#and how he had to face them young and alone

[sloaneispunk]

“friend or foe”

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

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part one

after the first round of voting, half of the room was left speechless, how could majority have voted to stay? the games were inhumane and above the top, was the money worth it anymore?

you headed up back to your bed where you could see everything clearer. the ‘o’s cheering loudly while the ‘x’s stood still as the air hung heavily upon them. then, you saw the player that had caused the majority to overule the ‘x’s… player 001.

he was a tall middle aged man with astonishing features. his hair somehow still styled neatly on his head, leaving only a few strands out of place. his lips curled into a small smirk as he walked past the crowd and seemingly back towards the bunk beds.

you must have been staring for too long because 001 suddenly halted, causing you to lean further down to see what had caused him to stop in his tracks. suddenly, his head snapped up, looking right up at you with that same expression on his face.

‘shit’ you cursed as you threw yourself back onto the bed, back hitting the cold mattress within seconds.

suddenly, a face appeared at the side of your bed, causing you to let out a scream as your hands flew to your mouth, shufflig towards the other end of the bed.

“hi there.”

there he stood, right there at the other end of your bed. player 001’s brown eyes looked so innocently into your own, he now had a bigger, more geniune smile on his face as he waited for a reply.

“you scared me.” you breathed out, still not moving from the edge.

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to. i noticed you were alone earlier, i hope you don’t mind if i join you since we’re both by ourselves in here.” 001 said with a calm and gentle voice.

“uh.. yeah-”

“i apologise if i’m being too pushy, i just thought a young, pretty girl like you being here alone could be risky. i wanted to make sure that you were alright.” he interrupted. “my name is young-il.”

he stretched out his hand towards you, waiting for your hand in to shake his.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you.” you replied, still skeptical, but nevertheless you showed your appreciation with a handshake.

oh, right then and there. with your hand in his, the frontman in disguise was heating up. he craved so much more then merely your hand in his. he wanted to touch every part of you, leaving nothing that he had not savoured.

he was brought back into reality when you pulled your hand back, staring at him, waiting for the charismatic man to say yet another inviting sentence to draw you in more.

“i’m afraid i didn’t notice you during the first game.” young-il said.

you shifted on the bed, moving towards the headrest as you beckoned him to the empty space in front of you which he gladly complied.

“during red light, green light?” you asked and he nodded. “i was at the front, guess i didn’t want to take the risk of lagging behind.”

“you must have completed the game pretty fast then.” he stated.

“i had a few minutes left, i spent it trying to help those who were falling behind.” you shrugged.

there it was. that kindess, that compassion. it was exactly what he was looking for. right now he was the big bad wolf licking his lips as he sat watching his prey.

“you have a kind heart, y/n. how did a girl like you end up in this place?”

“just mixed around with the wrong people i guess, i plan to start a new when i get out of here.” you said, full of hope, making him grin.

the two of you spent the night talking, getting closer with every hour that passed. the more young-il talked to you, the more he felt the need to dive deeper, there was so much he wanted, no, needed to know about you. all he needed was time to earn your trust and he would have everything in his control. when you had fallen asleep, young-il checked the surroundings, ensuring that everyone was fast asleep before he walked up towards the masked guards.

“make sure every single one of you nutjobs get this message. whatever you do, do not hurt player 455. if i find a single scratch on her, i will kill you all myself. is that clear?” young-il whispered but was still somehow stern enough for the guards to be taken aback with fear.

things were starting to change with the frontman’s plan, but he could adapt to change right?

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part two

the next day you were awoken by the cheerful song being played on the speakers.

“good sleep? you dosed off halfway during our talk last night.” young-il, chuckled, sitting on the edge of your bed, extending his hand out for you to take.

“were you here all night? my god, you should’ve went back to your bed! you didn’t sleep?!” you scolded as you took his hand.

he let out a laugh and helped you onto your feet.

“it’s no worries, y/n, i wasn’t tired.”

“so you watched me like a creep while i slept?”

“i- y-yeah, no! i mean n-no-”

“i’m kidding.” you cut the poor man off, “thank you.”

“yeah, of course.” he replied. “c’mon, let’s see what game we’re playing today.”

“ladies and gentleman, please follow in an orderly fashion to your next game.”

as you and young-il followed the crowd into the colorful, long, windy staircase.

“what if the next game is difficult, young-il?” you asked, following behind as he kept you close even when walking.

“hey, it’s okay, nothing will happen to us. i’ll make sure of it.” he smiled, pausing in his steps momentarily for you to walk beside him.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part three

when you entered the room, you realised it was much smaller than the room for ‘red light, green light’. this one however, had two large rainbow circles on the floor and 5 tables spaced equally around.

“this game will be played in groups of 5, the game will commence in 10 minutes.”

your eyes shot to young-il. before you could say anything, 3 men came up to you and young-il. “hey man, would you want to join our group?”

3 men stood behind young-il, player 390, player 388 and player 456.

“why not? me and y/n can-”

“oh… we were looking for a team of men.. i’m sorry but your friend can’t join us.” player 390 interrupted.

“no.” young-il said sternly. he wasted no time arguing and instead took your hand and walked away.

after searching for other groups that would take you both in, you realised it was useless. no one really wanted a girl in their group and you couldn’t blame them. you stopped and sighed, causing young-il to turn around.

“young-il, it’s useless. you should join them. i’ll find others, we don’t have time.” you sighed, beckoning him to leave before time ran out for the both of you.

“no. i can’t garuntee your safety that way.”

“you don’t have to. it’ll be fine i’ll see you when the game is over.”

“c’mon, y/n i-”

“miss?” a voice said from behind you. “we need one more person for our team, would you want to join us?”

it was a sweet old lady, behind her stood 2 girls, player 120 and player 095.

“mom did you find someone?” a man jogged towards the old woman. “oh great, okay just in time.”

“come dear, who says women can’t win this stupid game.” she grumbled, taking your hand and leading you towards her group.

“i’ll be fine.” you smiled, leaving young-il standing alone with worry in his eyes. with much hesistation, young-il let you go, joining the team of men without you.

“you, hey! come join us! let’s win this!” player 456 cheered, inviting young-il back into the group.

“time is up, please sit down in your groups… this is a six legged race where you will have to complete 5 mini games individually while being chained to each other. the games played will be ddakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning top and jegi. please order yourself in which you will be playing the games in.”

a sense of unease set in in young-il. he searched the room to find you. even if he was worried, he couldn’t show it on the outside, it would be too risky for you and for him. he remained calm as he scanned the room for you, eyes eventually landing on your face from across the room.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part four

“we’re lucky we have many girls in this team! which games are you familiar with?” the old lady asked, looking at you.

“oh i’m not really sure, why don’t you guys pick first?” you replied embarrassed, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

as the others discussed which game they were going to play you looked around, searching for young-il once more. when you finally spotted him at the far end, you gave him a small smile and a wave, seeing how he was already looking at you.

“so i’ll play ddakji, your son will play flying stone, ma’am you’ll play gongi, ms 455 will play spinning top and ms 120 you will play jengi. is that alright?” player 095 said, looking around for approval from the group.

when the game started, your team was the first. you took your place on the rainbow with your team, all equally as nervous as you were.

“hey we’re gonna be okay, we’ll win easily.” you said offering a smile to the team.

“yes! we can do it ladies! oh and you too son.” the old lady said.

a gunshot fired in the air, indicating the start of the game.

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!” every grunted in synchronicity, moving rather quickly to the first station.

the other players were up on their feet, following around the circle as they cheered.

1. ddakji

player 095 closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

piak!

the sound of the paper slapping on the ground echoed through the room, she opened her eyes and looked down. it flipped.

“first try! let’s go!” player 120 cheered.

“pass”

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!”

2. flying stone

“son, just imagine. that rock is the face of the dealer that screwed you over.” the old lady said to her son making the rest of you snicker.

“you son of a bitch! give me my money back!” the man yelled as he threw the rock. without even trying, he managed to hit the other rock down.

“pass”

“holy shit! you did it!” you exclaimed. “let’s go! quick!” you exclaimed practically jumping in place.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

3. gonggi

“come, come! sit down everyone, i need to concentrate.” the old lady said.

she picked up the first few pieces with ease, but couldn’t catch the last one causing her to start over.

that must have struck a nerve because every try after that was not a sucess.

“mom. you said you played gonggi with bullets in the korean war, you can do it.” her son said. “picture it as dad’s face-”

“you imbecile!” she yelled as she picked all the pieces up again, putting them down and picking them up once more with ease.

“pass”

4. spinning top

young-il cheered like the rest, maybe even more. he was holding his breath with every step you took. even as the frontman, he wasn’t sure why he was anxious for a player like you to win. it was very unlike him but he had to admit it felt good.

he watched as you coiled the rope around the spinning top. he could see your hands shaking as everyone’s eyes burned holes into you.

with two minutes left on the clock you trusted your instincts and drew your hand back, carefully flicking your wrist. the spinning top flew through the air, with a soft bang it landed on the ground, spinning perfectly.

“pass”

“she did it!” young-il shouted, causing a roar of cheers to erupt as your team moved towards the last and final game.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

5. jegi

“can everyone look away? i just need some concentration.” player 120 asked. everyone including your team turned to look away, even with the time left, you were shaking with fear. one wrong move and you could leave this game as easy as you came in.

everyone remained quiet as you listened for the sound of the shoe and jegi coming into contact.

“one.”

“two.”

“three.”

“four.”

“five.”

“oh! we did it! that was five!” the old woman shouted.

you looked up seeing the guard makinga circle up with his arms.

“pass”

“let’s go! let’s go!”

with that, your team was let go. relief overwhelmed you as you passed the finish line. as the guards unchained your legs, you turned to the crowd finding young-il easily.

you offered him a smile and a little wave, making him do the same.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part five

when it was young-il’s turn his team took place at the start of the line.

“well, it’s a little sad that we don’t have an audience.” player 390 sighed.

“no, it’s good. we don’t have distractions.” player 388 replied.

throughout the game, there was one thing on young-il’s mind, getting back to you. he couldn’t wait for another of your late night conversations. the stupid smile you had when he cracked a horrible joke.

he knew that the game was designed so that there couldn’t be many mistakes made each round. when he joined it was merely for the thrill of it, also the fact that he wanted to see player 456 suffer. but now he knew he had to play the games thoroughly and right, he knew he had to do this to keep his promise to endure your safety.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part six

you waited anxiously on your bed as more groups came in, but not young-il. it was nerve wrecking, with every group that came in, somehow the number of player became lesser. it was made clear that not everyone was made to pass.

a few minutes later, the metal door swung open again.

the final group walked in, player 456, player 388, player 390, another player you hadn’t seen before player 222 and young-il.

young-il didn’t waste any time, he jogged back to your bed, seeing your smile widen as he came close. before he had the chance to say anything, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck tightly as he bent down onto your bed.

“oh my god, you did it! i was so scared, i-i was so worried-”

“hey, it’s okay. it’s okay, i was worried sick too.” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“i thought the team didn’t want a girl? how did she manage to get in?” you asked, pointing to player 222 who was now with the rest, talking and laughing.

“she was heavily pregnant. we didn’t have a choice, i’m so sorry they didn’t take you in.” he apologised as you shook your head.

“it’s okay, i understand. don’t worry. i’m just glad you made it.” you said, leaning so close that you could feel his bodyheat.

“you know… when i was playing the spinningtop, i couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you did it in one try!”

“of course, an old man like you comparing yourself to me?” you gasped sarcastically, making him laugh.

“yea right, come on says the one who’s almost lying on me.”

you jerked back, you hadn’t even noticed.

“i’m so sorry, are you uncomfortable? i can mov-”

“hey, i’m playing around. come back, you can do whatever you want. i’m just a makeshift pillow for you.”

you sneered and laid your head on his shoulder, legs tangled together on the bed as you could feel the rhythm of his breathing match yours.

“thank you, young-il.” you whispered, your hand finding his, squeezing it to show your appreciation.

young-il looked down to your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a gentle peck. “anytime, y/n.”

whethere he liked it or not, the game had hit a big obstacle. as the frontman he needed to balance between running the games and keeping it safe for you, and preventing player 456 from infiltrating.

even so, he knew the dangers of the next game. ‘mingle’ was one set out to kill, his plans were all falling apart. frontman realised that keeping you came with a cost, and it was one he was willing to pay.

[writingwisterias]

I was daydreaming today at college and thought about Leon absolutely ravaging me in my wedding dress... Would you be able to write the reader teasing him at the wedding all evening long, feeling him up, making him jealous until the end of the night when he finally gets you alone and just goes totally feral?! Your work is amazing, please never stop 🥰😌😵‍💫💦

YES, I CAN ANON!

I love this!!! I hope I did the idea justice! I did Death Island Leon because I rewatched it and he's on my mind. I rambled sorry this took so long, I needed it to be done right!

Warnings: Smut, MNDI, Fluff, Teasing, Praise Kink, Cowgirl, Oral (F receiving) Jealousy, Hidden touches, Comfort

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Words: 3.8k

Leon never thought he would get this chance, marriage was always just a distant dream, one that always seemed impossible with his job and lifestyle. Until you came along and made him feel easy to love for once. Your smile manages to brighten any mood he might be in. His home was dark and bare now filled with warmth and love, decorated with things that reminded him of how far you had both become. He made it his life's mission to ensure you never stopped smiling and never faced anything like he had. Your protection was his top priority as he kept you separate from his work life, a little hidden secret in this world. One for just him to enjoy.

The isle was decorated in soft greens and browns, the sun felt warm for once as it fell over his features. It felt like God was finally giving him a break from the whirlpool of life he was handed. He couldn't stop the swaying of his feet or fiddling with the tie that felt too tight around his neck. Neither of you wanted a big wedding, limiting your guest list to just close friends and family but the room still felt full. Despite the small number of people you had invited, their adoring stares at him and their whispers about what you might look like today didn't help. Leon didn’t care what dress you picked out, he gave you the budget to get the biggest one if you wanted it. All that mattered to him was that you were happy and at the end of the day were with him in an enteral promise. One he knew went deeper than simple love. 

Ignoring the waves of anxiety he felt, all the attention began to feel too much without you by his side to make it more bearable. Leon made sure to put on the biggest smile that he could muster up as he watched the wedding party begin to filter through the aisle. Soft instrumental music complimented them as they all walked down. The once red carpet is now being decorated with a range of petals as your niece went down alongside her brother who carried the rings. Everyone’s attention was drawn to them, their adorable stumbles thankfully gave him a chance to let out a shaky breath before he had to reach for the velvet box from the young boy. It felt heavy, similar to the feeling when he had the last velvet box in his pocket; a decision he would never come to regret in his life. He had thought about this moment for months, his dreams being filled by adding to the collection of rings he had given to you, all in a romantic promise that was tying your souls together forever.

Leon had memorized the order in which everyone was going to be coming through, all of them finding their place on the respected sides. Their smiles warmed his heart at how happy they were for the both of you. The love crashed over him in waves as your family welcomed him in with open arms. The change in song made his heart rate begin to pick up as you walked down. You looked like an angel, one that was finally ready to take him to salvation - a gift sent from the heavens for all of his hard work and trauma. You smiled at Leon, watching as his eyes twinkled with tears of happiness. He deserved this; there was no one more than deserving of your love. Your answer to his proposal was the easiest choice you had ever made. Just as you were for Leon he was the same for you. 

You could feel his hands shake as he lifted your veil, the sound of everyone around you melting away as he gazed upon your features like he was memorising them despite knowing that he does it every time he wakes up before you in the morning. You watched as his smile grew softer, his body trying to reign in his emotions as the tears fell slightly down his face. You felt the ghost of his breath against your palm as you wiped it away for him. Your touch is just a ghost of the love he knew you had for him. His love was always intoxicating to you. Helping your brain become fuzzy so you forget about the world around you. The nerves you had at the start of the day are now settled in a calm and peaceful feeling. That's what you loved about him, his endless ability to ease your anxiety. He was your bridge, your stable wall to lean on if you needed it. Leon had given you everything you needed and more in life; you will always be thankful for that. 

Your hands slotted in his perfectly; Leon was grasping them tightly in case you would fade away right in front of him like you were some dream he would wake up from. The vows you shared today would never be broken; the endless devotion you both shared was witnessed by everyone else in the room. “I love you” You whispered to him leaning on his shoulder as you both waited for the end of the ceremony. Leon glanced down at you, his eyes sparkling with more unshed tears, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I love you more” 

It felt like the world stopped as you turned to face each other before you finally kissed marking your new journey as Mr and Mrs Kennedy. Neither of you needed this, the large fancy wedding or the certificate you were now both signing with shaky hands and large smiles. You both know the love you shared was solidified with the care you put towards each other in each other darkest moments. There was no end to this life without Leon being by your side.

You grasped his hand tightly as you both ran down the aisle, your laughter filling the air mixing in with the confetti that fell around you. Leon pulled you back into him, greedy for another kiss before the true celebrations began, the fabric of your dress swirling around his feet as you collided with him. 

The rest of the evening felt like a blur, the both of you being dragged around by family and friends for endless photos. The camera flash soon became a permanent fixture every time you blinked. Yet, as everyone settled down for the evening meal, plates of food were being wafted around the room and the waitresses handed them out; Leon didn’t miss the longing looks you gave him. The squeezes of his thigh underneath the table as your hand inched higher and higher. Your delicate fingers brushed along the front of his trousers all whilst glancing at him with an adoring and innocent smile. It was driving him insane with how casual you were being about it. “You alright there honey? You look a little flustered” you giggled in his ear, leaning towards him. His smirk grew on his face, his eyes hidden by his dark hair as he turned to look at you. “Someone seems to be starting something I’m not sure they can finish” He teased. Normally Leon would have touched your skin and teased the fabric of your underwear groaning at the feel of the arousal he knew was drenching the thin fabric but your damn dress was too big. He was beaten by layers of white fabric. 

“We’ve still got many hours before I can show you what's underneath this dress” you whispered again. His face flushed - turning a dark pink as his brain tried to decipher what you meant. To his credit he recovered quickly, hiding his flushed cheeks from the guests with a kiss. Coos and chuckles surrounded you as you both shared this moment. When he pulled away his eyes narrowed, a warning. That if you continued then you would be in for a long night, but then when did you ever listen to him?

The night continued with tear-jerking speeches from close family and friends and you now both stood outside the doors waiting for the events organizer to announce you both as Mr and Mrs Kennedy for your first dance. His hand held yours firmly, almost like if he loosened his grip he would wake up from this dream. 

“Ready?” You asked him, looking up at his stubble-coated face in adoration. He never got used to your twinkling eyes when you looked at him, perhaps he never would. He didn't need the three words that meant so much to many people - your eyes told your story, your feelings. “To embarrass me with how badly I dance…no” he teased a toothy grin filling his features. Your laugh was better music than the song lined up for the rest of the evening. His own eyes crinkled once again as his smile grew. You heard your name announced and both jogged out onto the dance floor.. confetti and cheers surround you once again. 

Leon's hands gripped your hips tightly as they swirled you around, opting to stick to simple swaying and a few spins. You didn't care, you were smiling anyway. That was another thing you did that caused him to fall in love with you - how easily you accepted the simplest things he gave you. The size of his gestures is never an issue with you. When the song slowed down he bought you closer, his hands lowering to the swell of your ass. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers toying with the soft strands of his hair. His aftershave was intoxicating, filling your senses as you tucked yourself closer, his head resting on yours. The moment was peaceful, perfect. One he would remember every time a mission got too much, or he needed a reason to get back up after he's been slammed down numerous amounts of times. 

The moment was broken when one of the bridesmaids tapped him on the shoulder holding out a polaroid to him. He glanced briefly at you not failing to notice the large grin on your face. It was comical how wide his eyes went when he looked at the small picture; a choked breath following as his cheeks flushed. “What the fuck” he chuckled as he turned back to you, tucking away the Polaroid in his pocket before anyone else got to see. “There's plenty more where that came from” you spoke. Leon pulled you close again, trapping you against his body with a large grin on his features as his lips ghosted your skin. “You little minx” he whispered in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of yours. You smiled at the contact, at the small graze of his lips against your neck. Your fingers tugged gently at the hairs on the nape of his neck, swirling the soft strands in small circles. He felt you slip away leaving his arms to merge in with the rest of the dancefloor. Your white dress twirled around you as you greeted your friends. He watched with a smile, seeing your happiness leak into the people around you…into himself. 

Your feet moved gracefully along the dancefloor as you sauntered back to him often during the rest of the night. Interrupting and saving him from boring conversations with older relatives, your lips kissing in the pattern he knew would be repeated later when you were both alone. The collection of polaroids started to thicken his pockets as your bridesmaids continued to hand them to him, his face flushing each time - eyes narrowing as he found you giggling across the room from him. He was thankful as people started to wish you luck and goodnight, all heading off to their rooms. Instantly beginning to look for you to drag you to the bridal room. Leon found you helping the servers gather the remaining drinks handing them glasses over to the bar. Your hair was wild, strands sticking out of the braid it was neatly made into earlier in the day. Your makeup was smudged and the lipstick is virtually nonexistent but to him, you still looked just as beautiful at the start of the day. 

He felt giddy as you both stumbled your way back to the room, practically running through the halls. Your smile grew as you heard his laugh, the sound bouncing down the corridor. His hand held onto yours firmly not once letting go. It felt like you were teenagers again, running through the school corridors to escape school. You wished you had met him sooner in life, so you could have loved him sooner. Helped through the horrors he had told you, showed him a world of love and affection sooner before he fell into the habits he wasn't proud of.  His lips attacked yours as soon as you got through the door, the key card discarded on the desk landing on it with a clatter. Your hands slid under the shoulders of his blazer. Leon smiled into the kiss, his shoulders shaking it off in a poor attempt to help, the fabric landing with a thud on the floor. 

The contents of it scattered along the floor, his phone now hidden somewhere you'll both be scrambling to find in the morning. He smirked at the Polaroids that had now scattered everywhere, the photos of you that he kept hidden now a reminder of your promise. He felt his cock throbbing against the fabric of his trousers, he almost cummed at the idea of sinking into you finally after today. He pulled you towards the bed, pushing you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. Leon wished he hadn’t just lost his phone so he could have taken a photo of you sprawled out on the bed beneath him surrounded by the rose petals the hotel staff had thrown on the bed. Your eyes were intense as they looked at him with pure lust, you always did love him in his suits. 

“You have a promise to keep?” He teased, bending down briefly to collect a polaroid off the floor - holding it out to you so you could see throwing it on the bed next to you. His hands began to push the layers of fabric up your legs, exposing your hips. He smiled at the garter that was still around your thigh. Leon’s head instantly lowered, his teeth tugging it down your leg, ignoring the chuckle that left your lips as he struggled to get it over your shoe. When he raised his head again you smiled at his smug look, the elastic band hanging from his teeth like a trophy. 

“You were meant to do that earlier and then see which one of your friends was getting married next” You smiled as you pulled it from his teeth, discarding the fabric somewhere else in the room. “Guess I’ll just have to marry you again” He spoke, kissing up your thighs disappearing amongst the fabric. “Already? We just made our vows” 

Leon’s head shot up again his hair falling over his eyes as he looked at you. “I’ll chant them to you every night if I have to. I’ll never forget them, nor will I let you forget them.” 

You knew if you wanted him to he would always be willing to do what it takes to prove he is forever grateful for your unwavering love and patience over the past few years. The same soft hands that now tugged his head towards your dripping cunt pulling him out of one of the worst states he’s ever been in. He didn’t like thinking about what would have happened if you hadn’t given him the final shove to pour the drink away. To stop for the first time since his 20s. His fingers looped in the waistband of the white lacy thong pulling it down your legs. You spread them, showing off your soaked core that he had skipped the cake for. Opting to save his appetite for a sweeter dessert instead. 

“I meant every single word” 

His mouth instantly latched on, sucking up the sweet arousal you were already dripping for him. Your legs wrapped tightly around his head, the fabric hiding him from sight as he worked his magic. Leon would spend hours like this if he wanted to, his head buried in a sacred space you kept so perfect for him. Forever - until death - now the only person that would be able to taste the sweet drink you created for him. Your legs shook as his tongue flicked against the sensitive bud, his nose occasionally brushing against it as he enthusiastically licked long stripes up your folds. 

You felt the incoming orgasm, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head only spurring Leon on to continue his assault of pleasure faster. He groaned when you finally spilt on his tongue, he lapped it up like he was dehydrated. You supposed he was, with the incoming date of your wedding you both barely had enough time for this. You moaned at the sight of his chin covered in his drool and your cum, his tongue swiping across his lips making sure he lapped it all up. He always was a messy eater. 

You could taste yourself on his as he crawled up to place a kiss on your lips. “How expensive was the dress?” he asked whilst nipping at your neck. His stubble was prickly against your skin. “Very. You gave me no budget remember” You chuckled, pulling at his hair causing him to look at you. “So if I fucked you in it, it would be a waste of money?” 

“We can always get it dry cleaned” 

He chuckled pulling away from you again. He was too slow at unbuttoning his shirt, you sat up, crawling towards the edge of the bed on shaking legs to help him. The fabric was discarded somewhere in the room with a thud. His hands worked on his trousers, his belt clinking loudly as they fell to the floor. You bit your lip at the sight of his pre cum on his boxers, both old and new stains. “Look at what you did to me all day, in this dress, the touches at dinner, the fucking photos. The day dragged on for far too long” He mumbled lowly. You loved it when he did this when his octave lowered with need and frustration for wanting you. Your teasing finally pushed him over the edge and now he had a taste there was no point in preventing him from the full meal. He was going to get it anyway. 

You stood up from the bed, spinning the both of you so he fell against the soft sheets. He waited for you to undo the dress, to let the fabric hide his trousers. Instead to crawled above him, pushing him towards the headboard. Leon pulled his boxers off, his cock thumping against his stomach at your approach. You smirked at the tip, angry and red as it waited for you. Dribbles of pre cum decorating it like candle wax, he was always so pretty.

 A large sigh from the both of you filled the room as you finally sank on him. The sight is hidden by the layers of the dress now pooling around you both. He could admire the way the bodice fit against your form, the delicate lace hems making you look even more magical. You were perfect, always were and always will be. 

Your hips moved too slow for his liking, the pleasure he needed not building up fast enough. Tired of your teasing his hips met your own. The lazy thrusts hit deeper and deeper as they collided with your own, brushing against the entrance of your cervix. He was always larger than you remembered, no amount of foreplay ever prepared you for the glorious stretch he gave you each time you fucked. His small whisps of hair tease your already sensitive clit. 

He could feel you quiver above him, your head thrown back with a large smile plastered on your face. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as it pushed out the breathless whimpers. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, the freshly painted nails leaving small crescent shapes along his already uneven skin. He wouldn’t mind a few more scars, not if they were left by you tonight. A forever memory etched onto his skin as well as in his mind. 

Had all his prayers finally been answered? All of his years of suffering finally bought to a close with the clench of your walls around his cock and a promise to love him until he gave his final breath. “I fucking love you, Mrs Kennedy” 

Hearing it made it more real somehow, made the whole day finish with another orgasm from you as you collapsed against him. Your sweaty skin cooling his down. He was so close, to his own ending. To coat and fill you with himself, the way it will always be now. Leon was now the only one who got this pleasure, that was allowed to do this. 

He was quick to move you, slipping out only briefly to place you on all fours. His cock slipped back into you; “I…will…always…fucking…love…you” he chanted with each thrust. Driving his cock deep into the velvet walls. Your whimpers and whines spur him on along with the begs to go faster and harder. The two of you lost in the moment, in the feel of each other. His ring was cool against your hip as it pressed into the flesh from his grip. Your dress rustles around you with every movement. Nothing else mattered, not the endless piles of paperwork on his desk waiting for him when he would return to the office, the complaints of customers you would eventually face in your own return to work. 

Everything could wait. Nothing would stop him from feeling this, the way you clenched and sucked him back in again. Trapped him in as he finally climaxed. His warmth flooded you, leaking out as he pulled away. Your shaking legs finally gave up as you fell onto the bed. A smile plastered on your face from where it was smooshed against the pillows. His fingers worked on undoing the back of the dress, your skin exposed to the cold. Fuck, he needed this sight engraved into his brain forever. You sat up, allowing the fabric to slip off your form with his help. The dress left to crease and crumple on the floor as you both tucked away in bed. 

He held you tightly against his chest, his heartbeat thumping loudly against your ear. Despite the great sex, this was what you cared about the most, the vulnerable moments where you slept the best. “Goodnight love” He whispered into your hair as he pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. You smiled against his skin, placing a kiss above the spot of his heart. Your fingers lazily traced along the scars that littered his chest until the room was filled with the soft snores of the newly weds. 

[clrasecretdiary]

You're just a little bit too much like me | Spencer Reid x Reader

Enemies to lovers | angsty fluff

Word count: 1755

Warnings: Normal criminal minds type of violence, mention of guns and gunshots, age gap (Reader is about 25, and Spencer is in his late 30s)

Content: Spencer being an asshole because he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings and how you remind him of his older self, past Spencer trauma (implied but not directly mentioned), self-doubt, Post prison! Spence

It was a difficult situation, only your second week on the job and the first time you had to make that kind of decision. You went alone to a location where the suspect might have been at, all of your teammates were further away so, as reckless as you now recognize it was, you went there alone, instead of waiting like Spencer and Emily asked you too. You didn't want to lose your chance, there were more than 3 days on the field at stake here, you did not want to disappoint your colleagues and just stand there waiting like a dumb newbie, so you made the decision.

“I'm going in” You warn your teammates in the radio, not waiting for a response before storming into the unsubs house.

You bust the door open with your feet, storming into the house. As you look inside, you find the unsub taking his gun from a drawer. Thinking you had an advantage as his back was facing you, you rush to try and immobilize him, but somehow he managed to turn around and shoot you.

You growled in pain as your body dropped to the ground, just before you passed out completely you heard the sound of rushed footsteps. You heard two voices, one you recognized as Emily's going after the unsub, and the other as Reid's talking to you.

“Please don’t go to sleep, we need you awake” His voice was soothing, far different from the tone he always used with you ever since you joined the team this year, but he sounded so worried, and you really did try to stay awake for him, for your team, to show that you were okay and that they needed to go after what's important, the unsub, but you couldn't. The last thing you heard as your vision got black was him yelling at his radio, “Medical, we need medical right now”. And then, everything went black.

You are now back at your first day on the job. Still at your house, confused as to what outfit you should use, so anxious about being so young at the top team of profilers, even thought it was a last year internship you hoped to impress them enough that they would hire you officially for the team, so your anxiety was through the roof wondering whether you really deserved to be there (goddamn that impostor syndrome). But most of your worries went away when you met the team, you would never imagine that the best profilers in the FBI and maybe in the world would be such good, kind and even funny people. They all welcomed you, seeming excited to be able to work with you, except from one of them.

Doctor Spencer Reid, you had read about him and his genius mind, you even went to a couple of his lectures on forensic psychology, honestly? You were a fan, and you were so excited to meet and work with someone you looked up to. Unfortunately, he didn't seem as eager to meet his new coworker. He just stood there in the back, staring at you while you introduced yourself to the team, the most he did was mutter a “morning” when you sat next to him in the briefing room.

Never meet your heroes, they say.

Now, you're back at… Where are you again?

Your eyes begin to open, you're completely adrift until you finally begin to recognize the awful white light, and the coldness of the room. You're at the hospital, no idea as to how much time has passed.

Jennifer comes into your line of vision, holding your hand, “Hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is calm, as she watches you sit up in the hospital bed.

“I'm fine, I think... I didn't even realize what happened back then. Oh shit, did you guys catch him?” You abruptly try to sit up, remembering how you couldn't get the unsub when you got shot, guilt washing over you as you started to piece together what happened

“Hey slow down, Emily went after him and made the arrest, the victim was rescued. He shot you, but it just grazed you. You did lose a lot of blood, that's why you passed out, but the doctors say you'll be fine to leave today. Don't worry.” She says as the doctor comes in to do his final checking.

You just agree with your head, lost in your own thoughts. You knew it wasn't your fault that you got shot, but still you felt so stupid. The hurt of not being able to catch the unsub might've been even bigger than the one from your wound, all of them had been in even more difficult situations than you and made it out without so much as a scratch, and you couldn't even catch an unsub that was alone?

After a few hours, you were back on the jet, finally heading home. The guilty was still bothering you, and you even apologized for the mistake. Hotch just asked you to be more careful and follow instructions next time, but overall, the team seemed genuinely happy you were fine. Except, of course, for Spencer, who ever since you got in the jet was staring daggers at you.

Later, the jet finally landed, and you were eager to get home. You quickly went to the office to get a few of your things, Unfortunately, you and Spencer were now all alone in an uncomfortable silence waiting for the elevator.

“That was reckless” Spencer mutters under his breath

“I'm sorry, what?” You turn in your heels to face him, had you heard that right? Is that the first thing he's going to tell you after you just got shot?

“What you did on the case, was reckless and naive. You should've followed our instructions, you can't just do what you feel like doing” he's looking in your eye now, his voice coming out angry but with a hint of… worry?

“I'm sorry ok? I tried to do something, I just did not want to just stay there waiting while he could be doing god knows what inside that house” Your voice comes out more shaky than you wanted it to, the weight of the guilt pressing into your chest

“Still, it was reckless and stupid, you should never just storm into, alone, a place where an unsub might be, you never know what he might do to you, what might be waiting inside.” His gaze is cold, almost as if he's not actually here talking to you, but somewhere inside his head and his memories.

“Trust me, I know that. I regret my decision, but I wasn't doing what I felt like, I tried my best, Reid.” You turn to look directly in his eye. Yes you did something wrong, but you wouldn't let him out of all people talk like that to you “I might be the youngest on the team, the one with less experience but trust me… I'm not dumb, I earned my place here.” Your voice shaky when you said that last sentence, the insecurity you felt showing through your words.

Something in his gaze shifted after that, his expression became softer, almost sympathetic. “Listen, I'm not saying you're not qualified, I'm sorry if it came off like that, just be careful… That could have ended a lot worse, trust me I know”

“ I will” The air between you two less intimidating now but still heavy with tension, you two step in the elevator, the whole way to the garage an awkward silence until you two finally reach the bullpen's garage.  

Even thought you felt like now maybe he didn't absolutely want you gone from the team, you were still curious as to why he is so cold to you

“Sorry, I need to ask… Why do you hate me?” You turn to him, after finally gathering the courage to ask this question

“What do you mean, don't hate you”

“Yes you do, I mean you're not obligated to like me but since I joined, you didn't even meet me yet and just gave this cold look”

His eyebrows furrowed as he processed your words, clearly taken aback by your directness. He sighed, a hint of regret in his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's not about you personally," he finally admitted, his voice softer than before.

“What is it about, then?”

He takes a deep breath before starting to talk “You're only 3 years older than me when I joined this team, I know what it does you, to your mind. I guess I just saw way too much of me, of who I used to be, in you, and it terrified me to be honest” His cold facade disappeared completely now, in its place a soft and genuine expression.

“So you were, and I'm sorry for the words, an asshole to me because you were worried?” You almost can't wrap your head around it, all this time you felt like one of your biggest references in the BAU hated you, but instead he was caring for you.

“Yes, I see how it comes out as “asshole” behavior, but my brain just went full shutdown when i saw you” His face turns slightly red when he notices what he just said – Freudian slip or just a bad choice of words? He doesn't's know for sure – His hand goes to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck “I mean… for the resemblance, of how I acted when I had just joined, of course”

You give him a small smile, and just like that your side that has been a fan and read all of this man's articles comes back to life “Of course. Thank you for worrying but maybe instead of hating me you could… I don't know, if it's not too much of a bother of course, help me? I value your worries Doc, maybe you could help me not make the same mistakes you did”

He nodded, a hint of relief washing over his features. "I'd be happy to help," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I might not have all the answers, but I can definitely share what I've learned along the way."

“I'm happy to hear that, thanks, Doc. Reid” You wave at him as you begin walking over to your car.

“Hey, just call me Spencer” He smiles warmly at you

“See you tomorrow Spencer”

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU: Robb I

Previous part, Arya I, here.

x~x~x

Robb was not allowed out riding, or to join his father’s knights and men-at-arms in search of the ruffians who had kidnapped his young half-brothers and dragged them to Winterfell for ransom or worse, which meant he had sought the yard instead. Even that was a mistake. He could not thrash the targets the way he desired to, not with all the curious eyes upon him.

Show anger, and all would know that there was strife between him and his lord father, that the dishonor had caught their family unaware. And while it would be satisfying to express his fury at the depths of his father’s disloyalty, it would draw attention to his mother as well, inviting cruel whispers.

Robb lowered his sword, stepping back from the target. He exchanged it for his bow, and although the rhythm—draw, aim, release—stilled his thoughts for a short time, they wandered instead to Bran’s excitement when he had found Robb and Jon in the yard that afternoon, touting his discovery.

It seemed a lifetime ago, rather than mere hours. A part of him had known from the moment he laid eyes upon the boys, the dark-haired twin so alike Jon that it had felt like staring at his brother from across the span of five years. Jon’s own shock had been little comfort.

The rumors had not reached his mother before Robb did, after his father’s curt dismissal, and he had been faced with an impossible choice: let her learn of her husband’s betrayal through the whispers of her ladies or break the news himself as gently as he could.

I do not know for certain, he had told her, still fostering the faintest hope that there might be another explanation, but she had paled nonetheless, her attempt at masking her heartbreak to spare him all the more painful.

She loves him. She has always loved him. Robb had thought the same true of his father, and he did not know how much it would hurt to learn otherwise. That Jon’s mother had not been the tryst of a man who thought he might die in battle, but a bed he eagerly sought out the next time fate took him south for war.

Robb lowered his bow, the arrows of his quiver spent, and stared at the distant target, flickering in the torchlight. For once, he was glad that Theon was nowhere to be seen. His friend would have nothing but crude japes, and Robb was in no mood for such.

He desired answers.

His feet took him past Sansa’s room, where he had gently guided her after supper and promised her, with a kiss to the hair, that things would seem less bleak in the morning. Then past his father’s solar, where he could see the glow of light escaping from the crack beneath the door.

Hiding away, like a coward. It was not how he would ever have described his father before today, but there was no other way of putting it. If he is not begging Mother’s forgiveness, then he should be comforting the terrified children whose dishonorable birth turned them into pawns.

Robb paused outside Jon’s door, then rapped lightly with his knuckles. A few moments passed before the door opened, and it was not Jon who he found himself staring at, but rather his smaller counterpart. Willam, Robb reminded himself.

“Would you like to come in?” Willam asked, gazing at him with such raw longing that Robb found himself torn between tenderness and fresh fury.

Did Father even look in upon them since hiding them away in Jon’s chamber? A glance past him revealed no Jon. His twin sat on the bed, his gaze at Robb more wary, and telltale plates from the kitchen were stacked on the small table in the corner of the room. Their supper, taken alone to spare the family further shame today, when it was their father who should be shouldering its brunt.

His little half-brothers were innocent in this. Had they even known of their origins? They had the bearing of highborn children, but none of Jon’s quiet acceptance of his lesser standing.

“Yes,” Robb said, realizing he had not answered. He stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, and found that the other child had risen to his feet, though he maintained his distance. “I—” Has Father even told them of their siblings? “I am your half-brother, Robb.”

The boys reintroduced themselves, Willam tripping over his own name. Robb wondered whether their mother had knowingly named another son after her first. Or was Jon’s name of their father’s choosing?

Now that he was in the room with them, Robb did not know what to say. His gaze kept straying to Raymar, who was as unalike his trueborn siblings as Ghost was to his littermates, as though their birth had split them between each parent.

That is what she looked like, then. The woman he traded his honor for. Pale hair, silver as the moon’s glow through the window, his eyes an unnatural violet. They both shared Jon’s slighter build, which must have come from her as well.

A foreign woman, with that kind of coloring. A courtesan, perhaps. That was the fancy name they gave their whores across the Narrow Sea, and bravos fought for the honor of bedding them. But where had his father stumbled across her?

He had been silent for too long, Robb realized. He did not know what to say to them. “Where is Jon?”

“He went to take Ghost back to the kennels.”

“Oh.” He felt almost numb, staring into the face of a strange child who looked like his brother, and another who looked like betrayal. “How are you faring? Did your captors harm you?”

There were no obvious bruises or cuts upon them, but then, his father had said that their captors had dosed them with dreamwine. The twins assured him, however, that they had been unharmed—unbound, even.

“He said that if either of us caused trouble, he would hurt the other.” It was the first Raymar had spoken since introducing himself, his expression haunted. Willam too had tensed, watching his twin with obvious upset.

I should not have asked, Robb thought, chagrined. Not when they have yet to sleep. These are questions for morning.

“Father’s men will find him,” he said, offering his best reassuring smile, but it did little to ease their distress. In fact, both seemed on the verge of tears now, and he stood helplessly. If it were either Bran or Arya, I would go to them. Comfort them.

But the circumstances of their relation held him back. They did not know him, he reminded himself. It was not the same as Father abandoning them with Jon, all of them tied fully by blood.

Jon’s return caught them all off guard, his brother quiet as his direwolf pup as he slipped back into the room. He halted in place as he marked Robb’s presence, and they stared at one another for what felt like an age. There was no hiding from Jon, or Jon from him.

What hurt was the wariness, as though his brother was expecting Robb to lash out at him, when he had always strived to intervene whenever Jon happened to draw his mother’s ire. And what cut even deeper was the way his brother’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon the twins.

Jon rushed over to them, then turned back to Robb. “What did you say to them?”

“Nothing,” he replied, unclenching his fists. “We greeted one another, and I assured them that whoever kidnapped them would face justice.”

“Is that why you came at this hour?”

“I came to see how you and our new brothers were faring,” Robb said defensively, but he knew it to be a lie when he spoke it, and by the tightening of his mouth, Jon did as well. “What did Father tell you?”

“About my dead mother?” Raymar flinched, and his twin’s hand grabbed for his, but Jon did not seem to have noticed, his gaze locked on Robb. “What business is it of yours?”

Jon did not often snap at him, and he felt himself bristle in response. “It is my mother who was dishonored by their actions.”

His brother regarded him coldly. “She was beautiful, born to a noble house of Lys, and Father swore beneath the weirwood tree that he loved her.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Robb’s fists clenched again, denial rising in his throat, hot and ugly. “Whatever love he had was for her cunt, or he would not have left every time he stuck a bastard in her belly.”

His vision whitened as Jon slammed him into the door, knocking his head back against it. He could taste blood in his mouth from where his teeth had cut into cheek, and it did not matter that he had deliberately provoked his brother, all he could feel was a betrayal that quickly soured to anger.

“I do not care how beautiful her face, but how rotten her heart,” he said, ignoring the glitter of his brother’s eyes as his grip tightened around the fistful of tunic he had grabbed. “She knew of his marriage and still enticed him into her bed. A woman can be highborn and yet a whore.”

Jon’s right hand drew back, and Robb could feel his brother quivering from the effort of refraining from punching him, so he stared back in challenge, inviting it without knowing why. Let him prove himself to be what all bastards are, said an ugly voice that sounded like his mother. But he also longed for a scrap, to throw his fury at someone if it could not be his father.

The castle itself rattled then, a rumble of what sounded like thunder resonating deep within his chest. But the night is clear, he thought in confusion. Jon took a step back from him, the tense moment broken, his expression equally confused.

He became aware then of one of the twins speaking in a foreign tongue. Valyrian, he assumed, gazing past Jon to find Willam speaking frantically as he held back his fiercely struggling brother, who was staring death at Robb even as tears streamed down his face.

It is their mother too. His anger abandoned him, taking its short-lived respite with it and leaving Robb with a fresh guilt atop the hurt that ached within him.

The castle rattled again, the thunder more distant this time. An apology danced along the tip of his tongue, but he could not force it out.

“Just go, Stark,” Jon said, releasing him. His jaw worked a moment, then he turned his back on Robb, steps quick as he closed the distance to the twins and wrapped his brothers both in a tight embrace. His true brothers.

More words caught in Robb’s mouth, some remorseful and others not. Misery rose in his throat, bitter like dandelion tea, and he swallowed it, feeling worse now, with more answers, than he had before foolishly deciding to come here.

Robb left, closing the door quietly behind him, and stood in the hall for a time, staring at the opposite wall. He could hear crying in the other room, soft and pitiable. Father’s doing, he told himself, but it rang hollow. A few minutes passed, Jon’s voice muffled but audible as he spoke to the twins, and Robb awaited another roll of thunder that never came.

Finally he left, mumbling something he could not recall to Cayn when the guardsman’s patrol crossed his path back to his bedchamber. His nerves danced with the need for action, and he desired nothing more than to court his father’s displeasure by slipping out to the stables. He could claim a horse and ride into the wolfswood—find the men in search of the twins’ kidnapper and join their efforts.

But his mother would need him, and Sansa too, so he stared at the ceiling instead and settled into a long, sleepless wait for dawn.

[razorblade180]

Archon Ranking

Charlotte:Aether! As a famous traveler with deep connections to other nations and their Archons, I have to ask, *pulls out pen and paper* who do you think the best Archon is among the ones you met?

Aether:…*looks around* I don’t know how, but it feels like they’re listening. I just know it’s going to get back to them.

Venti:*behind a house* Shhh

Archons:*nod silently*

Aether:This question isn’t exactly easy, it’s not impossible. The Raiden Shogun and Rex Lapis are out of the running.

Ei:(That’s fair…)

Zhongli:*slouches*

Charlotte:Well one of them did kick off a civil war, but why think little of the deceased Lord of Geo? Is it because you didn’t get the chance to know him enough.

Aether:…Yes. While I commend his diligence, I fear having such a strict and uncompromising approach to the concept of contracts lead to a few… rather unnecessary predicaments that could’ve been avoided by forming more open and new contracts with his people.

Zhongli:An interesting perspective. One that may or may not hold some merit. I won’t outright dismiss it, but some things must be set in stone.

Furina:Now I don’t mean to criticize such an enlightened individual, but as someone who actually had a national incident set in stone, I don’t think your plan had to have one.

Zhongli:Hmmm

Aether:The others are sorta tricky. I can’t find fault in how Nahida chose to conduct herself. Centuries of isolation by her own people and yet she still helped throughout history. Perhaps it would’ve been simpler for her to take a hands on approach and speak out against the injustices she felt, but she’s still a young and gentle god. I can’t blame her for feeling small.

Charlotte:I’ve read dozens or articles after Sumeru’s liberation. I gotta say some brought me to tears! Though she’s far older than us, I must say I don’t think it’s inappropriate to say asking such a feat is no different than expecting a child to stand up to an adult without ever being taught to do so. If anything, it makes it more amazing that she eventually did!

Aether:I agree. I’m very proud of her.

Nahida:*sniffles* Aw, I see. Suddenly I’m all warm inside.

Charlotte:Am I correct to say you’ve met the god of Anemo?

Aether:….

Charlotte:Off the record.

Aether:Yes. I’ve met them several times. As for on the record, the Anemo Archon may not be present often, his presence is always felt down to the blades of grass. From the very start he made a place made for his people, and lead by his people. A hands off approach not only not only fits the god of freedom, but is beneficial for the common man. Plus, it’s not like anyone feels abandoned. There’s countless records of their god returning to aid in times of need.

Charlotte:Make you wonder if he had any hand in the Storm Terror crisis.

Aether:I wouldn’t put it past them. My glider never seemed to fail a rookie like me when I needed it most.

Venti:*smiles smugly*

Zhongli:You still drink too much.

Venti:Because I have the time. You do too. Some might say, Liyue is more like Mondstadt these days.

Ei:No one is saying that.

Venti:And yet I still find it comical how much a certain someone put into retiring, just to live among his people with a normal occupation.

Mavukia:He…makes a point. To a degree. You both ended in the same spot surprisingly.

Zhongli:Sigh….

Aether: As for Furina and Mavuika… it feels wrong to praise one without the other. The Pyro Archon is a strong capable leader who’s very personable. Her plan was a bit more than crazy, but it had to be to face the abyss. Most importantly, she suffered alongside her people and sacrificed a lot in order to see her plan through. Things nobody should ever have to give up; like being an older sibling. She has my respect. Truly, no one fights alone with her around.

Mavukia:*smiles* If you ask me, he should share some of that praise with himself.

Aether:As for Furina, well, do I really have to tell you about her. To this day, people see her as a the Hydro Archon.

Charlotte:How could Fontainian’s not? Even with the truth discovered, it doesn’t change she’s been prevalent in our history.

Aether:While I don’t think I can say her leadership skills are as astute as other Archons, I personally can’t bring myself to say she isn’t brilliant. Furina did her job to the letter and never compromised it once for the sake of her people despite every single day wearing down her soul until she was in literal tears. I honestly don’t know what’s more impressive. Mavukia has always moved forward without faltering. That takes immense strength. Furina though, she doesn’t have that kind of strength. In a lot of ways, she did break and hesitate, yet she walked forward all the same. It’s both amazing and terrifying. Human Archons sure are interesting.

Charlotte:Maybe it’s our shared humanity that made them so strong in your eyes.

Aether:Maybe, but I think even archons in the traditional sense are more human than some give them credit. For instance, they’re all nosy enough to eavesdrop behind a house.

Venti:Ha, busted…

Furina walks out with a red face and eyes that tried to act serious but failed to do so thanks to their glossy gaze that struggled to hold back tears. She didn’t even know what to say and feared her voice might shake. Before she could try, Aether hugs her. She can only hug him back in frustration. It didn’t take long for Nahida to join. Meanwhile Mavukia and Ei walked out into view simply because there was no need to hide.

Aether:You guys are ridiculous.

Ei:True feelings are typically expressed when the subject isn’t around. I must admit, I wish you had said at least one positive thing.

Aether:No one can ever doubt that you care. Maybe you didn’t express it correctly, and very few people know your grief, but you are a good person. I mean that.

Ei:I appreciate your understanding. Perhaps in the future, many more will share a similar idea.

Charlotte:…*squints* Are the Anemo and Geo archon behind the house too?

Aether:Off the record?

Charlotte:*tosses pen and paper* I can keep a secret! I’ll make a contact if I have to! I just gotta know~

Venti:..*peeks head out* Hello!

Charlotte:I’ve seen you!!! You’re the drunk bard everyone likes even though he doesn’t pay his tab!

Venti:I pay my tab! It just keeps coming back.

Charlotte:*bounces with anticipation* Is the Lord of Geo with you? Hehehe~

Zhongli:…*sticks arm out*

Charlotte:DIRECTOR HU TAO’S FUNERAL CONSULTANT!?

Zhongli:Wha- she knew by my sleeve!?

Aether:I am going to be honest, wearing all brown and having a job that uses your encyclopedic knowledge of history is not a conspicuous disguise.

Venti:I told ya, you might as well of chose to be a miner. There’s dozens of those; much like there’s countless bards! So what if I sing an old song!? Nobody would bat an eye if you were good at digging.

Zhongli:Sigh…

[siri-ike]

A little crime, as a treat

chapter 2

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"%!&#%@/×/@^#&×%^ %@&× %@^×!" Jason shouted from his ofice window. "Was that a #^!&@ carriage? A !%@^ Carriage just drove into the !%&@ ground with my best %^@ assistant?!?!? My right-hand man!? My %!& %@^# %!^#@ for a %@&@: %@^ and @%&@:?!?!" He jumped out, landing on the ground three floors lower.

That $@% brainless, $@%#, @%#; hot pice of $@^@ better not have gotten himself $@%#^, or some other eaqualy $@^ up version of %#^!^. Not on Jason's payroll.

《~~~~~~》

Danny couldn't believe it. He came to the ghost zone expecting to get arrested, proposed to, or challenged to a duel of some sort.

Not this.

"I, I can't be ghost king." Danny pleaded. "I'm not even fully a ghost." The giant hands around him felt less comforting by the second.

"You defeated Pariah Dark. That alone makes you worthy." Frostbite beamed with approval.

"But, but I'm too young. Wouldn't it be better to have someone older?" Danny's breath quickened.

"Pariah was old, and you saw how that worked out. Perhaps it is time for a more modern view."

"But I, I can't, I," He struggled.

"Sir, the people await," the short ghost from before got their attention before opening another large pair of doors, revealing what looked like some kind of giant opposite church. A hundred rows of ghosts on either side of a clear aisle. And at the end stood Clockwork, the observants and,

A sword in a pumpkin.

《~~~~~~》

As soon as the call ended, Constantine hurriedly grabbed everything of importance or value in his apparent. There was no way he'd stick around to see what $@%^* the red hood wants from him. Best case, sinario, he wants some magic devilry. Worst case? John does not have the imagination for that. He rushed out the door, only to be intercepted by gang members wearing red. Bollocks. How's he meant to bull^!%^ his way out of this one?

《~~~~~~》

"No excuses," Frostbite lifted Danny's face up by his chin. "My boy, the title is largely symbolic. The ghost zone has run without a ruler for longer than most of us can remember."

That was at least a little reassuring. Not enough to let go of his death grip on Frostbites arm.

"Now go, I'll be right here." He beamed. "Remember to let out the cold."

Danny looked down at his hands. He was shaking.

OK, just like they'd trained. Breathe in, breathe out.

《~~~~~~》

Jason's usually a safer driver. Not a safe driver. Mind you, just safer than this.

《~~~~~~》

His first step, the carpet leading to the alter, froze. Delicate embroidery is obscured through a thick layer of ice. Icicles grow behind him and quickly melt into slush. In front of both Frostbite and Clockwork. And other people he supposes.

As he walks down the aisle, alone, he notices some familiar faces. Ghosts he'd fought, ghosts he'd helped, ghosts who had helped him. Whith varying degrees of satisfaction on their faces.

Had any of them even tried to challenge him for the crown? He searched his memory and couldn't find a significant ghost attack, even for other reasons in the past 10 years. Might they actually want him to be king?

《~~~~~~》

"Better not be trying to leave." Red Hood was plenty scary over the phone. He simply had no business being scarier in person.

"Who, me? Never." Constantine lied.

"This morning, a horse-drawn carriage appeared out of nothing, took my assistant, and disappeared into the ground. Know anything about that?"

"That sounds like relms business, I had nothing to do with it." He stuttered.

"I know you didn't take him. You know better than to take what's mine." Hood reassured? Threatened? "Tell me who took him."

Constantine breathed a sigh of relief.

[honeyfarts666]

A Party Most Vile

Lucius Verus x OFC

Mutual non-con, Slavery, Breeding, Angst, Aftercare, Shame (please check out all the tags listed on Ao3 for full content warning)

Part 1 on Ao3 or tumblr New! Part 2 on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Excerpt: “I am giving you this lovely, young thing,” Macrinus said slowly, “and you reject my gift. Is there something wrong with her, I don’t know about?”

Lucius shook his head. “No!” he shouted a bit too emphatically. It took a surprising amount of restraint for Lucius to resist rushing forward and tackling Macrinus. He was amazed by the fierce protectiveness he felt for Naevia. She was not bound to him and she was not his responsibility. But she had caught Macrinus’s notice because of him. He could not let anyone else get caught up in the mess of his revenge.

@okyeeaaahhhh @writersrash @buttermilktea11 Thank you guys so much for commenting on the last one!! I hope you enjoy!!

Lucius gritted his teeth as he was escorted down the hall to Macrinus’s chamber. He had been taken directly from practice, and his bare chest glistened with sweat. He was certain he stank terribly, but he disliked his master, so there was some small satisfaction to be had. Yet, the meeting loomed large in his mind. It was their first since the disgusting party he had been forced to perform at. Macrinus’s displeasure at his behavior had been obvious. Lucius prayed that this meeting would be about something else. Even a conversation about his true identity would be more welcome than reliving that nightmare.

Macrinus was at his writing desk when the guards brought Lucius in. “Leave us,” Macrinus ordered with a wave of his hand. The guards silently left them and the door was shut. Macrinus sat back in his chair and appraised Lucius as he had many times before. Sunshine streamed though the window behind him, illuminating him like a deity from some distant land. Silence sang between them. Perhaps Macrinus hoped Lucius would crack and finally speak freely. If so, Macrinus would have to try harder.

Finally, after a long moment, Macrinus said, “The slave girl at the party…”

Lucius’s heart dropped into his stomach. There went all his hopes of a short, easy conversation. Macrinus wanted something. And he wasn’t a man accustomed to being denied his desires. Lucius straightened his back and replied, “What of her?”

Macrinus stood and walked around his desk to stand a few paces in front of Lucius. He repressed a smile as he asked, “Did you know her before the party?”

Lucius furrowed his brow. He hadn’t expected that. “No,” he answered swiftly, “I had never seen her before that day.”

Macrinus raised one brow. “Really?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” Lucius firmly answered. He didn’t understand what Macrinus was getting at, but the last thing he wanted was for Naevia to get in trouble because of him. Because he said something stupid or thoughtless. But it was the truth. He didn’t know her at all.

Macrinus leaned in slowly and asked, “Then why did you run away with her? Help me understand that, Lucius.”

Lucius stared into his master’s gleaming eyes. How could he possibly answer in a way that this savage man would understand? Certainly not the truth! The truth that, after the shame of fucking the girl in front of a crowd, all he wanted was to be alone with her. To get away from the staring eyes and cruel sneers. To touch her tenderly and let her know that he wasn’t a beast. That he hadn’t wanted any of it. 

Lucius shook his head and glanced up at Macrinus’s waiting face. He grimaced and gave the best answer he could think of, “She looks like my wife.”

Macrinus’s expression softened. “Your wife, she died during Acacius’s invasion?”

Lucius nodded in reply. 

Macrinus looked into Lucius’s face, studying him intently. Lucius tried to ignore it. He tried focusing on the floor, on the desk, the chair. But it was no use. Macrinus crowded his space, and Lucius was forced to look the older man in the eye. Suddenly, almost as an afterthought, Macrinus muttered, “You have the look of your grand-sire.” For the second time in as many minutes, Lucius was surprised. Macrinus smiled and took a step back to pick up his cup from the desk. “Although, that is to be expected when he is your grand-sire twice over,” Macrinus chuckled before taking a sip of wine.

Lucius gave Macrinus a darting look. “Twice over?” he asked cautiously.

“Ah!” Macrinus gave him a playfully pleased smile and leaned against the desk, “So, the rumors are true!”

“I don’t know what rumors you speak of,” Lucius replied, his features settling into a deep frown. 

Macrinus chuckled to himself and then spoke with a wicked gleam of spite in his eye, “That Commodus was your true sire.”

Lucius couldn’t restrain the scoff that fell from his lips. Of course, Macrinus would believe the worst tales he heard! The most vile rumors spread the fastest. But it was actually a relief to hear. If Macrinus believed that Commodus was his father, then he hadn’t overheard any of the conversation Lucius had with Lucilla. Macrinus knew nothing of the coup that Lucilla and Acacius were brewing. Nor the revelation of Lucius’s true father. Lucius had many complicated feelings about his mother. But he sent a silent prayer of thanks to all the gods he knew. She would be safe, as would her secrets.

Macrinus inclined his head towards Lucius. “Oh, come now!” he teased, “Tell me the truth!”

Lucius let out a short laugh and said, “I cannot tell you. I wasn’t there when it happened!”

Macrinus let out a boisterous laugh and said, “True, indeed! But you must know?”

Lucius gritted his teeth but stayed still. He didn’t trust himself. He knew his temper. And he was growing tired of Macrinus’s prying. He didn’t care what anyone believed about him! The whole world could believe he was an inbred bastard and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Let the vermin think whatever suits them. Lucius lifted his chin and said, “The only father I have ever known, was the man for who I was named.”

Macrinus let out a disappointed hum. He tapped his hand on the table and took another sip of his wine. Another unsettling smile crossed his face as he swept his hand toward the door. “I have a gift for you.”

Lucius didn’t think the sudden change of subject could be a good sign. And he certainly didn’t want anything from Macrinus. Even supposed gifts came with their price. 

Just then, a servant opened the door to the study and held it open for another to enter. Lucius’s eyes dilated and every last whips of air left his lungs as he saw her: Naevia. She looked much the same as she had upon their first meeting. She wore the simple garments of a slave and left her hair loose around her. As her eyes landed on his, he saw her take a shuddering breath. Clearly, she hadn’t expected to see him either. Lucius tried to remain composed. He tried to hide the tidal wave of emotion that ripped through him. But it was impossible. He felt his jaw twitch horribly before he managed to snap his mouth shut. Had Macrinus bought her? Or had she been his slave the whole time?

Once Naevia was inside, the servant left and shut the door behind him. Naevia jumped slightly at the harsh sound of heavy timber against metal. 

Macrinus gave Lucius a long glance and then burst into roarious laughter. Only at that terrible sound was Lucius finally able to tear his eyes from Naevia. Macrinus, still grinning broadly, said, “I have never seen a man look so bleak after being given a woman!”

Lucius didn’t dare look at Naevia again, even though he wanted to. He wanted to reassure her. But Macrinus would use anything he observed to his advantage. He had to show him that he didn’t care about her. “I have no need for her,” he announced in what he hoped was a steady voice. “You can put her back wherever she came from.”

The smile faded from Macrinus’s face. For the first time, he seemed annoyed. He set down his cup and approached Naevia. He ran his fingers through her hair and tugged on a curl. She repressed a shiver and held still. She was clearly afraid. Lucius could see it even before she looked up at him with her huge, brown eyes. “I am giving you this lovely, young thing,” Macrinus said slowly, “and you reject my gift. Is there something wrong with her, I don’t know about?”

Lucius shook his head. “No!” he shouted a bit too emphatically. It took a surprising amount of restraint for Lucius to resist rushing forward and tackling Macrinus. He was amazed by the fierce protectiveness he felt for Naevia. She was not bound to him and she was not his responsibility. But she had caught Macrinus’s notice because of him. He could not let anyone else get caught up in the mess of his revenge. 

Macrinus let go of Naevia’s hair, and she and Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived. Macrinus crossed the room to stand in front of Lucius. “Give me a reason why?” he asked with evident impatience. 

Lucius was confident Macrinus had never experienced anything like the love that he and Arishat had shared. Nor anything as simple as the connection that had formed between him and Naevia. Macrinus would never understand. He was incapable! But Lucius had no other answer. So he spoke truthfully, “I have no desire for any except my wife.”

Naevia trembled at his confession. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her quiver and wrap her arms around her body. But there was little time for Lucius to notice it. Macrinus slammed his fist on his desk and shouted, “Your wife is dead!” Rage flashed through his features like a wildfire. But he quickly regained his composure. He breathed deeply and ran a steadying hand over his beard. As quickly as it had arrived, the rage left and the mask fell back into place. “In truth, I should have expected this from you,” he mused softly. After a moment of deathly silence, Macrinus turned back to Lucius. “Very well,” he said with a sudden confidence, “Since you will not take her as a gift, you’ll take her as a punishment.”

A deep dread pooled in Lucius’s stomach. He could guess Macrinus’s meaning, but he dared not even think it to himself. Macrinus gestured to a bright rug on the floor and said, “Lay her down there and fuck her.”

Lucius couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He could not play the part of the obedient slave. Not when his master was so needlessly cruel and foul. He let out a heavy sigh and said, “No.”

Macrinus cocked his head to one side. “You forget yourself, Hanno,” he mused with a barely perceptible fury. “You are not a soldier. You are not a free man. You are my property. My possession. I speak and you obey.”

Lucius gave his master a bitter smile. He had reached his limit. And he would bear no more. “No,” Lucius uttered again.

With a fluid motion, Macrinus pulled a dagger from somewhere in his robes. Lucius readied himself for a fight, but Macrinus didn’t approach him. Too late, Lucius realized that Macrinus reached for Naevia. Lucius started forward but froze as the point of the blade came to rest on Naevia’s throat. Macrinus used his other hand to wrap around her waist and hold her secure. In a steady voice, Macrinus said, “If you don’t want her, I’ll give her to my guards downstairs. I’m sure they would greatly enjoy a ripe, young thing such as her.” 

Naevia repressed a gasp and Lucius made a great effort not to look at her. He could feel every muscle in his body tightening with every passing second as he glared at Macrinus. The worst part was that he couldn’t understand why Macrinus went through such pains to torture him in such a twisted way. “Why?” he asked with bitter despair, “What do you gain from this?”

Lucius expected Macrinus to reply with a shout and a retort. Something to put him back in his place. Something that would remind him he was a slave now. But no such reply came. Instead, Macrinus gave him that twisted smile again. “It’s not what I gain,” he replied coyly, “But what you gain.” After a breath of anticipation, he continued, “An heir.” 

Lucius’s heart nearly stopped beating. He and Arishat had never considered having children. She always drank a special tea that prevented her from conceiving. Neither of them desired to bring a child into the world when the threat of war loomed so great. His feelings on the matter certainly hadn’t changed since losing his freedom. A child would mean only more pain and heartache. A child would only be a chain for Macrinus to bind him with. 

Before Lucius could formulate a response, Macrinus pulled his blade away from Naevia’s neck. “Undress,” he commanded her. With a shaking hand, Naevia unfastened the ties of her robe and let the long garment fall to the floor. Her body was just as lovely as Lucius remembered. Without another word, Marcinus pushed Naevia forward, into Lucius’s arms. He caught her against his chest, and he finally felt like he could breathe. His mind knew that she was anything but safe. But he couldn’t help but feel relief. Naevia’s whole body was tense and she gripped onto Lucius’s arms for dear life. He ran his hand over her back, trying to comfort her. 

“The rug, now!” Macrinus ordered. Lucius glared up at him. Macrinus gave no other response. He only twirled the dagger, with the point on the edge of the desk. It was a casually calculated image. A threat hanging in the air, ready to be made real at any moment. Numbly, Lucius walked to the rug, taking Naevia with him. She didn’t resist, but he felt her shudder in dread. He couldn’t imagine how frightened she must be. If anything, his fate would be easy. He would likely die in the arena soon. But she would be forced to live and bear a child, his child. 

At the rug, he let go of Naevia to free the ties of his britches and drop them to the floor. Unlike at the party, the simple sight of Naevia’s nude body wasn’t enough to make him aroused. He glanced around for oil to help ease his way but saw nothing that could help him. Macrinus rounded his desk to sit in his chair and said, “Naevia.” She startled to attention and tightly clasped her arms to cover her breasts before turning to their master. Macrinus continued, “Get on your knees and help Hanno get ready.”

Naevia took a sharp breath before she nodded. Slowly, she sank down onto her knees. Lucius’s eyes followed her as she lowered down. He couldn’t deny the sight of her in such a submissive position was beautiful. He felt his cock starting to grow stiff just looking at her on her knees in front of him. His stomach twisted in disgust at the idea that he could enjoy this. And he regretted that he had not been allowed to bathe before the meeting. Everything about him must repulse her. But then he felt her soft mouth on him, and all the blood in his body rushed into his cock. She gripped his base in her hand and bobbed her mouth over his tip. Sucking him and then swirling her tongue over him in turn. Lucius swallowed dryly. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see Macrinus staring at him from across the room. His tight jaw relaxed just enough for his lips to part and a soft groan to leave his lips. Naevia seemed encouraged by the sound and took more of his length into her mouth. Lucius groaned again, louder this time. He ran his fingers though her hair and looked down at her as she took as much of his cock as she could. Unconsciously, he began to rock his hips into her.

“That’s enough!” Macrinus shouted, stopping them in their tracks. Lucius took a heavy breath as Naevia pulled her mouth off of him. He was fully erect and the top half of his cock glistened with Naevia’s spit. He caught her eye then. She was so beautiful on her knees. Spit dribbled down her lips and her eyes were wet from the effort of taking him. She gazed at him with a mixture of fear and arousal. “Go on!” Macrinus shouted from his desk. Naevia was the one who broke their gaze. She turned around on her knees so she faced away from Lucius. Then, she bowed forward, keeping her head down and putting her ass up high with her legs spread. Her pussy was on full display to him and he saw her lower lips glisten with her wetness. A ridiculous sort of pride filled Lucius’s chest. He knew it was childish, but the thought of her growing wet from having his cock in her mouth made him harder than he ever had been in his life. 

He knelt down between her spread legs and readied to plow her. He notched his cock to her entrance and he felt a delicious shiver run through her body. He pushed in the head of his cock and a gentle moan fell from Naevia’s lips. He found a guilty satisfaction in her anticipation. The whole ordeal would have been so much worse if she resisted him. But to feel her arousal as he entered her was more than he could have asked of her.

Before he could sink into her further, Macrinus interrupted them and asked, “Don’t you want to see her face while you take her?” Lucius couldn’t help it, even though he knew it was a bad idea, his eyes shot to Macrinus’s expression of feigned curiosity. “Or,” he continued, with their gaze locked, “is it easier to pretend she’s your wife when you can’t see her face?”

Lucius felt his face twist in rage. But he also felt Naevia tremble under him. Macrinus was intent on driving this knife as deep as possible. Making sure that Naevia overheard talk of his wife. Calling out Lucius’s disassociation. It was all part of Macrinus’s plan, whatever that was. The last time he had fucked her, Lucius had been afraid to look at Naevia. Not because it was easier to imagine Arishat, but because it was easier to imagine none of it was happening. But now, Naevia would believe she was nothing to him. That she was just a warm cunt he could fill and toss aside. He couldn’t live with that. With a great effort, he tore his eyes away from Macrinus’s smirk and turned back to Naevia. He pulled his tip out of her core, and a trail of her wetness drew out between them. 

Lucius put his hands on Naevia’s hips and encouraged her to turn. She flipped onto her back but kept her legs spread for him. Her pink folds glistening with her arousal. If they had been alone, he would have leaned into her ear and told her what a good girl she was as he filled her. But they weren’t alone. Instead, Lucius took in the sight of her silently. Her breasts shuddered with each frightened breath. Her hair was splayed out around her like a dark halo. And her eyes were on his. Her gaze never left him. It was as though the rest of the world faded away and they were the only two beings in all existence. Slowly, he crawled on top of her and loomed over her slight frame. He had been so afraid she would be repulsed by him. He wouldn’t have blamed her. Not after what he did to her. But she opened herself willingly and moaned as his cock brushed against her bud. He could scarcely believe it. He had raped her. He was about to rape her again. And for some reason, she chose to be nothing more than a delicate, obedient flower. So submissive and willing.  

Without ever taking his eyes away from hers, he lined himself up to her entrance and pressed into her. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as he filled her all the way. Her hands flew to his shoulders and she clung to him with a fierce need. She took him so well. He watched with fascination as her pupils dilated, half certain his must be doing the same. Her mouth hung open in a silent moan as he pulled out of her and then plunged back in, slowly building his pace, snapping his hips into hers with growing force. He leaned all of his weight on one arm and used the other to grip her thigh, pinning her open. Her eyes fluttered closed as he pounded into her. The room was filled with the wet slap of their bodies joining again and again. The only other sounds were the gentle whimpers Naevia gave each time she was filled. She was so perfect. So soft. So wet. All for him! 

Lucius couldn’t deny the jealous beast that grew inside of him. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her. Macrinus said she would bear him a child. That was the purpose of this debauchery. To make him an heir. An heir to his grandfather’s line. Lucius imagined what Naevia would look like as she swelled with his child. The image only made him drive into her faster. He let out a heavy moan and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She smelled like bread and honey. He hated to admit it, but the thought of planting his seed in such a sweet girl only urged his need. A primal instinct burned in his mind. He needed to breed. He needed to create something before his miserable life was over. He needed to leave something behind. The animal drive to breed had activated somewhere in the distant corners of his mind, and he couldn’t control it. He felt how tightly her inner walls gripped his cock and all he wanted was to feel her pulse around him as she came. He moved his hand on her thigh between their bodies until his fingers brushed against her bud. Instantly, Naevia’s grip on his shoulder’s tightened. Her nails sunk into his skin and his gasped in response. Her grip on his cock also tightened. She pulsed in time with his ministrations. Clenching down on his length with each drag of his finger over her bud. 

Lucius picked his head up from the crook of her neck. As much as he loved breathing in her scent, he needed to see her. He looked up just as she pulsed around him. Her mouth fell open with a tender moan and her head tilted back, arching her spine. The noise was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. But she wasn’t looking at him. He needed  her to look at him. To see him. To know him. “Look at me,” he demanded between harsh thrusts. Naevia’s eyes fluttered open, but she was looking up at the ceiling. Not at him. “Look at me,” he demanded again, louder this time and with a harsher tone. Naevia’s eyes snapped to his and he felt instant relief. She was burning as much as he was. Every ounce of her essence pulsed with need. A need for him. Lucius gasped as he beheld her. He still couldn’t believe how open and sweet and willing she was for him. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was wholly unworthy. He deserved to feel overwhelming shame. But instead, she was gushing around his cock, making him feel in a way he thought he never would again. He was getting close and he could feel she was too. 

Lucius pinched her bud between his fingers and her walls clenched down on his length. She became impossibly tight and let out a breathy cry. Her eyes were wide and wild as she came on his cock. Lucius let out a low groan as he surged into her as he found his own release. As his warm seed flooded her womb, his eyes fluttered shut and he wondered if it would take root. He rested his forehead against Naevia’s and tried to calm his hammering heart. His chest heaved with each breath but otherwise, he stilled. 

Lucius quickly came down from the high of his orgasm as his mind filled with new anxieties. What if his seed didn’t take? How long would Macrinus force them to do this? Would Naevia be punished if they failed to produce a child? But even worse were the anxieties that came if she did conceive. Would Macrinus be angry if the child was a girl? Would he demand more children from them? If it was a boy, would he be forced to train as a gladiator? Would he be branded and marked? Would he spend his whole life as a slave? Would the boy look like him?

Lucius was vaguely aware of the sound of Macrinus pushing back his chair and walking toward them. But he didn’t fully become aware of his master until he was just a few paces away. Macrinus approached and then walked past them. He opened a cabinet on the far wall and proceeded to go about his business, content to ignore the naked slaves entwined on his rug. Almost as an afterthought, Macrinus mused, “It is a shame your mother never gave you a sister. Then I could have bred you with her! Kept the family tradition alive.”

If Macrinus had said such a thing to him earlier in their conversation, Lucius would have struck him, no matter the consequences. But now, with his cock buried in Naevia’s core and the haze of his anxieties dulling his senses, he couldn’t find the will to do anything about it. Perhaps if he really had a sister, he would have cared more. At least, it was impossible for Macrinus to make it real. 

Lucius had been so desperate for eye contact in the throes of his passion. But now, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Naevia’s gaze. Her face was right below his, but he stubbornly refused to look at her. Even as she whispered his name, “Lucius.” It was so soft he barely heard it. But still, her voice rang like music in his ears. He closed his eyes, willing her to disappear from under him. Willing all his guilt and shame to disappear too. “Lucius,” she whispered again, slightly louder. But still, he couldn’t look at her. As Lucius pulled out of her, Naevia gasped and shivered. But Lucius wasn’t in a state to comfort her. He pulled away from her. He got up onto his knees and sat back on his haunches. Naevia was splayed out before him, her legs spread wide. He watched in a mixture of dread and fascination as his seed spilled from her lower lips. The instinct to spread his seed and reproduce had faded away with his climax. He felt a wave of nausea wash though him. It passed quickly, but in its place came a deep and biting shame. He never thought he’d be in this situation. He had heard many gladiators speak of the children they had fathered in whores and courtesans. And he had once believed himself to be above such things. Naevia shivered on the floor. She gathered her arms under her and weakly pushed herself up, closing her legs as she did. Lucius’s eyes were still locked on the juncture of her legs.

Macrinus threw an ornate robe over his shoulders and straightened the fabric. Without even looking at them, he said, “There is a wash basin in the corner for you to clean up.” Lucius followed the gesture of Macrinus’s hand and spotted a clay bowl on a table in the corner. Macrinus suddenly turned his attention back to Lucius and took a few steps toward him. Lucius, uncertain of what would come next, moved to stand. But Macrinus put up a hand to stop him. Lucius was caught down on one knee before his master. It was a submissive position, no doubt intended to be emasculating. Macrinus smiled casually and said, “I am expected elsewhere, but you may stay here for the rest of the afternoon. Someone will collect you at sundown.”

Lucius’s brow furrowed. They were to be left alone together? 

“Help yourself to the wine and the fruit,” Macrinus continued. He turned toward the door but then, he had another thought and turned around again, “And Lucius,” he said with a harsher twist, “There better not be any trouble when I return.” 

Macrinus waited expectantly, staring Lucius down. Lucius nodded, hoping that would be enough to pacify him. It was not. 

“Well?” Macrinus demanded.

Lucius swallowed hard. He knew what was expected of him. But it was worse that Naevia should be a witness to it. He looked up at Macrinus with a blank face and said, “Yes, master.”

Macrinus nodded and without another word, he opened the door and left.

Lucius took a shuddering breath. He could scarcely believe any of what had just transpired had really happened. But most of all, he could not believe Macrinus had left them alone together. It felt… manipulative. Like Macrinus wanted them to form an attachment. He hesitantly glanced at Naevia and she was already looking at him. Her long hair wrapped around her like a veil, shielding the side of her face and her breasts from his view. She pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself as small as possible. Lucius’s eyes fell to the floor and his jaw tightened. He felt another wave of nausea pass through him and he swallowed back the bile. 

In a quiet voice, Naevia asked, “Are you alright?”

Lucius looked up and saw the genuine concern in her eyes. He nodded quickly and broke their eye contact. It was too much for him. He stood stiffly and walked to the wash basin, a wide bowl with a cloth hanging off the edge. He dipped the cloth into the cool water and rung it out. He thought about cleaning his cock, but he had already been filthy before, so it didn’t matter much. Instead, he brought the damp cloth to Naevia and handed it to her. She accepted the small offering and cleaned between her legs. Whipping away the evidence of their coupling. Lucius turned his head away. It was foolish to think of privacy in such a moment. He had been openly staring at her cunt a minute before. And he had been inside of her the minute before that. But it was what a decent man would do. What a better man than him would do. 

When she finished, Naevia stood. Lucius turned back to her and she met his eye. Only two paces separated them, but it felt like all the vastness of the empire lay between them. He was frozen. He couldn’t even breathe as she stared at him from under her long lashes. All he could think was that she might already be carrying his child. After a long moment of terrible waiting, Naevia reached for him. Lucius’s heart stuttered as she drew closer. With her free hand, she touched his chest, tracing over the bruises that painted his flesh. He let out a soft gasp as she touched a spot that was particularly tender. Her hand froze and she looked up at him with worry, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright,” he cut her off. And with a half-smile, he added, “I am unharmed.” He still couldn’t believe that she wasn’t afraid of him. He recalled how she had cringed when he picked her up at the party. How she had recoiled from his touch. He had imagined she would react the same way this time, even though she had let him hold her for hours after the party. He fully expected her to hate him. But she didn’t. And he was unprepared. “Are you hurt?” he asked her as gently as he could.

“No,” she whispered as she shook her head softly. Her hand on his chest moved to his shoulder and brushed away some loose sand that still clung to him. 

“Forgive me,” Lucius told her, “He didn’t give me the opportunity to bathe before.”

Naevia gave him a soft smile and said, “It’s alright. There are worse things than a sweaty man.”

“Indeed,” Lucius murmured and returned her smile, though his was more of a grimace. With a heavy sigh, he continued, “What Macrinus said… about you bearing my…” His voice trailed off and his eyes fell. Another deep sigh left his body, and he looked to the heavens for guidance. The gods had no love for him. But somehow, he found the strength to look into Naevia’s eyes again and went on, “Macrinus would use a child to control me. To keep me in line. To ensure I would not rebel against him.” Naevia’s brow furrowed in worry. He wanted to reassure and tell her that he would protect her. But he knew that promise would be impossible for him to keep. “I do not wish for you to be entangled in this mess. If there is a way for you to…” He swallowed hard and prepared for the next words he was about to say. “If there is any way for you to stop it before it takes root…”

Naevia trembled slightly but she nodded. “I know of a way,” she admitted. “My former mistress, she would make me drink a tea. But…” She looked into Lucius’s eyes and he saw her fear, vivid and bright. Tears brewed in her eyes as she said, “I do not have any friends in this house. I don’t know anyone. And I’ve seen girls die because they didn’t brew it right! I don’t know-” She cut herself off as the tears came streaming down her face. 

Lucius wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking her head against his chest. She clung to him as she cried. Her trembling body seemed so small compared to his broad form. She was alone and frightened and it was his fault. Because he had been too emotional. Because he had lost control of himself. “Shh,” he tried to soothe her, knowing he was pathetically out of his depth. “It’s alright,” he cooed as he stroked a hand through her hair, “I won’t have you put yourself in danger.” Naevia sniffled again and nuzzled her cheek against him. She had calmed down, but he could still feel her fear as it pulsed through her. It mixed with his own and pooled deep within him. 

He was lost in his despair until he felt her fingers on his cheek, gently turning his face to hers. Her huge, brown eyes gazed up at him sorrowfully. Lucius wanted to reach into her and take away all the fear and misery she felt. He would take all of it if it meant she would be free. Tenderly, she brushed her fingers over his beard, feeling the coarse hairs shift under her touch. Then, she moved her hand to his brow and stroked the small bruises and cuts that marred his skin. He didn’t deserve her tenderness or her affection. He felt tears gathering in his own eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. What could he possibly say to her? What words could sooth his horrible deeds?

Naevia trailed her hand down his chest and took his hand. She led him across the room to the wash basin. She cleaned the cloth in the water and rung it out again. Lucius watched her the whole time, mesmerized by how calm she was. She turned to him and looked up at him expectantly. “Well,” she said, “I cannot reach you up there. So, you’ll have to kneel down.”

Lucius’s heart fluttered. “You mean to wash me?” he asked in disbelief.

Naevia nodded and a blush colored her cheeks. Lucius felt something strange and unnameable swell in his chest. He knelt down and held still while she bathed him with the cloth. She started with his brow, wiping away the sweat and grime that clung to him. She moved down his face and neck. The cool water caused goosebumps to form on his flesh. She knelt down with him and cleaned his shoulders and chest, only slowing as she reached his navel. She hesitated and looked up at him with an uncertain gaze. Lucius took her hand in his own. “It’s alright,” he said to her in a low voice, “I’ll finish the rest.”

Naevia nodded and allowed him to pull the wash cloth from her hand. She stood and retreated back toward the desk, where their clothes lay on the floor. Lucius washed his lower body quickly. The cloth was already filthy but he found a clean corner to scrub his cock with. He barely had the patience to wipe down his legs and feet. His hair was still unwashed but he would have to live with that. He turned back to Naevia and saw she had dressed. Her shy look from across the room sent an unexpected pang though his heart. They hadn’t chosen to be together. But she would be the mother of his child. And that bound them. That made her his responsibility. 

With a hurried pace, he walked back to where his britches lay and hastily pulled them back on. He wished that he had been given a shirt. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so exposed. Naevia looked as though she felt the same way. Her bare arms were pulled tight across her chest, holding herself. He could see her uncertainty. To a certain degree, it was endearing. But he hated that it was him that made her so uncertain. 

With a heavy sigh, he sat down on a bench. His hands gripped his knees and his knuckles turned white from strain. He had much to consider. In the months since his enslavement, he had allowed himself to become consumed by revenge. He could live with bearing his own punishments. But if Macrinus were to pass them on to Naevia and the child, he would never forgive himself. He did not know how to calculate a child into his plans. Much to his surprise, Naevia sat next to him. She sat close enough that their legs touched. After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand over his, soothing him. He instantly relaxed into her touch. 

Lucius’s mouth went completely dry and he gulped down a heavy breath. “I don’t understand your goodness,” he confessed as he turned to her with awe in his eyes. “And I don’t deserve your tenderness.” 

Naevia shook her head. “No,” she murmured, “It is you who have been good to me.”

Lucius couldn’t help the scoff that fell from his lips. “I violated you. I forced myself on you. Twice now.”

“But you didn’t want to!” Naevia protested. “I could see it from the moment we first met eyes. You’re not like the others.” Lucius raised his hand to her face and stroked her cheek. Naevia leaned into his touch and let out a soft sigh, “Every other touch I have known,” she continued slowly, “was cruel and selfish. You are the only man who has ever… made me feel good.”

A swell of pride flushed in Lucius’s chest.  “My only solace in all this mess,” Lucius told her in a low voice, “Is that no other man will touch you now.”

Naevia opened her eyes and met his with a burning gaze. “I am glad for it,” she said with a smile. “You see? Why would I hate you when you have protected me?”

“I cannot protect you,” Lucius admitted sorrowfully. “I am but a slave. I will likely die in the arena before the child is born.”

Naevia took his hand in hers again and said, “Let us not think of such things.”

Lucius swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and said, “I can think of nothing else.” Naevia’s face clouded with worry. But he continued before she could reply, “These past months, I have been driven only by revenge. For my wife and for my home. But now,” he let out a dark laugh, “I cannot continue down that road without endangering you.”

“Do not worry about me,” Naevia said gently, “I am not with child yet.”

“But you could be,” Lucius said with grave sincerity. 

Naevia blushed deeply but she did not respond. She didn’t have to. 

Silence settled between them. There was little they could say to each other without opening the floodgates of their emotions. Instead, they found a solace in touch. Naevia curled herself under Lucius’s arm and she rested her head against his shoulder. It was comforting to feel her weight against him. Lucius wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly. 

All too fast, the afternoon sun fell low in the sky. The door to the chamber opened and two of Macrinus’s guards stood outside. It was time. 

Lucius placed a kiss on Naevia’s brow. She clung to him as they stood and walked to the door. Only when they reached the guards, did they finally part. Naevia’s fingers lingered on his hand for a moment as they were taken in opposite directions down the hall. Lucius looked back over his shoulder and saw Naevia do the same. It wasn’t like the first time they parted ways; he knew he would see her again. 

AN: I intended this to be a quick follow up, I really did! I intended to post this before new years. But then... well, it just kept getting bigger and more elaborate. I have really loved exploring Lucius's psyche. He's such a fateful character.

As always, thank you all for reading!! If you enjoyed reading this, please comment or reblog. It really means the world to me! And my ask box is always open to anyone who wants to talk about Lucius or writing in general!! <3

[actuallysaiyan]

Just Need A Little Lovin'(All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral sex(Fem receiving), lewd themes, some fluff, young age!Toshinori, Dave mention word count: 1.2k pairings: Young age!All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader summary: it's a slow progression when you and Toshi begin dating, but once you introduce him to sex, he becomes obsessed with eating pussy.

dividers: @adornedwithlight.

taglist: @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai, @thestarsystemsworld @pixelcafe-network.

When you started dating Toshinori, things were a little slow. He was so soft and so sweet. You taught him how to speak English, and he taught you how to speak Japanese. Dave thought the two of you were so adorable. He would never get tired of teasing the two of you all the time.

Things progressed slowly. It was a lot of trial and error and just getting to know each other. You two didn’t do anything intimate until months later. And after you two began to explore each other’s bodies, this is when Toshinori realized he was very obsessed with pussy.

Just the thought of your little pussy made him so hard. Whenever you weren’t around, he would find the panties he stole from you and he would jerk off. The bed would creak from his violent movements as he stroked his thick cock. The pink tip leaking so much precum, lubricating his hand. He tried to mimic what it felt like to fuck you, but it was just never enough.

You had joked that you created a monster, but really it was all to your benefit. You loved the fact that this big man was obsessed with you. He showered you in affection and sweetness along with all the mind blowing sex you two had.

One of Toshinori’s favorite things to do with you was to eat you out. Nothing better to him than to lick, suck and kiss that cute little cunt and have you shaking beneath him. A lot of the time, he enjoyed pulling you onto his face and having you ride his tongue.

Tonight, he’s feeling very needy. It’s been a little while since you two were able to have some alone time. So he’s sitting in your apartment, waiting like the good boy he is. When you walk through the door, he’s all over you within the instant.

“Missed you so much.” The big man wraps his arms around you, kissing you all over your face.

“Awh, I missed you too.” You say sweetly, kissing him back.

Toshi easily towers over you. But he’s so damn careful with his strength. He’d feel terrible if he ever truly hurt you. His hands are grabbing at you, pulling you closer. You can feel the boner in his tight jeans. You giggle softly, and the sound just makes his cock twitch.

“Needy, baby?” You ask him, looking into his eyes.

His eyes are dark with lust. “Missed you a lot, baby. My hand doesn’t feel as good as you.”

Those words alone make need pool deep inside of you. You swallow hard as you try to come to terms with just how horny Toshinori is. He gets down on his hands and knees, nuzzling his face between your thighs. No other man you’ve ever met has been this obsessed with giving oral sex.

“Can I please, please lick your pussy?”

You swallow hard again, and you nod. He shakes his head, whimpering softly as he continues to press his nose between your thighs. He takes long, greedy inhales of your scent through your pants.

“Please, tell me you want it too.” He practically begs.

You moan. “I want it. I want it so badly, Toshi.”

You gently tug on his soft hair, earning a loud moan from the big man on his knees in front of you. He pulls down your pants and panties swiftly, tossing them behind him. It takes seconds for him to dive in and begin devouring you.

His tongue is so warm, and so soft. He pulls your little bud between his lips, suckling on it like it’s his favorite candy. Just the look of him on his knees like this, face already wet with your juices and his own drool, has your knees buckling. Toshinori smirks before he pins you to the wall and allows you to rest your legs on his shoulders for support.

“Fuck,” you pant. “That’s my good boy. Such a good boy for me.”

His cock strains in his tight jeans. He lets out another whimpering noise before he’s shoving his face back between your thighs. Toshinori eagerly slurps up all your juices, making you shudder. Your fingers stay tangled in his hair and when you begin to hump his face for more pleasure, he doubles down on his efforts.

His tongue swirls around your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. Toshinori looks up at you with your clit between his lips and you shake. The sight alone could send you over the edge. He then begins to press kiss after kiss to it, making it twitch with need.

“Toshi,” you whine his name so sweetly. “Toshi, your fingers…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. You watch through hooded eyes as he sucks on two of his massive fingers, wetting them sufficiently. Then you cry out as he pumps them both into you, returning to his assault on your swollen little nub.

“Love tasting you,” he whines as he begins to pump his fingers. “Love making you cum.”

You’re not even able to form words, much less coherent thoughts. Here was this giant man on his knees for you, feasting at your cunt like it was the thing that would give him lifeforce. You barely notice when he pulls his cock out and begins to jerk off with his free hand.

Toshinori holds you up against the wall with just his sheer strength alone. You keep tugging on his hair as you hump yourself against his mouth and his fingers. You gasp when his fingers curl against that sweet spot of yours. You’re so close now, you don’t know if you can properly warn him.

It builds so fast, it leaves you blindsided. Waves of pure, blissful pleasure wrack through your body. The soft pants and whimpers that come from your lips make his cock twitch with need. Toshinori diligently pulls all the pleasure from you, moving his fingers within you to prolong every second of pleasure.

He presses one more kiss to your clit before he’s pulling away from you. Then you gasp when he pushes you against the wall, thrusting into you to be balls deep inside of you. You cling to him; your walls are still fluttering from the intense orgasm.

“S-sorry, just needed to fuck…needed to fuck so badly,” he whispers as he begins to pound himself into you.

The sound of wet skin slapping together fills the room obscenely. He’s pounding himself into you quickly and wantonly. His mouth attacks your neck, leaving hickies and marks on your skin. You tug on his hair again, pulling him in for a very sloppy kiss.

Your legs are shaking as you're headed towards another blissful orgasm. This time, you moan his name when you reach your peak. The pulsing of your walls pulls him over the edge as well, and he whimpers as he pumps you full of his cum. 

Toshinori leans his forehead against yours as he comes down from his high. You eagerly breathe in his soft pants as you two share soft little kisses. You’ve never been more in love with someone before.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he says sheepishly. “You need to stop staying away for so long.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[summerhuntresses]

the good man scorns

[ao3]

Same song, same dance, same smile and laughter and graceful wave everywhere she went. The bubble was beginning to feel like it was the only real thing in her life.

OR,

A glance into the mindset of a grieving good witch, during the celebration of a wicked witch's death.

~~~

No one mourns the wicked, indeed.

Same song, same dance, same smile and laughter and graceful wave everywhere she went. The bubble was beginning to feel like it was the only real thing in her life, buoying her from dream to dream as she spread the news of Elph- of the Witch’s death. It really was all starting to blur together, the faces of her fellow Ozians upturned to her so eagerly as they waited to hear the news she brought.

She could tell them anything, really. Part of her wanted to, just to see how long it would take before they realized she was lying. Would they realize the lie? The Wizard had been a terrible person, and Morrible worse yet, but they had been effective in their work. Oz had never been more docile, its communities less willing to think for themselves. El- The Witch had tried, flitting from town to village to sanctuary with her message of hope and truth and revolution, but she had been one person fighting an uphill battle against the tireless propaganda machine of the Emerald City. There had never been a chance.

There had never been a chance and Glinda had told her, said exactly that in the clock tower all those years ago. Oz, even the Wizard had told her! But no, Elpha- the Witch had had her morals, would never have aligned with the Wizard after he had revealed his deceit to her, even just for a short time. She would rather have martyred herself on the altar of her own resolve, uncompromising to the end.

Well, Glinda hopes she was happy when she died. She hopes she was happy as she burned, hopes that she found peace in the knowledge that she never betrayed her principles even as the whole world aligned itself against her. Glinda hopes her willful, stubborn shortsightedness brought her utter fucking bliss in the end, when she died alone and in agony with the entirety of Oz united in hatred against her and her cause.

Glancing down at the crowd clamoring beneath her, Glinda had to suppress a laugh that she knew would have come out far, far too jagged to be appropriate for the celebrations. The thought that any of the shamelessly naive Munchkinlanders dancing in the square would have the slightest idea of what it was the Witch had been doing was funny. She knew good and well that some of the people below her had known Elpha-

She breathed.

Some of the people below her had more than likely known Elphaba as a child, had been the ones who hurt her so badly she had come to Shiz with walls like a fortress insulating her from the world. It hadn’t mattered. It didn’t stop them from turning on her, condemning her, hating her. 

Was it you, she wondered. A handsome young Munchkin twirled a pregnant woman, laughing as they stepped on a ripped wanted poster. Were you the ones who threw stones at a child who had never done anything but want to be loved? A group of washerwomen chattered as they worked, dipping their hands into troughs stamped with instructions on precisely how to kill the Witch. Would you even remember if it was?

No, it hadn’t mattered a single bit. Once the Wizard told them to hate, they hated. Once Morrible told them to fear, they feared. Once Glinda the Good told them to celebrate, they laughed and cheered and danced like children.

She looked down at the sea of faces before her, men and women and children blending together until all she saw was a single being, one soul in many bodies that reached and grasped and pawed at her, desperate to be spoon-fed the honey-sweet cocktail of lies and fear and twisted truth that they had been gobbling up for years while saying ‘thank you’ and asking for more, please, always more.

Pain shot through her jaw where she had clenched her teeth, biting down on nothing as she forced herself to keep smiling. They were dragging something into the square- an effigy, she felt herself realize. A straw mockery of Elphaba, forty feet tall and adorned with the hat she had given her on the day Glinda had been seeing in her dreams for the last ten years. It took her a moment to see the sign hanging from her- from its neck, hateful words stark and black before her eyes. 

Kill the witch.

Well, Glinda mused, it’s a bit late for that.

There was a heavy, pounding pressure rising behind her eyes, fury and grief and despair blending together and urging her to do something that she knew she would regret. It felt a bit like one of Elphaba’s flying monkeys was trying to claw its way out from beneath her ribcage, claws rending and horrifying fangs tearing her delicate insides to shreds. It wouldn’t surprise her if she opened her mouth and blood came spraying out, mixing with the scream she had been holding in since that day at Kiamo Ko.

She kept smiling. A child gave her a flower to toss. She shook the hand of a young mother. The effigy rolled closer.

There was a kind of absentminded regret she was feeling, she realized, that she was so clearheaded in this moment. She spared a moment to wish that she could dissociate on command, could astral project, could use the Grimmerie to cast a single fucking spell that would help her not feel what was coming.

The effigy rolled closer. A man handed her a torch with a bow. Glinda felt white heat roll up through her bones and squeeze the air from her lungs, felt the insane urge to drop the torch and ram the pointed end of her wand into his eye, felt her knuckles go white.

She smiled, and threw the torch on the pyre.

Oh, she realized. I hate them.

She turned away, never letting her smile drop. Her entire body ached from how stiffly she held herself, but she could not make her muscles relax. She was still smiling, could feel the strain in her face, could see the Munchkinlanders light up with pride and joy and relief when they met her eyes.

It had been long enough, surely. The effigy would burn for hours and she had more stops to make on her impromptu tour of Oz. Much to do, she thought absently. The Palace alone would be hell to get under control, between rooting out Morrible’s spies and disbanding the Gale Force and squashing any residual Wizard sympathizers. She couldn’t spend her entire day standing in a backwater Munchkin village as they cheered the death of her- the death of the Witch.

As she stepped back into her chariot, hitting the button to form her bubble, she felt a faint shimmer of relief. Her younger self would laugh, she was sure, if told that one day she would become the most beloved ruler Oz had ever seen but would crave nothing more than solitude. 

Movement caught her eye, a young woman pushing her way to the front of the crowd. Glinda managed not to sigh, popping the bubble again. She had been so close to escaping these people, so close to blessed solitude away from- No, she cut herself off. Too far.

“Is it true you were her friend?” 

Glinda felt the air leave her lungs in a rush, the words landing like a sledgehammer.

The woman asked the question loudly, not shouting but projecting in a slow and measured way, obviously intending for the entire crowd to hear her clearly. The disgust in her tone was masked but still present, anger clear in her stance and the set of her jaw. A wave of gasps and horrified mutters swept through the crowd, people who had just minutes ago been laughing and smiling and bowing over her hand now staring judgmentally and with the stirrings of fear in their eyes.

“Friend?” Her voice was faint, memories rushing through her mind like a flood. Facing off in the courtyard. Dancing at the Ozdust. Running through the halls of Shiz. Lying in their shared room. Kissing on the train. Passing notes in class. Hand in hand, always hand in hand, attached at the hip, two parts of one whole- until they weren’t. Until that horrible, awful, nightmarish day where Elphaba had flown off the handle and flown off into the sky and left her behind because she was too stubborn, too moralistic, too good to stay.

Because Glinda was too cowardly, too selfish, too wicked to stay for.

“Friend.” She said the word slowly, tasting every letter as it left her lips. “No, not her friend.” The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, a single organism before her once more. The woman frowned, her mouth opening to say something else that Glinda didn’t care about. She continued, “They haven’t invented the words to describe what she was to me.”

She died for you, she thought but didn’t say. She died trying to save you and you burned her at the stake. 

The Munchkins were in an uproar but Glinda had no interest in soothing their feelings. Enough was enough. 

She tapped the button by her feet once more, sighing in relief as the bubble sprang into place and muted the furious clamor of the square. There were still six more stops on her tour, but she could get to them the next day. It was only an hour back to the Emerald City, and she was quite looking forward to taking a bath by herself and escaping the bleating of the sheep.

[craziestfangirl98]

I would first like to start with, I get why THK team decided to refrain from releasing the episode last week and having to take an extra week's break now because if they would have done that, I wouldn't be able to function.

This episode was insane. But so so meaningful. I am enjoying this show more and more the deeper it goes and I'm really excited to see where it goes from here.

Since the beginning of the series I've been hoping that we'd see more of Fadel and Bison's interactions and I finally got it now. Can't say how happy it made me. Even with how it hurt, it felt so fulfilling to see them as brothers.

The guilt and heart break in Bison's eyes while telling Fadel the truth about bringing them into his life and 'hiring' Style made me see the side of Bison that is still young and naive but cares for his brother whole heartedly. I also love that although Fadel didn't forgive Bison and told him he'd 'deal' with him later about his betrayal, he was still there with his brother for the most part. Scared and concerned and worried about the heart break that he would experience. Even on his birthday, Fadel made sure to take care of Bison and got him a cake and a candle, which would mean a lot considering they were both adopted into this business and became brothers.

I think I deserve points for thinking it is mother who ends up hurting Bison considering Keen did bring out a gun but was beaten to the punch because Bison's impulsive ass couldn't stop himself from intervening into the situation.

Throughout the entire episode I was waiting with bated breath for the ball to drop and when it finally did in the hospital room and the bathroom for KantBison and FadelStyle respectively I had to physically let go a shudder terrified of what is to come.

I like how most of the fandom read Fadel and Bison accurately in terms of Fadel at least giving Style another chance and allowing to hear him out while Bison just blew his gasket so to speak.

I love that Style's reaction to it all was just to take it in stride and make Fadel's life more chaotic not because he hates him but because he loves him and wants to prove that 'i might have been coerced into loving you but I know nothing but loving you now and will do so forever.' I find it equal times hilarious and adorable. Something about Style continuously choosing Fadel makes me believe that the ex might have left and deceived him.

I knew when I watched the trailers and we were revealed that there would be a Kant jumping off the boat scene while he has a phobia of the water, that it would hit me hard. I was not prepared for that to happen today. Especially not the way it did. I had no doubts about Kant loving Bison but to see his heartbreak and grief about the reality of their relationship, his palpable fear towards Bison and his guilt towards ratting them out to the cops is all so clear in his face but so is the resignation and determination that he has to do this in order to convince to Bison and First is such a phenomenal actor for it all.

I do believe, in the heart of my hearts, Bison jumped straight after Kant to rescue him. I don't think he thought Kant cared enough to jump and would jump straight after. Because I don't think they will ever get to establishing trust otherwise.

Next week both the couples are going to be surviving alone, FadelStyle trying to find KantBison while they are dealing with the aftermath and the consequences of today. I don't know how I'm going to be waiting and going back to work. Sigh... Let's see.

Anyway, let me know what you all are thinking about this episode. Week by week it feels like it is going to be a tragedy instead of a comedy all though I doubt it. The angst is angsting and it hurtssssss.

[more-mara]

Here’s an old WIP of mine that I have yet to finish.

Only now did Oscar actually get a good look at the captain's face. The man who had basically ruled the seven seas for the last 8 years, the man whose name alone could send a man trembling to his knees. Oscar didn’t think he’d ever get the misfortune to meet him.

Oscar bowed his head, looking away from the scarred yet shockingly young looking face of the captain. He flexed his hand in his binds, feeling the rope start to burn and chafe against his damp skin.

“What is your name, boy?” The captain asked as Oscar raked his eyes up from the pristinely polished boots to stare at the sword hilted in the captain's belt.

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that giving his name would probably be the last thing he ever did, no one survived a run in with Captain Sainz- it’s why no one knew for sure what he looked like. Oscar felt a little defiant, wanting to at least die with dignity.

Suddenly, a booted foot was planted against his back, Oscar fell forward with a groan as his face planted straight into the wooden floor of the ship, his hands still tied behind him.

“Answer when the captain speaks to you,” A voice said. He sounded French, maybe. Oscar struggled to place it exactly but as he turned his head to look at the man, he had an amused glint in his eye- as if he was enjoying Oscar’s guts for defiance.

“Oscar,” He grunted, gaze fixed on the man behind him- decidedly not at the captain. The man’s face lit up. Yeah, he was definitely enjoying this.

“Oscar? Not a very nobel name,” The man said with a smirk.

“I am not a nobel,” Oscar said, straining in his confines. The man behind him seemed to take pity, removing his foot from Oscar’s back to haul him back onto his knees. Oscar was faced with the captain once more, whose face was deep in a frown.

“What are you, then? You don’t look like you can fight,” The captain said, his eyes raking across Oscar’s figure, taking in the tattered clothing and overall dishevelled appearance.

Oscar bit his bottom lip, eyes meeting the captain’s once more. He tried not to let his voice shake as he spoke.

“Women are prohibited on our ships by the articles, sir, bad luck, you see?” Oscar said, looking almost a little desperately at the captain- praying he knew what he meant without having to explain.

“Are you seriously explaining pirate code to me?” The captain asked. He looked completely unimpressed and almost angered. Oscar winced a little, straightening his back.

“The men- they need…they are still men, and men have needs…”

The wave of silence crashed over them quicker than the ripples on the ocean. Oscar could see the tension in the captain's face and he heard a small gasp coming from his left- another of captain Sainzs crew.

“If I spare your life, will you be useful to me?” The captain asked, his gaze narrow and steely. Oscar swallowed thickly- he had done this ‘job’ for years now, a different crew would be no different. He knew how to please- how to be of worth.

“Whatever you ask, I will do, sir” Oscar said and he hated how his voice shook. When his previous ship was attacked, he thought he was saved. They flew the flag of the navy and Oscar felt his heart lurch in his chest when he spotted it. Freedom, at last, after 6 gruelling years. But no, it appears Captain Sainz had flown the flag of the monarchy as a ruse to capture their cargo. And it worked, with Oscar being captured along the way.

“You will help the men clean their weapons, you can start tomorrow morning,” The Captain said, and Oscar felt himself frowning.

“I thought-“

“You said you will do whatever I ask, correct?”

Oscar nodded.

“Well, this is what I am asking. Charles, keep him straight,” The Captain said, nodding to the man behind him. So Charles was his name, good to know, Oscar supposed. Charles gave him a smug grin before unsheathing his sword, cutting away Oscar’s binds with swift accuracy.

“Welcome aboard, matey,”

[eusuntgratie]

as a certified mom(tm), what's the most common thing people get wrong when they write children?

ooooh i love this question! (adding certified mom to the resume STAT btw)

i think the MOST common thing people get wrong is the realistic development/representation of a child at a certain age. i see lots of fic where a three year old is speaking in full sentences, where an eight year old baby-talks all the time, where a six year old has literally no concept of what is happening in their life. i saw a good tumblr post that was a great resource for writing kids by age that i'll see if i can find. but with how many moms are on tumblr, i think just asking them... how would a five year old talk? or how would a ten year old handle this type of situation? would be a great start.

there are other things that are always jarring for me as a parent that someone who doesn't spend a lot of time with kids might not notice or care about.

the first is that your (young) kids are ALWAYS around. you are literally always responsible for where your kid is and what they are doing. if they aren't with you, you've made a plan for where they are, how they'll get there, when you'll pick them up, etc. there are exceptions of course (people living on huge pieces of land or in neighborhoods where they know everyone are more likely to have their kids running around and might not know exactly where they are, some people have multigenerational households and have a lot of help). but even in those cases, the parent still knows and is responsible for that kid. there's nothing wrong with writing a kidfic that isn't realistic just bc its cute or you like the trope. but as a parent its jarring as hell to have a character introduced as a parent (especially a single parent!) and then the kid is never around. i promise you that man is not fuckin' or going on dates as much as you want him to be 🤣 or if he is, it took a LOT of work or he has a LOT of support.

related to this, every parent i know is exhausted. if their love interest isn't attracted to their eye bags or letting them sleep instead of waking them up for sex, get outta my face. the sexiest thing a partner could do for a parent? LET THEM SLEEP.

related, we do fuck with kids in the house. (cough cough chris going on sleepovers 3x/week in fic 🤣). its okay. you can make keeping quiet sexy. you can lock the door so you'll hear it if they need something without traumatizing them. you can use a baby monitor to keep an eye or ear out. we don't wait until our kids leave to have sex, or some of us would hardly ever have sex.

a few random notes and i'll wrap up. kids aren't (and shouldn't be put in the position to be) solving their parents problems for them. most kids won't immediately trust a new adult, especially if that person is dating their parent and their other parent is still in their life, even if they really like that person. a parent would not leave their child with their brand new love interest unless they had literally no other option. i have some issues, but there are very few people i trust to be alone with my kid. someone i don't know well would never make it onto that list.

lastly, parents fuck up. we aren't perfect. i try really really hard to break generational shit, to do better, to be a good mom. i've read lots of books, done tons of therapy, found great resources, done parenting groups, i consult with other parent friends and friends who work in mental health about challenging situations. and i fuck up all the time. kids, even great kids, are little assholes sometimes. nobody's perfect, and that's okay. nobody's kid is a perfect little angel 24/7 and nobody is a perfect parent.

my askbox is always open and i always love to talk about writing! thanks for this it was a fun question to answer <3

[sepulcher666]

Here's the full thing:

I Trudge Through Corpses

I stand with a lone scout, the only survivor of his company. We had fought through the crumbling cathedral and navigated collapsing roofs and detritus to get so far. This dangerous journey, however had exacted it’s toll. Only one of us is getting out of here. 

“Reclusiarch.” The young man rasps. He grasps my forearm heavily, using it as a crutch to right himself. It seems he wanted to face me with as much dignity as he could muster. There was pride in those pained eyes. I would listen to whatever he had to say. 

“May i make a final request, my lord?” I had heard this far too often these past weeks,

I nod. “Make it known to me, and i will fufill it to the best of my abilities.”

His shoulders sag slightly in relief. He was losing strength by the minute. “Give me final benedictions. Something a battle brother would deserve.”

The ruined altar in this church was only but a few steps away.

I gently pick him up and lay him against the shrine. I start to recite the benedictions and the rites of passing. 

Both of us know that help is a long way off from here. The Calix will not make it in time to save him, no matter how much I wish it would not be so.

As i finish, I notice he’s fallen still. The stuttered rhythm of breathing i had heard from his lips has ceased now. He has died. 

I lay his bolter across his chest and give him a warrior’s salute. He deserves as much. 

“May the Emperor see you to his side.”

—-

I left him behind. The only survivor of our scout detachment. Whatever is left of him is crushed underneath the ruins of the shrine. I left them all behind. 

The thought repeats in my head like a ruthless, repeating drumbeat of guilt, anger and shame. I know they died well, but some part of me believes this could have been prevented. That i could have been better and somehow prevented so many from dying.

But I know what’s gone is gone now. Their legacy will lie in the dirt and ashes of this world once we are done with it. Their names will be forgotten.  It is my duty to bring the news back to the chapter that the convent has fallen.

 I feel the rents the carnifex had left behind on my armor. For whatever reason it’s poison has not completely eaten away at the protective layers underneath the ceramite but it has rent it’s toll on the cogitators and systems. I can see the alarms that blare in my helmet. They fill what little vision I have and blast noise in my ears. I cannot hear any of them but the sound of my breathing and the destination ahead. There is so much smoke and dust that roams around the battlefield that it makes anything not within a few feet difficult to see. 

My eyes hurt so much. They blink in an attempt to clear the dust that covers the thin film of moisture that is quickly drying up now. I cannot recall how far I have walked and how I have even made it this far. My hands are covered in blood that is not mine. My injuries have slowly been torn open by activity and exhaustion. I should have died by now. 

I have pushed my armor and my body too much and too far. 

I come upon a familiar encampment within a ruined cathedral. Familiar etchings line the walls, with a heart and teardrop upon the entrance to the door.

The guards see the familiar emblem on my pauldron and let me pass into the cathedral.

—--------

I barely notice the bulky form of an Apothecary Biologis come up to me and haul me to my feet. He is surprisingly deft for how much his armor restricts his movement.

“What happened?” An unfamiliar voice comes out of his vox speaker. I cannot help but note how heavily accented it is. I did not have much time to acclimate all of the new primaris arrivals. I shut off the alarms, blaring in my helmet to hear myself think for a moment. Enough to answer his question.

“I escaped alone- The Cathedral of Saint Vitulia Under Siege- The fortress is overrun-” I feel a painful spike and fresh blood flow down my lips as something else tears open in my body. I was going to continue- to tell him that the last scout attached to the second company was with me-

I feel stale air hit my face as he tears off my helmet and pricks my neck with a stimulant. It is enough to numb whatever pain clouds my thoughts. It is not enough to banish the searing guilt and melancholy that follows. 

“The Cathedral of Saint Vitulia has fallen. The convent of the Crimson Chalice has gone silent.” My voice trails off. Sorrow keeps my voice from continuing. 

The Biologis nods. He has heard enough from me and uses his vox-bead to communicate this information to whatever command still remains here. Part of me wishes to go with them. To see this through. But i know they will not let me die here. 

I feel a second prick at my neck, and the world goes dark.

some art for something I plan on writing

[syndrossi]

Não sei se entendi muito bem como está funcionando os pedidos, mas vou pedir algo que estou louca pra ler.

Em Regnal, reação da família ao descobrirem que os gêmeos foram sequestrados.

Ou melhor ainda, reação ao descobrirem que os gêmeos são imunes ao fogo. Estou ansiosa pra ler sobre a reação de Jaehaerys e suas suspeitas sobre a profecia.

I decided to go with Jaehaerys reacting to the twins' fireproofness!

x~x~x

“You are certain?”

His son nodded, arms tightening around his twin grandsons, who were sitting quietly in his lap. His face was pale and haggard, as though he had not slept in days—not unlike his very brief visit to King’s Landing shortly after the twins’ birth, when he had come for the dragon eggs.

Baelon the Brave, his son was called, yet grief and loss had stolen that carefree surety. It would make him a better king, Jaehaerys suspected, but it had hollowed out the man.

“I saw their cradle after. It was burned near to ash, and yet there was not a mark upon them when Daemon pulled them from the fire.” Even the retelling seemed to drain his son, though a tug at his collar by his namesake did draw a faint smile. He kissed his grandson’s head. “I am sorry, Jon, you shall have ample time to gnaw upon your father’s hair later.”

“How did Daemon fare?” His grandson had looked hale enough when greeting him, and only half as sullen as when last they had spoken.

“He avoided the worst of it in his haste. I feared for his hands, but they seemed to suffer no worse than if the sun had burned him.”

That in itself was noteworthy. Jaehaerys’s eyes shifted to the candle upon his desk, and he saw Baelon tense once more. “I must see for myself,” he said.

“Do you call me a liar?” his son demanded.

“You knew that it would be necessary,” Jaehaerys admonished, “or you would not have brought them alone.”

“I brought them alone because my good-daughter would gut you for even suggesting it, Kingsguard or no.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, holding his arms out for the younger child, Aemon.

He truly did have the look of Jaehaerys’s second son, purple eyes alert and watchful as they returned his gaze. Jaehaerys carefully removed the babe’s shoe and stocking on his left foot, then slowly brought it toward the candle’s flame. As he did so, the babe’s twin brother let out an unholy screech, causing him to flinch back in momentary surprise.

Baelon hurriedly rocked him, but the other babe’s arms and legs were flailing wildly in protest. Jaehaerys made quick work of his task, holding Aemon’s foot to the flame. The babe showed no discomfort, other than what might have been concern over his brother’s disconsolate wailing, and when he pulled him back, the skin of his was not even reddened. Jaehaerys stared, running a finger over the skin.

It is a song of fire, for certain, but what of the ice?

Jaehaerys gave the babe back to Baelon, along with his shoe and stocking, and took his twin next. His wailing had ceased upon the return of his brother, but his brow was etched in a fearsome scowl as Jaehaerys took him in his arms. It was all too easy to see the babe’s father in him, despite his Royce coloring.

He made it as difficult as possible for Jaehaerys to bare his foot, his sticky hands grabbing and pulling at his beard while his legs wriggled. But finally, he was able to repeat the test, to identical results.

The babe’s squirming had finally stopped, his grey eyes steely with challenge as they locked upon Jaehaerys’s. His instincts failed him, recognizing too late that young Baelon was preparing to spit up, and it dribbled down the length of his beard.

“I sired thirteen children,” he informed the babe, unable to set aside the suspicion that it had been intentional. “I assure you, I have suffered worse.”

A washing basin was brought to him, and a servant carefully washed and combed his beard clean while his great-grandson watched. Jaehaerys dismissed the servant then, along with the sole Kingsguard who had remained in the room.

“What does it mean?” Baelon asked once he had finished the task of putting the other babe’s shoe back on.

Jaehaerys did not know. Aegon’s prophecy had spoken of one prince, not two, and he had no notion of what the ice in question might be. The mountains of the Vale?

But the signs were unmistakable. One or both of the children must be Aegon’s promised prince.

And yet Viserys is Baelon’s heir, not Daemon. Daemon who himself had not suffered the full effects of retrieving his sons from a burning cradle. Are there signs that I missed before?

He had been considering it regardless, given Aemma’s difficulties carrying a child. An heir with two sons was preferable to one with only a daughter. Aemon and Baelon themselves had been proof of that.

“It means that we must speak of the succession.”

[sparkspropaganda]

And it's sad bc I feel like even the characters in-game don't always understand wyll, I'm sure it's been touched on before but Florrick saying "I'm sure you don't hold much love for your father" (words to that effect) is so devastating to hear. How could you say that, when wyll's love for his father was a driving force behind his pact in the first place. When he always has a kind word and an aphorism that his father imparted upon him. When his father's approval and love means the world to him, that demeaning his relationship with his father gains his disapproval... she would have no way of knowing any of this. But we know, and the companions know, and it's hard to have to hear such a thing from someone who hasn't seen him in nearly a decade, yet is still clinging to the memory of who he was and who she thinks that boy would have grown up to become.

Part of his story is not being able to tell people how he feels and who he really is and it's sad to see that even something so integral to him- his love for his father and their relationship to the city- is warped by his contract and people's own inability to sympathize w him

[pseudowho]

Bedlocked

On a University city trip, someone's got to share a hotel room with Nanami Kento, the class's misunderstood loner...and it's going to be you.

Warnings: College AU! Nanami Kento x Reader, double loss of virginity, "just one bed", heavy make-out, PIV creampie, dry humping, fingering, handjob, both reader and Nanami aged 19

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento wore the awkward bearing of a young man who was surprised by the man he was growing to be. Being uniquely in possession of those excellent traits which were overlooked by girls, but adored by women, he had outgrown himself, from personality to hair, and was unsure how to wear it. Not yet having grown the confidence to lean into his character, and own it, he had been written off by the girls in your class as sullen, boring, miserable-- a downer.

All the girls, that is, except for you. And this was how you found yourself to be sharing a hotel room with Kento, on your thesis research trip to Kyoto.

"--made a mistake with the bookings, we're several rooms short--"

'--well we can share a bed, that's fine, but I'm not sharing with him--"

"--I dunno...I don't think he'd try anything, I just...want to have fun, that's all, and he's a bit..."

You scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the other young women spoke amongst themselves. Kento had not arrived, and yet, was the talk of the group. As the only young man in the class, he had maintained a respectful, professional distance from the young women in it. It had earned him what you thought was a rather undeserved reputation.

Where the others saw uptight, you saw diligence. Where they saw boring, you saw reserved. Where others saw sarcastic, you saw hilarious. Where they saw grumpy, you saw rage against the machine.

In truth, you had long-since harboured an obsession with Kento. His hushed intensity was magnetic, and carried a mass you longed to draw you in. While others saw you as opposites, you saw yourself and Kento as each others' perfect foil. Matching puzzle pieces. Each others' missing ingredient.

And, god, you ached for him, alone at night with your hand drifting downwards. And you would not let him be treated like a leper.

"For goodness' sake, I'll share with Kento." You piped up, seeing the other girls all look round at you. Their eyes drifted, widening in surprise at something behind you, and you did not hear the hotel lobby door swing open and closed outside of your view. "In fact, I'd be delighted to share with him. I'm sure he'll be just as funny and respectful as he always is."

"You think I'm funny."

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the question framed as a statement, and spun round to face Kento...but not as you knew him. You stuttered.

"Oh, wow, Kento...your hair..."

Gone was the sloppy, loping fringe. Instead, Kento's honey-blond hair was neatly parted, undercut, framing his face. All of a sudden, he was so...handsome. Kento glowered down at you, impassive and unreadable. He gave one baleful hum at your assessment of him.

"I assume something happened with the room bookings, then. For you to wind up stuck with me." Before you could answer, Kento pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning back to the doorway with one enormous hand grasping his suitcase handle. "You shouldn't have to make a decision to your detriment. It's not your fault. I'll find somewhere else to sta--"

Kento was interrupted, by your hand clasping over his on his suitcase handle. A grunt of surprise left his lips, at the feel of your dainty hand on his. He looked down at them, his expression always somewhere between anger and irritation. You knew better.

"Stay with me. We...get along well. We always have." Kento scowled, his eyes flickering behind you to the other girls, who, while surprised by how a simple haircut could alter Kento so, were sticking to their guns.

"I don't need your pity." Kento sniped, his voice low and earthy, "I'm perfectly happy to le--"

"And I'm perfectly happy to share. Stop being so headstrong and listen to me."

Kento bristled, looking torn between argument and agreement. As the others collected their keys, filing off to their respective rooms, you awaited his decision. With a huff, Kento fetched your room key, and headed off down the corridor. You fizzed with excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him, but suppressed it, following him with an air of assumed solemnity.

The airs and graces were soon dropped, when the door to your room swung shut behind you and Kento, and you found it to have--

"...just one bed. Shit." Kento's face twisted in discomfort, his Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he swallowed. His eyes trailed down to you, and caught your blush as if it were contagious. He turned to grasp the door handle again, stuttering, so unlike himself.

"Couldn't possibly-- absolutely not appropriate-- my mistake entirely-- find somewhere else--"

"Will you? Find somewhere else, I mean?" Kento faltered, his grip on the door handle loosening. He looked at you with something akin to dread. "On cherry blossom week? In historic Kyoto?" By the time you were finished talking, Kento had deflated like a sad balloon animal.

Night had long since fallen. You heard the laughter, baths and showers running, from the girls in the adjacent rooms. Your confidence was a total mask, as you opened your suitcase, rummaging inside for pyjamas. Your heart pounded in your chest, made all the worse by Kento's silent, tortured appraisal of you. You realised, with a jolt, that you had brought nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear to wear to bed.

Beneath his eyes, you were transparent. He felt the tension roll off you in waves. Kento cleared his throat, his ears red, a youthful flush across his nose.

"I'll-- I'll go shower." He offered, considering trying to drown himself. He heard you hum, speaking absentmindedly.

"Go on. Smelly boy." You had barely registered what you said, hearing something like a laugh from Kento as he swung the bathroom door closed behind him. You threw yourself face down on the bed, muffling your cries of anguish into a pillow. Kento leaned against the shower wall as water tumbled down his back, trying not to think with his cock, and failing miserably, cursing his body for its feral stupidity.

You remained face down on the bed. Trying to think unsexy thoughts was murder. You had always wondered how Kento looked, long and tight beneath old band t-shirts. You'd had the briefest glimpse of his abs and happy trail once, when he reached above you to switch the projector on in class. How you had restrained yourself from leaning in and licking the soft skin of his navel was beyond you. The thought of the noise he would have made, alone, had kept you going for weeks. The way you caught him looking at you in class the next day, took you the rest of the way.

"Shower's free." You sat bolt upright, your brain short-circuiting to see Kento stood at the bathroom door in nothing but pyjama trousers, steam billowing out across broad shoulders and swept back hair. You forced your mask back into place.

"Thought you'd died in there." You offered, not as casual as you sounded. You fumbled your shower bag and pyjamas out of your bag, and made your way to the bathroom. You and Kento danced awkwardly, trying to skirt round each other. With a grunt of irritation, Kento grasped your upper arms, moving you effortlessly around him into the bathroom. His touch was scalding. You wouldn't possibly make it through the weekend.

By the time you headed out of the shower, tugging at your t-shirt to make it cover more of your thighs, you blushed to your toes to see Kento sat up in bed, bare chested and reading. He read the same sentence over, and over, and over, trying with broken determination not to track his eyes up your legs, and imagine how you tasted between them. Feeling you hurriedly slip into bed beside him made his cock jump, and he reached out with a fumbling hand, switching off the light without warning.

Only the faint bathroom light illuminated the room. You both lay, backs to each other, on opposite sides of the bed. The silence grew oppressively heavy. You felt lightheaded, barely breathing, hyperaware of every noise and movement your bodies made. You were paralysed by thoughts of his honey-rich voice, his lightly freckled shoulders itching to be touched, how it would feel to be trapped beneath him while he fell apart above you.

"I'm sorry." You blinked, hearing Kento's apologetic rumble.

"...what are you sorry for?"

"This...this situation. I know I'm no fun to be around. And I've made my peace with that. But you--"

"You are fun. Very fun. I'm...not going to punish you for being an introvert."

Kento was quiet on his side of the bed, but no more relaxed. You had gathered the guts to reach one hand across the sheets to him, before he threw the covers aside, and moved to sit up.

"You need your own space. I'll sleep on the sofa." The 'sofa' sat at the end of the bed, barely more than a loveseat, and you snatched a hand out, grabbing Kento round the bicep. You almost shivered at the hard cords of muscle there, thicker than your hand by far, barely grasping on as Kento tensed.

"No. You're taller than me. I'll sleep on the sofa--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--stop being such a fucking gentleman and let me--"

"--I'm not a gentleman, it's just basic manners--"

"--listen, I feel fine, just come and share--"

"--offer some mad girl a bed and suddenly you're a gentleman--"

"Kento, please just come to bed with me."

Kento's brain stuttered, now. He rolled to face you, his whole body on fire, trying to sound calm. He was an open book, to you. You felt every nerve ending of your skin put to the flame.

"...come to bed...with you?" You moved to roll away and cover your face with your hands, indescribably mortified. Kento couldn't allow it-- not when he'd daydreamed about this for so long. He grasped your hands, rolling you back over to face him. He looked awkward, not used to his own strength, as you flipped back over with a squeak, and a weak apology from Kento. You had never noticed the beautiful whiskey depths of his eyes, before.

You were lost for words. The tables had turned so suddenly, you had no idea on which side you sat. Kento scoffed, a faint blush on his high cheekbones, scowling into a corner of the room. The silence thickened again. Kento huffed a laugh.

"Go to sleep. I'll...I'll just play some games for a while." He did not want to. He wanted to flip you over again, to hear that squeak again, wondering if you'd squeak or moan when he pressed his weeping length into your--

"Oh...what games did you bring?" Your eyes lit up, sparkling, sitting up in bed with a bounce. Kento melted. He wanted to put you in his pocket. He could manage the urges, but the affection overwhelmed him and he stuttered, fumbling for words.

"Because..." Kento waited on bated breath, your lips plush and parted, crawling just-so towards him on the bed, seeing how your breasts shifted between your arms beneath that fucking t-shirt and maybe she would want this too fuck we wouldn't come out all weekend once we've tasted each other fuck if she were my girlfriend she'd be my whole world wouldn't ask for anything else ever again--

"...because I'm desperate for a Gengar actually but I haven't got anyone to trade my Haunter with and--"

"Oh. I need a Golem."

"Oh."

"Nice."

You both rummaged in your bags, grabbing your GameBoys, and you swore, trying to find the cable to connect them. Kento raised his eyebrows, scooting himself back beside you in bed, and crossing his long legs.

"Really? You brought one? Who did you think was gonna trade with you, one of them out there--"

"I'll be honest, I was relying on you, Kento, like I always do." Kento's ears reddened. He moved to sweep back the fringe he no longer had. Instead, his long fingers swept back through his neat parting, mussing commas of blond over his forehead, in a way that made you want to do the same until his hair was a mess and he was groaning.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, comparing Pokémon teams. Kento favoured Steel and Fighting types in a balanced, well-prepared team with no weak links. You favoured Ghost types and anything cute, in a weird mismatched set-up that surprised your enemies. With your short cable connecting your GameBoys, you sat thigh to thigh. You hadn't noticed your toes scrunching against Kento's, foot, stroking your skin against his. You felt him shiver and tense.

"What-- what are you doing?" Kento asked, his voice catching in his throat. His chest felt tight. His whole being zeroed in on where your skin stroked his. You caught yourself, and curled your toes away, to Kento's disappointment. "It-- it's okay...you don't have to stop." Your games were ignored now, defunct in distracted hands.

You swallowed, the air thick with tension around you. He was so close, you could smell the residue of his cologne, and the natural masculine smell of him, earthy beneath freshly washed skin. The side of your breast, bare beneath your t-shirt, rested against his bicep. You felt his bicep clench, grazing your nipple. He felt the pebbled snag of your nipple against his arm. He knew he'd combust if he didn't feel your skin on his soon; knew his fragile resolve was breaking.

Your foot cautiously stretched back down, the sensitive skin of your toes stroking against the top of Kento's foot. You felt him shiver again, putting his GameBoy down with a grunt, his eyebrows drawn together with am arm over his eyes.

"Do you...like it when I touch you?"

Kento grumbled under his breath, his mouth twisted in faint derision. "Don't be cruel." You blushed, reaching out for his hand. Kento tangled his fingers in yours, pressing the back of your hand to his twitching thigh, and trailing featherlight fingertips over your palm and inner wrist, an erogenous zone you never knew you had until he elicited a shudder from you.

"See." Kento whispered, lightly stroking the spot on your inner arm that connected curiously to your clit and nipples, a fine gold thread of liquid arousal. "You like it, too. So if you don't mean anything by this, just stop. Don't...don't play games with me." He took his fingers away, and you almost whimpered, chasing his touch, begging.

"No, Kento, wait-- please...don't stop."

Kento short-circuited. He had never been so close to the fabled pleasure of anothers' body. Pornography had little impact for one without the flesh-memory of erotic touch. Kento's cock was thick, now, throbbing. You dropped your head to his shoulder, sighing with bliss as his trembling fingers resumed their butterfly kisses to your wrist. The growing tent in his pyjamas, and the way he spread his thighs aside to accommodate his erection, made your mouth water.

Kento shifted, his body moving on instinct, until he was tentatively leaning over you. He wanted to watch your face as he stroked your wrist, examining its fine little tendons and veins, and examining how you arched, your mouth parted, your t-shirt rucking up until he could see the warm squidge of your belly above your underwear. His voice was husky, thoughtful.

"You'd...you'd stop me, right? If you didn't want this?"

"Yeah, I...yeah. But I-- I don't want you to. I want m--"

Kenti bowed his head to drink the unfinished words off your lips, knowing you wanted more just as much as he did. He grunted against the taste of you, his lips shuddering and uncertain, only hoping his sincerity came through. Kissing him back hard, your lips and tongues clashed, both instinctual, hungry, tasting. You and Kento spurred each other on, your mutual desperation rising exponentially with each nip of the lips, each tongue thrust into each others' mouth, each moan snatched and devoured between kisses.

Your hands sunk into each others' hair, ruffling, teasing, pulling, and you whimpered into Kento's mouth at the massage of his fingertips over your scalp. You were drunk. You had to be drunk, so high off the spontaneity of a moment you thought would be planned to a T.

Kento's mouth wandered, pressing and sucking sharp little lovebites into you on his way down your neck. You had ended up tangled around him, beneath him, the tip of his cock almost escaping beneath his waistband. Riding on buckish young urgency, Kento's broad hand had risen to grope your breast, possessive, trembling against the urge to squeeze you too hard. When you whimpered, arching into his touch, his mind flew back to him, shocked and ashamed by his stunning lack of self-control.

"Sorry," Kento gasped, his mouth and hand flying off you as if burnt, "fuck, sorry, 'msosorry--"

He broke off at the sight of you. Strewn, your hair scrunched against the pillow, with love-swollen lips and roses blooming on your neck, you were serene; for him. Thrown like petals onto the sheets, all for him and his mouth and his hands. Kento felt the fog descend again, dampening his judgement, for the instinctual urge to fuck.

"Have you...have you ever..." You felt Kento's meaning. His voice was rough, deep as the valley, and hewn with stone. You shook your head, still supple and dopey from his attentions. Kento's held breath released in one husky groan. He swallowed, shaking his head down at you.

"No, I...me neither. Always wondered, always--" Always what? Always daydreamed about it almost constantly? Always chastised himself for being such a fucking animal? But, the look in your eyes as you drank him in. Kento and you met on that clouded bridge, in the middle. Your pussy ached with promise.

Kento's hand came to settle slowly on your breast again, delighted by the way you pressed into him. His fingers grazed down over your nipple, reaching the hem of your shirt, brushing upwards.

"I can...can I? Please?"

"Please. Please, yes please, god."

"Fuck...I can't...cant believe it-- finally--" Kento didn't seem to realise he was moaning his inner thoughts aloud, rucking your t-shirt up like unwrapping a gift. As your breast freed, Kento shuddered again, slanted brown eyes scrutinising your body with analytical intent, committing you to memory.

His hand ghosted over your tummy, tracing dimples and stretch marks on the way, before curling around your breast, giving the gentlest of squeezes. The noise that left his mouth was somewhere between a cough and a moan. Still possessed by a haze of need, his mouth dipped down, tongue flicking out over your nipple, before capturing it with his mouth as you arched again, keening. He pressed into your arch, one arm planted above your head, the opposite hand rolling your other breast between keen fingers.

He couldn't help but rock the straining underside of his cock against your barely-covered pussy. The material between you was so thin, you could feel the whole length of him, and the tapering shape of his bulbous tip as it snagged against your clit. Kento knew he'd cum like this, if he wasn't careful, and shivered at the idea of spilling his seed all over your belly. He brushed away his hurrying peak, so determined was he that you'd cum before him.

"--keep--keep doing that...Kentoooo--oooh, feels so good--"

A rush of competitive pride burned through him. He couldn't help but murmur against your spit-slick nipple, nuzzling it with his nose.

"Keep telling me...what feels good. Make sure I'm not selfish, 'cos I--I'll just take if you don't--"

Suddenly hyperaware of your own body and how you must look, dopey and blissful as you chased pleasure by rutting his length between your legs, you stopped, and Kento huffed.

"I can hear you--thinking you look stupid-- and you don't--" He scowled down at you, his voice hoarse and strained between heavy grunts of ecstasy. "Will you cum? Like...like that?" Kento nodded down towards where you had been rolling your pussy against him. You tried to pull an arm over your eyes, blushing, extraordinarily embarrassed. Kento tangled his fingers in yours, pressing them over your head.

"Hey-- hey-- listen, I'll...I'll let you see me cum...if you let me see you. Please." You swallowed, mouth watering at the thought of watching Kento break, such sincere fascination trickling down your spine.

"...okay." You answered, uncharacteristically meek. Kento huffed another laugh.

"Good girl." You blushed from hairline to toes, involuntarily bucking up against Kento with his words. He began to rut against you again, the friction good but not quite right, not as good as it could be. You threw caution to the wind.

"Hang-- hang on, I'll just..." You reached a hand down beneath your panties, parting your labia just enough for Kento's heavy length to snag harder against your clit.

Kento's eyes zeroed in on the creamy white discharge on your fingers as you pulled your hand out, and when he continued his motions, you fell supple and needy beneath him again, groaning with the pleasure of his bulbous tip and the ridge beneath it, catching your clit. Pleasure bloomed through you, so much closer to orgasm than you had thought.

"--don't stop--" You begged, arching up towards Kento until he fucked down harder with a broken growl, his own need to cum eclipsed by your pleasure. Drawing one nipple deeper into his mouth, and lubricating the other with his spit to roll it fluidly between his fingers, Kento learned fast, playing you like an instrument until your mouth gaped in a silent cry, your first orgasm received from another, roaring through you in waves.

Kento kept humping against you, not recognising that you had reached your peak. He faltered, hips stuttering and panting as you groaned, squirming and writhing, groping at him with desperate, fucked-out hands. Kento was obsessed, a spurt of pre-cum adding to the slick he'd already made between your legs. Utterly besotted, his slim eyes wide with blown pupils, he shakily raised one hand to stroke your hair, kissing your forehead through the bliss, shushing you with whispered praise.

"--so cute...look so pretty...thank you-- thank you--"

As you came down from your high, you heard him thanking you, and laughed, trying to cover your face as he batted your hands away, playful and smirking. Biting your lip, emboldened by post-nut confidence, you slid your hand down to grip Kento's clothed, pulsing cock. He stilled above you with a grunt, looking so angry again as that feral, desperate haze descended. You begged him, hushed and soft.

"Can I...feel it?" Kento's thoughts burst with single-minded relief. He nodded, breath catching in his chest, allowing you to roll him over onto the bed until you were lying on your side beside him. You stroked his clothed length, fascinated, watching every reaction with cruel innocence.

Unsure how to handle him, you faltered as your hand began to slip inside his pyjamas. Kento had one arm slung over his face, still scowling, wanting desperately to watch you play with his cock, but too self-conscious.

"Here, I'll--" Kento reached down, shucking his pyjamas down until his cock released. Kento seemed embarrassed by his size, distinctly bigger than average, and thick, his pink tip peeking out from beneath his foreskin. Mistaking the cause of your silence for disgust, Kento grimaced behind his forearm, apologising.

"--shit, 'msorry, I know I-I'm--"

"...wow." Your breathless little gasp, followed by your hand immediately circling round Kento's cock, sent his mind blank again, watching you with dumb adoration as you examined the weight of his cock in your hand. Your hand gripped him, stroking from ball to tip with an inexperienced squeeze that had Kento grunting, gasping and bucking beneath you. It didn't matter that you had clearly never handled an erection in your life; for Kento, who had never been stroked by a woman looking at his cock and face with hungry, adoring eyes, he was being rushed towards a toe-curling orgasm.

"--st--sta--stopstopstop, m'gonna cu--m'gonna cum--'m gonna--"

Your hand stopped immediately, and Kento snarled, before gasping, momentarily shocked by his visceral reaction to being teased just to the edge of completion. Your pupils dilated, obscenely aroused by the strange danger of a furiously needy man about to cum in your hand. You were lost in the tease, lowering your head and maintaining eye contact as you threatened your lips just over the tip of Kento's cock.

"...stop?"

Kento was glazed, eyebrows tilted, looking uncharacteristically concerned, darting between your mouth, and your eyes, and back again. His nose flared with hot little pants. A barely perceptible shake of the head. You smiled, laying the flat of your tongue against the tip of Kento's cock, and licking over the bulbous head with an incoordinate pump of his length.

Kento's moan rumbled from his chest outwards, muffled as he bit into his own arm, his mind blown by the wet little sucks of his cockhead that he'd imagined only in his wettest dreams. He hurtled with breakneck speed towards his peak, finishing with frantic bucks and begs.

"--oh my--fucking g-god--huuugh fuckfuckfuck sorry m'sorry--shit--"

Kento came with an uncontrollable roar of pleasure, both arms gripping the pillow beneath his head, biceps straining, balls clenching. You pulled free of his cock with a wet pop and a little cry of surprise, when the first spurt of cum salted your tongue.

You continued to stroke him, obsessed with the jerk of him in your hand, the way he groaned, low and long, with each stripe of thick, white seed up his belly. It was only after the twitches had ceased, his cock sluggish against his belly, that Kento began to gasp like a fish out of water and gripped his hand around yours.

"--sto--sta--stop...fuck...so...sogood sosogood..."

The words left your mouth before you even thought to stop them, a years old masturbatory kink suddenly within reach. "Can you cum like that inside me?"

Kento stared at you in mute shock, his neat new haircut mussed beyond repair. His post-cum brain struggled to process your request. You frantically babbled to reassure him.

"--I--I mean no condom--and hear me out hear me out-- I've got good protection-- and and I've never and you've never so we won't catch anything--"

Kento was above you, flipping you onto your back and suckling at your neck again within seconds. You heard his oddly grown-man chastisement into your neck, while his body moved in the total opposite direction.

"So fucking irresponsible-- just just "oooooh cum inside me Kento" just like that, fuck-- do you think I'm--I'm fucking stupid? Sh...shit...fucking yes please I can't believe I'm doing this--"

Kento's cock had barely softened, graced by the barely-there refractory period of youth. He was thick, heavy, and dragging down your belly. You were just as frantic as him, kicking off your underwear and watching Kento hyperfocus again; this time, on your bare sex, right before his eyes.

He knelt back, gripping himself in his fist as if holding himself back. Feeling his sharp eyes penetrate you, you moved to close your legs. Kento looked at you as if you were mad, batting your thighs aside with his knees as you covered your face, mortified.

"Beautiful." He berated, rubbing his fingers through the cum spattered on his belly, and sinking them down to glide cautiously between your labia. You gasped, squirming, and Kento watched his fingers coat with your slick with a gulp, feeling a fresh burst of blood engorge his cock until he ached.

He leaned to his bag, rummaging and cursing, before coming back up with a bottle of lube. You shot Kento a look and he shot you a look in return, berating you again with a voice stricter than fitting for his age; "I was expecting a room of my own."

"Oh yeah? How's that working out for you?"

"Very well actually-- stop laughing or I'll--"

"...you'll what? Make me?" You asked, coy. Kento let out a strangled little groan, and pinched the bridge of his nose as you laughed.

"...don't even...dont even know what you're asking...idiot--" Kento huffed as you drew a crooked smile out of him, your joyful muffled giggles a natural balm to his baseline rage. You stilled again, breathless as you watched him stroke his pulsing cock, your throat dry with voyeuristic anticipation. Kento panted, beyond embarrassment and hanging on by a thread.

Kento stroked some lube between your puffy folds, eyes heavy as you squirmed, prodding one finger softly at your entrance. You stilled beneath him, holding your breath. Kento tangled your fingers in his.

"Breathe." He hummed, and as you released a shaking breath, Kento began to ease one slick finger inside you. Your mouth dropped open, eyes closed beneath raising eyebrows, as Kento slid his long finger into you all the way to his knuckle. He hadn't realised he was holding his breath until he felt lightheaded.

"...you...you feel...fuck, incredible, so--so tight..." Kento whispered, his voice low and gravelly, that same primal urge to fuck immediately into you threatening to cloud his brain. By the way you gazed up at him, still and supple, you would probably let him too and he could just push right in and--

"...we'll take it slow," Kento reassured you, tight and tense, "...and I'll stop straight away if...if it hurts."

Your eyelids fluttered to feel Kento's thick tip prod at your entrance, sure he wouldn't fit until he pressed forwards, and you stretched like you'd never stretched before. You bit your lip against the faint sting, nodding urgently and gripping Kento's thighs as he looked at you in concern.

Kento was lost in the moment, his eyes zeroing in on where he gradually sheathed himself inside you. He'd never felt such exquisite pleasure, obsessed by how your plush walls moulded to the shape of him, sucking him in, slick and tight. You squeaked, biting into Kento's shoulder as he bore down on you, his cock almost sunk to the hilt. He stilled as he bottomed out, his fingertips bruising on your hip, trembling with jagged groans.

You felt so strangely placid, full, and wrapping your legs around the small of Kento's back to lock him inside you. The brief sting, the belly-deep ache, left you feeling like you had made a blooming transition from girl to woman in one deep thrust. Kento drank you in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips and mumbling against them.

"...'m not gonna last long." Kento was possessed, pulling out a little before rutting into you again, delighted by your gasp, determined to break more noises out of you. His usual gentle nature was becoming quickly overrun by a firm, authoritative edge, not knowing yet how this would come to define him as a man.

Kento rocked into you, shallowly at first, before gaining the confidence that he wouldn't break you. By the time he had built a rhythm, pumping into you through sweaty pants, your breaths mingling together, he felt the drag of orgasm approaching him fast. Kento's imagination could never have matched up to the reality of dragging his cock through such nectar.

Any time Kento tried to talk, he broke off into anguished pants and groans into your throat, sinking his teeth there for a moment, seemingly irritated by how sloppy he'd become.

"...j'sso...uhnfuck...wet--best thing I--...huhnnn--"

Hearing you whimper and squeak as he moved within you offered him some condolence for being a speechless mess, at least.

Though you knew you wouldn't cum from this alone, you were lost in the addictive feeling of being full and fucked into by Kento chasing an instinctual high. You couldn't help but let your fingers wander downwards, rubbing your clit beneath them. The thick pressure in your belly made your pleasure three-dimensional, so much better than your fingers alone.

Kento was a quiet lover, saying more through heated glances and lingering touches than he ever could through words. Knowing he was holding back for fear of hurting you, you whispered against his ear, sending ripples down his spine.

"--harder-- pleasepleaseplease--"

"Fffuck okay...this?" Kento sunk into you to the hilt and jabbed, urging himself deeper, earning a guttural groan as his cockhead pressed against your cervix and soft-spot. He nodded into your neck, shuddering deeply. "Th-this...yeah...oh fuck, yeah..." Your toes curled against the back of his thighs, and you sobbed with the bone-deep adoration of his kisses to your womb. Kento's restraint snapped, tilting your hips as he gripped you, holding nothing else back.

Kento sped up, driving himself inside you with total abandon, his breaths coming out as spitting curses and groans. Finally, he strained above you, his moans breaking and peaking, unable to hold off any longer;

"--gonna...gonna...cum in you for--for-fucking-ever-- nnggh--"

Watching Kento break and spill himself inside you, his cock jerking with long, painfully pleasurable contractions, was the erotic vision you had sought your whole adult life. Hurriedly working your fingers until your own high hit you, had Kento collapsing on top of you to feel your pussy clenching around him, milking him of every little drop of seed.

Kento was silent, his corded back clenching over you. You nuzzled into his ear, pressing kisses along his jaw until he gave you his lips with a groan. Pulling gently out, and replacing his cock with his fingertips so he could feel how his seed dripped from your cunt, had Kento wondering vaguely how he'd ever use a condom now he'd tasted the ripe-peach of you without a barrier.

You nipped Kento's neck, jolting him back to reality. Glossy doe-eyes glimmered up at him in the dark; and you, desperate to feel full again, completely addicted to him as he was to you.

"...again?"

"...give-- give me a minute."

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"Heard some strange noises coming out of your room last night."

You kept your face innocently neutral at the breakfast table the next morning. You tipped your head to the side, inquisitive, as if you didn't feel multiple thick loads of Kento's seed soaking your underwear.

"Oh?"

"Mhm." A knowing stare from the other girls at the table. Kento sat down, clearing his throat, his plate piled with what should have been an embarrassing number of pastries.

"She's really good. At Pokémon battles." You had a single moment to admire Kento's absolute gall, the other girls looking at him with vague displeasure as he continued.

"Her Gengar's really strong actually. I wasn't ready for it. I thought Machamp would be a good choice, but--"

The other girls had already lost interest, turning their conversations elsewhere. Kento looked up at you from the other end of the table as you mouthed oh my god at him. He was inscrutable, apart from his twinkling eyes.

You were fortunate that none of these girls were at your wedding, years later. But you did occasionally still refer to making love as 'Pokémon battles', if just to hear your impassive, suited, quiet man laugh.