.” 

The not so subtle look that flashes behind his eyes makes your pulse quicken. He really was bestial at times, most notably where you were concerned it seemed. To think that you could so easily rile him like this … 

“She gave you red lipstick?” He drawls. “That’s dangerous.” 

You blink at that. “Dangerous, your grace?” 

Inclining his chin in a pointed nod, Wriothesley stretches to set his near empty glass on the table. “Very. Because now I want to make a mess of it with my cock.” 

It feels like you’ve been struck by a bolt of lightning, and your back snaps straight with a powerful shudder. “That does sound dangerous …” You murmur, suddenly feeling ten degrees hotter than before, and he faintly hums as if in solemn agreement. Licking your lips, you decide to take the plunge. “The last time you were here when we … slept together, you said you had something in mind to help me. What was it?” 

“Are you interested in hearing all the sordid details, pretty girl?” 

“No,” You subtly shift at the thought. “I mean, I do. Yes. But mostly I’m just curious, is all. 

He takes a moment to consider you from across the table, and you just start to wonder if perhaps it was too soon after your biggest fight with the duke yet to expect that kind of intimacy when he draws a deliberate breath. “I brought everything I think I’ll need, if you’d like a demonstration.” 

Somehow your surprise manages to overshadow the pang of wanting you feel low in your gut. “You came prepared?” 

“Yes, but not in the way I can tell you’re thinking.” He chuckles quietly. “The day after the fundraiser and I returned to the fortress I made my preparations then. Everything was already packed and ready. I just needed to grab it. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring it along just in case. Actually, if you want the truth,” 

You sit up a little straighter at the shift in his tone, knowing he was about to say something important. 

“I thought perhaps I could leave this particular bag here so we would always have these items on hand whenever you were ready for them. Since it looked like we were making progress in the right direction, I was under the impression that we would be spending more nights together like that. And of course it has some toiletries and such for myself as well.” 

“I see,” Dropping his steady gaze, you reach up to fiddle with your fork. “I really am sorry, your grace. For blowing up on you like I did. I didn’t mean to ruin everything.” 

“Nonsense. You didn’t ruin anything, little miss. It was just a small hiccup, that’s all. As the saying goes, there’s no use in crying over spilt milk, is there?” Pausing, he studies you for another moment and when he next speaks it's in a softer, rumbling drawl full of suggestion and promise. “The decision is ultimately yours, as it always is, but if you want to give it a go I would be too happy to oblige you.” 

You could feel your cheeks starting to grow warm. “It’s not too soon? Or too sudden?” 

“I don’t believe it is. Just because we had an argument and you didn’t want to see me for a few days, that doesn’t mean I stopped wanting you in that time.” 

Well, when he put it like that … 

“May I ask what sort of — items they are?” 

“Hm. You’re free to ask, but I don’t think I’m going to tell you.” 

Finally bringing your attention back up, you look over at him with no shortage of suspicion. Wriothesley only smiles at you though, his mood amicable and even playful, but you don’t miss the growing heat in his eyes. Not by a country mile. 

“Do you remember that little lesson I gave you with my belt not long ago?” He laughs under his breath when you visibly shudder in your seat at the reminder. “Ooh, I thought you would. Don’t fret though, I have no plans of doing that again. Not tonight, at any rate. I just think the lesson is applicable here as well. When you can’t see what’s coming you’re much more … shall we say, persuadable? If I’d told you flat out I was going to spank your cute little bottom with my belt what do you think you would have done?” 

You turn that over for a brief moment, and you’re not particularly happy with the answer you come up with. “I would have flown off into hysterics …” 

“Good. Every time we play this game you gain a little more self awareness, precious girl. I hope you know how pleased I am with the progress you’ve made in terms of being honest with yourself as much as with others, but most importantly with me.” 

It’s difficult not to be at least a bit pleased to hear that, and you find yourself quickly regaining some of your confidence. “So your plan is simply to trick me into it?” 

“Something like that,” He relents with another low laugh. 

For better or worse you don’t even really need to think about it any further than that. Looking at him over the table, you know you not only want him in that moment but you also trusted him perhaps more than you’d ever thought it was possible to put your blind faith in another person. Even after he’d grabbed you in the heat of his bubbling emotions and raised his voice at you, you’d still wanted him this entire time. Not the fight afterward or even learning of his past had been enough to snuff out what you felt for him. Although it had taken speaking with monsieur Neuvillette for you to truly grasp the full extent of what you held for Wriothesley in your heart, it seemed so obvious to you now. 

As clear as any picture taken with the latest kamera model and as pleasing to the eye as a master painter's magnum opus, you could plainly see where this was headed. Not just tonight, but your future as a whole. It was resoundingly, unequivocally with Wriothesley, and you couldn’t so much as fathom the idea of giving any single part of yourself to anyone else the same way. He really was it, wasn’t he? The penultimate result of everything that had lead up to this point. 

“I think I’d like to give it a shot, your grace.” 

He doesn’t seem surprised, but he doesn’t gloat about it either. Just keeps looking at you with that same unwavering certainty that had slowly picked away at your defenses over time. “Are you sure? Even if you tell me ‘yes’ now, you can still change your mind later.” 

You nod. “I understand that, and I’m sure.” 

Regarding you for another moment longer, Wriothesley eventually draws a slow inhale that makes his broad shoulders rise. The air seems to shift, becoming anticipatory and static charged as he sedately nudges his chair back and rises to his feet. You watch him come around the table with an eager flutter in your chest, smiling up at him when he comes to stand over your chair. 

His hand lifts to tenderly cup the side of your face, and he simply looks at you for a long stretch. Like he was committing the sight of you before him to memory. Then, without a word, he bends at the waist to bring his face close to yours and you happily tip your mouth up to accept the kiss he places there. His lips move with yours in a slow, intoxicating dance that is so soft around the edges yet backed by hard steel and thrumming hunger that it soon robs you of the ability to breathe. It doesn’t take long to have you panting slightly, and when his hand eventually slides down to join the other in unbuttoning your blouse you start to feel a bit lightheaded. 

Swaying in your seat, you turn your head to break away from his searing kiss and suck in a lungful of fresh air while he nuzzles against you with a soft murmur of praise. When he tells you how much he’s missed you over the last few days, you tremble and whisper back that you missed him too. 

Kissing the side of your neck now, Wriothesley gets your shirt undone down to the waistband of your skirt and gently parts the fabric to expose the bra underneath. He seems largely content to leave you clothed for the time being though, and simply slips one of those big, coarse hands inside to fondle your chest. Coming alive for him, you push your breasts out to further offer them to the possessive squeeze of those blocky fingers as your own come up to clutch at his forearm. Musculature and sinew flex under your fingertips while he kneads the swell of flesh through your brassier, and you can’t help but whine when he pulls back some moments later. 

“So impatient, pretty girl.” He softly chides you as he sinks down to the floor where he greedily palms the meat of your thighs, spreading them wide so he can situate himself between them. You can’t quite find the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it though, and you lift your hand to card it through his dark hair. 

Tipping his head into the gesture for a brief, savory moment, Wriothesley then bends close to press his mouth to the center of your chest. A barely audible sigh escapes you as he takes his time kissing over the swell of your breasts and teasing the stiff nipples underneath the satiny soft cups before trailing lower. Realizing all at once what he was building up to, you close your fingers around the roots of his hair and give it a fitful little tug. 

“Y - your grace …” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting to do this again almost nonstop,” He confides in you, broad hands squeezing tight around your waist before dragging lower to inch your skirt up. “I’m not sure you even know how good it felt to finally put my mouth on you after all this time … it was hard not to give into the urge when I had this sweet pussy spread out on my lap or just inches away from my nose, especially when I knew you’d like it if you’d just give it a chance.” 

“You do seem to have a good sense for what I’ll like,” Reaching down with your unoccupied hand to grip the side of the chair when his fingers start to creep upward, you angle your hips in invitation for him tug your panties down. His gaze remains locked on yours, head tipped back to watch your reaction, and you’re sure he must be getting a good show. You were still a little embarrassed at having him do this, putting his mouth on such a place, but oh, how badly you wanted it. 

Sliding your underwear down and off, he tosses them aside without another thought before going up on his knees so he can shuffle somehow even closer. You’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t go straight for what’s between your legs, but the thought quickly drifts away when he cups your face in both hands and kisses you again. You cling to him while he leisurely claims your mouth, fisting the back of his black button up in a death grip when he eventually reaches down to pull at your bra. Tits soon spilling out over the top, you shudder and whine at the sensation of your nipples freely straining into the still air. He’s quick to oblige you, and a fresh tremor works through you when blunt thumbs carefully brush over the stiffened peaks. 

“Oh,” You gasp, pulling from his mouth to sway dizzily in your seat. The sharp pangs of pleasure that race through your nerve endings at just that brief contact has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together but you can’t do that with him kneeling between them. 

“You like that, pretty girl? Huh?” Following you, Wriothesley presses another kiss to the corner of your lips. “I’m glad you do, if I’m being honest. These feel so good in my hands.” Another kiss, one that lingers this time. “I think I could play with them all day, if you’d let me.” 

Moaning when he plucks at them, almost casually pinching and pulling with his fingers, you tip your face down to watch. The swell of your breasts seems much more pronounced where the rucked under bra is pushing them up slightly, and in the center of them your nipples look so tightly coiled it draws another low sound of wanting out of you. You tremble almost violently when, noticing where your attention is, Wriothesley adjusts his hands to gently flick over them. Up and down, up and down, and then side to side. The tips of your breasts positively ache with the sensation, and you soon find yourself squirming in your seat again. 

“I … I want your mouth on me, sir. Please.” 

“Ooh, good girl. You know how much I like it when you ask me for things.” Pausing just long enough to give your nipples one last, taunting tug that has you keening, he lowers his hands to knead your thighs instead. “Would you prefer to take it to the bedroom, or will you permit me to do it here?” 

You steal a surreptitious glance at the table, the mostly empty plates, the nearly drained glasses. It didn’t even matter. “Here is fine, your grace.” 

Rumbling a low sound of approval, he inches the hem of your skirt up a bit more until you feel the waft of cool air against your bare, thoroughly sticky cunt. “I still have every intention of making you sit on my face … but we can save it for later. There’s no rush, after all.” 

Whimpering softly as you watch him lean back and then curl those burly arms under your knees, reaching up to grasp your hips, you let him tug you to the very edge of the seat to leave your ass half hanging off. His hold on you is good though, and you don’t even give it a second thought while you run even hotter for him at the sight of your own pussy spread open like this. 

“W - were you going to make me do it if I’d chosen the bedroom?” 

The smirk that cuts across his roguish mouth assures you just how right you actually were. 

“Such a clever girl you are. I knew you’d start to figure out how this works.” Bending his face close, he places a firm kiss to the apex of your mound. “I hope you had a chance to get some rest earlier, by the way. I don’t think I’m going to be done with you until the morning sun comes up.” 

You suck in a slow, hissing breath, and plaintively tip your cunt up at him. Sending you a slow look from under the fall of his dark lashes, he gives you another kiss and drags his mouth a pinch lower. The next kiss is pressed right over your slit, making your clit tingle at the distant, featherlight sensation as Wriothesley nudges your thighs more securely over his shoulders, opening his mouth wide to kiss at you a little more deeply. The soft, wet warmth inspires a stiff shudder that makes your legs twitch in the air, a breathy moan slipping out of you a heartbeat later when he works your lips open enough to drag his tongue over petal-smooth creases and folds. You already felt sick with the thrumming tension low in your gut and he’d barely gotten started yet … 

Taking his time with it, just savoring the moment, he graces your clit with teasing kitten licks that just further ratchet up your need for something more substantial. It doesn’t last long though, each pass of his tongue steadily becoming firmer, more purposeful, until you practically jolt right off the chair when he finally drags the flat of it right over the sensitive pleasure button. Squeaking at the powerful tremor, you reach down to grab at his hair again and squeeze your thighs around his head. It’s too late for you to dissuade him though, his face already buried so deep in your cunt that you couldn’t have closed him out even if you’d wanted to. Arching against him, you let your eyes slip shut and just focus on the sensation. 

His mouth felt good sinking into the soft give of your cunt, so strong and unyielding, yet fleshy and pliant at the same time. The way he breathes in deep without pulling back sends a fresh rush to your quaking guts, as does the hot groan he puffs out against your slit a moment later. The tip of his tongue is soft and probing, while the broad flat of it is a little rough, and he seems to take a great deal of joy in torturing you with it centered directly over your clit. Everything is so warm and wet, and overwhelmingly mind numbing that you quickly lose yourself in it. 

Even when he nudges further down to swirl around your entrance and lap up the accumulated slick there, you soon realize you’re just as weak for this as you were with the more direct contact. Thinking back on what he’d said while instructing you how to pleasure him, it made sense. The whole area was sensitive — and you outright gasp as he presses his tongue inside you, just breaching your body. 

“Oh!” The sound punches out of you in surprise, thrumming muscles clamping down on the intrusion but it’s too soft and slippery to brace against. He just wriggles it around inside you, teasing the suggestion of true penetration, and you suddenly feel faint. 

Was this how his cock would feel inside you? 

“Aahhnn … oh, gods! That’s - -“

Growling faintly into your pussy, Wriothesley pulls his tongue back and then pushes it back in, slowly fucking into your hole like he had all the time in the world to do this at his own leisure. Maybe he did. He probably would have been happy to make the time if he didn’t, but it doesn’t take long for your squeezing cunt to start tingling with warning tremors. You couldn’t take it. 

“Please!” You whine, giving his hair a weak little tug. “Your mouth — oooh!” 

Heaving a deeply masculine sound, he drags his tongue out of you and then back up to your throbbing clit. He gives it a wet, smacking kiss that makes your toes curl, and then seals his lips around it to briefly suckle at you. Delirious and sweaty, you twist there in the chair and he responds with a muted shake of his head. Just like that last time that jostle against all the nerve endings catches you off guard and you start to tip as he directs his tongue to the epicenter of your body once again. 

“Oh! Oh, oh, Wri — aahhn! Wriothesley!” Somehow you manage to find purchase along his back and, digging your heel into his firm shoulder, you somewhat inelegantly jut your cunt up into his mouth. You chase that vibrating pinprick with a faltering moan, struggling just to get enough air in your lungs, and he lets out a stifling hot moan while you ride his face. 

Your distressed moaning quickly takes on a dire tinge like this, and your hips grind to a shuddering halt when you feel the pressure start to collapse in on itself. Helpfully, he uses his big hands where they’re still clutching your hips to nudge you up against him again, and again, and again, forcing you to keep humping his mouth even when your legs shake too hard for you to do it yourself. Release slams into you like a sack of bricks, so suddenly and so powerful it was like it had snuck up on you. You can’t help the shriek of delight you let out as you mindlessly writhe in the chair, gripping his hair so hard your knuckles scream in protest, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Same as last time, he continues to eat you out well past the point of comfort and he only stops once your shudders turn into sensitive twitching and you keen like some hurt little thing. Only then does he finally pull away, but not without one last kiss pressed into your cunt, and then he sits back to peer up at you. The noticeable glisten of moisture coating the lower half of his face nearly sends you into another fit of convulsions. 

“Oh, Wriothesley - -“

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m right here.” Leaning into you and nearly folding you in half in the process when your knees were still hooked over his shoulders, he claims your mouth in another slow, possessive kiss. You moan very softly at the taste of yourself but still gladly accept his tongue when it slips out over your lips to coat your tastebuds in it. That you don’t even have the wherewithal to be ashamed for it anymore gives you a helium sense of liberation as you clutch him against you, kissing him back fervently. 

But of course he eventually pulls away, and you can’t help but sigh into the warm haze surrounding the two of you. For a long moment you just look at one another, and then his mouth pulls into one of those secretive little smiles he was always so fond of giving you. 

“Ready for the next round, pretty girl?” 

Unable to stop it, you smile too. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” Loosing a terse, anticipatory sigh, Wriothesley leans back to untangle himself from you. His arms immediately twine around your waist though, and you let out a soft squeak when he hauls you right up against him as he stands. 

Grabbing hold of his shoulders to steady yourself, you look down at him with widened eyes. You weren’t used to being quite so high off the ground, but he’s strong and sure underneath you, and he doesn’t seem to falter even a moment as he turns to make his way to the bedroom. 

“I think you’re really going to like what I have in store for you tonight. Are you going to be a brave girl for me?” 

“Don’t tease me …” 

He chuckles, nudging the door open and then kicking it shut behind him again. “Teasing you is all I’m going to be doing here in a minute.” 

You aren’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t give you a chance to overthink it. Depositing you onto the bed with a muted bounce, he turns to retrieve his bag from the corner. A nervous flutter comes to life in your gut and you start to reach up to close your shirt, or at least fix your bra, but decide better of it. You had a feeling you would soon be losing all your clothes anyway, so you just watch him come back to the bed where he sets the plain luggage on the corner of the mattress. 

Sending you a slow, knowing smirk when he sees your tits still out, Wriothesley opens the latch and digs around for a moment. You find yourself squirming in place, wondering what it is he’s going to pull out, but all you feel is a mild sense of surprise when he withdraws a silky strip of red fabric. It looked like it could have perhaps been a tie in another life. 

“That’s it?” You blurt, confusion coloring your voice. 

“There’s more. Just be patient for once.” Mirth dancing in the blue of his eyes, he sets the item down on top of the bag for a moment before reaching for you. His hands slide into place against your cheeks, and you breathe out a content sigh as he tips your face up at him. “My sweet girl … has anyone ever told you how positively insatiable you are?” 

“Only for you.” 

“Good answer.” Humming faintly, he drags his hands over your neck and then lower still to tug your shirt out of the waistband. “Alright, let’s get you undressed then. As much as I love to simply look at you, we don’t want the night to get away from us do we?” 

“Will you take off your clothes as well?” You ask, shrugging out of your top while he sets his sights on the latch of your skirt. 

“Eventually, yes. Remember what I just said about being patient?” 

Huffing, you lift your hips so he can relieve you of the last of your clothes, everything save the thigh highs you had on. You’re a little surprised when he leaves them and reaches for the length of silk, but somehow having just your legs still covered almost seems to highlight the rest of your nudity. It felt … stark, somehow, and you shiver when your nipples tightly picker in response. 

“Hold your hands up for me?” He prompts, bringing your attention back around. Blinking owlishly, you do just that and your heart stutters a beat when he starts to twine the strip of fabric around your wrists with sure, practiced motions. 

“S - sir?” 

“Don’t worry, we’re going to take this one step at a time. I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to very much enjoy being restrained by the time we’re through but if you truly think you can’t handle it, just say the word. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen though.” 

You swallow. Hard. “What are you going to do?” 

“That is for me to know, and for you to find out.” Putting the finishing touches on the knot, Wriothesley slips a finger under the bindings to test the give. It doesn’t budge. “How does that feel, little miss?” 

“… secure.” 

He gives a small laugh. “Excellent. Now, where is that lipstick Sigewinne gave you?” 

Your head comes up in surprise, but then you remember what he’d said at the table. The powerful tremor that tears through you very nearly robs you of the ability to breathe. He was going to … he really planned to - -

“It’s on the desk.” 

Reaching up, he gives your cheek a brief pinch before turning to shuffle across the room and you just sit there in vibrating anticipation, trying to process where this was going. It was quite clear, of course, and you weren’t in suspense so much as you were … looking forward to it.  

You had rather liked putting your mouth all over him. 

His hand is suddenly under your chin, turning your face up to look at him. You give a faint startle, having been so lost in your whirlwind thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed him coming back, but he just smiles down at you. 

“Not getting distracted, are we?” 

“… n - no, sir.” 

He doesn’t look like he quite believes that, but he doesn’t press you any further. Drawing a patient breath, he retracts his hand in favor of uncapping the petite tube in the other and then bends close. “I’m no expert in such delicate matters but I promise I’ll give it my best effort. May I?” 

He wanted to put it on you himself? 

Slowly, you nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“Thank you, little miss.” Tone dropping in concentration, he fixes his attention on your lips and brings the applicator up. “You are much too kind to me.” 

You almost find yourself smiling but you quickly school your features. The last thing you wanted was to make him draw a hard red line across your face or, possibly worse, break the delicately formed lipstick column, and yet … despite what he’d said to the contrary, Wriothesley’s hand remains unexpectedly steady throughout the process. He’s very careful about the whole thing, not nearly as quick as you likely would have been, but you can tell he’s doing a good job staying within the outline of your lips. You never would have expected it to feel so nice having your lover apply makeup to your face like that and, although you likely wouldn’t have let him do it if you were going out into public, like this … like this it was oddly satisfying. Intimate, almost. 

“Well,” He finally says, straightening up to admire his handiwork. “It’s not perfect but I’d say I didn’t do too bad.” 

“I have nothing but the utmost faith in you, your grace.” Giggling when he decisively puts the cap back on and tosses it to land somewhere on the bed, you give him a bashful smile. “How do I look? Is it my color?” 

The flash of heat behind his eyes tells you your answer long before he draws a stilted breath that makes his shoulders lift. “It’s the perfect color for you. If I didn’t want to see it smeared all over my cock right now, I’d be kissing it right off you.” 

“Oh,” 

Letting out a strained chuckle, Wriothesley reaches for the front of his pants next. “Ready to tend to me, pretty girl?” 

Your arousal comes rushing right back into the forefront of your mind, and you jerk your head in a quick nod. “Yes, sir.” 

Buckle rattling, he pauses long enough to slide the length of leather out of the belt loops so he can toss it aside before setting upon the hidden latches and buttons. You start to bring your hands up to help him only to promptly remember that they were bound together at the wrist, and you can’t stop from pouting about it a little bit. The greater point of this exercise was clear. You wouldn’t be able to freely touch him like this, and he was probably counting on that to make you all the more desperate to do just that until you were just begging for it. 

You weren’t so sure that it wasn’t going to work. 

The thought dissipates like sugar in warm water, however, when he shoves his pants and underwear down to his thighs. Just as it had that night in your bathroom, his cock springs up between the two of you proud and straining hard. It gives a heavy bob when he shuffles closer so he can lift a hand to possessively palm the top of your head. That alone is enough to make your pussy flutter in eager excitement, but then you watch him grab around the base with the other and point it straight at you. 

“Open your mouth nice and big for me, pretty girl. There you go … gods, you have no idea how much I’ve thought about having your lips wrapped around me again” 

He grunts, very softly, as you eagerly sink down on him as far as you can comfortably take it. But rather than letting you stop there, Wriothesley gently nudges your head further and gives his hips a halfhearted push. 

“A little more, baby, come on. You’re so close to taking the whole thing for me. I want to see that pretty mouth stretched around the base … take it right to the back of your throat. I’ve got you, pretty girl.” 

Whimpering around the thick intrusion, you make a valiant effort to blink away the tears that spring up in your eyes when you reflexively gag. You try to suppress it though, and sink down even more until you feel the distant tickle of coarse hair on your nose. 

“Ooh, gods. That’s it. Now seal your mouth around it, nice and tight … nnghn, yes, how’s that cock taste, sweetheart? You like that?” 

You nod your head even as your eyes screw shut, fighting against your own body to stop it from heaving up your whole dinner. But he’s quick to pull back, the hand on your head holding you steady when you sway on the edge of the mattress and suck in a haggard gasp of air. 

“Good girl,” He breathes out, sounding mildly ruffled now as he manually directs your attention down at the heavy length bobbing between the two of you. “Such a good girl for me. Look at how much of me you just had stuffed in your mouth.” 

Groaning at the faint red band around him, you feel yourself slip a little further under the swimming daze blanketing your mind. You bring your hands up, in tandem now, and carefully cup them around the satiny weight of his balls, earning a low rumble of approval out of him. You almost hadn’t thought you’d be able to do it, but the proof of it was staring right back at you. It’s nearly as satisfying as the softly heated praise he showers you with. 

“I want you to take a good, long look at this, sweetheart.” Wriothesley murmurs, wrapping his forefinger and thumb around the thickest part of him to cover the lipstick stain. “This is how much of me your cute pussy is going to take too. It’s going to stretch you out just the same way it just did to your mouth. Can you imagine it, how it’s going to feel?” 

You nod your head before you’ve even fully processed the question, shuddering so hard it makes your eyes vibrate in their sockets. 

“Good. Then I want you to keep thinking about it while I fuck your mouth instead.” 

A startled little sound of confusion bursts out of you, but he presses on the back of your head before you can form a coherent thought and you noise a muffled groan when his cock fills your mouth again. Holding you in place rather than guiding your head up and down, he instead flexes his hips to drive that rigid length back and forth over your tongue. His thrusts remain careful and controlled, sedate enough to give you a chance to breathe, but that does absolutely nothing to detract from the sympathetic flutter you feel deep inside your cunt. 

It’s almost horrifyingly easy to imagine it, in fact. The same sensation of all that smooth, velvety skin working in and out of your body, how seamless the glide would be, how warm he would feel lodged deep within your guts. You almost couldn’t believe how hot it actually makes you to think about it, like you were liable to combust and catch fire at any moment. If you’d had the ability to, you probably would have been begging him to take you right then and there. 

“I wish you could see how utterly ravishable you look right now, little miss. That lipstick really does make you look absolutely irresistible … and it looks even better smeared all over my cock. I almost want to cum all over your lips and paint them white.” 

At your groaning, half choked sound of question, he issues another low laugh. 

“That’s right, I’m going to hold out for that sweet pussy. This is just the warm up … but oh, what a warm up it is. I think you’re enjoying it too, aren’t you?” 

You screw your eyes shut and weakly push at his thigh with your bound hands, but he just readjusts his hold to better keep you in place. His palm was so big it almost seemed to dwarf your entire head, and you violently shudder at how small he made you feel. Everything from his hands down to his cock was just so large … 

Would your cunt really be able to take the whole thing? 

Gasping raggedly when Wriothesley finally pulls you off him some moments later, you rock back to cough and sputter. Undeniably grateful for the reprieve, you blearily look at the bobbing length between you only to mewl softly at the glistening thread of spittle still connecting him to your raw mouth. Your chin was coated in it too, but he just brings his hand down to swipe it away without another thought to the matter. 

“Feeling good so far, little miss?” 

At your breathless nod, he tenderly cups the side of your face for a moment before giving it a light pat. “Good girl. Let’s move on to the next part then, shall we?” 

Still wheezing and trying to catch your breath, you watch him reach over into the bag and pull out — another red strip of fabric? You didn’t understand. Was he going to tie your ankles next, or - - 

He shuffles right up to you then and you suddenly forget how to breathe with that spit coated cock straining out towards your chest, so close you could have easily taken it back into your mouth again. Before you can even think to do it though, he brings that second piece of cloth close to fix your attention on it instead. 

“I’m going to cover your eyes with this, if you’ll allow me to. You won’t be able to see or use your hands much, but you’ll still be able to talk. I’m not going to gag you or anything like that, pretty girl, so you can still change your mind later. Does that sound agreeable?” 

You hesitate just a moment, ever so slightly unnerved at the thought of having your sight taken away, but you trusted him. Implicitly. “Yes, sir.” 

“Such a good girl,” He murmurs, and that vaguely secretive smile is the last thing you see before he slips the strip over your eyes and reaches around to tie it off at the back of your head.

Your heart rate immediately picks up with a muted jolt, but you don’t feel any true panic. Just a bit of nerves. Some excitement mixed in with it. You were undeniably curious to find out what, exactly, he had planned for you, and the promise of his cock at the end certainly helped further sweeten the deal. 

“There. Don’t you look pretty.” You feel him bend close and press a kiss to the top of your head. “Lipstick smeared and blindfolded … almost makes me wish I had a kamera on hand.” 

Your chest hitches. “Your grace - -“ 

“Shh. I was only joking.” He soothes you, caressing broad knuckles down the side of your face. 

You aren’t so sure you appreciate the humorous tone in his voice, but you promptly forget all about it when he gently guides you back to lay out on the bed. Holding your bound hands over your stomach, you somewhat awkwardly brace for him to climb on top of you, to claim you, thinking that was his intention in keeping you unawares. Rather than that though, you feel the mattress beside you dip down slightly with his weight. Then, out of the blue, calloused fingers squeeze around the meat of your breast to make you jolt. 

“So jumpy,” Laughing under his breath, Wriothesley takes a moment to just knead the swell of your chest and give you a chance to relax into it before proceeding any further. “Do you recall what I told you the night before the fundraiser, little miss?” 

You frown slightly, too caught up in the way his fingertips sink into your skin to have much higher thought process left at your disposal. “I’m not sure … it feels like so much has happened since then. I don’t think I do.” 

“All the better then.” 

Opening your mouth, you start to question it, but all that comes out is a surprised squeak when he directs his fingers to your nipple. The delicate bud had started to grow soft in the warm fog surrounding you, but now it springs back up while he pinches and tweaks it, stiltedly plucking the dense cluster of nerves back to straining attention. You think, idly, that you should probably close your mouth instead of letting it hang open in such a brazen and unladylike manner but you can’t quite seem to accomplish that right now. Especially not when he switches to the other breast, taking your second nipple between his blocky thumb and forefinger, and you promptly loose another faltering sound of pleasure. 

Back and forth, just like that, he teases and plays with your tits until you’re squirming on top of the sheets and squeezing your thighs together in a blithe attempt to alleviate some of the building pressure there. He’s entirely relentless about it though, even when you weekly lift your hands as if to block or otherwise push him away he just reaches around to attack the other side. It felt a bit like being bullied … no, that was exactly what it felt like and you were ashamed to say it was driving you crazy! Never before had your teats felt so very stiff and sensitized, his rough fingertips providing the perfect amount of friction to leave your toes tightly curled. 

It was almost too much, in a way … but it also doesn’t escape your notice that you were technically free to pull away from him at any point. With him sitting beside you, you could have rolled over in the opposite direction to escape the torture of his hand but you don’t. The thought never even seriously crosses your mind. 

He’d been right to suspect you would like this. 

“You’re awfully cute, you know that?” He murmurs after long moments that feel like eons to your punchdrunk mind. You twitch at the sound of his voice, whining softly — but it quickly cuts off with a sharp gasp when his other suddenly joins the fray, and both of your nipples are being pinched and pulled, and rubbed, and your back almost violently bows from how hard you writhe. “Mmm, I still think you could cum just from having your chest played with, if it went on long enough … would you like to try it, sweet girl? Want me to see if I can make you break apart like this?”

He accompanies this question with a twist of his wrists, tweaking both nipples just so, and you very nearly levitate right up off the bed. “Ooohh, no, no, no, please, sir, no more! I — I don’t think I can take it …” 

“Hearing you say that just makes me want to keep going, you know.” 

Another tweak, to make you jolt and let out a half strangled sob. “Please, Wriothesley … n - no more …”

To your great relief, he does indeed pull away and your tits achingly throb in the aftermath, so raw and stiff it pulls a faltering little mewl out of you. “Alright, since you asked so nicely I suppose we can move on … think you’re ready for this, sweet girl?” 

Weakly twisting on the sheets, you blindly tip your face in the general direction his voice was coming from. It sounded like he was reaching into the bag again, or … perhaps removing his clothes? “I — I don’t even know what’s coming to say if I’m ready for it or not.” 

A faint chuckle from him tickles your ears, and it makes you sensitively shudder on top of the bed. “See why I’m doing it this way now? Pretty little masochists like you deserve to be surprised, and you don’t get the chance to let your mind get the better of you.” 

A sharp zap of static electricity races down your spine, pussy clenching uncomfortably tight as you fitfully squeeze your thighs together. “Is … is it going to hurt, sir?” 

Softly cooing at you, Wriothesley carefully places his hand across your stomach and rubs comforting circles over you for a moment. “Ooh, isn’t that a precious question for you to ask me? And in such a soft little voice too … you’re really testing my self control over here, you know that?” 

You bite down on your lip, not quite trusting yourself to speak anymore, and he gives you one final, affectionate pat before pulling away. The loss of his touch leaves you shuddering there on the bed but thankfully it doesn’t take long for him to come back. You’re a bit surprised when he nudges himself right up against your side and goosebumps promptly erupt over your skin at the sensation of his now bare thigh on your hip. He doesn’t completely straddle you though, slight uncertainty creeping in when he merely grabs your bound hands and then presses them up above your head to pin against the mattress. Letting out a tiny mewl of confusion, you weakly twist against his hold but it’s no use. You’re trapped. 

“Shall I give you a moment to struggle and realize you’re helpless like this,” He drawls in a tone laced with leather suggestion. “Or are you going to take my word for it?” 

You try to speak but nothing comes out. Swallowing your nerves hard enough it almost makes you gag, you have to force your tongue to formulate the words. “I believe you.” It’s little more than a mouse squeak but he hums in clear approval. 

“Good girl. Now, for this I want you to keep still for me, alright? You’re allowed to squeal or cry, or anything else you want, but you need to stay in one place. Do you understand me?” 

“Y -  … yes, sir.” 

Wriothesley shifts over top of you, whispering soft praise while he does it, and you just manage to make out a soft rattle of … metal? It sounded a bit like a dainty chain of some sort but, other than the ones on his usual outfit, you had no idea what it could be. Even trying to tip your head all the way back to peer under the blindfold doesn’t give you so much as a glimpse and you have to fight against the urge to click your tongue. A part of you almost wanted to tell him this wasn’t necessary anymore, that he had you so soaking wet and in need of friction on your leaking cunt that you would have done anything at all to get it but — before you can even think to say it, you feel him reach for your breast. 

You instinctively stiffen up, expecting pain, but you’re not sure what it is exactly that you’re bracing for. Would it be soft at first like when he’d spanked you with his belt or immediate and blistering like his hand usually was? 

The answer comes in the form of something — something hard and unrelenting, and cool to the touch — slowly coming down around your nipple. At first you’re only vaguely aware of it but it quickly ratchets up in intensity the more it closes down. Your mouth drops open as if to scream yet nothing comes out. You don’t even seem to remember how to breathe as you feel it gradually pinch the stiff teat tighter and tighter, and somehow even tighter until … at last, he pulls his hand back. But the crushing force around your nipple stays. It’s blindingly intense and your mind immediately blanks out with the onset of pain. Embarrassingly enough, you squeal. 

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” Wriothesley murmurs, barely heard over the deafening pound in your ears. You shake so hard it makes the stinging tip of your breast hurt even worse, prompting you to twist against him in earnest now, but he all too easily keeps your hands pinned above your head. “It’s a lot all at once, isn’t it? Just give yourself a moment to process. There you go. Deep breaths … you’re being such a good girl for me tonight, wearing my pretty little toys on your pretty tits. Now I really do wish I had a kamera.” 

You suck in a sharp, seething breath. Toys? Suddenly that conversation in the fortress comes crashing back to you, and it makes you shudder at the memory of kneeling on the lounge in his office, naked from the waist down and getting your bottom spanked. The thought alone almost seems to send you over the edge, and you pitifully try to grind your obscenely drooling cunt down on the bed for even a modicum of relief. So this was one of those clamps he was telling you about, then. You think you might like to see it but … maybe you weren’t quite brave enough for that just yet. 

“Still with me, little miss?” 

“Oh — ooohhnn … Wriothesley, I - -“

“Do you think you need to tap out?” 

Your mouth moves but nothing comes out. Finally you settle on a stilted shake of your head. 

“Alright. Don’t worry about trying to talk right now unless you need to tell me you want a break. I’m sure it’s probably pretty damn hard for you to even think right now, isn’t it?” 

You nod this time, whimpering softly at the note of humor in his voice. Of course you were well aware of his borderline sadistic tendencies, the perfect compliment to your own, evidently masochistic ones, but somehow you hadn’t expected him to enjoy it this much. 

No, maybe that wasn’t quite right. 

It was more like you hadn’t realized just how deep your own depravity ran, and so you’d underestimated his too. You hadn’t been able to even conceive of anything beyond the belt let alone whatever this was, even when he explained it to you, and you almost felt a little foolish in retrospect. Of course there was more beyond just spanking you and bossing you around that he would like. 

Pulled back into the moment by his rough worn palm smoothing over your ribcage, you force your lungs to expand on a painfully deep breath. He softly coos at you, encouraging you to keep taking slow inhales as his hand retreats from you again. You feel the clamp on your sore teat nudge slightly to accompany the quiet jangle of metal and you quickly put two and two together. There was a chain connecting the two pieces. But if he clamped both tits and then tugged on it then — 

“Ooh!” It blurts out of you in a sudden rush and he pauses somewhere above you, hovering for a moment. 

“If you can’t keep yourself still I’ll have to actually tie you down to the bed. Not that I don’t think you’d enjoy it, but I figured you would appreciate having more freedom of movement for this. Trust me when I say you don’t want me to catch you wrong, though. That’ll hurt way worse.” 

Wheezing, you force yourself to stop squirming even though it takes every ounce of self control you have, especially when you feel him reach for the other breast. Somehow the dulling pain in the first made the anticipation of the second so, so much more worse, and you clench your teeth as the pincers slowly start to come down on delicate skin. Same as before, he goes slow with it to give you enough time to adjust and brace against it, but that also makes it so you’re forced to feel each bit of pressure as it’s gradually applied in stunning high definition. Toes flexing tight enough to hurt, you wait until he pulls away and leaves the clamp stuck to your breast before writhing in place as sedately as you can manage. 

You felt truly wild with it but the constant, squeezing pinch on both nipples kept you somewhat grounded for fear of pulling on them and causing even more discomfort. The worst part of all, though, was the fact you’d never been wetter in all your life. Even taking into account at least some of the mess between your legs was lingering saliva from earlier, that still didn’t account for the sheer flood of arousal making your cunt feel sticky and almost obscenely juicy. 

Distantly, you realize that you really were on the verge of begging him just to stuff you full without any concern for your previous worries about being able to take him. You knew you could. You just knew it, beyond a shadow of a doubt now. 

“Aren't you the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen?” Wriothesley murmurs, pulling you just a bit more out of your reeling stupor when he smooths his big hand up your fluttering stomach. “I don’t even have to ask if you’re enjoying this. I can tell you are by the way you keep trying to grind that sweet pussy on the bed. It’s not working though, is it? Poor thing … you need some real attention between your legs now, don’t you?” 

You nod your head slowly, hissing faintly when his fingertips brush the chain and jostle the clamps just enough to make fresh stabs of hurt go through your tits. He coos at you and lightly, tauntingly, gives the metal link a purposeful nudge to make the attached pincers pull, and you really start to think you’re going to lose it. 

“P - please, sir, please … I’m — ooohhh, I’m begging!” 

“And what are you begging for, little miss? Can you tell me?” 

“I … I want …” Choking down a lungful of air, you tip your face down as if to look at yourself but of course it doesn’t work. You’d never felt quite so … powerless before, and it was overwhelmingly amazing. Potent in the worst possible way. “I want it — in my pussy, sir, please!” 

“Oho, that’s mighty crass coming from you, pretty girl. I was starting to wonder if I’d ever break you down enough to make you talk like that.” He chuckles softly at your mewling whimper, dragging his hand back down the length of your body. You go stock still, though, when he dips between your legs and, sure enough, you’re so thoroughly coated in slick that his fingers just wetly slide over your folds. “Is this where you want it? Come on, use your words for me.” 

“Y - yes, sir. I want it there. Please. I’m begging.”

“And you’re doing such a good job. But what do you want specifically? My fingers?” 

You shudder violently when his digits curl back to tease at your entrance, just flirting with the suggestion but not actually breaching you. “Ohh … no, no, not that, sir, please.” 

“Hm? Could it be you want my mouth on you again? Greedy girl. Do you want to sit on my face that badly?” 

Quietly seething, you shake your head. “Please, sir, I … I want — I want your cock, sir. I - in my pussy, please. I need it.” 

He breathes out a low, rumbling groan to that. “You need it? Well, then of course you’ll have it. Good girls who tell me what they want only have to ask once, you know.” 

You feel him lean over you then, getting close, and a tremulous smile pulls at your mouth seconds before he kisses you, slow and deliberate. Your chest heaves in excitement as much as at the steady thrill of pain coursing through your system, and you eagerly try to follow him when he pulls back a moment later. 

“I’m going to let go of your hands and I want you to carefully sit up, alright? Mind you don’t catch your pretty little chain on anything. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir …” 

Another brief kiss pressed to your mouth seals the deal, and then Wriothesley is sitting back to give you some small amount of space. You feel his presence right next to you though, and you find a great deal of comfort in that as you gingerly sit upright with the help of his steady hands. Gently he turns you towards him so he can half lift, half drag you into his lap. The motion jostles the clamps, making you mewl like something small and wounded, but he gets you settled against him quickly enough that the shuddering chain stills again. You have to remind yourself to keep breathing as he carefully nudges further back onto the bed until you seem to be situated somewhere in the middle. Then, you feel him lay out underneath you and you brace your hands against his firm stomach to help balance your weight. 

You were a little surprised though, if you were being honest. Quite surprised, in fact. 

“You won’t be on top, sir?” 

“Not this time, sweetness. I figured it would make you feel better about taking me if you could control the depth and the speed you want to go at. Oh, don’t make that face. Even blindfolded I can tell you’re thinking about calling me a big oaf again.” Laughing quietly, a bit thickly, he reaches up to squeeze your hips in both hands and then reaches further back to grab your ass. 

Swat! Swat! In quick succession, one cheek and then the other, to leave you swaying dizzily on his hips. You were almost too stunned to react. 

“Oooh …” 

“I believe you’re still due for a spanking anyway, and I can’t very well take care of your bottom if I’m on top, can I?” At your seething nod, he squeezes the swell of one cheek and gives it a solid jostle. “That’s what I thought. You love getting your ass spanked, don’t you lovely girl?” 

“Yes, sir, I … I do. But,” You lick your lips, gathering your courage. “Is this a punishment, or … maintenance?” 

“Hm, I was actually thinking this one would just be for pleasure. Why? Do you think you need one or the other?” 

You consider that for a long stretch, a very difficult task when your nipples were burning sore and aching every time the clamps so much as shifted with you. It felt amazing, but it was also making it nigh impossible to think straight. “Maintenance, sir. I think.” 

“Then that is what you will have.” Swat! To make you lurch and shiver on top of him. “Thank me for spanking your ass, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” 

Whining low in your throat, you arch and impotently grind your soaked cunt down on his stomach. “Nnghn, thank you, sir! Thank you! Can — can I have your cock now?” 

Growling so heavily it seems to bleed from him straight into you, Wriothesley’s fingers dig into your hips and scoot you down a little further until you feel the distinct brush of coarse pubic hair touch your inner thigh. Your throbbing cunt positively clenches as you gladly let him tip your pelvis forward until you're half laying on top of him, even when it makes the chain attached to your nipples pool across his skin. One hand drags up to clutch your waist, squeezing the love handles there, while the other reaches back to give you another hard swat across the ass cheek. 

“Eek! T - thank you, sir!” 

The next slap doesn’t come. Instead you feel the head of his cock nudge up against you from behind, guided by his hand, and you go ramrod stiff on top of him. Your mouth slowly drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out while he tauntingly draws himself over your folds, bumping your clit on occasion and mostly just teasing your drenched entrance. The muscle squeezes each time he gets close, trying to pull him in, but he seems content to take his time with it. Up and down, up and down — it was driving you mad, and you plaintively rear back in your desperation. 

“P - pleeeaase, I want it!” 

“Then take it, little miss. Help yourself.” 

His cock abruptly stills, pressed right against your squeezing hole, but it doesn’t push up. It doesn’t move. Just sits there, waiting, and you pitifully groan when you realize what he’s doing. With a weak little mewl, you clench your hands where they’re braced on his stomach and carefully, hesitantly start to ease back. Your heart slams a deafening beat in your ears, but all you can seem to focus on is the slow pressure of your body taking him in. It’s stilted and gradual in this position with you at the helm, and yet you’re so incredibly wet that there’s not much resistance to show for it. 

The glans is smooth and fleshy as it penetrates your cunt, sliding right into place within you. You’re immediately aware of how very warm he is, how smooth, and you suck in a thin breath to steady yourself before sinking further down. Inch by excruciating inch, he slips into the tight sleeve of your pussy and stretches you open around him in the process. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling full, and you have to pause to steady your nerves when it’s only a third of the way in. 

“God, you feel amazing,” Wriothesley practically gasps, his voice so thick and strained he sounds genuinely distressed in your cotton stuffed mind. The hand on your waist just squeezes tighter, clutching you like he was afraid you might disappear. “Go at your own pace, baby. Fuck yourself on me just like that and work your way up to it.” 

The dangling chain on your tits clatters softly and drags over his abdomen when you gingerly angle your hips up and then press them back down. Even for as subdued as the downward thrust is, it still has you moaning at how good he feels penetrating you. So you do it again, ever so slowly rocking your heaving body against the cock behind you until you find a steady rhythm. You weren’t sure how much of him you were actually taking yet, but you knew you already felt stuffed. He was thick and heavy, and the delicious glide of skin just makes you even hungrier for more. 

Mindless with your need, you pull him in a little deeper on the next slow motion plunge, and Wriothesley outright seethes underneath you. 

“Ohh, that’s it, sweetheart, just like that. You look so good stretching out that pretty pussy on my cock … and your tits — bless the seven, I knew you’d love my toys. Your nipples were made for this, weren’t they?” 

You start to nod your head, so focused on grinding your cunt over him that you aren’t really sure what you’re agreeing with. It doesn’t seem to really  matter though. Wriothesley lets go of your hip so he can reach up and give the chain a taunting tug but the pressure on your poor teats was so great that it makes you shriek as if he’d struck you full force. The discomfort is so sharp and blinding your hips falter, and you sink even further down on his length when you give a subconscious jerk. Your cunt suddenly feels ten times more full, a feat you hadn’t thought possible, and for a moment you just freeze on top of him. 

It was all you could do just to keep drawing air into your lungs. You felt like you were going to implode in the most literal sense. 

But, evidently, you had enough of him sheathed inside you that he could remove his hand now, and he reaches up to swat your ass again. “Do you even realize how much you’re squeezing me right now? And you just keep getting tighter every time I spank you or pull on your tits … who would have ever thought such a sweet girl could be this much of a masochist?” 

Chest heaving, you fitfully turn your head this way and that as if seeking him out through the blindfold. “Please, sir, oh gods above, please move!” 

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want to, trust me — shit, it’s taking everything I have not to slam myself balls deep in you right this second. But I want you to do this by yourself first. Can you do that for me?”

You whine and shake, legs trembling from the effort of holding your cunt in place when you wanted nothing more than to bury him inside you straight down to the hilt. He was so big that it was still overwhelming though, especially when your mind was positively drowning in the absolute rush of sensation assaulting you all at once. The warm handprints on your ass, the clamps on your tits, the soft silk binding your wrists together and the one around your eyes, the sheer presence of him sitting inside your body. 

Weakly, you sink down another inch and let out a frantic, keening sound of pleasure. 

“Oooh, good girl. You’re almost there. Just another push and you’ll be sitting on my cock.” 

It’s almost alarming to hear that there’s still more of him to take, but after having it shoved almost down your throat you had a pretty good grasp on his size. You could tell you were almost down to the widest part now just by the nearly obscene stretch of your cunt lips around him, and you take a moment just to grind yourself with the faltering motions of your hips. It didn’t hurt, nor was it uncomfortable, it was just — a lot to process all at once. A big hurdle. 

But just like every other time he’s pushed you right to the limit, Wriothesley remains a steady, comforting presence underneath you. His soft praise continues to rain over you even while he pinches the meat of your ass hard enough to make your toes curl, or he nudges the chain to rattle your nipple clamps. It really is too much and, feeling delirious with it, you finally relax your legs and allow your weight to sink you down the rest of the way until you’re at last firmly seated on his cock. 

You feel so horribly stretched out and full that you just sit there, twitching on top of him, while Wriothesley groans low in his throat. His hips shudder with the instinctive urge and masculine drive to thrust up, to lose himself in the tight wet warmth of your cunt, but he refrains. Even when it’s obviously taking every ounce of willpower he possesses, he still waits for you to get your bearings straight and suck in a haggard gasp. 

“Wriothesley, please …” 

“Shh. I’ve got you, pretty girl.” He sounds almost as flustered as you do now, and you groan very softly when he smooths those big palms over your ribs again. “You did so well. Are you ready for me to move?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Drawing a slow breath to steady himself, he drags his hands down to hold your hips instead. You feel him shift under you, jostling you slightly, and you think he must be adjusting his feet where they’re braced on the bed. That’s the last semi coherent thought you have, because he rolls his hips up in the next moment and the pressure inside you doubles, triples, leaves you choking on the blinding sensation of his cock pressing so deep you can practically taste it on the back of your tongue. All you can do is cry out in blissful agony as he gradually falls into a rhythm, just grinding up into your pulpy cunt for a long moment until you start to feel well and truly faint. 

Then, his own heaving groans increasing with it, Wriothesley starts to carefully thrust in and out of you, somewhat sedately at first but it quickly starts to pick up speed. The force of his flexing hips driving into you rocks you and, with it, so does the chain start to bounce and pull on your tits. Your already frantic sounds of pleasure soon take on a dire tinge, everything almost too much for you to process in that moment. You felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces. He was breaking you, splitting you straight down the middle, and - -

Swat! 

The sting of his hand across your ass immediately grounds you, startles you out of your own head, and you lurch on top of him. 

“Ooh! God! W - Wriothesley!” 

He grunts somewhere seemingly far below you, driving his cock through your squeezing passage a little harder. A little faster. “How’s it feel, pretty girl? Nnghhn … you like how that cock feels deep in your pussy?” 

“I love it!” 

Noising a rumbling sound of satisfaction, he slaps your bouncing ass again, and stars erupt across your eyes. “I knew you would. I told you, didn’t I? I’m going to make sure you’re well taken care of no matter what … oohhnn, yeah, squeeze me tighter, little miss. That’s it. Are you about to cum for me?” 

You jerk your head in a quick nod, unable to find your voice when it felt like the pressure inside you was starting to collapse in on itself. There was too much of it. Too much stimuli, too many different sensations. Pleasure and pain so horribly intermingled that you couldn’t even tell what was what anymore. Your nipples were screaming in agony, but it felt so good you could have sobbed. His cock was easily the most pleasure inducing of all, but the way it forces your clenching muscles open again and again, and again made it toe the line of discomfort. His hand - -

Swat! 

“Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

You’re completely blindsided when you do just that. 

Your pussy spasms on the drop of a coin, sending you into a wild fit of convulsions. You mindlessly shriek and dig your nails into his hard stomach, desperately trying to steady yourself before you can vibrate right off him. But the waves of crashing ecstasy just keep coming, over and over, rocking you straight to the marrow of your bones. Wriothesley hisses at the sensation of your body wildly trying to milk him but he keeps fucking you through it, persistent even now. All you can do is hold on for dear life, and quake so hard the bed rattles from the force. 

“Oh, fuck,” He pants when you finally start to come down from it some moments later, and the uncontrollable tremors working through your shuddering frame begin to ease up into sensitive twitching. His thrusts gradually slow as well to leave you wheezing on top of him, your cunt weakly palpitating around him where he remains wedged inside you. 

It was … by and far, the most amazing experience of your life, and you practically collapse into his arms when he reaches up to tug you close. You would have been perfectly content to snuggle up against his chest right then and there, but the clamps tug at your breasts to make you whine. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Come here, let’s get these off you.” As gentle as can be, Wriothesley gathers you close with one hand curled around your back while the other reaches for one of your tits. “Fair warning, this is going to hurt. I want you to breathe through it, okay?” 

At your bubbling nod, you feel him take the clamp in his fingers and — your mouth promptly drops open to scream when the metal pincers start to retract. All that comes out is a hurt, tiny little mewl of pain though, and he issues a faltering sigh when your pussy clenches around him tight. You can feel the skin sticking to the merciless contraption as he steadily pulls it loose, and you really do sob when all that’s left in the wake of it is a fiercely buzzing ache. 

He’s quick to soothe you though, carefully taking the abused bud between his fingers to lightly work out some of the hurt. It’s bad enough to make you seethe, but you can’t quite ignore the way your cunt positively throbs around him. You had no idea what it said about you as a person but you did indeed like it. 

Quite a lot, in fact. 

“Oh, little miss. Look at you. Your poor nipple really hurts, doesn’t it?” Laughing softly at your stilted nod, he leans up to press a quick kiss to your mouth. “I’d tell you I’m sorry for it but I can tell just how much you like it by the way you keep squeezing me …” 

“The other one.” You whimper, dreading it almost as much as you would be glad to have it off. 

It seemed like the reverse of having them put on, and now that you were anticipating the agony of the second it made it so incredibly tortuous. But he obliges you, reaching to the other side and … you can’t quite stop yourself from squealing this time, helplessly twisting against him. 

“There.” He huffs, tossing the clamps aside to hit the bed somewhere before bringing his hands up to fiddle with the knot behind your head. “I’m going to take this off as well but make sure you give your eyes a moment to adjust, alright?” 

You almost think it’s a little silly, for him to be taking care of you like this when he was still sitting hot and heavy, and rock hard inside you but you can’t quite find it in yourself to be upset about it right now. The red silk slips away, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the glare of the light.  Wriothesley takes the moment to kiss over your face, paying special attention to your eyelashes where they flutter against your cheeks, and you nearly find yourself drifting off from how very comfortable it is. Nice, and intimate. 

But you eventually crack your eyes open and peer up at him, struck by how darkly handsome and enticing he looks in that moment. All ruffled and coated in a fine sheen of sweat, the hunger you still see reflected in his eyes attesting to how badly he wanted to rut up into your pussy but … he doesn’t. Not yet. He just fixes you with that vaguely secretive smile and brushes some of the hair back from your face. 

“You look quite pleased,” He murmurs, clearly proud of himself and the mess he’s made of you. 

“Aren’t you going to finish?” You whisper as you pointedly rock back against his cock, making him suck in a deep, savory breath. 

“I planned on it, you little minx. I just wanted to check in on you first.” Bringing his hand down, he cups the side of your face and just studies you for a long moment. “Would you like to have your hands untied as well?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

You smile to yourself as he works on getting the knot loose with practiced motions. He’d clearly done this before, many times if you had to take a guess, and suddenly your curiosity couldn’t wait any longer. “Where did you learn about all this stuff?” 

“Hm? I told you I got sent to prison.” 

“Yes, but,” You frown at that. “What does it have to do with this?” 

Wriothesley sends you a meaningful look as the tie comes loose, and he gently rubs over your wrists to smooth out any of the ache there. “Well, I was a teenager, for starters. All kinds of hormones and physical changes going on, and with the crowd that ends up in Meropide I’m sure you can imagine how easily I fell into certain … circles.” 

“Oh.” You blink at that, not sure if you should be horrified by that news or not, but he just laughs at the dawning look on your face. 

“It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about. I didn’t participate much at first. Mostly just watched and observed, and learned. It was all very interesting to me at the time, as I’m sure you can imagine, and it wasn’t until much later when I actually found someone to play with. Someone who liked to be in charge as much as she enjoyed getting pushed around, so I got the best of both worlds.” 

You sit up a little straighter, wide eyed gaze fixed on his face. “You let someone … do to you what you do to me?” 

Wrapping his arms around you now, Wriothesley gathers you close to his chest, looking at you from just a scant few inches away as he settles back against the bed and gets comfortable. “Yes, but I quickly found that I much preferred being in the dominant role. Unlike you, pretty girl, I don’t get very much out of receiving pain … but I certainly enjoy inflicting it.” 

Squirming when he pinches at your side, you give his thick arm a quick smack. “Stop that. This is a serious conversation!” An almost ironic thing to say when he was still pulsing inside you but, to your relief, he immediately sobers. “Is … is she still at the prison?” 

“No, her sentence ended long before I even became the duke of the fortress and she returned to the surface. And before you ask, I never tried to look for her. There wasn’t ever any reason to. She was just someone to kill time with. The thought of spending any meaningful time with her beyond venting our frustrations and pent up energy on each other didn't so much as cross my mind. Nothing like you. I’d scour every corner of this world without rest just to get you back if we were ever separated like that.” 

You can’t help but warm for him, and you happily accept the kiss he leans up to plant on your mouth. It’s a brief exchange though, just enough to have you signing in contentment against him, and then he’s pulling back. The shift in his expression doesn’t go unnoticed, and you’re not at all surprised when he drags those big calloused palms lower to squeeze your ass. 

“I think I still owe you a few more spankings … think you’re ready for the rest?” 

“Yes, sir.” You murmur, sinking into the comforting warmth of his body as he slowly angles his hips back to drag his cock through your guts. The zap of friction has your toes curling again, but you knew you were well past the point of satiation and would not be finding a third release tonight. 

You’re not particularly bothered by that after everything he’d already given you though, so you just lay there across him, leisurely kissing him while he fucks up into you at a tortuously stilted pace. In and out, in and out, just rocking you gently until you think you might doze off and — 

Swat! 

“Oh!” You give a little jolt, delighting in the spreading warmth across your ass. The dull, aching throbs of your sore nipples and the vague thrum deep in your cunt. You were undoubtedly going to be sore tomorrow, but you didn’t really care. “Mm, thank you, sir.” 

“You’re very welcome, little miss.” He says softly, tipping his head back against the sheets to groan. “You really do have the sweetest pussy … you’re still gripping me so well even after two orgasms.” 

Swat! This time accompanied by a tight, squeezing pinch and a rough jostle. 

“Nnghn … thank you, sir.” 

It’s easy to get lost in it, that intimate, swimming daze floating around you while he fucks you and slaps your bottom red. He never quite picks up the same speed or intensity as he did earlier, and you soon realize that this was entirely for him now. Wriothesley was just enjoying the feel of you wrapped around him, clenching his cock, the soft, wet little clicks he pulls from between your legs as they echo off the walls. It was beyond intoxicating, and you quickly succumb to the hard sting of his hand, just as you always did. 

Swat! 

“Thank you, sir … oooh … Wriothesley - -“ You cut off with a sharp gasp when the next swing lands, jiggling the meat of your behind from the impact. 

“What is it, pretty girl? Don’t tell me you’re ready for round three?” He laughs, low and very close to being breathless. 

“No, it’s not that …” A hot, faltering groan slips out of you the next time his cock pushes inside you, and you weakly push up to brace your arms against his broad barrel chest so you can look at him. “I … I just wanted to say … I love you, too.” 

A flash of genuine surprise crosses his face, but it’s almost immediately overshadowed by the deep pleasure that settles into place just a second later. “Oh, fuck, baby, why did you say that right now?” 

Sensitively gasping, he wraps stiff arms around your body and practically flattens you against him. The rhythm of his thrusts turns messy, no longer smooth and certain, but a bit jerky and uneven now, as if his need to cum had ratcheted far beyond the point of him being able to temper it. He presses his mouth against the top of your head, his breathing turning ragged and quick while he just holds you like that, so thoroughly pinned against the front of him you couldn’t have pulled away even if you’d tried. 

You let out a mewling whine when you feel him shudder underneath you, his frame so tense and halting that it almost reignites your own arousal. You’re sure you know what’s coming, but it still surprises you slightly how much he huffs and puffs into your hair at the onset of his release. 

“Oooh, gods above … I’m going to cum, sweetheart. I’m going to cum deep inside that tight pussy, okay? Will you let me?” 

“Of course, Wriothesley.” You whimper softly, clutching at his tense shoulders. “You don’t have to ask. Cum in me as much as you want.” 

He outright seethes at that, hips bucking uncontrollably now. His cock pulses inside you and then twitches, pressing in against your upper wall hard enough to pull a moan out of you, and then it gives a muted little jerk. You can’t help but gasp at the hot, spreading sensation that immediately follows, your pussy fluttering around him as much as the pooling warmth that seems to bleed deep into you. He lets out a final, heaving grunt of deep, masculine pleasure, and then he stills, holding himself through the shuddering tail end of his release while he pumps everything he’s got into your waiting clutch. You sway on top of him, a bit blindsided by how … good it actually felt to have his seed coating your guts in a thick, goopy mess. 

You weren’t so sure about the clean up just yet but this you could certainly get used to. 

At length, Wriothesley finally goes slack under you with a rumbling sigh and his arms loosen enough for you to push yourself up to look at him again. He looks like he’s still recovering, blue eyes distant and almost dreamy, and yet he still manages to give you one of those lazy, secretive little smiles. 

“I think you’re probably going to regret that.” 

“Regret what?” 

“Giving me permission to cum inside you as much as I want.” Sighing, he carefully gathers you up again and rolls you over onto your side. You give a soft squeak when his softening cock slips free at the motion, but he’s snuggling up close to you before you can complain about needing to get a rag. In fact, you promptly forget all about it as he half curls his much bigger body around yours and gets comfortable, settling his face inches from yours on the sheets. “Putting my poor sense of humor aside … thank you, sweet girl. You’re much too kind to me and so much more than I could have ever hoped myself worthy of.” 

You can’t help but laugh as you bring your hand up to brush some of the hair back off his sweat dampened forehead. He looked surprisingly handsome like that, you were a bit surprised to find. Almost dashing. “Don’t say that … especially when I was just thinking the same thing of you. I know it’s been a rocky road but … but I really am glad I was able to meet you in this life, Wriothesley.”

“I am too.” He murmurs, leaning in to press his mouth to yours in a slow, savory kiss. You practically melt into him at the stilted press and pull of his mouth, carding your hand back through his hair, and you can’t help but softly whine when he retreats a moment later. “By the way, I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you.” 

Your brows knit in confusion. “What kind of surprise?” 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” He chuckles, brushing another kiss over your lips. “We can go pick it up together tomorrow, if you’d like. I made the arrangements right after the fundraiser, but with everything going on I just didn’t get the chance to tell you.” 

There was no denying that you were a bit suspicious of it, but you find yourself smiling anyway. “Alright … do I at least get a hint?” 

“Not even a little one.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

One week later … 

“Oh my goodness, isn’t he just the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?” Furina squeals and titters, cooing over the dozing bundle in your arms with so much enthusiasm that a few of the cafe staff members actually stop to glance over. You didn’t really mind it though. You’d had much the same reaction the first time you laid eyes on him, and sometimes you still did. It was exceedingly hard not to, if you were being honest. 

Even now when you turn your attention down to look at the furry little face blearily staring back at you, almost too tired to keep his eyes open, you feel a strangely intense flood of emotions rush through your chest. You aren’t quite sure what it is, exactly, but you know it’s something not unlike love. Tumultuous but calming at the same time. Peaceful, and yet frighteningly daunting. 

You think, idly, this might be how parents feel about their children. A love unconditional and so, so overwhelming it almost brings you to tears at least once a day. If you hadn’t been navigating this unexpected journey with Wriothesley right at your side you were certain you would have been a right and proper mess. 

“He’s a very good boy.” You tell her in full confidence. Even barring the occasional accident or behavioral correction, he’d been nothing but a sweet angel since you’d brought him home. “I was a bit worried he’d like Wriothesley more than me since he’s so … you know. Big and in charge of everything, but he actually sticks to me like glue. I can’t even use the bathroom without him sitting outside the door crying.” 

Furina looks like she just might start crying too. “That is so stinking cute! Oh, I really am jealous! What sort of dog is he?” 

You turn a little sheepish at that. “A mastiff.” 

Her eyes go so big and wide you’re a bit worried they’re going to pop right out of her head and roll across the table. 

“But that’s so — large! Aren’t you worried about him … I don’t know, pushing you around when he’s older?” 

Shaking your head, you reach down to fiddle with an oversized black paw. The puppy just lets you do it without even a huff of protest, his arm perfectly boneless and pliable under your fingers. “Wriothesley said these guys are big, giant babies but very protective. He told me if he ever wasn’t around and someone tried to mess with me, this little guy here would rip them apart … and I’m not so sure he was joking about that.” 

Furina shoots a cautious look at the lounging dog, but quickly recovers her usual bluster. “Well, I am very happy for the two of you and I will be sending you a gift basket in the coming days to celebrate this adorable addition to your family!” 

You falter at that, turning a wide eyed look on her. “Is that really necessary, Lady Furina? I don’t want to put you out or anything …” 

“Of course it is! Things like this deserve to be celebrated, don’t you think?” Reaching over, she softly tickles the pup’s exposed belly and he gives his leg a lazy kick in response, much to her giggling delight. “Ohh, I really can’t help but feel a bit envious though. I wonder how mad Neuvillette would be if I suddenly brought home a puppy …” 

Spotting your chance, you eagerly jump on it. “Speaking of, Lady Furina, I meant to ask you about that.” 

She jerks her attention up at you, cheeks coloring a charming shade of pink. “Wh — ask me about what, dear peach? S - surely you don’t suspect me of anything?” 

If you didn’t already, you certainly would have now. 

Grinning, you secretively bend your head close to hers. The puppy Wriothesley got for you grumbles faintly between the two of you, unaccustomed to not being the center of attention now, but you and the Hydro Archon are too busy whispering amongst yourselves to give in to his huffy demands right that moment. Soon, you and Furina are laughing together, squealing softly over something one or the other has said. It was nice, and it was comfortable. Warm in the mid afternoon sun sitting out on the cafe patio with her. 

And in the light, the ring Wriothesley put on your finger glitters blindingly for all to see. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The End

⭐

Crossposted: here

[gliphyartfan]

Hiiii, I’m back.

FINALLY! You guys have no idea how frustrating this guy was!

But I did it! May the next post happen much soon! Sohelpmegod

@yanderelinkeduniverse @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @screaming-until-god-hears-me @imprisioned-in-the-hole @crestfallenmermaidan @eternadreeblissa @lovanmari

Well no more talk! Only story! Enjoy!

———

——

—

-

"Was dad upset with you today?"

"..."

Colin…didn't really expect an answer, he already knew.

Had seen the frustrated look on his father's face.

And Link, he had simply stood there silently.

When he wasn't found in the village, Colin always found him by the Ordon spring.

Sometimes with Epona, mostly alone. Link just stared into the crystal clear waters, never once looking away.

Colin observes Link's quiet and solemn routine by the entrance of the spring. As he watches, Colin notices something unusual - Link has a jug that belongs to his father, one that Colin had been warned against sipping from. Colin continues to watch Link from a distance, observing the way he silently drinks from the jug and stares into the clear waters.

Just another oddity in the growing list connected to the rancher.

For many days, Link had been behaving utterly odd.

Looking at everyone strangely, almost panicked, as if he no longer understood how to interact with any of them.

Everyone had been whispering about it, yet no one could figure out what caused him to suddenly change so much out of the blue.

Yet despite his strangeness, he still helped Colin's mother Uli, still patrolled alongside Colin's father Rusl. Still dealt with the goats and cared for Epona.

But it was almost…like he was simply going through the actions.

His body was moving but his eyes were empty. Even when he gave everyone a smile, it was crooked, like he didn't even have the energy to smile properly.  

 Colin watches as Link takes another swig from the jug, his eyes never leaving the reflective surface of the water. The typically cheerful rancher seems distant, lost in thought. Colin has never seen Link like this before, and it honestly makes him uneasy.

Despite his anxiety, Colin decides to approach Link, wondering what could be going on in the older boy's mind.

 The sound of the water splashing against the shore and the distant bleating of the goats fills the air. Link doesn't seem to notice Colin's presence, instead continuing to gaze absently into the water. Colin approaches him from the side and looks at the jug of mead in Link's hands.

"He and mom were talking about you." He said quietly, sitting next to him, "I think he knows you've been taking his jug. They are worried." 

 Link turns to look at Colin, his eyes still clouded and distant. "I see," he says, his voice quiet and soft. He takes a long drink from the jug. He sets it down beside him, his gaze returning to the water.

Colin watches as Link takes a deep breath, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

 Colin, curious and worried about Link's distant behavior, gently asks, "Is there…something wrong, Link? You’ve been… different."

 Link stays silent for what feels like an eternity to Colin, his gaze fixed on the water. Just as Colin is about to give up on getting an answer, "I'm just...tired, Colin." Link finally speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper, "Tired of...so much, tired of…losing…so much."

 Link's words hang heavily in the air, the weight of his emotions palpable. Colin, still young and inexperienced, didn’t and couldn’t fully understand the depth of what Link is feeling. He looks up at Link, trying to process the words. "But you always win in the end, don't you?"

"This...isn't something I can win.." 

 Link's reply cuts through the air like a knife, his voice laced with a sadness that only those who have experienced great loss can truly understand. Colin looks up at Link, searching for some hint of the Link he has always known, the one who is brave, strong, and seeming to never falter when trouble was about.

 Colin watched the person he saw as an older brother stare into the waters of the spring. 

He looked so…lost…but it wasn't like he was searching for anything…

It was almost as if he had long given up when just some time ago he had been fine. 

"Link…did you…lose something important?” Colin didn't really know why he said that. But it made sense, in a way. 

He lost something, Colin didn't know what but it must have been so important that it made him like this. 

Made him behave so strangely. 

 Link continues to stare into the water, his mind lost in thought. He seems far away, consumed by his own emotions. Colin's question hangs in the air, unanswered. Link's shoulders sag, as if the weight of the world is resting on them.

Finally, he speaks, his voice quiet and defeated.

"I don't know..." 

 Link's response only deepens the mystery surrounding his current state of mind. The warmth of the setting sun does little to dispel the chill that Colin now feels in the air.

 "I don't…know if I lost anything…anyone…" Link continues unprompted, "I…think I did…I think I lost some…one..so..so precious…" 

  Colin's heart tightens as he hears the pain in Link's voice. He gazes at his older brother, trying to find the right words to say. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, at a loss.

 "But I don't know if I lost anyone…and that scares me…" Link took another drink from the jug, "I think..I'd be happier if I had lost someone.." 

"Why?" Colin couldn't help but ask. 

"…Because it means they had to have existed for me to lose…" 

 Link's words hang heavy in the air, as Colin looks at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. The kind Hyrulean boy that Colin had always known seemed to have been replaced by a hollow, lost shell of his former self.

 Colin takes a deep breath, searching for the right words to say. He wants to offer Link some encouragement, some glimmer of hope to hold onto. But as he opens his mouth, the gnawing silence seems to swallow his words before they can even leave his lips.

Because no matter how much he wanted to help, Colin was just a kid. A kid that didn't really understand what Link was talking about. 

It all confused Colin just as much as it worried him. 

 Colin sits next to Link in silence, his heart heavy with concern. He tries to offer an apology, hoping it might bring some comfort to his brother. "I'm sorry I can't help you, Link," Colin says softly, his voice laced with sadness.

 Link doesn’t look away from the waters. "It's alright, Colin," he says, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion. "I don't think anyone can help me with this." He takes another drink from the jug.

That just made Colin feel worse. 

Eventually Colin glances up at the sky and notices that it has started to darken. Reluctantly, he accepts that it's time for him to return home.

He takes one last look at Link, who still sits at the edge of the spring, lost in his thoughts, like the weight of the world was seemingly on his shoulders.

Colin sighed heavily, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach as he turned and began to make his way back to the village.

And Link...

...simply took another swing from the jug, the ache in his chest gnawing within him that he knew wouldn't be filled. 

He had lost everything that had become so dear to him... 

He didn’t know if he ever had it to begin with…

And all he wanted to do was simply forget, if it meant an end to the horrible pain.

——

——

It was familiar enough.

The Bublins charging into the spring. 

The force that sent him collapsing into the spring waters beneath him.

Uli’s tears and Rusl’s grave face.

The forceful tug into the Twilight.

The agony of his wolf form wrapping around him…

The cell and cuff that bound him in place…

That laughter…that mischievous grin…

At one time, he had longed to hear and see this all again. Longed for the mischievous smile and arrogant words spoken at him. so much so that it was as if he needed it like air. 

But…

…

…Funny how what he once wanted so badly was now the very last thing he ever wanted to see. 

He didn’t know how to feel about it…

—-

—-

Link gasps, collapsing to his knees, his sword stabbing into the ground in order to keep him upright. 

“Why do you continue to fail?”

Link shakes his head, grimacing. 

“I…I don’t…mean to…I-“ 

“You must confront that which you seek to deny, else it damns you to further loss…now..” The point of a blade was aimed at the hero. 

“Again.” 

“…Yes sir…” 

—-

—-

“You have a renewed burden." 

He chose not to reply to the fortune teller. 

At the urging of Midna, who's curiosity over talk of someone who could see into the future had garnered her interest, he had gone to visit Madame Fanadi. 

Personally he'd have simply gone to the next location needing his attention. 

He didn't want to be here, he already knew what he needed to do. 

"You are lost, blindingly wandering through a world of memories long since past." She continued, "Eyes open, but unseeing as you stumble along your unpaved path." 

 Madame Fanadi's words hang heavy in the air, her piercing gaze never leaving the Hero of Twilight. 

"Bound by chains forged from your own guilt and regret." She says, her voice taking on a somber tone.

Link's eyes are focusing on a point beyond Madame Fanadi. He can feel Midna's gaze on him from within his shadow, but he doesn't acknowledge it. 

"Your burden wishes to trap you," she continues, "It would consume you whole, if you let it."

"…And why shouldn't I let it?" The words left his lips before he registered that he even said it. 

 Madame Fanadi's gaze does not falter, as if she had expected this reaction. "There is hope, even in your darkest memories," she says gently. "You have a chance to break free from your burden and find redemption."

He scoffs. "Redemption?"

He doesn't deserve it. None of them did. 

Damned to relive these days. Damned to question whether he was truly reliving them or simply following a pattern that was laid before him. Worse still to realize that it was possibly all a figment of his mind. 

(If they all truly exist... he hopes they are suffering like he was…)

If his Goddess truly existed or not... 

He hoped she never forgave them. 

None of them were worthy of it.

Twilight's hands curl into fists in his lap, knuckles turning white.

He wasn’t worthy of it.

 "You wish to be consumed by the pain, seeing no point in continuing on," she says. "It's eating away at you, consuming you from the inside. Most curious for a young man like yourself to hold such regret."

Twilight's eyes, still fixed on a point beyond the fortune teller, narrow.

Madame Fanadi continues to watch him, calm, patient. As if for her, the passing of time meant nothing. "You are burdened by memories, young hero," she says softly. "Memories that haunt you, memories that bring you pain. Or rather, it is someone within those memories." 

Twilight tensed, his fists squeezing tighter. 

"You want to look away, to run from these thoughts, but you know that you can't escape them." 

"That's enough..." He tells her, his voice low. 

"Tell me young man, do you believe if you ignore these regrets, that somehow you'll be free of the consequences you suffer?" 

"I won’t hear anymore..." 

"Those who fought beside you, the trust you hold for them in your heart, it is strong and bright despite the darkness swirling within." Madame Fanadi continued, "If they stood before you, would they not be suffering such agony as well?" 

She tapped her chin, an almost sorrowful smile on her face. 

"After all, are you not all guilty of the same regret?"

"Stop it!" Twilight was looking directly into the woman's eyes, his own shining with anger and warning. 

 Madame Fanadi does not flinch under the provoked man's gaze, but rather, she holds it, her smile never wavering. "You are trying to hide away from the truth you created, young hero," she says. "But you can only hide so long before that truth finds you."

"I'm leaving." He stands, uncaring that his seat is knocked over. 

 Madame Fanadi's smile doesn't falter as he stood up, her eyes following him. "Remember, young hero, the truth has a way of finding us all." She says this softly, almost like a whisper. The room feels suddenly colder, it would excuse the trembling of his shoulders, and the candles flicker as if in response to her words.

He storms towards the exit, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the room.

—

—-

He coughs, a dribble of spit escaping the corner of his mouth as he clutches his stomach. 

“Had this been a true battle, you would have been cut down several strikes ago.” 

“I-I’m so-“ a kick to his side sends him sprawling onto the ground once more.

“Don’t apologize. Improve.” Once more, the blade is pointed at him. 

“Again.” 

Link clenches his teeth, trembling with exertion as he reaches for his sword. 

--

--

"What the hell was that Link?" 

As he storms out of Fanadi's Palace, he hears Midna's voice calling out to him. She sounds concerned and a little frustrated, and Twilight knows that she wants him to explain what just happened.

He stays silent and continues to walk away from the building. 

 Midna, not used to being ignored, pesters him as he makes his way through and out the city. 

Link stops in his tracks when they are a good distance away, looking down at Midna, who had appeared in front of him, with a mixture of annoyance and detachment.

"I didn't like what she was saying," he says, his gaze flickering away from Midna's. 

Midna crosses her arms, her expression skeptical.

 "Are you still worried over those kids?" She asks, sighing as if she figured out his problem already. 

"They are safe in that village, that shaman seems to have a good head on his shoulders." She said. 

 Link's eyes narrow at Midna, shaking his head. 

He wasn't going to bother correcting her assumptions.

What he suffers through happened long after she was gone. 

...in his memories anyway.

"..I won't let things get in the way of what we're doing." He says quietly, looking away from her. 

Midna frowned, eyeing him for a moment before returning to his shadow without another word. 

Though he was not stupid to think that was the end of this conversation. 

 The wind rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of chirping birds. The sky is a clear blue, with only a few wispy clouds visible. It's a peaceful scene, but Link's mind is anything but. 

 He closed his eyes, hoping the ambiance of the area would pull him into its peaceful embrace. 

It was a fruitless effort of course, but it was better than suffering the ache in his chest. 

—-

—-

“Again.” 

“I’m TRYING!” He growls, grunting as he tiredly raises his blade to block the strike aimed toward him.

“Success must come after attempting, yet you seem to linger at the ‘attempting’ stage of learning.” A twist of a wrist and the rancher’s sword is knocked from his hand and clatters to the ground several feet away from him. 

“Again.” 

Link can only bite back the snarl that tried to escape him, his hands in tight fists as he steps towards his fallen blade.

 --

 --

Link kept a smile on his face when he arrived in Kakariko Village, keeping the troubles that plagued him from seeping through as Talo greeted him excitedly.

Beth was still with Colin and Malo had his store. 

Humoring Talo's rambling as he walked though the village, he soon waved him off when he approached the inn.

Entering the room,  Link can see that Colin is resting peacefully. Beth is sitting in a chair next to him, her head resting on the armrest as she dozes off. 

The warmth and quietness of the room wrap around the Hero. Beth doesn't stir from her sleep, and Colin looks peaceful, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. The silence almost tricks him into relaxing into it's embrace, but his thoughts keep invading, making it difficult to truly relax. He takes a seat next to Beth, watching Colin closely.

Truthfully he had no interest in being here. 

But he had no interest in speaking to Midna either. 

It was either here or back in town, and the rancher wanted to be as far away from that fortune teller as possible. 

Link carefully lays a spare blanket over Beth, tucking it around her shoulders to keep her warm. He then turns his attention back to Colin, not really looking at him, merely giving his eyes a point to focus on. 

The silence in the inn is only broken by the soft snoring of Beth and the rhythmic breathing of Colin. Link's constant attempts to find solace in the peaceful atmosphere are in vain, as his thoughts keep drifting back to Midna and the unspoken tension between them. 

He can feel her eyes on him, even from within his shadow, and he knows she's waiting for him to address the elephant in the room.

This version of her may not have known him as well as previously, but she had a keen eye when she so chose.  

But he refused to speak to her about it. 

He didn't even want to think about any of it. 

 As Link sits in the quiet inn, it's as if he's viewing the world through a foggy glass, unable to truly connect with it.

He...didn't want to be here. 

He takes a slow deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. 

He doesn't want to do any of this again. (Didn’t want to contemplate if he was doing it all over again.)

All he wants is to wake up back at camp, to hear Wild (his mentee, his cub) humming as he finishes breakfast. To hear the others (pack, trusted) slowly awaken at the smell of fresh food. 

To hear Her voice, rough with sleep, greet them good morning, 

To be able to reach out and cup her cheek, to feel the joy as She sleepily nuzzles against it, trusting that he would never harm her. Seeing Her almost fall back to sleep before he softly calls Her name to keep her awake. 

 Link's thoughts are consumed by longing for a past that seemed to never truly have happened, for the companionship he once considered so important. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine himself back at camp with his friends.  He can almost hear everyone's chatter as they prepare for the day, the smell of Wild's cooking.

He can almost feel the warmth of the morning sun on his face, hear the sound of the birds chirping in the trees. He remembers the way Her sleepy laughter would fill the air as she conversed with the others. He remembers the feeling of camaraderie, of belonging to something bigger than himself.

He remembers his pack and he misses them all so very much. 

 His sword brothers...he longed to stand before them once again. 

To be able to walk up to them...reach out his arms...

( And strangle the utter life out of each one of them for daring to damn him to this horrible curs- ) 

He tenses when he hears Beth mumble something in her sleep, relaxing when she didn't saying anything else. 

He focused on some deep slow breath. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears. 

He wants to lash out in some way, but he knows he can't let himself get carried away by his anger. He takes a few more deep breaths, trying to clear his mind. 

As he opens his eyes, he notices Beth stirring in her sleep again. He watches her for a moment, listening to her soft breathing. He can't help but feel a twinge of envy towards her.

Link's gaze remains fixed on Beth, studying her peaceful expression as she sleeps. He can't help but think about how carefree and untroubled she looks, free from the burdens and responsibilities that weigh on his own shoulders. The envy he feels turns into a pang of sadness, and his heart feels heavy in his chest.

'Was it so wrong to want to stand by her side?' He mouthed silently to himself. 

He doesn't want what he remembers to be a dream. He didn't want to think that the love he gained for such an incredible person to have been all for nothing. 

He just wants to go back to his pack, back to Her. 

(Even if his pack would damn him to suffer this cruelt-) 

He ran both his hands through hair, letting one drop while the other kept a grip on his head. 

He didn't want to do any of this! He didn't want to do this! Again or not! He simply wanted this journey far away from his present. To become a long done memory already.

Was he cursed to relive this path over and over? 

Would a chance at life beyond the hero title be a failed dream? 

He just wanted someone to tell him... 

'..Is there an ending to all this?' He whispered to himself, it felt like it echoed in the silence of the room. 

—

—

"...just kill me..." 

Link's voice is barely above a whisper, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The Shade's sword remains at his neck, the weight of it a reminder of his mortality. The ghostly swordsman studies Link.

"Please…I rather die believing in the illusion my mind showed me, than live long enough to find it was all a lie."

The Shade's gaze lingers on Link for a moment longer, then he slowly withdraws his sword, sheathing it with a soft hiss. "I will not grant you such a release," he says into the silence. 

"The strength of your heart…has disappointed me."

Link stays silent, not meeting the Shade's gaze yet feeling the weight of it.

He feels empty…

He feels defeated.

—

—

When Midna finally manages to confront him, it's as sudden and as ferocious as he always expected her to be.

Link could feel the air escape his lungs as the Twili's versatile orange hair slammed him against the dungeon floor. 

"You're not avoiding this any longer you goat-wrangling mutt!" She hissed, Twili magic crackling around her. "You better tell me what's been going on with you or I'll make you." 

Midna's eyes glow with a fierce determination as she pins Link against the floor. Her hair holding him in place. Link struggles to breathe, caught off guard by Midna's sudden attack. He can feel the heat of her anger and the intensity of her gaze.

"I've tried to give you space," Midna said, hands clenched.

"But you've been avoiding even talking to me, and I won't stand for it any longer. You will tell me what's been going on with you, or I will force it out of you."

The air is thick with tension as Link struggles to break free from Midna's grasp. 

"One hell of a time to corner me like this." He grunts, not bothering to struggle. He knew no amount of struggling to free him from her grasp. 

"I thought you wanted me to keep moving?" He asks, trying to buy some time to gather his thoughts. Midna's sudden aggression, had taken him by surprise, and he's still reeling from his own inner turmoil.

Midna's grip on Link tightens, and her eyes narrow. "I did," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "But you've been doing a rather good job keeping me from asking you anything, and I can't stand it any longer."

"Well maybe just keep out of my personal business and you'll spare yourself the frustration." He glares at her, but Midna's gaze doesn't waver. Instead, her eyes seem to bore into him, searching for the truth. Link feels a shiver run down his spine as he realizes that she won't let go. 

"What is wrong with you?" He growls at her, "I have done everything you wanted since you freed me from that cell. Is asking for some privacy in regards to my own life that difficult for you to accept?" 

"Not when it ends with you lashing out!" She snaps back, her grip on him tightening even more. Link winces as she presses down on him for a moment. 

"You nearly attacked that one drunk guy in castle town!" 

"He wouldn't leave me alone." Was all he said. 

"All he said was That he'd feel sorry for whatever girl decides to fall for a, oh what was it he said? 'Grumpy country bumpkin.'? Something about how that girl would just have her heart broken." 

"Wouldn't be the first time I've been called that." He answered, though the people who called him that were trusted friends. 

"Oh? So you decided to nearly yank his arm from his shoulder socket because he just wouldn't stop talking?" 

He didn't care if that stupid drunk rambled on like he had. 

But to say whoever gave their heart to him would suffer heartbreak... 

(Was he that terrible of choice for a life partner? A husband? A mate? Is that why he hurt-) 

"Nothing he said was worth focusing on." 

"And those knights! You snarled at them when they made a stupid joke! SNARLED!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up when she saw his stubborn expression. "You looked like the very wolf you can change into. They ran without a second go waste!”

"The knights of Castle town are worthless and cowardly." He growled, a hand coming up to grab part of her hair. "They don’t dare approach me if I was in my beast form, it genuinely makes me wonder how they’d handle an actual war?"

Midna's eyes narrowed even further. "You can't go around attacking people. You're supposed to be a hero aren't you? Not some brute."

"Oh?" He asks, a faux look of curiosity on his face. "Would me being a brute go against your goals?" 

"Now you're going after me?" She scoffs, crossing her arms and legs as she stares down at him. 

"You were always strange since we met, but ever since you spoke to that fortune teller, you've been completely out of line."

"Simply because you're making assumptions about my situation-"

"Because you never talk to me!" 

"Well maybe it's because I don't WANT to talk to you! Have you ever thought of THAT?" He spat at her, struggling for the first time since being pinned to the floor. 

"You-" 

"I've done EVERYTHING you wanted me to do! EVERYTHING. I have not made a SINGLE complaint since you saved me from the cell! Not one! I think I have been a rather good 'servant' don't you think?"

He clenched his hands into tight fists.

"But it seems no matter what I do. I'm NEVER good enough for you. For ANYONE." He shakes his head, his face twisting in pain. 

"Was what I've done so bad that I have to be cursed like this? To be forced to live through it all over again? To question what’s true or fabricated in my mind?!?”

"Link-" 

"I didn't mean to!" He shouts, his voice cracking. 

"I-I...I just.." Wanted to be by Her side…

That's all he wanted. He wanted to be with Her. Hold Her. Kiss Her. 

To be granted the honor of being called Her partner, perhaps even Her everything.

Wanted to never let her out of his sight again. To take her somewhere far away and start a life with just the two of them. 

"What do I have to do to fix this?" He whispers, his head bowed. 

'Link, focus-"

"WHO DO I HAVE TO KILL IN ORDER TO WAKE UO FROM THIS DAMNED NIGHTMARE!!" He roars at her. Midna actually rears back at the unhinged look overtaking his face.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Link's words hang heavy in the air, and Midna watches as he struggles against her grip, his eyes blazing with...something..

"Let go of me," He growls, his voice barely above a whisper. "I mean it Midna. Let. Go."

Midna stays silent, hesitation flickering in her eye. 

Something was wrong. This was not how she expected this to go.

She watches as he struggles against her grip, his eyes blazing with an intensity that makes her want to keep him pinned down until whatever was happening was over.

"Link, focus," Midna tries to interject, but he talks over her.

"Let go of me..." 

"Link, I-" she starts, but he cuts her off. 

"I said let go," he repeats. 

"Damnit, you’re not ok!" She says, refusing to let him go. 

She didn't know WHAT he would do if she did. 

"Let go of me Midna..." 

"What'll happen if I do?" 

"Let me GO.." He brings his head up and lets the back of it hit the floor beneath him. 

Midna watches as Link's head hits the floor, wincing at the sound of impact. 

“Heheh…” He begins to laugh, it was not pleasant to hear, “Do I have to wake myself up? Is that how I'll return? Am I too stubborn to wake up?” 

That look in his eyes. He's not in his right mind. She tightens her hold on him.

"Link. You're not thinking straight. You need to calm down." She says firmly, trying to reason with him. 

He brings his head up, only to hit it against the floor again, harder.

“I need to wake up…they’re waiting for me…” 

The sound of Link's head hitting the floor echoes through the wide space, and Midna can't help but feel a sense of alarm. She tightens her grip on him, trying to keep him still and prevent him from hurting himself any further.

"Link, stop it!" She commands, her voice firm and authoritative.

"I need to wake up..." His voice sounds fragile, trembling as he brings his head up as best as he could and to slam it back down against the floor. “She’s unprotected…we have to protect Her…” 

(He couldn’t lose her again. He simply couldn’t.)

Midna watches in horror as Link continues to bang his head against the floor, each impact causing the sound of his head hitting the hard surface to almost echo in the open space. The scent of blood making it's appearance. 

"I need to wake up.." he repeats, desperate, as if he were on the verge of tears.

His mind overwhelmed by everything he'd be desperately pushing away since he awoke back in Ordon. 

He couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to return to his pack. He wanted to return to (y/n). 

He wanted this all to be a horrible dream. 

Midna, completely out of her depth, lifts Link away from the floor, the back of his head leaving a splatter of blood on the rough surface.

She slams him back down, causing the air to escape his lungs.

"I'm sorry Link," she says, not giving him a chance to register what's happening as she releases him and turns her hair into a fist. "But you need to calm down!" 

Link has just a moment to register what she said as her fist collides with the side of his face. 

…

….

Midna breathes a sigh of relief as Link's body goes slack, her makeshift fist leaving a rather large red mark on his cheek.

..What the hell…

 She knows that she had to do something to stop him from hurting himself, but that didn't help the twinge of guilt after hitting him. She floats down close to him, brushing his bangs out of his eyes after a few moments, checking to make sure that he's still breathing.

The dungeon is dimly lit, with faint light from outside barely illuminating the cold, stone walls. The air is thick with dust and the smell of dampness, and the noticeable sound was the distant drip of water. Link's unconscious form lies sprawled on the cold, wet, hard ground, his breathing slow and steady. Midna hovers over him, her expression a mix of concern and guilt.

"..What made you go crazy like this?" She mutters, unsure what to do. 

What a situation she landed herself in. 

…

Stuck in a damp dungeon with an unconscious frenzied hero. 

...

(Maybe she should have chosen a better spot to talk to him.) 

…

…

“This sucks..” 

—

—

"Again.” 

"What do you WANT?" Link shouts at him, his chest heaving from the exertion.

A single red glowing eye looks at him. "Your resolve has weakened to an absurd degree," he says. "You limit yourself to the boundaries that others have placed on you."

He stares up at him, panting and covered in sweat. " I have done no such thing." He protested. "I am doing everything I can."

The Shade shakes his head. "You are holding yourself back."

"No I'm not!" 

"Still such a child. Denying a truth that is always dogging your footsteps." 

"You aren't even HERE!" He screams, having finally reached his limit with the shade.

The shade said nothing. 

"This is all some fucked up dream! The real you doesn’t even recognize me!! You think I wouldn’t figure this out? That I wouldn’t be able to see through this whole thing?!? What's the point, what’s the fucking purpose of my mind placing the illusion of you before me?!? To mock me?? To constantly remind me of something that possibly didn’t happen?" 

"I may be an illusion...but your guilt isn't." 

"This is ridiculous," He sits up, his teeth bared at the spirit. "I’ve denied nothing!" 

"You are troubled. It clouds your heart." 

"Sorry to disappoint you, but you aren't the first to point that out." 

The Hero's Shade stood a few feet from him, sword held away as he watched Link. 

The Shade's gaze is intense, scrutinizing Link as he rises to a sitting position. The air around him feels heavy, almost suffocating, as if the weight of his troubles is a physical entity. Link can't help but feel a little vulnerable under the Shade's gaze, the numbness that has become all too familiar to him serving as a constant reminder of his burden.

"I won't let it get in the way of learning what you teach me." The rancher replies in a monotone manner. 

“Each time you appear before me, your resolve weakens further." The Shade says, his voice deeper, rougher than the rancher remembered. 

Then again, he spent a considerable amount of time with his more...'livelier’ self...so the young hero supposed things would have changed during the decades after. 

(Though...the Shade should have recognized him...shouldn't he? Yet he didn’t… Did that mean that everything truly was-) 

Link shook away those thoughts.

"Though that does not distract me from your current failure to focus." He steps closer to Link, slowly walking around him. 

"You’re weaker than you should be, yet still so disappointing. I’m surprised you have not been struck down by a Bublin yet due to your carelessness." Link grit his teeth, that was not a question. 

"I am...as strong as you need me to be.." 

"As I need you to be? So…you would allow another to determine your overall strength? You would cease to grow simply because another held your leash and brought you to heel?" 

Link glared up at him, but of course, the Shade was entirely unfazed.

The Hero's Shade continues to circle around Link, his intense gaze never leaving the young hero. The weight of his gaze is almost unbearable, and Link can feel himself reflexively shrinking under the pressure.

When he stands in front of Link once again, he points his sword at him. 

"Raise your sword." Was all he said to him.

The Shade's sword gleams in the light of this realm. Link tightens his grip on his own weapon, meeting his gaze. He lifts his sword as he stands, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. 

The Shade begins to circle him once more, this time Link matching his movements. 

"Now, attack." He commands. The young hero takes a deep breath and lunges forward, sword swinging through the air.

The Hero's Shade watches intently as Link attacks, it takes not even a few moves before Link is tossed to the ground.

 "Again," he says, his voice stern. Link obliges, rising up and lunging and swinging his sword once more. 

This time, the Shade raises his own weapon to block, the clash of metal on metal echoing in the air. "Again," he repeats as Link is once more knocked down.

Once more he rises, only to be defeated again. The Shade remains unmoved.

Link's movements become more sloppy with each loss.  Frustration taking over more and more, but the Shade remains relentless, silently commanding him to raise his sword each time. 

Link loathes the sound of his sword constantly clattering to the ground. An indication of his constant failure. 

An indication that he was weak. 

…weak…

…

No…

Nononono..

He couldn't afford to be weak. 

No. Never. 

Not when being weak means losing what matters. 

Not when it means he could lose- he couldn't lose everything else! 

He already lost his pack! Every one of them! He can't- 

He reacted before he really registered the noise, rearing his head back in surprise, dodging the sword swipe. 

"What are you doing?!?”

"You are rejecting the truth and it’s hindering you." The Shade says, his voice echoing ominously. "I wonder, how many will you abandon…as you run away?"

 "I have never abandoned anyone!" He exclaims as he dodges swipe after swipe. 

"Foolish enough to release your sword in front of an opponent. Foolish enough to deny the truths that dig themselves into your very being. Foolish enough to be led on by others like some obedient beast." 

 "What point is there to gain strength when I've lost everything already?!?"

The Hero's Shade does not pause his attacks, but does look at Link with a contemplative expression. "Strength is not just for protecting others," he says. "It is also for protecting yourself. So that you do not continue to lose what matters to you."

 "But I've already lost everything that I wanted to protect!" Link dives under a swing and rolls behind the Spirit, reaching out to grab his sword. 

But before he could get close, he stills, the cold touch of the Shade's sword pressed against his neck. 

"And it is your fault.” 

The declaration was firm, weighted, Link could feel the sharp chill of the blade against his skin. 

The Shade's voice is low and accusatory.

He should argued his point, said something to get his predecessor to stop. 

But the young hero just couldn't take it anymore. 

"It wasn't my fault!!" Link screams, his voice echoing through the training grounds. Tears well up in his eyes as he pushes the blade away with his hand, uncaring of the sharp pain it brought, his body trembling with emotion.

"I didn't mean for any of it to happen!" he repeats, his voice desperate, almost pleading. "I just wanted to keep her safe! I just wanted her to stay with us!" With me.

"You would lay the fault of your sins on your desire to protect? When you would endanger the one you sought to protect?" 

"None of us would ever hurt her." He hisses at spirit, "Not even death would be enough of a punishment suffered for such a crime." 

How many had he willingly killed for daring to threaten her safety? 

Those disgusting creatures that took the forms of man. Daring to gaze upon her beauty and attempt to stake a claim.

A claim. As if she were an item to be bought. 

Not even as he made them choke on their blood, as he wrapped his hands around their bruised necks, did the rage boiling through his veins calm. 

 "You believe that you have done what was necessary to protect her," he says, his voice softer now. "But have you considered the cost? " 

Link's eyes flash with anger and defiance. "Yes," he growls. "A thousand times, yes."

The lives he's taken, the pain he caused upon those unworthy fools- it was all worth it to keep her safe.

The Shade's gaze pierces through Link, as if trying to read his very soul. "You believe that the ends justify the means," he says, his voice filled with a strange tone of somber wisdom. "But have you considered that the means themselves may taint the end?"

Link's heart races, but he stands his ground. "I have done what I had to do," he insists. "I would do it again if it meant keeping her safe."

Keep her away from those who would harm. 

Keep her nice and safe. With them. With him. 

"Even if it meant being the cause of Her tears?" 

"...I.."

Link's mind reels as the Hero's Shade challenges him with his question. The thought of (y/n)'s tears, caused by his own hand, is almost too much to bear.

"I-I never…would never want to hurt her," he stammers, his voice filled with trembling in growing panic and despair.

The Hero's Shade studies Link intently, seeing the pain and fear in the young hero's eyes. "You say you would never wish to harm her," he says . "But sometimes, actions have consequences that cannot be foreseen.”

Link's heart races. 

"You, and those who stood beside you. You all are the reason she was lost." 

Link's shaking his head, The Shade's words cut deep, and Link struggles to maintain his composure. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "I don't believe that," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I won't believe that."

"Still you deny the truth.." The Hero's Shade continues, shaking his head, "You grew arrogant, drunk on the delusion that you knew what was best for her. Convinced your strength was enough to fight back the world. But in doing so, you overlooked the consequences of your actions. You caused her pain, and ultimately, you lost her."

Link's heart feels heavy, each word the Shade speaks weighing down on him.

The Hero's Shade's words hang heavy in the air, and Link can't help but feel the weight of their truth. He thinks back to the moments leading up to (y/n)'s disappearance, trying to pinpoint the exact moment where he may have gone wrong. 

His mind races as he replayed the memories, his heart aching with every image of (y/n)'s strained smiles. The exhaustion that settled around her. 

Had he truly been so blind..?

"No..." he whispers, "No..I didn't...I didn't mean to.."

"It is not my place to judge you, that duty goes to the one you harmed," he says, "I only aim to teach. To help you understand the weight of your actions. Perhaps that is the reason that your mind created my image before you.”

Link looks up, meeting the Shade's gaze. He wants to argue, to defend himself, but he can't bring himself to speak.

Link feels a lump form in his throat. He looks away, unable to meet the Shade's penetrating gaze any longer. The Shade's tone had been calm and measured, devoid of any emotion, yet his words are like a dagger to Link's heart.

 "The arrogance and narrow-mindedness of you and yours had blinded you all to the true needs and desires of (y/n). It was not your place to dictate her choices, but to support her regardless of what path she follows."

Link says nothing, tears falling down his cheeks.

“No matter how far you run, you could never escape the truth. Because you refuse to forget.” 

His tears fall to the ground, his eyes clenched shut. 

"...Cub.." He tensed, hearing the nickname only his mentor called him. 

Link slowly looked up, tears still falling. His breath caught in his throat as he looked into a familiar face. 

Once decayed and ghostly, his mentor now stood before him in all his familiar glory. His face immediately brings a wave of memories crashing down on him. Of brotherhood. 

Of trust. 

"...T..ime..?" The Hero of Time stared down at him, looking as alive as in his memories. 

"Rise and grow strong Cub." He said, an aura of calm surrounding him, holding out Twilight's sword. “Rebuild your shattered resolve.”

"Become a Sword worthy of serving our Goddess..." 

Twilight reaches out, taking his sword from his outstretched hand.

As he wraps his trembling hand around the hilt, as he did, he felt a surge of energy pulsing through him.

The last thing he saw before his vision became white, was his mentor watching him calmly.

--

--

.

.

.

The side of his face hurt as his senses returned to him. 

Opening his eyes, he immediately shuts them with a hiss from the brightness hitting them. 

"Hmph, finally awake are we?" 

 As he slowly opens his eyes again, shielding them from the light, he sees Midna, her impish face looking at him with a mix of masked concern, annoyance, and weariness.

"Took you long enough," she huffs, "Here I thought I was gonna have to finish my business all on my lonesome before you chose to wake up."

He finds himself lying on his back, the ground beneath him feeling hard and unfamiliar. His head throbs with a dull pain, and he instinctively reaches up to touch the side of his face, wincing at the tenderness. 

 As he touches his face, his fingers probe a tender area around his temple. It feels swollen and bruised. He sits up slowly, trying to ignore the spinning sensation that threatens to overwhelm him. Midna's face comes into focus as he blinks against the, to him, harsh light.

"What happened?" He ask once his head settled a bit. His voice hoarse.

Midna's impish features twist into a bitter smirk.

 "What happened?” Midna repeats his question, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, let's see. You lost conscious, curtesy of me thank you, after your little breakdown earlier." She pauses, letting her words sink in. "I had to drag your sorry butt all the way to this pretty spot." 

He look around, trying to get his bearings. 

 The torchlight flickers off the stone walls, creating an eerie atmosphere. As Link take in his surroundings, Midna's voice breaks the silence.

"Seriously, what was that back there?" Midna asks. "You scared the crap out of me, you know?"

Link turns to face Midna, his expression conflicted. "I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice still hoarse. "I…don't know what came over me." 

"I'll say, you went crazy!" 

 Midna crosses her arms, her smirk faltering slightly as she studies Link. "You really don't remember?" she asks, her tone softer but no less annoyed now. "You were ranting and raving about some girl and waking up... it was so sudden."

Link furrows his brow, trying to recall what happened before he lost consciousness, all he remembred was this sense of everything becoming...too much. 

 Link sighs, rubbing his forehead.

To think he'd breakdown like that. 

He really had been running from it all. 

 "You were mumbling something about 'her' not being real, and 'waking up'." She crossed her arms, "Do those words mean anything to you?"

He tenses, Midna could tell he was trying to come up with something to say. 

“Safe to say, they mean something to you.” She huffs.

 Link stays silent for a few moments, deep in thought. The dim light of the torches illuminates his face, highlighting the conflict and anxiety etched into his features. He then shakes his head, letting out a sigh. 

"...I made a mistake," he admits slowly, his voice still hoarse. "It...hurt someone very precious to me." 

"Oh?" Midna floated closer to him, "What'd you do so bad that it made you like THAT?" 

Link opened his mouth but closed it a moment after, looking away. 

 The room grows quiet once more, save for the crackling of the torches. Link's eyes lower to the ground, reflecting the guilt and regret he feels. Midna, sensing his discomfort, waits patiently for him to continue. After a few moments, Link finally speaks up, still looking away.

"I hurt her," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "We all did..." 

"..'We'?" 

He shakes his head, his mouth in a firm line. 

 Midna's eyes narrow, trying to make sense of Link's words. She cocks her head to the side, studying him carefully. "Alright, so you hurt someone you care about. But who's 'we'?"

Link's grip tightens around his phantom sword, his jaw setting. He doesn't look at Midna, instead focusing on a distant point on the floor. "It's not important right now."

 Link's response only serves to pique Midna's curiosity further. She can tell that he's holding something back, but she doesn't want to push him too hard and risk shutting him down entirely. 

Or worse, go crazy again. 

Instead, she decides to change tactics.

"Fine, keep your secrets," she says with a shrug. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“. . .So did you mean to do it?” 

“…H-Huh?” Midna tsk’d. 

“Did you. mean to. hurt your friend?” Link took a moment to register what she asked. 

“No…no I would never…” he whispered, the Twili could see his already pale skin turn a few shades whiter. 

“Well that response at least means you got part 1 down of mending things right.” She rolled her eyes at his look. 

“Let me tell you something, Link. You're not the only one who's made mistakes."

 Midna's words hang heavy in the air, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room. Link continues to gaze at the floor, lost in thought. The torchlight flickers across his face, casting deep shadows that seem to reflect the turmoil in his heart.

"I know," he says softly, his voice filled with pain. "But this was different. For me. For us all. The results-She-we…we didn't..."

 Midna sighs,  she can tell that he's not ready to open up about it. After another few moments of silence, Midna breaks the tension again.

"Alright, I get it. You don't want to talk about it right now." She straightened up and put her hand on her hip as she floats closer to him. "But you clearly don't have the means or time to even try to fix whatever it is that's happening with you." 

He looked at her with tired eyes, and she frowned. 

"If it were me, who hurt someone I cared about..." she tapped her chin, "and I had no choice BUT to hold off on making amends...I'd at least take the time and accept that I did something wrong." 

Link sent her a questioning looking and she huffed at him.

"Well how many times have you heard someone apologize but never bothered to understand what they did wrong? Apologizing is great but it means squat if you didn't bother to figure out WHY you're in the dog house...pun intended." 

Midna's words seem to strike a chord with Link, who looks up at her with a slightly more alert expression. She can see the gears turning in his head as he considers her words. After a few moments, he nods slowly, remaining silent as he absorbs what she said. 

"Great, you finally realize a fact about yourself, “ she raises her hands up and shakes them in a Ta-da motion, “Congratulations, you’re a flawed creature.”

He blinks slowly at her, making her sigh again.

“So, if you're not gonna have a meltdown any time soon, let's get this place over with." She says, clapping her hands once and floating over to his sword and shield. 

He remained seated, eyes following her before shortly getting up. 

The rest of the dungeon was rather quiet compared to what he remembered, words only spoken when absolutely necessary. 

. . . He didn't know how to feel about it. 

—

—

The shade did not appear in his dreams anymore. 

A part of him felt relieved…to no longer be stared down by a visage of his mentor… 

Another part of him mourned the only other person who knew everything he hid. 

Even if that person was simply a construct that his mind created…

…(perhaps it was for the best…) 

—

—

He knew he should have at least announce his departure, instead of leaving a vague note on the entrance to his home. 

Link knew he would worry Colin and his family. Knew Rusl would ask around for him, only for frustration to build when no one would know where Link was. 

But he simply couldn’t take it anymore 

Everything was too much and too little. 

There was no journey to distract him anymore, no danger for him to defeat. 

No princess of Twilight to yank his attention away from his thoughts from the moment she spoke. 

What did it say about who he had become? That staring down at the corpse of Ganon, the very person who caused so much damage to the land, made Link feel nothing but disappointment. 

Midna was gone now. He hadn’t realized how much he had depended on her presence to keep him grounded. 

The land was safe once more. The people of Ordon were reunited once again. 

Returning to Ordon, returning to that small world that once had been so big to him. 

All he wanted to do was escape it. 

It had all become too much. All so very much. 

Everyone knew it. No one said anything but the rancher could tell. Could see their gazes, hated it no matter how well-meaning they were. 

Their voices, once so soothing, irked him to the point that he wanted to tear off his own ears just for total silence. 

If not his ears, then their very tongues. 

He probably would have been horrified by his thoughts, had he been who he once was. 

Even now it caused him pain. He didn’t want to look at them and feel anger. 

It pained him. (It scared him.)

It was only when he numbly contemplated harm towards the villagers that he knew he had to leave. 

He had to get out as quickly as he possibly could.  Least he gives in to those overwhelming thoughts. 

(And a part of him feared their reaction, should he breakdown in front of them just as he had done in front of Midna.) 

So he left. Quietly during the early hours, long before the sun had even begin to rise. 

A quick glance through his supplies and a gentle pat to sooth Epona and he was off. 

He knows he’ll make everyone worry. A dull sense of guilt pulsing in his chest. But it was pushed down by the sense of ‘far too much’ within him. 

All he could do was pray that wherever the path led him next, it would bring some sort of relief. 

Perhaps he would return home with a stronger resolve. Perhaps he could find peace. 

Perhaps…he could return with a smile that wasn’t on the verge of tearing itself apart…

. . .

. .

.

(…He could only really hope.)

[voidboymads]

Greetings! For the Steter prompts, how about Stiles noticing Peter being shy about something (like a hobby, or showing sincere emotion, or anything in between you feel like writing)

Peter loved cooking. Stiles loved watching Peter cook.

At first, he didn’t know that Peter could cook - or even cook so well. He happened to stumble upon a delicious meal one night when the pack raided Derek’s loft after some recon around town some supernatural sightings. Peter was there, elbows deep in the kitchen on the second-floor landing, crafting something that made the entire loft smell like heaven. Everyone spread out to their usual places in the living room on the well-worn couches and cushions that Derek had purchased a year prior, but Stiles gravitated to the spiral stairs.

“I don’t require an audience,” Peter drawled, carrying a pot toward the sink. Noodles slipped out into the strainer as steam rose in his face.

Stiles, rolling his eyes, grabbed a seat at the small table in the corner. The rest of the pack never really did much in the kitchen and besides Derek using it for his personal meals, he’d gone with a more open space vibe. “I’m just here to make sure you’re not poisoning the food.” In truth, he was more fascinated by the cook than by the food. Not that he wasn’t looking forward to whichever pasta concoction Peter was making, but still, it was an oddity to marvel at.

He still hadn’t come to terms completely with his unspoken feelings toward Peter at this point.

“Who said anything about feeding all of you mutts?” Peter turned to set another pot to simmer as it began to bubble at the top. Stiles could smell the spices coming from it and his stomach grumbled in pleading reply. It was clear that Peter was making enough to feed an entire army but Stiles wasn’t going to assume any goodwill coming from the lone wolf towards any of them.

Sighing, Stiles eventually got up to leave but just as he reached the steps to head back down, Peter tossed a towel at his head.

Not even bothering to turn away from the stove, Peter set something down on the counter nearby. “I don’t like cutting onions,” He mumbled and for a second, Stiles couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Peter didn’t bother repeating himself, though, as the silence stretched out between them. Stiles spent another second wringing the towel in his hands before he slung it over his shoulder and joined Peter at the kitchen counter. A few onions were already sitting next to a large knife on a wooden cutting board.

“You sure you want me to be handling large cutlery?”

Shrugging, Peter stirred the sauce in the large pot. “I’m sure you are more than capable of slicing vegetables.” He turned the faucet on in the sink next to Stiles. “To prevent tearing up,” He explained, a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

So he knew tricks here too, Stiles thought, but this one didn't hurt someone, it helped and Stiles ended up cutting the onions with minimal tear-shed. “Have you always known how to cook?” It seemed weird to talk in the middle of their quiet but Peter hummed along in restrained response as he fiddled with something on the other side of the stove.

“No...but with a big family, it was a good skill to have.”

Stiles almost forgot for a moment that there weren’t a lot of the Hale's left. He bit his tongue from asking further questions about an obvious sore subject and instead, asked Peter if he’d like any more help. He wasn’t ready to head back downstairs just yet and strangely enough, it felt like a more comfortable space next to Peter in the kitchen.

It felt that way for a long while - years in fact, and in just the same way when they were each a little older and a little closer, cooking together in their own kitchen with Peter on the stove and Stiles cutting the onions next to the sink.

-------------------------

Thank you for the ask! I hope this is well received! It's been a while since I've written some fluff and I fear I may be a bit rusty at it D;

[immediatebreakfast]

"Knowledge is power" you say and I believe it's becoming a big theme. Jonathan is sinking his nails into his sanity, vehemently refusing to lose it because losing himself (to insanity, to vampirism) is a horror greater than death to him. And his main weapon in this is to refuse to be in the dark. He must know the truth, instead of flee from it or deny it, gortesque even if it proves to be. The Castle is claiming his mind and his response is to explore every nook and cranny until he knows the enemy like he knows himself.

It's really a very noticeable theme, and it's one of the key parts that will help our characters against Dracula in the long run.

I have to make the comparison with another genre of book across the literary globe that have knowledge as a central theme.

The Lovecraft myths with their eldritch abominations also have the central theme of knowledge, but instead of presenting said knowledge as something hopeful to have (even if in the grand scheme of the universe is empty) knowledge is a curse. It's something that once the characters have, they wish to go back to their ignorance, all of the undescribed horrors that tell of incomprensible beings from beyond our stars open a new horrifying reality for these characters, one that they do not wish to understand.

Instead, here in Dracula, this novel regards knowledge as a precious weapon.

Jonathan understands that as a lawyer, and as a human being. Knowledge can help him understand, the written truth assures him that he is not imagining things. The broken door tells Jonathan, "Yes what happened was real, and you survived." And it gives him mental strenght to go another day.

Jonathan is feeling how his sanity is slipping from his fingers thanks to the castle, thanks to Dracula himself, so he must grab every piece of truth that he can find. Jonathan must know the Count's truth so he can act accordingly, he must know Dracula as if Dracula was him because it's the only way for him to know that he is still sane. That this knowledge can help whoever comes after him.

A really neat quote that I stumbled upon while searching for this really captured Jonathan's future, even if he might not be alive at the end of his journey.

"She will reenter the world carrying a heaviness she might never lay down, but also with something warm and steady burning in her, the knowledge of what she has survived, what she has become." - Chakraborty, A. (2021). Ode to the Gothic Heroine (A Selection).

Jonathan now carries the burden of knowledge regarding every oddity, and danger that Dracula presents from an outside perspective. Different, but not really from the ancient knowledge of the kind locals who tried to protect him from his fate, yet Jonathan doesn't shy away from that burden.

Knowledge is power, and power transforms the person into something not anticipated. It's the proof, and the reassurance of having something that can help, a little light in the middle of an endless cave. Jonathan is taking all of the information he can find, so that maybe he can transform the idea of escaping into something plausible.

Is Jonathan risking his own life by doing this? Of course he is! He is terrified of the outcome, of what the uncertain future holds for him! But, Jonathan is also gaining time. Moreover, with Dracula's new assigned "span of life", the Count has given Jonathan one of the most powerful weapons in the hands of a human, hope.

Now with the certain date of his possible, Jonathan can stop giving enough of a fuck about any pretenses of leaving the castle by the mercy of Dracula. Now Jonathan can hope to carve his escape with his own hands.

[leggerefiore]

More funny and cute parenting scenarios! How about the kids finding their parents clothes and walking around the house pretending to be their parents! (Said parents watch in amusement)

Arceus forbid Volo’s kid finds his hair gel

I kinda did a little spin on this...

Ingo finally closed the laptop as he rested his eyes for a moment. Work truly never ended some days despite being out of the office. He got up for a moment to go get a drink of water and returned soon after. But, there was something amiss. The laptop was open again while tiny hands tried to type. Erin stood on his knees to reach the computer while a familiar coat was almost like a wrap around him. A black cap sat on his head just off kilter and leaning forward. A badly tied tie was much too long around the neck of the baggy shirt that came to his bent knees. He also spied much too large shoes on his feet.

Ingo cleared his throat. Erin jumped back in a panic, previously stern and frowning face not overwrought with fear. Ticking his tongue, he walked over to pick the small boy up. Eyes momentarily glanced at the screen to assess what damage his son had done. Nothing, really, just a misspelt attempt at addressing “Unkle Emet” for a “brake.” A chuckle came from him unconsciously. Spelling was a bit of an issue, but his ease at taking to maths was a bit scary.

“… I'm – I'm a Subway Boss,” Erin cried, “I was doing work!”

“Hmm, is that so?” Ingo fought back the smile that wanted spread across his lips, “My, that document isn't going to Emmet. It's going to a Depot Agent. Are you certain you know what you are doing?”

Erin looked flustered. His shoes dangled off his feet. Ingo could not be upset at the little guy. He instead let him sit in his lap while he worked. The Subway Mini Boss was more than happy there.

~

Emmet grumbled when Ingo handed him the wrong piece again. They had decided to build a model train together again on a rare shared day off, yet it seemed the older twin's heart simply was not in it. Both of them opted for a break and headed to the kitchen to grab some snacks. Maybe hunger was clouding their judgement. However, when they returned, they found a scene unravelling. The model pieces were all over the floor as two oddly dressed kids had taken over the floor. Much too big hats and coats were worn, while even larger shoes seemed to make them trip. The white shirts were more like dresses on them rather than their true purpose. Emmet stood stiffly.

Inka and Emma went deathly quiet with big eyes at the sight of their father and uncle in the room. Model pieces were strewn about from an apparent attempt to finish it. The instruction booklet was in the older twin girl's hand, even. She tried to hide it behind her. Emmet sighed and stepped forth. Picking up Inka, who was dressed in his uniform, and passing her to Ingo, then Emma, who wore Ingo's own, into his own.

“See! It was all wrong, Emma,” Inka shook in Ingo's arms, “I was named after Uncle Ingo, so I should have been in uniform and reading the paper thingy!”

“I'm the older twin,” Emma argued back, hanging limp like a feline in Emmet's hold, “Therefore I am like Ingo more. Plus, I frown like him! You smile like papa!”

Ingo and Emmet locked eyes for a moment. This felt like their own memories from youth. In the end, they both let the little girls help build. Their tiny hands came in very hand in the end. (All the while, Inka kept begging to wear Ingo's uniform instead, to not avail.)

~

Cyrus sat down his tablet on the end table. Standing up, he stretched and left the room for a moment to go stand out on the veranda. Fresh air seemed to reinvigorate his mind from the stupor that document processing lulled him into. Yet, he noticed an oddity when he headed back in to finish his work. Spiky hair was the first thing her noticed, alongside tiny hands tapping away on the lock screen of his tablet. Cyllene sat on the couch wearing a baggy grey vest with a family emblem on the chest. An even baggies long sleeved shirt was more like a dress on her smaller form. His grey slip-ons were also dangling on her feet.

Cyrus treaded over to her. She froze and nearly dropped the tablet. He caught it with ease and sat it back down, noting she had managed to actually unlock it. That would be addressed at a later point. Her actions bewildered his mind. Her use of too much hair gel quickly became apparent as he picked her up. It was still wet. His hand went to gently soothe her hair back down into its usual style. She just leaned into his touch.

“May I ask what all this is?” he spoke quietly, not to sure how to approach this situation.

“I am training to take over Team Galactic,” she replied simply, “… I was going to message Saturn to open Minecraft when I got to the office.”

Cyrus genuinely hated the chuckle that left him at her words. Her innocence was truly something he could help but adore. He informed that he was not going to the office today, and she pouted. It seemed all the attention his grunts and commanders gave her were deeply enjoyed.

~

A yawn left Volo as he headed back in from the garden. Cogita had insisted his repentance for his actions be earned through hard work. Her kindness was bewildering at times, but he supposed his current situation was not one she would decline. Their closeness was something silently understood between both parties. He stepped inside to a sight. On his bed stood his daughter, dressed in a much too big top and saddles that could only be slid to stay on her feet. Her hair was styled back in a manner that made his stomach twist.

“Strike him down,” her tiny voice came out, and he narrowly dodged the attack of her Gible.

“… Just… What are you doing, Astrea?” he walked over to pick her up and set her back on the ground before she fell off and hurt herself. She pouted up at him, barely reaching his knee in height.

“I'm being scary-dad!” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Mistress Cogita said you did this to them!” He shook his head. Was the old woman really telling her about what he had done to her other parent? He swallowed. Astrea was much too young to even understand what that meant in seriousness, but he did not like being reminded of his failure and actions. He petted her head and offered to take her for a walk if she changed clothing. She agreed.

[broidobe]

𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩

requested!

☾sami yaffa lovingly reassures his freckled asian girlfriend, helping her embrace her unique beauty and find solace from past insecurities.☽

☾warnings: mentions of past bullying, insecurities about physical appearance, and brief references to cultural beauty standards.☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚hanoi rocks masterlist

it had been one of those nights. the kind where sami's music felt like a warm embrace, and the two of you ended up sprawled on the couch in his apartment, the soft strumming of his guitar filling the room. the city lights seeped in through the windows, painting faint patterns on the walls, but you couldn’t focus on any of it. your mind was tangled up in old memories, voices from the past echoing too loudly in your head.

you tried to shake it off, but sami noticed immediately. he always did.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, setting the guitar down gently. his accent wrapped around the words like a familiar tune. “what’s on your mind, love?”

you hesitated, picking at the edge of your sleeve. it wasn’t like you to bring this up—especially not now, when everything with sami felt like a safe haven. but tonight, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

“it’s stupid,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

he shifted closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with that quiet intensity he always had. “hey,” he said softly. “nothing you’re feeling is stupid. talk to me.”

you took a shaky breath, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“when i was younger, back in japan and korea,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “i got bullied a lot. people said it was… weird for someone like me to have freckles. they’d call me names, say i looked strange. even now, sometimes i catch people staring. and i just… i feel like i’ll never fit in, no matter where i go.”

the words spilled out before you could stop them, and a flush of embarrassment crept up your neck. but sami didn’t laugh, didn’t brush it off. instead, he reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin so you’d look at him.

“they said that about your freckles?” he asked, his tone somewhere between disbelief and annoyance. “idiots. they wouldn’t know beauty if it hit them in the face.”

you couldn’t help the small, startled laugh that escaped you. “you’re just saying that.”

“no, i’m not,” he insisted, his voice firm but warm. “i love your freckles. every single one of them. they’re part of what makes you… you.”

his fingers brushed your cheek lightly, tracing the faint constellation of freckles that danced across your skin.

“you know,” he continued, his lips curving into a soft smile, “freckles are like stars. unique, scattered in all the right places, and absolutely mesmerizing. i could stare at you for hours and never get bored.”

your cheeks flushed under his touch, and you ducked your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “you’re too good to me.”

“no such thing,” he replied, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “i just see you for who you really are. and trust me, love, there’s no one else like you.”

for the first time in what felt like forever, the heavy knot in your chest began to loosen. with sami, you didn’t feel like a collection of flaws or an oddity to be gawked at. you felt cherished, celebrated for every part of you—freckles and all.

“thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his embrace. his arms wrapped around you, steady and comforting.

“always,” he murmured, resting his chin on the top of your head. “and next time someone says something stupid about your freckles, just send them my way. i’ll set them straight.”

you laughed softly, burying your face in his chest. in that moment, the past didn’t seem so heavy anymore, and the future felt a little brighter. because with sami, you knew you’d always have someone who saw the beauty in every part of you—even the parts you’d struggled to love yourself.

[ponyosmom35]

uh oh I'm falling in love

Bittersweet chapter twenty-five

steve harrington x fem oc

synopsis: steve realizes he is in love with Indie

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the parking lot of Hawkins Public Park. The usual chatter of people faded into the background as Steve and Indie settled onto the hood of his car, a spot they’d claimed as their own.

Her laughter came easily now, the cracks of her earlier sadness softened by the comfort of their quiet companionship. They chatted about school, teachers, driving, and the oddities of Hawkins, the conversation flowing smoothly as if nothing had happened. 

Steve found himself stealing glances at Indie. The sunlight illuminated her features, making her look almost ethereal. Her eyes sparkled with every laugh, and the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear seemed so endearing. He was struck by a realization that felt both exhilarating and terrifying: he was completely, irrevocably in love with her.

He tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on the casual conversation they were having. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that had been growing inside him. It wasn’t just admiration or a fleeting crush. It was something deeper, more profound. It was the way his heart fluttered when she smiled, or how his entire day seemed brighter when she was around.

Indie looked up at him, her expression curious as she noticed the way he was gazing at her. “What’s with the look? You seem awfully quiet, are you still thinking about my driving skills.”

Steve cleared his throat, trying to muster up the courage to say something—anything—about how he felt. He wanted to tell her everything that had been running through his mind, but the words felt like they were stuck in his throat. Instead, he shrugged and offered a lopsided smile. “I’m trying very hard to forget about your driving. Just thinking about how nice this is,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

“Yeah, it is nice,” Indie agreed, her eyes softening, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

Steve watched her, his heart aching with unspoken words. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how every moment with her felt like a revelation. But the fear of ruining what they had, or even worse, the fear of rejection, made him hesitate.

The silence between them stretched, filled with an unspoken tension. Steve felt a lump in his throat, the weight of his unconfessed feelings making it harder to breathe. He glanced at Indie, who was now looking at him with a slight smile, her eyes reflecting the sunlight.

Finally, he took a deep breath, trying to push past the nervousness. “Indie, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her eyes met his, filled with curiosity. “What is it?”

Steve’s heart raced, and he felt a surge of vulnerability. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to escape him. Instead, he just shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

Indie looked at him with a mix of concern and disappointment. “Are you sure?”

Steve nodded, forcing a smile. “Just wondering how you’ll ever pass a drivers exam”

Indie laughs, and quips back at him, ranting about his teaching. Steve’s mind, however, was anything but calm. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed his chance, that he had let his fears hold him back from something that could have been beautiful.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the parking lot. The golden light seemed to wrap around them, a gentle reminder of the fleeting moments they shared. Steve looked at Indie, her laughter filling the air, and felt a pang of longing.

He wanted to tell her everything, to make her understand how much she meant to him. But for now, all he could do was cherish the moments they had, hoping that someday, he would find the courage to reveal his true feelings. 

For now, he was content to sit beside her, sharing simple moments and pretending that the world was as easy and uncomplicated as it seemed on the hood of his car.

[cocoscurios]

The Hour, the Spot, the Look, the Words Chapter Commentary

Chapter Fifteen: Brightened by the Exercise

Darcy sat in the breakfast parlor at Netherfield, drinking his tea and reading a letter from Georgiana, responding vaguely to Miss Bingley without really listening to her. Georgiana did not sound like herself. Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect her to, only months after the debacle at Ramsgate, but that did not make him any less worried. He should be with her now, instead of with Bingley. He wished he hadn't been obligated to come to Hertfordshire in the service of his friend. Georgiana was still fragile; she still needed him. I have vivid memories of writing this chapter at work. Without giving too much away here, my workplace at that time basically had several months of COVID vacation when we were shut down entirely, but we had recently come back and, due to the nature of the job, there was a lot of downtime. And so I wrote. Mostly, I was writing Important Nothings, but some chapters of HSLW slipped through too, including this one. I can picture exactly where I was standing, socially-distanced from my coworkers, as we all blatantly did what we wanted.

He was quite prepared to spend the morning mulling over these disagreeable thoughts, but they were abruptly suspended by the arrival of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

The whole room looked up, surprised. Bingley, of course, recovered quickly, welcoming her with his usual delight at receiving company. Brief break for some Bingley Appreciation. I love this Golden Retriever of a man. Miss Bingley, Darcy noticed, had not yet hidden her derisive sneer.

Miss Elizabeth was shin-deep in mud and her hair was wild, curls escaping from their arrangement and clinging to her forehead and neck. As usual, my apologies to Elizabeth for giving her my hair. She was wearing a gown in a pale peach color that did not become her, there appeared to be a small hole in one of her gloves, and, upon the whole, she looked distinctly disheveled. I spent a stupidly long time trying to decide on the color of Elizabeth's gown. I ultimately stole the pale peach from a coworker's blouse (she, for the record, looked perfectly lovely in it).

It was important for Darcy to concentrate on all of those things, because he was in danger of focusing on other, more appealing ones. She was flushed and pink with exercise, which made her look very pretty indeed, and her eyes, already so fine, were sparkling brightly.

And, in fact, as he had never seen her hair look entirely tidy, that was not a significant mark against her now. It's really difficult to tame it, okay? Even when they had dined with the Bennets at Netherfield, and when Darcy had seen her at Lucas Lodge, he had noticed the stubborn curls that escaped from their hold and sprung out in unexpected places. It's a constant war and the bobby pins and I are losing. Sorry again, Elizabeth. Miss Bingley had criticized this on several occasions, but Darcy found it strangely endearing. It suited her. Little did I know (for we hadn't met yet) that Jake would end up feeling the same way. Wishful thinking sometimes works! ;)

Miss Bingley, with her sleek, blonde hair and fashionable gowns, always looked completely put together, but Darcy thought that, even at her very best, she did not look a fraction as handsome as Miss Elizabeth Bennet did right now.

Which was not a thought that he wanted to have at all. The poor dear is struggling.

Darcy made a polite enquiry after Miss Elizabeth's health and he met her eyes as she answered. They really were extraordinarily beautiful eyes, dark and expressive, quick to light up in amusement. He looked swiftly away, discomfited by the feelings this interaction had produced.

He considered, instead, her behavior, and the oddity of a young woman walking alone merely to visit a mildly ill sister. A minor cold hardly seemed to justify the impropriety of her actions.

But wouldn't you rush off to see Georgiana, if she were ill? said a traitorous little voice in his head. Wouldn't you disregard dirty weather and decorum to get to her, even for something as small as a cold? Underrated similarity between Darcy and Elizabeth.

He could not deny that he would.

Darcy was feeling most uncomfortable now.

Miss Elizabeth was taken to see her sister and he turned back to his letter, knowing his anxiety for Georgiana would distract him.

But he could not entirely eliminate the knowledge that the flutter in his chest, which had not yet eased, was the consequence of his being really quite glad to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet at Netherfield that morning. He's got a cruuuuuuuussssshhhh.

[trashland-llamas]

Grrrr?

Sequel to Meow?

Remus kept feeling something was off about their feline friend. There was something oddly human about it's mannerisms, lately acting like it had a crush on him. More hot and cold than the usual cat. 'Remus!' Head popping up in the direction of Sirius' voice. Confused, he followed Sirius' glance, jumping back when he realized he'd over-poured the usual amount of milk needed for his cereal. 'What's got you so out of focus?' James piped in. 'Have you notice anything weird about that black cat that appears out of nowhere around us?' Sirius pretended to ignore him, making the decision to not interfere as he couldn't reveal his brother's secret. Wasn't his place either. 'Beside it being awfully loving towards you? Not really, why?' James' response did nothing to quell his nerves. 'Speak of the devil.' Sirius met Regulus' cat eye, a silent conversation happening between the brothers. The conversation dissolving into thin air.

Regulus' nerves were noticeable to his friends, causing them to ask more questions. 'Lily said she never saw you in the library yesterday.' Severus deadpanned. Raising an eyebrow when Regulus coughed, scrambling to slam a textbook over his parchment. 'Realized I had already done the potions essay when I got there, went to the black lake instead.' Biting his tongue so he didn't release the elongated hiss he wanted to. 'Okay.' Severus walked away, aloof as ever. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck.' Whispering to himself, Regulus quickly ran to his dorm. Dumping all his books onto his desk, except for the parchment. 'Better not be in there for an hour!' Barty shouted, banging on the bathroom door for effect.

'Follow me.' Remus read aloud the parchment in the cat's mouth. 'I better not end up getting murdered because of this.' Once again with the oddities, the cat's shoulders moved up and down as if it were laughing at him. Sirius, knowing of his brother's plan, watched the map. James giving him a confused look when he flailed his feet before throwing himself back on his bed. Proudly thinking to himself, 'my brother's getting himself a boyfriend!' He'd definitely be pinching the younger's cheeks the next time he saw him. Taking a trail familiar to Remus, they stopped halfway before reaching the Weeping Willow. Regulus directing them out of sight from the Slytherin's entry window, only wanting Remus to see what he was about to reveal. Nudging the werewolf's wrist, directing him to turn the parchment. It explained what was about to happen.

As Remus looked up from the parchment, he watched as the cat turned human. Fur shooting back into the skin, back straightening from his crouched position. 'Regulus? You're the cat.' Remus' face turned red as all the affection he's lavished the cat with came to the forefront of his memory. 'I know this is quite the shock, there's a reason why I'm showing you this.' Glad Remus hadn't ran like he thought he would when his brain short circuited. 'I like you, a lot and I'm not just saying that. I truly mean it but I understand that you only know the cat version of me.' Regulus' hands moving sporadically as he spoke as he carefully chose his words. He swore he'd have Bella remove his memory if he screwed this up, the embarrassment would be that bad.

Remus picking up on the double meaning of Regulus' confession cleared his throat. This quickly silenced the younger. 'I wouldn't mind dating you but we have to start off as friends. I think I'm owed that much.' Nodding, Regulus walked Remus back to his dorm, waving goodbye as he sneaked back to deal with a lecture from Barty. 'Did you know?' Remus tone accusatory.

'Only since last week, James has no clue. I wanted to tell you but wasn't my place.'

'I get it, I truly do. But I still hate you for it.' That sentence being the last Remus displayed regarding his anger. Well, that plus some silent treatment that Sirius took like a champ. The two still keeping James and Peter in the dark though.