#and how thick that armour is on the front sides top and back of the shoulder upper arm and forearm''

[robotsprinkles]

how complicated can I make this mech customisation system before no one wants to play it

[greeenchrysanthemums]

Appearances for the GG rivals au character.

I am no artist, so these will simply be written descriptions with a few images thrown in here and there. These are all subject to change at any time, as well, since this is still in its early planning stages.

For Gem, I imagine she looks a lot like in this gorgeous fanart, except her dress has slits up the side to allow for easier movement and her hair is a low bun with a braid wrapping around the front of her head, like this.

Scott and Impulse wear armour similar to how applestruda draws it in her au, with their cloths in shades of teal and yellow. Scott, I like to imagine, has long, back length hair, that he wears down and covering one eye. Impulse has shortly cropped hair and two little nubby horns that are tipped in black, as well as sharp clawed hands. Scott's teeth are sharp; no one quite knows why.

Grian's eyes are entirely black like a barn owl's and his hands end in sharp talons rather than nails. He doesn't have wings, not anymore at least. He wears a high collared red tunic and brown trousers, but both are rarely seen past the heavy, ankle length, black cloak he hides himself under, which is held closed by a silver brooch in the shape of an eye. The cloak has a hood but he never wears it. He always seems to be sliming, whether that smile is devious or genuine is up for debate. The brooch looks something like this, minus the blue center and the circlular details

Scar wears a similar black cloak, held closed by the same brooch, though he wears his with the hood up, and it has red flower detailing on the hem (so, similiar to his secret life look but its a full cloak). His eyes are still green, though, and he has a single grey streak in his brown hair. His tunic and trousers under the cloak are both black and he wears his shirt just a little bit too open at the top. He also always wears a smile, but pretty much everyone can agree it is deceptively kind.

Mumbo and Etho wear matching outfits, claiming it is professional since they share a job, but it is something they choose to do not something that is required of them (they are just silly, really). I imagine they are simple outfits consisting of white tunics with black trousers and thick, leather aprons on top (mumbo's is red and etho's is green). They both wear goggles and thick gloves, as well as chunky boots, all for safety since they work with explosives. Etho wears a black bandana on his lower his face. His goggles replace his headband in this look, being what keeps his hair out of his face. His scared eye is missing entirely; he does not have a false eye, it is just an empty socket. Mumbo wears his goggles around his neck when they are not on his face.

Bdubs dresses similarly, minus the apron and goggles, since he works out in the garder. His shirt is white, and he has brown trousers. Over that he wears a thick cloak that is almost always covered in some manner of flora and/or mud. He completes the look with a wide brimmed hat to protect him from the sun.

Cleo is also dresses similarly to Etho and Mumbo but her apron is a plain brown that is stained with soot. Her tunic sleeves are always rolled up to show off her strong arms and she doesn't wear her safety gloves nearly as much as she should, and she forgoes eye protection entirely. One of her eyes is missing (surprisingly not related to the lack of protective wear), replaced with a glass eye of a slightly different shade of green than her organic eye. Her hair is pulled into a much messier bun than Gem's, with frizzy stray hairs going every direction.

Ren and Martyn look like how they are typically drawn in third life fanart. Ren's eyes are red, as well as blood shot, and he almost always appears angry.

Pearl wears a white tunic with flared sleeves tucked into a pair of high waisted black trousers. Over this she has a deep, red cloak that stops at her waist. She has a crescent moon shaped birth mark on the left side of her face. She carries a sword around her waist. Her hair is always down and messy under her hood.

Bigb just looks like a baker, I am not sure how to describe it. But he always seems to have flour stains on his clothes no matter how hard he tries to wipe it off. Big strong arms for him as well.

Skizz wears the same armour as Scott and impulse, and his underclothes are black. The sleeves of his tunic are ripped off and he does not wear his gauntlets. He refuses to elaborate on why. He is a dove avian.

Tango wears a short sleeved red tunic and black trousers with big chunky boots. His hands are clawed, and his ears are pointed; both are tipped in a red to black gradient. His eyes are entirely red. He has a long tail that ends in a tuff of fire that doesn't seem to have any real heat.

Jimmy wears a blue tunic with a brown vest over it. Brown trousers and chunky boots. His sleeves are always rolled up and he is always covered in some manner of dirt, both because of the work he does on the farm, and from being very clumsy. He has bull horns, one of which is chipped. He also has a tail.

I still don't have set roles for joel and lizzie just yet so they do not have designs in mind either, unfortunately.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Sunday Worship [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: On Sunday evenings, you worship him. But Loki has rules. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smutish. Language. Gentle Dom/Sub set-up. (w/c 1.9k)

Loki sat in a wide wing-back chair in front of the open fireplace.

Flames licked the edge of the grate, shadows dancing seductively across his sharp features as you approached. His face tilted downward, partially concealed by the side-wing of the chair as he uncrossed his legs. Smouldering eyes trailed your body as you circled in front of him, sliding the straps of your dress down and letting the loose fabric pool around your ankles. There was a thick snap as he closed the book he had been reading, placing it on the mahogany table to the side. Relief descended in calming waves as you sank to your knees. Finally, it was Sunday evening.

The sheen of his familiar tight leathers glistened in the firelight as he dutifully observed your descent. Dark hair tumbled around his shoulders, a flash of pink tongue ghosting over his lips before his mouth curled in a smirk. Your hands grasped his knees, sliding up the length of his thighs. The weathered leather caught your fingertips as you pulled yourself further between his widening legs. He squeezed his knees against your shoulders, reminding you how easily he could immobilise should he wish. Hurt you, even. You were permitted no words during your worship. Not really. It was one of the conditions. One of the rules.

You shivered despite the heat at your back. Every week you told yourself it was the last time. But it never was. “You come later each ceremony, darling.” he goaded. “Perhaps your devotion is waning.” Your face lowered, inhaling the scent of him with every fibre of your being.

You pulled leather encasing the top of his right thigh between your teeth, tugging it back with a stretch. The fine creases rested on your tongue, a familiar sharp tang of rich hide flooding your mouth. A groan vibrated in your throat as you bit down, yanking the leather tightly to one side. He chuckled again, smoothing the back of your hair as he pressed your face knowingly to the muscle below.

Your hands ran fluidly from his strong hips to the heel of his knee-high boots. Taking your time. Memorising the path beneath your palms. Absorbing the mass he held effortlessly beneath that lithe frame. Your fingers squeezed firmly around the armoured heels, a silent prayer for understanding as his stoicism emanated from above. “Then you shall have it, pilgrim.” he murmured in response to the unspoken plea.

A gentle glow of seidr brushed over him as you watched in unrepentant awe. His leather tunic melted, followed by those tight trousers. A pair of black boxers sat snug on his hips, pale skin glimmering teasingly in the flickering of the flames. But the boots stayed on. The boots always stayed on. Loki straightened where he sat, thick forearms settling on the sides of the chair. He lowered his eyes, crawling them slowly upwards to meet yours. The walls of your pussy contracted involuntarily, a shiver racking up your spine. He knew what he was doing. Loki always knew.

“Begin, then.” he muttered with a wave of his hand. You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your arrangement with the unbearably smug and yet inexplicably irresistible god. It was something that you couldn’t explain. And somehow with him, you had never needed to. The obsession to worship him consumed like a virus. It was a ferocious need. Primal. Something desperately necessary. Like breathing. You ran your gaze up that majestic body, the landscape of his chiselled form making every neuron in your addled brain fizz with possibilities. Power seeped through his skin into your palms, his aura making your soul bubble in simmering pops. Loki tilted his head to the side, raven curls cresting over the curve of his shoulder. "Whom do you serve?" he murmured, as you leant forward tentatively. He knew the answer. You both did. Lips collided with bare skin of the thick knee to your side, kissing towards the soft inner flesh as your hands ran up his outer thighs. Every part of him was perfection, crafted to be unquestioningly adored. Adored by you, and only you. If you could help it. You sank into his taunt warmth, lips waxing and waning upwards across the expanse of his inner thigh. Loki hissed as your teeth grazed a sensitive spot, fingers gripping the arms of the chair. Your messy devotion left a trail of wetness on his iridescent skin, the moist slick glinting in the pulsing glow of the fire. Moans of panted devotion vibrated as your lips rolled methodically over every inch of available flesh on either side. Your tongue lapped at the curves of his thighs, sucking in slow, hungry bursts.

His hips thrust upward gently, the hallowed bulge between his legs pressing against your cheek. You heard a deep sigh, a soft thud accompanying Loki’s head falling against the high back of the chair.

A ripple blossomed in your stomach, a pool of wetness growing between your thighs as blood thundered in your core.

Perhaps tonight would be the night. Your nose buried in the crease of his crotch, inhaling him like an animal. The scent was deep, warm musk; the intoxicating aroma of him that would hang in your nostrils for days. Loki groaned, unable to contain his pleasure as your keen lips sucked against the fabric of his underwear at the height of his thigh. You drew the fabric between your teeth, pulling gently. “Now...you know the rules.” Loki chided quietly; face still upturned to the ceiling.

You nodded reluctantly into the thickening hardness of his forbidden cock beneath the material, making sure to purposefully tug the thin skin beneath skin-tight cotton against your chin. An accident, perhaps. He growled, hips thrusting upwards again in spite of himself. “Rules.” he rumbled, clenching fists against the arms of the chair. Your eyes flickered to a tense forearm resting on the leather, thick veins straining proudly against his alabaster skin. Silently you scooted further between his legs, the curve of your breasts fitting snugly between his upper thighs as you mouthed reverently up his stomach.

Of the ritual, this was the part you treasured most dearly. When he couldn’t read your face. When you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his skin beneath your lips; against your cheek as you rubbed against him. Devoured him. Glorified him to the symphony of his gentle praise. Those sounds that filled your every thought until replenishing again. The beat of his heart made your hairs stand on end, skin prickling as he brought one hand protectively down your back. His fingertips brushed gently over your spine, a teasingly orgasmic breeze of nerves sizzling on its descent.

You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his chest as he shushed you softly. Every muscle in your body clenched, trembling with frustrated need as he sighed above you. “If I am truly your god, have faith.” His voice was velvet foam, measured inch by inch as syllables fell from his tongue like silk unfurling.

“Your trust is what I desire. The deepest expression of your devotion. And of your obedience.”

Loki’s fingertips grazed agonisingly upward, brushing your ribs. “Your willing denial.” he hummed thoughtfully. You nodded against his skin, before fastening your lips to his nipple. He hissed, torso clenching and then relaxing again.

Your hands moved from his thighs, running up the sides of his abdomen, reaching his broad shoulders with no resistance. You squeezed the muscles, eliciting a broken moan of your name from his lips that was nothing short of divine. Loki grunted, head falling against the leather chair as you rose and swiftly straddled his lap. As always, your calves slotted perfectly between the sides of the chair and his sculpted legs as if it was made for you. As if it was all made for you. The sodden gusset of your simple black panties danced over the manhood straining tightly against his underwear. One day, you thought wistfully. One day I'll know. All it would take was one quick descent to feel that incredible girth press against your needy cunt; a flash of pressure on your sodden centre that would send your aching clit over the edge in seconds. But that would be against the rules. That was not what his worship was about. And his benevolence had its limits. Your fingers massaged up your god's strong neck, mapping every pocket of perfection as you watched his eyelids flutter; the dark fan of lashes against his cheek making you dizzy. They wound in his loose hair, pushing upward from the base of his skull. Loki murmured his approval, his eyes closed. During this part, he always kept his eyes closed. “Mmmm, that’s it sweet one. Show me your devotion...” he purred, as you leant closer. Your cheek pressed to his. It was both soft and hard; like him. The smoothness of his ethereal skin stretched perfectly over the legendary bone structure that could crush with a single sneer. “Speak. Confess to me.” he muttered, bringing both hands to rest on your shoulder-blades. Loki began to trace lines between them, his wide fingertips driving you to the edge of sanity as your breaths grew short. His jaw was pointed to the ceiling, the veins of his neck protruding. Defined muscles that flexed with every breath. “Veneration.” you murmured shakily, placing a deep kiss on the curve of his shoulder. You sucked lightly on his taunt skin, feeling him jolt beneath you. “Adoration, submission, humility...” Your fingers tightened around winds of his hair as you trailed off to a whisper, tips pressing deeper against his scalp as you sucked the pressure point beneath his ear. You could feel the hot blood thundering in his artery, pulsing maddeningly beneath your swollen lips. “That is what I pledge to you, Loki. As you deserve. Is that...is that OK?" “That is not a confession, darling…” he chuckled, raising his head from its expected position. He was going off-script. Your eyes widened, heart fluttering as a smile tugged at his lips. Dimples flared at the corner of his mouth, his gaze narrowing as he registered your anticipation before shaking his head. “-Desire.” you choked, feeling the tip of his cock brush accidentally against your desperate pussy. You wanted to scream. The solid column of forbidden flesh grazed against your swollen clit, an electrifying pulse radiating through your lower body. “I desire you…” you gasped, raising your hips higher away from the source of his disapproving stare. “Indeed” he murmured, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Such a devoted worshipper. The most devoted, in fact.”

“The ‘most’?” you stuttered, forehead creasing at the thought of others as Loki’s keen eyes flashed with mischief. “Perhaps you deserve something in return. A token of your god’s appreciation?” Your eyebrows knitted together as you processed his words. Over the past months, you had learned not to elevate your hopes; allowing worship was its own reward. Those were the rules. Always. Those were the rules. Loki’s fingers trailed down your waist, dancing seductively to your midriff which clenched with every erratic breath. He turned his wrist to face upward, those hypnotising eyes burning into your own. His palm pressed against the base of your stomach, sliding slowly downward inside the hem of your panties. “Loki…” you gasped, hysterical gratitude welling inside you as his long fingers slid horizontally through your dripping folds. He smiled softly, observing the shameless twisting of your features through half-lidded eyes as his chin tilted regally upward. The joints of his fingers played along your slit, every teasing bump making you falter with shuddering need as he took his time. He had never touched you like this. In all this time, for all your worship...he had never touched you like this.

"Do you know why I do not allow you to voice your worship of me more enthusiastically, Y/N?" He bristled with restraint, fingertips making tentative contact with your slick clit. He cupped your sex, stroking gently as you whimpered his name; strength leaving your thighs at the agonising softness of his pleasures. Your head fell back, shallow pants accompanying every cautious thrust of your hips into his palm. "Because if you did..." he murmured, wetting his lips, "I fear I would not be able to control myself." As quickly as his mercy had overtaken your senses, it was gone. You brought your neck forward, any petulant frustration extinguished by the firm set of his magnificent jaw. Loki’s cheekbones flashed in the glow of the flickering firelight, shadows licking the walls as he returned his forearms stoically to the sides of the chair. You rose, steadying yourself before sinking on shaky legs to pull up your dress from the floor. Loki watched. He curled his forefinger to his lips, inhaling subtly. The god’s eyes fluttered closed momentarily, drinking in the scent of your sticky arousal clinging to his skin. “Go.” he murmured gently, gravel catching in his throat. You made your way to the door, taking a furtive glance backwards at the object of your adoration. He was now wrapped in a luxurious green silk dressing gown; the previously discarded book open in his hand. “Until next week, darling.” he purred darkly, turning the page. "Don't be late." he added, as the door clicked softly shut behind you. Tags @lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @xorpsbane @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @mrsbarnes32557038 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @lokiprompts @morriggannlostinfandoms @ladylovesloki @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings73 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokisgirll @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @peachyymallows @soldeloki @tbhiddlestan83

[misspearly1]

Day Twenty-Six: Bath/Shower Sex - Din D'jarin.

Kinktober22 List

WC: 3.2k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Mutual Pining. Smut. Unprotected PIV. Blindfolded sex in the bathtub. Fluff. AN: Ahh, this was enjoyable to write, so sweet and fluffy. Hope ya'll enjoy too ❤️.

-

Walking blindly, you hold your hands out with caution as you giggle a question to Din. “Where are you taking me?” 

“I already told you, mesh’la. It’s a surprise.” He replies in a chuckle, the delicate sound of your own laughter drawing it out of him. Though, the moment of joy and amusement was short-lived as he panics and darts his hands out to stop you from tripping over. “Woah. Easy there, sweet girl.” 

“Oh.” You make a surprise sound, hands clasping over the top of his laying around your front. A few lingering touches later, you pat his hand and then let go. “Thank you, my warrior.” 

The sound that Din then makes sends a shiver down your spine, choking out a soft grunt, though distorted through the modulator of his helmet, it didn’t dampen how heavy and thick his voice sounded after you called him your warrior. He likes it, there’s no doubt about that, and even though you practically feel the blush in his words when brushing it off like no big deal, know that it is in fact, a big deal for him.  

“I um.. I’m going to need your guidance.” Whispering bashfully upon feeling the emotional shift between you and Din, it’s like the air was now charged with electricity, just patiently waiting for its spark to ignite. It was a start when his hand lay on your hip  with his deep, textured voice mumbling into your ear for you to keep walking straight ahead. He’s so close, you can feel the large steely presence of his beskar chest plate against your back as your fingertips drag along the walls on either side of you. 

You trust Din, have trusted him for a long time now, and you feel safe enough to be vulnerable around him, to completely open up and fear no judgement in return. Though, you can only hope that one day he can feel the same. It’s a slow progress and you’ve come a long way together since the beginning considering that you both tried to kill each other when you first met, but the changes now are drastically better. 

Din feels safe with you too, however you can’t say completely. The laws of his culture forbid him from removing his helmet and revealing his identity to you, but he has revealed almost everything else instead. He shared his name, his story and childhood, the most vulnerable parts of his mind in conversation and his love, though he tries to hide his love - just like he did moments ago - you feel it nonetheless and understand why he quite literally uses his armour to shield his emotions. 

Fear of rejection isn’t impervious to even the greatest warriors of the universe as it seems, and  Din hides behind the armour in some aspects, shielding himself and those emotions that he evidently feels for you. And you, too, have felt those doubts in your mind on many occasions now, have tricked yourself into believing that the man you have fallen for - hard, wouldn’t feel the same way. 

However, there is a sense of power that comes with certainty; knowing that Din D’jarin feels the same way as you, gives you a sense of power and responsibility to act on it accordingly, to make the first move and banish those fears that every species feels or has felt at some point in their life, no matter how tough they are. 

“Hold on, mesh’la.” Din whispers, snapping your attention back to reality as he leans into you and opens a door. You try your best to maintain the closeness, holding your hand atop his again, you deliberately walk slower and the action causes his chest to press up against your back. “Not long now, then you can remove the blindfold.” He chuckles softly, mistaking your purposeful movements for hesitancy and it makes you giggle at his innocent, oblivious nature for not noticing your true intentions. 

Walking a few more steps, then waiting as another door opens, you are immediately struck in the face with steamy heat, your nose quickly filling with the scent of sweet passion fruit and honey. “Oh wow. Din, is this what I think it is?” You ask quickly, hoping that it’s exactly what you think it is. 

“Yes, sweet girl. It is.” The man replies and you can feel the pride resonating from him. Joyous pride - all for you and the reaction he was searching for. Removing your blind fold, you nearly squeal at the sight of Din’s surprise. It’s just a bath, a simple hot bubbly bath, candles dotted around the tiled floor or lining the indentations in the wall, but it’s a bath that you have yearned to have for the last five months aboard the razor crest. It’s been too long since you’ve indulged within the comforts of hot soapy water instead of the cold steady spray of water inside the cramped fresher. 

“You’re the best, Din D’jarin!” You turn to him with glee and close the gap to wrap your arms around his shoulders in an endearing hug. “This isn’t setting us back is it? We’ve been on a tight schedule lately.” Expressing your worrisome thoughts out loud, you hoped it wasn’t taking too much out of his time or his credits. Just looking at the state of the bathroom suggests that this hotel is on the higher end of the scale. You wouldn’t care if it was some lousy pit stop, it’s the thought that counts most. “Thank you, Din - thank you for doing this for me.” 

“Cyar’ika.” Mando sighs, his breath laced with sincerity. Pulling back and holding his leather gloved hands to your sides, he tilts his helmet slightly while looking down into your big, bright doe eyes and feels his heart thrumming in his ears. “It’s quite alright, Y/N. There’s no need to thank me.” Anything for your happiness, sweet girl. He thinks with his inner voice instead. 

Smiling behind the helmet although you can’t see it, Din hesitates on letting you go just yet and continues to maintain your gaze, however his body betrays him as he unknowingly begins squeezing your hips, the action making you gasp softly. “Well-” He clears his throat nervously then steps back, feeling like he had crossed a line just now. “Don’t let me get in the way, mesh’la.” 

“Din - wait.” You dart your hand out to his shoulder pad before he can turn to leave and when he tilts his helmet towards you again, you look over your shoulder to the bath, then to the blindfold in your hand and finally, back into the T shape of his visor, your eyes pleading as you suggest to him. “Won't you stay with me? I can wear the blindfold and I won’t see anything and… and I - please?” You stutter. 

Mando just stares at you, barely moving a muscle, and you can tell without even seeing his face that he is wearing an expression of shock behind the helmet. You can feel the disbelief reverberating from his body, the uncertainty of your request seeping into your skin, which makes you that much more determined to banish those fears and doubts he still clings onto. 

“Hey listen, if you don’t want to, forget that I even asked.” You begin, speaking calmly and reassuringly as you give him more confirmation to appease his mind. “But, if you would like to stay, then I am telling you that it’s what I want too - I’d like you to stay and join me Mando.” 

Din spent another moment in silence, his helmet tilted to the side as if in thought, and for a split second, you questioned your whole mind on whether or not your hunch was correct, until he then reassured you. Closing the gap and pulling you flush against his chest, he presses his visor against your forehead and releases a sigh of relief. “Yes - Cyar’ika yes, I’d like to stay…” He pauses, audibly gulping. “...And join you.” 

Knowing that your reassurances would banish his fears, you didn’t predict that it would set the primal instincts within Din D’jarin free. Your confirmation wasn’t just what he needed to know that you feel the same way, it’s what he needed to hear in order to take control. The man turns you around slowly, then takes the blindfold from your hands to place over your eyes again and ties it at the back. Within seconds, he removes his helmet and instantly indulges what he has yearned to have for so long. A kiss. 

“Oh.” You gasp upon feeling his lips placed against your ear. The contact was minimal and unexpected, but deeply satisfying, especially when he moves and you feel the tickle of his beard across your skin. Ducking his head down to reach your neck, you tilt your head to the side and provide more room, inviting him to explore more of your skin. 

You couldn’t help but moan when lifting your hand and running your fingers through his hair, the images your mind were producing through sense of touch, painted you a beautiful picture of what he looks like. As Din’s arms wrapped around your stomach and kissed your neck plentiful, your head lolls back to his shoulder with the prettiest whimper. Your senses became overwhelmed in the very best way, overwhelmed and crowded with Din D’jarin. 

“You smell really good.” You admit your thoughts aloud after taking in the heavenly scent of his skin. Mando smiles against your neck, nipping a path towards your jawline before cupping your cheek and tilting your face a breath away from his as he whispers in reply. “So do you, mesh’la. So sweet and tasty.” He growls, and the sound ignites that electrified air around you both; a clear understanding between you and Mando was ignited - a need to act out your desires and not just take a bath together.  

It was really quite foolish of you to think that nothing sexual would come about from taking a bath together, but just hearing Din growl how sweet and tasty you smell set off all those desires you’ve dreamed about. Truthfully, you didn’t want to rush him in anyway, but as it seems, he is feeling the exact same way you are right now - horny. Soft moans escaped his lips, sounds that you didn’t think you’d ever hear from Din, but he produced them for you. 

Carefully helping you to remove your clothes first, he walks you towards the bath then helps you climb inside. “One moment, mesh’la.” Din whispers and kisses your cheek once before pulling away. You hear him removing his armour, hear the metal gently being placed to the tiled floor. 

He’s always so gentle, takes pride in his armour. You smile with your thoughts, then feel around the tub carefully to readjust your position. Jolting when you feel the pad of his fingertips touch your shoulder, he apologises for startling you, then you shake your head at him, laughing. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

Reaching out for his hand, he sees what you’re trying to do and meets you halfway. Once you hold him, you tug lightly as a gesture for him to get in the tub with you, which he does. Din moves carefully to climb into the water in front of you, sighing heavily from the heat enveloping him. “Good, right?” You ask upon hearing his satisfaction. 

Leaning forward, your hands running up the expanse of his arms, your mouth falls open when feeling his muscles beneath your fingers. Din breathes a heavy wanton breath as you explore his skin through touch, dragging your nimble fingers across his chest and shoulders delicately. You lean in a little closer and he, once again, meets you halfway in closing the gap. 

“Oh.” He moans, really moans, when your lips connect. Just a few hesitant pecks at first, until you tilt your head to the side and part your lips. Then Din deepens the kiss. Slipping his tongue inside first, you moan now and respond while tangling your tongue with his, though you couldn’t help but want more. 

Moving closer and closer towards him until your chest was flush against his, you whimper from the sensation of your pert nipples grazing across his chest. Your sounds and reactions work effectively in giving Din more confidence to take the lead. His hands wrap around your back first, then lower your ass before pulling your lower half into him, which is where you both make a delighted sound from the contact. 

“Din.” You whisper, a plea evident in your tone as you not-so-gently grab onto his shoulders. The man picks up on your need instantly, he needs it too and wastes no more time providing. “I got you, sweet girl.” He reassures and warns before hooking your leg over his arm. Holding a flat palm over your lower back to keep you balanced, you feel that both his hands are preoccupied and lower your hands to help line him up. 

“Oh wow.” You gasp when feeling the sheer length and girth of him. Din gasps too, enjoying the way you explored the size of his cock with your hands. Wrapping your fingers around him, you stroke him a couple times and audibly sigh upon feeling his cock grow. He wasn’t even fully hard?! You panic slightly inside, underestimating just how big he really is. 

Groaning your name, Din rests his forehead to your shoulder as you continue to pump him, the sound of him so broken and desperate stops your actions before you notch the tip at your entrance. “Take your time.” You ask, though you don’t really have to, you know that he will no matter what. It’s just that it’s been a long while since you last had sex and you didn’t think Mando was as big as he is. 

“Of course, mesh’la - always.” Din nods, then kisses your lips as he carefully pushes forward. You couldn’t stop the mewls even if you tried, the stretch was impressive and pleasurable. Unintentionally digging your nails into the scruff of his neck, you cling onto the man and groan pathetically for him to keep going after relaxing around him. “Oh fuck.” He grunts when bottoming out inside, feeling your heat already pulsing around him. 

“Mando.” You plead again, resting your forehead to his. “Please move.” 

“Hold onto me.” He requests before dropping his hand from your back. Doing as he says, you gasp when feeling him hook his arm under your other leg and lift you from the water. You felt weightless, like a feather held in his mighty strong arms. “Tell me to slow down.” He grunts before finally moving. You appreciate him telling you that, but you seriously doubt that you will ask him to slow down, especially when he starts off so slow and gentle like. 

“That feels so good.” You moan, brows pulling together with the blissful sensation of his cock rubbing against your walls. You savour the feeling of every vein and ridge. Leaning in and blindly finding his lips again, you kiss him fervently, a wordless gesture that signals him to pick up the pace if he wants to, which he does. 

“Stars!” Mando chokes, feeling his balls press against your cheeks each time he thrusts forward. “You’re so warm, cyar’ika. I’ve dreamt of this… dreamt of this every night when I fuck my fist.” He admits and it makes you clench around him. Just picturing Din with his hand wrapped around his cock within the privacy of his own bunk made you mewl, but hearing him admit it in such a foul mouthed way made your whole body quiver. 

As his pace gradually picks up, you hear the water sloshing around the tub vigorously, feel his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust and cry from the added stimulation to your clit from the hairs on his mound. You didn’t have to see in order to know that Mando was grunting hard through gritted teeth, you could just hear it in his voice, picturing a beautiful image in your mind of the blissed-out expression on his face. Someday, you tell yourself with hope, someday I will see that blissed-out expression with my own eyes. 

Burying your face into his neck, you place lazy kisses to his skin and groan loud enough to warn him that you’re close. “It’s okay, mesh’la. I got you, it’s okay.” He heaves a heavy praise, pushing you over the edge within seconds.

“Mando!” You gasp suddenly upon feeling the peak of your orgasm washing over your body and mind. Curling your toes and tensing your muscles, you feel the heated pleasure ripple across your abdomen and chest, even making your ears ring as you become lightheaded. You could feel it from Din too. He was burning hot to the touch, breathing raggedly and his thighs shook moments before he yelled in a panic. “Where? Cyar’ika where?” 

“I-Inside.” You blurt in the heat of the moment. It’s reckless, but you want it so fucking badly, have day-dreamed of carrying his babies and considering he is even asking, you know that he wants it too. Crying out with each last few pounding thrusts into your cunt, Din buries himself deep and releases ropes upon ropes of his creamy seed inside. 

He, too, buries his face into your neck, muffling the sounds of his raspy broken moans as he rides out his high. You can feel him spilling inside of you, can feel his warmth coating your walls and spreading everywhere, as if pumping you full. The sensation was worthy of another orgasm. Grinding against him and stimulating your clit, you shudder in his arms and squeeze around him, drawing out every last drop he could give. 

“Fuck! Y/N.” Mando grunts sharply. Shaking his head into your neck and holding you still, you feel him smiling against your skin as he mumbles ‘sensitive’. Oddly, a part of you wanted to disobey him and continue grinding, to hear him gasp and whine from too much pleasure, however you held back on that for now and nodded into his neck. “Ok, my handsome warrior.” 

“And how would you know that?” He pulls his head away from your neck, chuckling softly as you giggle. Shrugging, you shake your head and whisper. “I don’t have to see you to know you’re handsome, Din. Men like you are beautiful inside and out, I just know it.” Cupping his cheeks with both hands, you rub your thumbs under his eyes then trace the shape of his nose with a smile. “See? Beautiful, what did I tell you.” 

Though you couldn’t see his smile, you could feel his growing against your hands and it was infectious too, making you smile with him. Carefully shifting his position, Mando sits down properly in the tub and leans back, still buried inside of you as you sit on his lap. “Keep doing that.” He asks, and when you tilt your head, confused, he elaborates. “Exploring with your hands. I like it, cyar’ika.” 

“Oh, my pleasure.” You laugh bashfully, then continue touching him, detailing how beautiful he feels and why. You learned even more about Mando in this little moment, learned that he loved the way you caressed his earlobes so delicately, making him sigh with peace. He then later returned the gesture, pointing out all of your beauties - even things you didn’t think he’d find beautiful - that made your cheeks bloom a pretty pink in colour from his compliments. 

You admired Mando behind the blindfold, and he admired you with his eyes - the woman he plans to marry.

-

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[monodramatic-cannibal]

Renegade!Chief

Info post about the au

(If characters seem OOC ((Out Of Character)) it's beacause I'm going off of my own interpretations/headcanons/fandom versions. So please be aware of that)

More info under the cut (Info is subject to change at any time. Info may be added to as well)

-Jobs in the group: secondary cook (anyone can cook really, but it’s mainly for those that don’t want too or can’t), keeping track of where everyone is and what they’re doing

Weapons of choice: Giant hammer like Blue’s but one side is a hammer and one side is an axe, bones that come from the ground

-Head canon voice: ???

-Uses he/him. But doesn’t mind any other pronouns. 

-Was a royal guard but was about to quit before the apocalypse, he found the job boring, he trained to fight, not stand around guard. He was a royal guard captain, which originally him and his squad were fighting but got pulled back to stand/guard in front of the royal families home. 

-Was relatively trigger-happy as a guard, but now during the apocalypse he’s relaxed a lot more, despite there being things for him to fight now. 

-To add to the point above. As a guard he never felt he truly had a purpose, he was just there to be there, since he liked fighting, he never cared about defending anyone because he never knew them. But now with the group he now has people to care for, which made him want to fight less and focus on taking care of them. 

-Likes to be on top of tasks, so tends to be quite bossy when it comes to getting things done. He knows some of the others don’t get along with him for this reason.

-Is actually a nice guy, and looks out for the others when he does notice something's off with them. Just a lot of the time the others don’t know he’s looking out for them. 

-Basically the mom of the group. Keeping an eye out for everyone, making sure everyone is well enough to do tasks. Making sure there’s no bad drama/bad blood between anyone. And making sure everyone is doing what they’re meant to be doing.

-Pretty much took the apocalypse in his stride. Was a little bit too calm about it, before he joined the group anyone he met tended to be freaked out by this calmness or would even claim he was happy about it. When in reality this calmness was a way for him to cope with it, as much as he adjust quickly, he knew there's nothing he could do to stop the apocalypse so got over it quickly.

-Was rather thrilled to have two other Royal guards in the group, Cross and Blue (even though Blue was training to be one Chief still classes him as one). Since he had others to relate too in terms of what they were doing before the apocalypse. 

-Tends to actually give good advice, but since he’s very hands on about the advice, e.g. advice that requires work to achieve. Most of the others don’t want to take his advice since they want more simple advice. 

-Like Cross and Blue he also does a lot of upkeep on his armour and weapons. He takes pride in having these things being in the best shape he can get them in. Sometimes complains to Blue that he’s not doing as much upkeep as he should be doing. 

-His horns grow relatively quickly so is often filing the horns down so they stay a size he likes. Also makes one bigger than the other on purpose. Since his outfit isn’t symmetrical (half a chest plate, and one of the waist pieces of armour being smaller than the other side) he also makes his horns not symmetrical. 

-The cracks in his skull he got from a fight, got them probably a month before the apocalypse. 

-Lust once offered to him to fix up his bandana but he refused, actually liking how it looks on him ripped like that. The bandana also has thin wire in it to help it stick up like that, or to allow him to shape it however he likes. 

-Wears his gloves most of the time, his gloves are quite thick, it’s to protect himself just in case he catches himself on his own armour. Since his armour is quite sharp in some places. 

-His triangle eye light can spin, mainly happens when he’s thinking, e.g. like a computer loading icon. The triangle can also take on other lengths and widths, e.g. when confused it can look more squashed. His other eye light can’t do these things though. 

-Will never admit to anyone but when he was younger he took dance lessons. He knew from the start he wanted to be a royal guard, and when he was a kid a royal guard captain once told him fighting was like a dance. Hence why he started to take dance lessons. So when he became a guard he was a lot more smoother than the others, had a lot more balance than them and would even fight as if it was a dance, allowing him to keep a consistent flow to his fights that most others couldn’t keep up with.

-To add to the point above he loves classical music that has an almost military sound to it (if you want an example sort of sound look up ‘Velkhana Iceborne theme’ it shows off the sound perfectly) (Velkhana’s fight in iceborne is also like a dance too, so both of their vibes fit perfectly)

-Loves sweet tasting things, but normally refuses to actually eat anything sweet, only really letting himself have sweet things when he thinks he deserves a treat.

How they feel about:

Nightmare: Doesn’t mind Night, respects the amount of work Night puts into the group. Never really has to Nag Night about anything due to the fact Night tends to stay on top of things. Night tends to be the one he goes too when there's a problem, since he knows Sci/Geno/Echo are hard to get a hold of.

Dream: Doesn’t run into Dream too often, but gets along with them when they do. Dream may help him from time to time, and does listen when told to do something.

Cross: They get along due to being royal guards and having things to talk about as well as train together. Does have respect for Cross, thinks Cross should be less polite about things though.

Blue: Likes blue, partly he misses whenever he had rookie royal guards with him. So having someone who was training to be a royal guard here who also listens to his orders he’s enjoying it. Partly views Blue as a little brother.

Ink: Doesn’t appreciate the pranks Ink pulls, but does appreciate the fact they keep the place more lively. So he can’t complain too much, just wishes less pranks were pulled on him.

Dust: Thinks he’s really unorginized. Does try to help him get more orginized, but also understands he (Chief) tends to catch him (Dust) when he has no energy. But also can never seem to catch Dust when he does have energy.

Horror: Sees him as a chill polite guy. Does think he’s a little bit forgetful of will often remind Horror if he has any tasks to do. But other than that they don’t interact too much.

Killer: Killer doesn’t listen to him half the time. So is on more neutral grounds when it comes to Killer. Will just go to Night and ask Night to deal with Killer if he’s having too much problems with Killer.

Error: Doesn’t see Error that often other than when he's doing his job. So is neutral with Error.

Lust: Lust listens to him and helps him out whenever they run into each other. Does respect Lust a lot for putting up with everyone.

Fell/Edge: Tends to pick up on when Fell is in a bad mood, will just pretend he never saw him to give Fell a break, knowing sometimes all someone needs is a moment to themselves. He does try to look out for Fell when he can, since he knows Fell tends to look after Sci and somewhat Geno.

Geno: Often looking out for Geno whenever they run into each other, will take tasks off of Geno if it’s a task he (Chief) can do. Will also try to get Geno to take regular breaks.

Outer: Since he tends to spend a bit of time with Outer he tends to notice when Outer is in what seems to be pain. He won’t question it, if Outer hasn’t told him already then he will wait for Outer to tell him. Will try to help out Outer where he can, and just generally tries to look out for him.

Sci: They don’t see each other too much, since Outer is normally the one giving info to Sci or doing tasks for him. He knows Fell is looking out for Sci, so doesn’t worry too much about Sci.

Reaper/Death: Seen him around Geno, tells Reaper to go away on the regular, though it's 50/50 if Reaper listens to him or not.

Fresh: Has briefly seen him, and tried to get to him, but Fresh had disappeared, assumed he was just seeing things and went about his day, but did tell Night about it. Noticed Night was quiet after he told him before telling him not to worry about it.

Gans/Echo: Doesn’t mind Echo, understands that some just like to be alone, and tries to respect it where he can. They sometimes do briefly talk about things not relating to their jobs, but only when Echo starts the convocation.

[graylinesspam]

Been thinking about Ahsoka trying not to look injured. She's a soldier she knows better than to show weakness in front of an enemy. Or a subordinate.

Their transport was shot down fifteen miles from extract. She drags herself from the smoking heap of twisted metal on her elbows. A trail of blood following her slow drag forward.

The wound is nasty. The whole outer side of her thigh is crisscrossed in slashes. The muscle torn through by the twisted metal and jagged rocks. With shaking hands she picks away at the pebbles embedded in her flesh. Her mouth stretched open in a snarling hiss at the pain.

She tears away what's left of the left leg of her leggings and shoves her gauntlet in her mouth to bite down on while she secures the makeshift bandage over her leaking wound.

There are others awake now. Dragging themselves from the wreckage and she panics. She cannot lead in her condition. They will carry her through the jungle. And they will all die. Because if Ahsoka stops moving, even for a moment, she will pass out. And she is the only one with the force awareness to lead them through the minefield between here and the evac point.

She wrenches herself to her feet and tries to take stock of her surroundings. On a rock only two feet from her a loose kama is wedged under a rock. The lost armour of an unlucky arc trooper.

She snatches the fabric up and secures the strap high around her waist. Its a long piece of stiff thick fabric. Warm, blast resistant, and fire proof. Its made to fall just below a trooper's knee. But even secured around her waist it falls to her calf.

It hides her wounds well.

As her boots crush through the charred rubble the other troops fall in around her.

"How are you Commander?" yak asks. He's a Seargent in Carnivore company. Experienced enough but still not entirely familiar with Ahsoka. These troops are not her closest brothers. And right now that will serve her.

Because this isn't the time for her to be a sister. This is the time for her to be a Commander.

"listen up men. We have half a day to make it to evac. That's ten miles of uncharted separatist controlled territory. There will be droid patrols and there will be a mine field between us and the flat lands. We have thirty minutes tops before someone comes to investigate this crash.

I want you to gather what gear we need. No more that two spare ammo canisters a person. Enough rations for yourself for the next 20 hours. Do not overload yourselves.

Now go."

The three remaining men rush back to the rubble to dig out the medkit a d whatever else they might need. Several take the opportunity to patch up their own wounds and relieve themselves in the surrounding trees before they regroup with Ahsoka.

They move out with ten minutes to spare.

The jungle, if thats what this biome is called, is significantly more dry than Ahsoka expects for such lush and wet greenery. Something about deep root systems and underground springs. She probably should have paid more attention to the breifing.

The ground is hard and dry under her boots. She marches forward with purpose. Her gait is a standard precise series of movements. The kind of perfect pace you might see in a training holo. But her muscles scream at her with every jostling step. Shreiking for relief.

Several times they stop to drink from the wet flat leaves they break off of the plants around them. But their pauses are brief. The droid patrols are tight. And they have to keep moving to stay ahead of their range.

Ahsoka maintains her demeanor. She is the commander now. Nothing else. She does not slouch. She does not twitch. She does not grimace. She keeps her face passive. Her posture is rigidly regulation. Shoulders squared, feet apart. She does not lock her knees.

She rarely speaks, instead relying on hand signals to direct her men around the enemie's movements. But when she does speak, her tone is hard and authoritative. Something she learned watching Cody direct his men.

By the time they've hiked five miles through the bush and the trees part for a wide field of tall feather grass swaying in the breeze, Ahsoka has already bled through her makeshift bandages. The tips of her montrals and fingers have started to go cold from blood loss and her sock grows wet and sticky with blood.

But that deceptively peaceful field is the minefeild they've been waiting for. A hundred seperatist charges are scattered under the dirt.

She turns to the men. "I want you to stay with me. Tight on my six. We make it through this field together. Follow my steps. Do not stray. Do not take a step, do not breathe without my permission. Is that clear?

Three visors nod at her. Not a moment of hesitation to the movement. They trust her implicitly. She is the only one that can get them through this.

They form a single file line. Close enough that Ahsoka can feel Yak's body heat pressing into her back.

She studies the edge of the field before she finds the path of least resistance. A place in the force where the danger feels quieter. And she follows the feeling. Every single step is a risk, guided by the force.

The energy it takes to converse so closely with the threads of fate drain her further. Her vision flickers until she decides to close her eyes instead of fighting the dizziness. She walks blindly through the field.

Shuffles is probably a more accurate term, fitting four people through the narrow path of safety is a challenge, but like all of the previous its a challenge that she meets.

It takes them two hours moving in tight zig-zag through the field, inching forward like a bug climbing the grout between bricks.

They make it through to the otherside. Small celibratory shoulder pats are exchanged before they spread out in a more comfortable distance. They take the opportunity to change their bandages and drain the last of their leaf water. And Again Ahsoka stands at attention amongst them. Unwilling to wilt even for a moment.

They set out to March again. Though the trek through the grassland is much easier than climbing over tree roots it is still a hard march. Several times they have to duck down into the grass and lay on their bellies to avoid the scans of passing droid patrols in the distance.

The heat of the kama leaves a sweat ring around her waist. And the constant shifting of it over her wounds makes them more inflamed with every step. But still they push forward.

Five hours it takes to walk ten miles. They're still five short from the neutral zone but her troops are flagging fast. Even the slow trek through the minefeild isn't enough to keep their stamina up in their injured states.

Ahsoka finally takes the time to sneak away and change her field dressing. Real gauze and bandages staunch the bleeding better. Though she considers burning her wounds shut for a few nerve-racking minutes. She decides against it. The pain would probably knock her out and she can't afford that yet.

She rallies her troops again. Barking orders for them to get up and get in line. The evac point is just down a hillside. Five miles will feel like three going downhill, she promises them.

No one groans in anything more than pain but she can feel their unwillingness none the less. They might need some rest but Ahsoka doesn't have the time to spare on that right now, she needs to get her troops out of here.

They stumble and fall and curse and groan and complain. But they get to the bottom of the hill. They get out of enemy comm range and Ahsoka can finally activate her tracking beacon.

It takes another twenty minutes for their gunship to arrive. Yak, Sneak, and Burner take turns keeping an eye on their six and laying face down in the grass, trying to catch their breaths. The exhaustion flows off of them in waves. Ahsoka has to focus on blocking it out to keep herself from collapsing.

When the ship finally lands they all limp aboard. But Ahsoka steps up calmly behind them. She could drop the command persona now. But its the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the floor. So she stands tall and grips the overhead bar on the trip back to the ship.

When the gunship makes it back to the hanger Echo and Kix are waiting with a small team of medics to asses the team on their return. It took longer than predicted. Hours longer and though they aren't surprised they are anxious to find the reason. Rex couldn't make it down but he insisted Echo check on the new Arcs and Ahsoka.

When the gunship doors slide open a battered and bloodied commander steps down her clothes singed and stained. A kama secured over her hip like a real clone commander's.

It's shape is significantly more feminine on her. Hugging her waist and draping over her hip and down her thigh. The slightest of her waist and the curve of her hip accentuated by the silhouette. But it speaks to the same authority that anyone would expect from a commander. A kama is a sign of rank. Those that choose to wear it do so as a reminder to their subordinates that they earned the addition to their armor. A kama commands respect. It announces authority. Echo had trained long and hard to earn the authority that sits around his hips now.

The same authority that Ahsoka uses to quickly direct Cadaver to roll his gurney up to the trooper with the twisted ankle that she helps down from the ship. His brothers limping down behind him.

Her voice rings with a calm urgency that no one disobeys.

Each man is passed to a medic and carted quickly away. Neither of the Arcs made it back. Ahsoka walks deliberately up to Echo and Kix as the others rush by.

"How are your injuries?" Kix says helping her onto the gurney with one hand. Once she's hauled herself on and they are more alone than they were before Ahsoka nearly collapses into the thin bedding of the gurney.

"medium, I think." she hisses through her teeth. Tears break the line of her eyes now. Her demeanor is completely different in the presence of her brothers.

"Hiding anything under your new accessory?" Kix demands in a way that says he already knows the answer.

"mmhm" she wheeze's through the pain.

Echo expertly pulls the kama from her waist exposing the gauze wrapped mess to Kix as Coric pushes the gurney faster towards the medbay. They all have to job along to keep up.

The wound was mostly concealed before but the blood trail from her thigh to her boots and back out of the seams between the leather as it pooled concerns them all greatly.

"I don't know how you were still walking." Kix hisses as he peels the gauze away and reveals the shredded mess of her leg.

Echo's stomach roils at the sight of her ground flesh.

"never stopped" she replies simply. "not for a second."

Kix rolls his eyes. "what, do you want a medal. You could have collapsed."

"but I didn't", Ahsoka stresses. "I never fainted. I walked all the way here and got on the gurney myself. No one had to carry me." she insists.

It seems very important to her that they know that. They she never faltered, not even for a moment.

So when Echo is filing the reports, or relaying the story in the barracks later that night, he makes sure to tell them that.

She looked like a real Al'verde climbing off of that gunship. Like wolffe or Cody or any respected ori'vod. She's grown into the role.

"Too bad she doesn't wear a kama, it looked really good on her." Coric adds from his bunk. A yawn overtaking him the next moment.

Mumbled agreements fill the bunks around him.

[ghostiewriter]

summary: Azriel only wants to see his mate after he returns from a long mission. Or, day twenty-eight of ghostie's spooktober spectacular.

read here on ao3.

.

“Gods.” 

“Stay still.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re wiggling.” 

“I am not.” 

Gywn couldn’t help but snort in response, not even bothering to hide the brash, loud sound when she heard the slight whine in his voice. 

The priestess was well aware of the reputation he held, far before their training sessions and the rise of the valkyries. There wasn’t a single soul in the Night Court that didn’t know of the ever-brooding shadowsinger. The tortured male with more mystery around him than answers, the one was encapsulated in shadows and the one who was almost as silent as night itself. 

She heard the rumours of his victims and the torture they would endure. She heard about the dark sides of his powers, the whispers that were shared between bookshelves when the priestesses thought no one could hear them. She heard about how he was tragically beautiful but plagued by his own twisted past. 

Gwyn heard so many stories of the feared shadowsinger that it was almost hard to believe he was the same whining male standing in front of her, legs on either side of her waist as he leaned back against the wall. 

“You have fought in wars gorier than the children of Velaris could ever imagine,” she commented, the amusement thick and coating her words. “And yet it is a rag that renders you squirming like an infant.” 

“An alcohol soaked rag,” Azriel corrected, a heavy sigh through his nose as she pressed against the edge of the wound. 

“Glad to see you didn’t disagree with the infant part,” Gwyn muttered with a huffed laugh.

“By the cauldron,” he hissed as she ran the tag along a series of smaller cuts and scratches across the plane of his stomach. “Are you always this heavy-handed, Berdara?” 

“Are you always this dramatic, shadowsinger?” she quickly retorted, not bothering to hide the way her lips twitched when he tried to move away from her touch. 

“I am not,” he huffed, wings rustling slightly when the rag touched his skin once more. 

“Five hundred years old,” Gwyn mused as she lifted her head, eyes catching his despite the inches in height difference between them. “And you’re acting worse than some of the children getting their first splinter.” 

“Splinters are an underrated injury,” Azriel grumbled as he all but smacked her hand away, instead nodding towards the roll of bandages lying by the basin. 

“I should not have volunteered to do this,” Gwyn muttered, though her tone remained light. “I’m sure you would’ve let Majda do her work in five minutes tops.” 

“I wanted to see you,” Azriel stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

He had been away on a mission for the last week, which in hindsight truly wasn’t that long in comparison to some of the journeys he had faced in the past. He was just to simply observe along the Autumn Court borders for any suspicious behaviour by their shared border with the Spring Court before returning home. 

No confrontations. No battles. 

That, of course, quickly backfired when Beron caught word of a spy amongst his Court. Despite the whispered warnings his shadow gave him, it wasn’t enough time for Azriel to fly or winnow away before he had guards on him. He was forced to fight back, get enough distance between him and the number of guards Beron sent to take down the spymaster of the Night Court. 

The second Azriel landed in Velaris, he should’ve headed straight to Rhys or straight to the medical centre near the centre of the town where Majda worked. 

Instead, he has oh-so graciously landed on the balcony of their room, stumbling in with a wretched grin and his leather wrapped arms already tearing off the ruined armour from his body. 

Despite her insistence, Azriel wished to remain with his mate until Rhys caught word of his return and inevitably summoned him to the townhouse. It had been a week, he could wait a few extra hours Azriel decided. 

“If only the Courts could see you now,” Gwyn mused as she quickly packed away the supplies for whenever the others would need it. “The fearsome Shadowsinger, a true sap for his mate.” 

Azriel rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched and that action alone sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “It is no secret that I would do anything for you, priestess,” he told her, words pure, warm and sincere as the summer sun. “Reputation be damned and all.” 

“That’s a hefty price to pay,” she said as her hands reached for his, the familiar bumps and curves of his scars soothed her. She knew her mate was a careful male, she knew he had more experience on the field than any other. But it didn’t mean her heart didn’t stopped every time he left, not beating again until he returned to her. 

“One of many I’m willing to pay,” he responded with no hesitance, pulling a hand away from hers so he could push her copper hair behind her pointed ear. “Thank you,” he murmured lowly. 

“For what?” she questioned, a confused frown on her face and gods, did Azriel find it to be the sweetest sight he had ever laid his eyes on. 

“You make a brilliant nurse,” he said, eyes briefly darting down towards his wrapped up torso. “Even with such a difficult patient.” 

“I’ve learnt how to deal with him over the years,” Gwyn said with an easy smile. He loved his heart still stuttered with such a simple action. 

“Is that so?” Azriel mused, his wings puffing out slightly in pride. 

“He can be very obedient,” Gwyn’s voice had dropped to a whisper, her voice warm and sultry as it washed over him. He could feel his teeth gritting in response, blood rushing down below. “If you know how to play him right.” 

“Care to show a demonstration, Berdara?” his voice was low—lower than usual. A familiar tinge of pink brushed over her cheeks as his fingers squeezed her waist, already making work of pulling the fabric of her nightgown further up her body. 

“I would love to, shadowsinger,” she murmured as she leaned up, one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his chest. “After your meeting with Rhys.” 

With the mention of his brother, Azriel felt as though an ice cold wave of realisation hit him. 

“What?” 

“Those keen senses of yours are getting rusty, Az,” Gwyn laughed and he almost missed her following words with the melodic sound ringing in his ears. “Rhys has been outside for the last two minutes.” 

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath as his shadows conveniently began to whisper of his brother’s presence just a few feet away from them. “You distracted them. You distracted me.” 

Gwyn shrugged at his accusation. “Maybe so.” 

He shot her a blank look. 

“Have fun,” she called out over her shoulder, though her eyes glanced down at the straining material of his trousers and there was something akin to mischief glimmering in her eyes. “Find me later, shadowsinger, maybe then I’ll actually take care of you.” 

Azriel swore under his breath as his mate ran off, the fabric of her nightgown brushing against her thighs as she did and his brain racking up a hundred and one other ways he would rather be spending his night over debriefing his mission. 

“Junior looks a bit excited to see me, brother.” 

“Shut up, Rhys.”

.

[melisusthewee]

uhh Solas/m!Trev/Cass??? From the throuple prompts: A gets hurt on mission/adventure/fight whatever, and B is the grumpy type of worried, while C is the caring and soft type of worried.

I think I played a bit loose with this prompt... particularly the "gets hurt on a mission" thing. Does the Inquisitor contracting malaria in the Fallow Mire count? It does now. I abandoned this fic idea to mere head canon lore a while ago, but maybe this will get me working on this bigger fic again. Maybe.

Bedside Vigil for @dadrunkwriting

As Solas summited the last of the stairs, he could hear the beginnings of an argument.  One voice was Cassandra, the other unfamiliar to his ears, but he could hear the exhaustion in both.  Each voice had the forced whisper of someone trying very hard not to raise their voice.

"The surgeon will want to examine it," said the deeper voice of not-Cassandra.

"I do not see the point," replied Cassandra.  "He either purges the illness or he does not.  Inspecting the contents of a chamber pot will not lead to any revelations on what's wrong with him."

"You don't know that, Seeker."

"I know that filling his room with foul air like this will not make him any better.  If it is so important then go deliver it to her."

Solas had barely time to puzzle over the words when a figure appeared in front of him at the top of the stairs, stern-faced and broad-shouldered.  The Templar Trevelyan cut an imposing figure even outside of his armour, and the tired and dulled look in his eyes only seemed to make him appear more dangerous.  He looked at Solas - or rather through him as if the elf wasn't there at all - before descending the stairs past him, a copper pot full of something foul-smelling tucked under his arm.

It was a sour smell and it lingered long after the man was gone.

The Inquisitor's chamber normally smelled fresh and warm and inviting.  Solas had lingered for many an evening in it, surrounded by the smell of firewood in the hearth, and the sharp smell of incense mingling with the sweetness of tobacco that heralded the presence of its occupant.  But there was none of that now.  The air was thick and stuffy, and a sour smell of sickness seemed to linger on everything.  Solas caught only a brief breath of fresh air as he saw Cassandra close one of the balcony doors with a frustrated sigh.

The Seeker looked tired.  There were shadows around her eyes and the frown lines around her mouth looked deeper than before.  That they softened slightly when she caught sight of him standing with his hand still on the wooden bannister did not do much to ease Solas' concern.

"How is he?" he asked, although he knew the answer would be less than satisfying.  The sharp medicinal smell of herbs and poultice mingled with the sour smell of illness and decay told Solas everything he needed to know.

"He was lucid about an hour ago," Cassandra replied, and there was a sadness in her voice that made Solas ache.  "They are trying to purge the illness from it.  But I don't know that it is working."

She gestured to him to take a seat.  One of the Inquisitor's high backed armchairs had been dragged over from its usual spot by the fire.  Solas looked at it, but hesitated.

Illness was something he didn't understand, and it was impossible for him to communicate why.  He was a healer, he should be at the Inquisitor's side until the man was on his feet again, but Solas could heal magical maladies that he knew intimately, or soothe inflamed muscles and bruised or battered skin and bone.  In the days of Arlathan there were no fevers, no malaise, no imbalance of the humors.  And while he might normally find this all a fascinating challenge met with a detached curiosity for the mortal world, he instead had grown increasingly frustrated to see his friend bedridden and delirious and the Seeker who watched over him burdened with such concern.

It was not Blight sickness, Solas told himself as he approached the Inquisitor's bedside and took the seat offered to him.  He had overheard Varric insisting adamantly on it.  Solas knew the dwarf to be telling the truth.  Whatever Quinn Trevelyan had picked up in his journeys across the south, it was not Blight brought back from the Western Approach.  Solas had seen what the darkness from the Void did, how it twisted and corrupted all that it touched.  It had driven Andruil mad with every journey she had made across the worlds until she no longer looked like the champion huntress he had once known.

Quinn still looked like Quinn.  He seemed to have lost weight and his cheekbones seemed sharper and more defined as if bits of him had withdrawn upon themselves.  His cheeks were flushed with fever, kept to a manageable level by the damp cloth someone - he assumed Cassandra - had laid across his forehead.  Solas knew he could reach out his hands and cup the man's face to whisper cooling magic across his skin, but it would only be a temporary relief and not enough.  He seemed asleep, though it was not the peaceful expression of a man wrapped within the Fade's embrace.  He seemed to stir when Cassandra took his hand in his, but Solas noted that his eyes remained half-lidded and unfocused.

He watched in silence for a while, not knowing what to say.  Truthfully, Solas felt a bit like an intruder, inserting himself into a moment of soft care and intimacy that was not meant for outside eyes.  Cassandra showed affection in a way Solas wished he could, towards Quinn… towards both of them, perhaps.  That she allowed Solas to even be present in her space seemed like it was too much, that he took too much and gave very little back.  And that he could do nothing to mend the loved one between them made it all the more painful.

As if in response, the mark on the Inquisitor's hand gave a weak pulse of light, shining green within the Seeker's grasp for a moment before winking out into nothing.  As it did, Quinn stirred and Solas could see his fingers give Cassandra's a gentle squeeze before he sank further back among his pillows.  He mumbled something, but it seemed tired and incoherent and Solas could make out neither the words nor the tone.

Cassandra did, however, and responded in kind.  "I am still here, I promise.  Solas is too."

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Whumptober 2022

Day Ten

TW- Waterboarding

mimicking sounds

This was not how Lance wanted to start his day. They’d been woken early by an alarm, and by the time they made it to the battle site, dozens of people had already been killed. They’d defeated the initial cruiser, and then the one that took its place, and then the one after that but Lance has no idea what happened next.

All he knows is that he’s sitting in a cell aboard a Galran cruiser, and he can’t feel his connection to Blue. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Now, Lance isn’t much one for swearing. He has a wide and extensive vocabulary, of course, but the freedom of curse words was mostly tempered by his mother’s proximity to her chancla. He thinks Mama could forgive him this one though, because he is completely and utterly fucked.

He has no weapons. No comms. No Lion. Not even his armour, and he really doesn’t want to think about who stripped him of it.

And to top it all off, he was promised an interrogation when he first woke up and now Lance can hear footsteps.

A towering Galran officer comes into view and Lance gives them his best glare. The officer doesn’t look the slightest bit intimated but the far shorter aide at their side gives a fearful squeak. Now that is how you react to an irritated Paladin of Voltron.

“Hello, little Paladin.” The officer rumbles and Lance huffs indignantly to himself. Little! He is above average height for a human, thank you very much, and seventeen is practically an adult.

(it is not an adult. He’s not an adult, and he really doesn’t want to be fighting a war, but he thinks his Mama would be proud that he’s helping people. After the heart attack she got from all his scars. Suddenly Lance doesn’t want to think about his Mama anymore.)

“It is time for your interrogation. Do not fight- it will only make things worse for you.” The officer orders him, unlocking his cell door. Of course, as soon as they grab Lance’s shackles, Lance attempts to bite them. He succeeds, but his blunt human teeth can’t penetrate the Galran’s thick fur, and he only gets a mouthful of fluff for his troubles. Yuck. Who knows where this Galran has been? Lance certainly doesn’t.

The Galran growls, grabbing him by the back of his neck and shaking him like an unruly kitten. Do Galrans scruff their children? They certainly look similar to cats. On another note, what does a baby Galran even look like? Were they cute or did they look like rats? The people (Lance) want to know.

He is abruptly jolted back into reality as the officer sets him down again and starts dragging him down the corridor. Rude. Lance can be trusted to walk on his own two feet, really! That chip in his tooth is definitely from soccer, not from tripping in front of the fireplace and smashing his teeth open on the grate. No sir, that did not happen.

The Galran unceremoniously dumps him into a room that sends shivers down Lance’s spine. There’s no outward indication that the room is somehow haunted but Lance just gets the feeling that horrible things have happened here.

There’s another officer standing with their back to the door but they turn around when Lance is manhandled into the room. Is it technically “manhandled” when he’s pretty sure his original guard is a woman? Something to look up later. If he survives long enough to use Space Google again.

“Ah, the prisoner. Tie him to the chair, I will take over from here.” The other officer orders, their words in Galran to presumbably leave Lance unaware of the conversation. Jokes on them, Lance is a language sponge and started teaching himself Galran as soon as he knew they were the enemy. Can’t always rely on those pesky translators!

Lance’s chains are transferred to the chair and he sits down reluctantly, one eye on the creepy table filled with sharp things. There’s a grate underneath Lance and he tries not to think about what is supposed to flow into it. He might genuinely be about to get tortured. Maybe him and Shiro can form a club! Fucked Up By Galra Interrogation. FUBGI. Eh, the name could use some work, but he’ll think of something.

The original Galra leaves the room, along with her (?) aide, leaving Lance alone with the new officer. They survey Lance in silence for a few moments before yet another Galra appears, in a similar uniform to the other. Lance is apparently special enough for two interrogators. Yay.

“We begin. What is your name?” The first Galran asks and Lance cant stop the surprise appearing on his face. His future torturers want to know his name? Lance has never been more confused in his life, not even when the concept of speaking had been introduced to him as a child, and his sisters can testify, Baby Lance was very confused.

Does he tell them? What if they ever take over Earth? They could find his family. He keeps his mouth shut.

The interrogator sighs. They continue on with the questions, Lance answering none of them and the Galrans getting more and more frustrated. Eventually, the basin is brought out from beneath the murder table.

Oh. It’s filled with water and Lance has a sinking feeling that he’s about to be waterboarded. His chair is adjusted and the basin put on a small table in front of him. One interrogator moves behind him and puts a hand on the back of his head. Lance has no room or leverage. If the interrogator pushes his head down, he won’t be able to escape the water.

“We’ll start with the easy questions again. What is your name?” The interrogator asks, and god, Lance is honestly scared now, but he refuses to say anything.

His head is pushed down. His face goes under the water and he instinctively tries to breathe, even though he knew it was coming, knew he should hold his breath.

Lance gasps under the water, choking on the liquid flooding his mouth and spilling down his throat. He tries in vain to lift his head, but the interrogator is so much stronger than he is.

Just when he’s about to pass out, Lance is dragged out of the water. He’s sopping wet now, his hair dripping but he doesn’t care because he can breathe.

“Do you want to tell us now?” The interrogator says pleasantly and Lance shakes his head mutely. The interrogator sighs, like Lance is some unruly child, and then his head is being shoved down again.

He remembers to hold his breath this time, and inhales far less water. But his lungs cant hold out forever and eventually he has to gasp, try to breathe, and he swallows half the basin in his panic.

When he’s brought back up, there are black and yellow spots dancing in his vision and he has the vague thought that they look like wasps.

The interrogator asks for his name several more times, drowining him again and again. They move onto Voltron, before the interrogator realises he’s getting nowehere and switches to different questions.

“What age are you?” The interrogator asks and Lance sobs. He’s so tired and the water is so cold, and its only one question, right? He doesn’t want to go back in the water.

“S-seventeen.” He chokes out and the Galran behind him releases him like they’ve been burned.

“Seventeen? You are seventeen decaphoebes of age?” The interrogator asks and Lance nods weakly.

The guard who’s been holding his head down comes to stand beside the interrogator and they speak in hushed tones. Lance is exhausted at this point but he listens in, in case it’s important.

“He is a child! We- we can’t torture a kit!” The guard says and the interrogator grimaces.

“We have our orders.” They remind the guard and the guard’s fur bristles.

“Then we say he passed out. I refuse to harm him anymore.” They say and the interrogator’s shoulders drop.

“Fine. What were Voltron thinking? Sending kits onto the front line.” They say sadly and the guard’s face falls.

“They had no choice.” They say softly.

Lance is still confused but he thinks he understands what’s happening. The Galrans have a strict code according to Coran, that say they must never hurt children. By Galran standards, Lance is very much a child, to be protected not harmed.

This is his chance. He lets his shoulders slump forward, and gasps out some shuddering breaths, tears rolling down his face. A whine escapes purposefully from his throat, eerily similar to the sound of a Galran kit in distress. Lance has always been very good at mimicking sounds.

The two Galrans fall for it. The guard scrambles to unchain him, lifting him carefully from the chair. Lance plays up his reaction to the guard’s presence, squirming around like he’s terrified the guard will hurt him.

“Sh, sh, it’s alright. You’re going back to your cell, you’ll be alright.” The guard soothes him. The interrogator opens the door and guides the guard back to Lance’s cell, letting out the same soft rumbles as the guard. They’re meant to soothe and reassure Galran kits, but they don’t have much effect on Lance. He is still a human, after all.

He’s gently deposited into his cell and given a blanket to curl up in. He can hear the interrogator outside the door, informing his original guard about his age and he can hear a horrified gasp escape them.

Good. If he can tug on the Galran’s heartstrings, make them associate him with a child of their own race, they’ll let down their defences and he can escape. He just needs to bide his time. His team will be looking for him in the meantime. The guard is right in a funny way- he'll be alright.

[dragonsarecool]

Whumptober Day 11 - Self-Done First Aid

Eleven: Self-Done First Aid

A/N: I’ve played with this scene from ‘Tintin and the Picaros’. See end of fic for translations.

They were lucky he had noticed the monkey. 

Otherwise they would’ve been playing harps with the angels, instead of running for their lives from Tapioca’s men.

Even through the thick armoured plates of the truck, the explosion further up the road was enough to make Tintin’s ears buzz. He pushed himself out of his seat in a rush, forcing the door open as he heard General Alcazar do the same on his side. The air in the immediate vicinity was already filling with smoke, with the beginnings of a wildfire dancing along blades of grass about fifty metres ahead of the truck.

Tintin coughed as he ran to the rear of the truck, watching as Alcazar and his men grabbed whatever weapons they could carry and launch into a sprint. He gave the Captain a brief nod as the older man leapt from the vehicle and followed the soldiers, clutching his hat tightly as it threatened to fly away. Wait a minute…where’s-

“I strongly suggest that whoever was driving this truck invest in a few lessons!” Calculus screeched from behind him, crossing his arms in a huff. 

Tintin fought the urge to roll his eyes until they fell out of his head. You cannot be serious, Calculus. He wrestled to maintain his composure, though his stomach dropped at the sound of faint, angry Spanish voices. “Come ON, Professor!!” He sprinted to the older man and dragged him forward by the wrist, steadying his grip as they broke into a ran.

“Really, Tintin, I can walk!” The Professor screamed. “Tintin!!”

Ignoring the protests of his friend, Tintin tightened his grip and pulled him along, his eyes focused on the path ahead. The Captain and Alcazar’s soldiers had already gotten a head start, though they couldn’t be more than a hundred metres in front. Tintin found himself puffing slightly as he tugged the Professor along, his lungs already screaming for extra air. Maybe it is time I stopped this adventuring business-

The explosion deafened both of them. 

His eardrums screamed as they bowed under the pressure.

Pieces of shrapnel were hurtled through the air, some colliding with wood, whereas others buried themselves in flesh. Although Tintin could not hear himself, he felt the scream tear from his throat as he registered his skin breaking open in several areas, the holes being filled with chunks of metal. “Mon Dieu!!”

He vaguely registered a yelp from Calculus as they crashed onto the ground, the older man falling on top of him. The ringing in his ears was unbearable. For a terrifying split-second, he was certain that he would be permanently deaf, or become impaired like the Professor. God help the Captain if that happens…

The skin on his forearms was raw from having slid across the groundThe warmth from the flames licked at his heels

“Ohhh…” Calculus was dazed, holding his head tenderly. A small gash had appeared on his forehead, but he otherwise seemed fine. “Good gracious…”

Tintin was grateful that the Professor had seemingly avoided most of the debris, though it did mean most of it was likely buried in his own back. He had no time to assess how concussed the Professor was, for he could feel the heat of the flames searing through his socks. “Move, Professor! Move!!”

Grabbing Calculus under the arm, Tintin released a loud grunt as he hauled the older man to his feet. The injuries to his back were protesting against such exertion, but he bit his lip and pushed on, half-dragging Calculus behind him. 

General Alcazar’s voice rang out through the jungle ahead. “Hombres! Ir y ayudarlos!”

The smoke hadn’t reached this far into the jungle yet, and Tintin was glad to see a group of Alcazar’s men jogging towards them. He came to a stop and collapsed to his knees, his willpower having been won over by the fire searing in his back. He heaved in lungfuls of air as the soldiers removed Calculus from his grasp and lifted him to his knees.

“Señor!” One of the soldiers tapped Tintin on the shoulder, mindful to avoid the deep gash that decorated the young man’s bicep. “Hay un campamento cerca.”

Despite having no idea what information had been relayed to him, Tintin nodded wearily. He allowed himself to be led through the burning jungle, the exhaustion and pain quickly wearing him down. As long it involves a bed and some water, I’m all for it. I definitely need to put this sort of thing behind me.

*******

“Blistering barnacles, Tintin, you need to see a doctor!”

The two men had taken up residence in the singular medical tent available in Alcazar’s camp. The facilities were hardly adequate; no running water, no medical equipment and no trained professionals of any kind. They were effectively practising frontier medicine. Tintin had perched himself on the cleanest table, shoving aside the empty alcohol bottles as he fumbled through the singular first aid kit. At least they have tweezers and gauze; I don’t have to cut up my sweater to patch myself up.

He’d decided to tackle the shrapnel currently embedded in his right forearm, and gasped

audibly as his fingers fumbled with the tweezers. “We are in the middle of the jungle, Captain! Where exactly am I supposed to find a- GARGH!…doctor out here?!” He spoke through gritted teeth as he dislodged another piece of shrapnel, throwing it aside with distaste. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t experienced worse.”

“Yes, and that’s what worries me!” Haddock knelt next to his friend, attempting to pull his eyes away from Tintin’s bloodied skin. “…You’ve suffered worse, yes, but you’ve been conveniently close to civilisation every other time!”

Tintin gave a strangled gasp as he disposed yet another fragment. He gazed at his arm intently as he flexed the elbow, satisfied that he had removed all of the foreign material. He’d only removed five pieces, and yet the nausea was already becoming too much; God knew how much was buried in his back. “Just help me with my back, Captaine.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before beginning to slide his arms out of the heavily-damaged sweater. The Captain sighed heavily as he helped Tintin to remove the garment, the younger man hissing as some fragments were dislodged with the movement. 

Tintin was silently grateful that he’d worn a button-up white shirt, for it meant removing it was less painful. He grunted as he extended his arms to pull them out of the sleeves, though the pain quickly gave way to relief as he peeled the blood-soaked shirt from his body.

One glance at Tintin’s back was enough to make Haddock feel nauseous; he couldn’t even imagine how Tintin was feeling. At least a dozen holes now decorated his skin, with the shrapnel buried within them glittering under the nearby gas lamp. Some wounds were round enough to appear as though someone had repeatedly stabbed him with a pen, while others were extremely jagged and disfigured.

Haddock took a long swig from the medicinal alcohol before dabbing it onto Tintin’s back, cringing at the agonised cries from the younger man. “I’m so sorry, lad-“

“Just get on with it,” Tintin hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent any tears from escaping. “Please.”

The Captain retrieved the tweezers from Tintin’s grasp and quickly set to work. Although his eyes weren’t as good as they used to be, he had no trouble spotting the foreign material. Even though his hands were also not as steady as they once were, he managed to withdraw most fragments without causing Tintin unnecessary pain. 

He quickly decided to swipe that medicinal alcohol. After all, its healing benefits had already been proven on himself.

“Mi amigo!” General Alcazar’s voice floated into the tent, his cheerful expression quickly evaporating as he laid eyes on Tintin, who clutched the table so tightly that his hands were completely white. “Eso no se ve bien, mi amigo. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“No, of course he’s not!!” The Captain snapped. “What, you think we’re sitting here and playing doctors for fun?! You and your men nearly got us killed!!”

“Seńor, I did not mean any offence-“

“Well you should’ve thought of that before you barged in here-“

“Messieurs!!” 

Stunned by the outburst, both men turned to look at Tintin, who was currently staring at the floor. Obviously embarrassed at his lack of control over his temper, the young man thought quickly. “…Sorry, Captain, y-you pressed too…too hard—“

“I, uh…” Haddock sighed guiltily, discarding the shrapnel. “I’m sorry, lad…I’d make a lousy doc, wouldn’t I? Yelling at people while I’m up to me elbows in blood and guts.”

Tintin allowed himself a small smile. “You’d be terrible at helping the alcoholic patients.”

The Captain chuckled heartily as Alcazar stepped forward, his eyes blazing with concern fo the younger man. “Let me find you some bandages, amigo.”

“We’ve got a few pieces of gauze,” Haddock pulled the items in question from the first aid kit, “but we’ll need more to cover his arm.”

Alcazar rummaged through a collection of containers in the corner of the tent, cursing occasionally in Spanish as he tossed aside bits and bobs. His search seemed ultimately successful, for he beamed proudly as he produced a slightly larger medical kit and handed it to Tintin. “I knew we had another one somewhere.”

Tintin forced the lid of the kit open, sighing with relief as he spotted a collection of bandages. “Merci beaucoup. These will for now.”

Applying the gauze and bandages to every single wound was a time-consuming process. Even Alcazar was drawn into assisting, handing Haddock pieces of tape to hold the protective barriers in place. 

All Tintin wanted was to lie down. His back was beginning to feel as though a steam roller had gone over the top of it. I swear, these better not get infected…

He snapped out of his trance as he noticed Haddock step around to the front, handing him the final bandage. Without looking up, he quickly began wrapping it around the holes in his forearm. “Thank you both for your help-“

“Señor, these are not just simple wounds,” Alvazar interrupted. “If you get infection, my men and I cannot help you. You must go to hospital!”

“Well obviously I can’t with Tapioca’s men after me, can I? I’ll be fine,” Tintin tied off the bandage and made a move to stand, giving his friends a steely look. “Let’s get to work. We have got a revolution to finish, after all.”

A/N: I am also not a native Spanish speaker, so please blame Google if these translations are incorrect.

Translations (Spanish):

Mi amigo = my friend

Hay un campamento cerca = there is a camp nearby

Eso no se ve bien = that doesn’t look good

Translations (French):

Messieurs = gentlemen

Merci beaucoup = thank you very much

[greeenchrysanthemums]

UPDATED appearances for the GG rivals au characters: now with Lizzie and Joel!!

Once again, i am no artist so they are just written descriptions with pictures here and there. Most of them are largely the same as the previous post, but I have added little tidbits to certain descriptions, some of which are lore related!

Gem looks similar to this gorgeous fanart, except her dress has slits up the side to allow for easier movement. This look is sometimes replaced entirely by a trouser and tunic combo of the same colour if she knows the mission she is being sent on will need a great deal of movement in close quarters or something to that affect. No matter the outfit, her sword never leaves her waist. Her hair is in a low bun with a braid wrapping around the front of her head, like this. I do not imagine her with horns in this au.

Scott and Impulse wear armour similar to how applestruda draws it in her au, with their cloths in shades of teal and yellow respectively. Scott has long, back length hair, that he wears down and covering one eye. He was born with heterochromatic eyes, one blue and one hazel. His teeth are sharp, and he has fin-like ears due to his Coral Crest heritage. Impulse has shortly cropped hair, stubble on his face, and two little nubby horns that are tipped in black extending out of his forehead. He also has sharp, clawed hands.

Grian's eyes are entirely black like a barn owl's, and he has feathers on the high parts of his cheek bones and ears. His hands end in sharp talons rather than nails. He also has bird-like legs and taloned feet. His wings are not visible, if there at all. He wears a red shawl/cloak that has a high collar and ends around his waist, held closed by a brooch in the shape of an eye, similar to this but golden instead of silver. It has a hood, but he only wears it if he is trying not to be seen. His undershirt is black, and it is a long sleeve. His trousers are brown.

Scar wears a similar black cloak as Grian, held closed by the same brooch, though he wears his with the hood up. The cloak has red flower detailing on the hem. His eyes are green, and his hair is brown. He has a single grey streak in the front of his bangs. His tunic and trousers under the cloak are both black and he wears his shirt just a little bit too open at the top. He also always wears a smile, but pretty much everyone can agree it is deceptively kind and fake. He looks the most human out of the whole cast, so much so that it is entirely uncanny. EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to mention! Scar has a cane as well. It's wooden with a gold handle.

Mumbo and Etho wear matching outfits, claiming it is professional since they share a job and shop, but it is something they choose to do, not something that is required of them (they are just very, very silly). They are simple outfits consisting of white tunics with black trousers and thick, leather aprons on top (mumbo's is red and etho's is a dark green). They both wear goggles and thick gloves, as well as chunky boots, all for safety since they work with explosives very often. Etho wears a black bandana to cover his lower his face, both to hide his scars and his identity. His goggles replace his headband in this look, doubling as what keeps his hair out of his face. His scared eye is missing entirely; he does not have a false eye, it is just an empty socket. Mumbo wears his goggles around his neck when they are not on his face.

Bdubs also wears thick gloves to protect his hands in the garden. His shirt is white, and he has brown trousers that are a tad bit high watered, something he claims is intentional as he does not want mud all over his trousers. The previous argument becomes moot, because over this outfit he wears a thick cloak that is almost always covered in some manner of flora and/or mud. He completes the look with a wide brimmed hat to protect him from the sun.

Cleo is also dressed similarly to Etho and Mumbo but her apron is a plain brown that is stained with soot. Her tunic sleeves are always rolled up to show off her strong arms and she doesn't wear her safety gloves nearly as much as she should. She forgoes eye protection entirely. One of her eyes is missing, replaced with a glass eye of a slightly different shade of green than her organic eye. Her hair is pulled into a much messier bun than Gem's, with frizzy stray hairs going every direction. She is NOT a zombie in this au, she is completely human.

Ren is dressed in all the typical regalia of a king, complete with a diamond encrusted, golden crown and a thick red cape with a fluffy collar. His thick beard is long and braided. His eyes are red, as well as blood shot, and he almost always appears angry. He, of course, has wolf ears and a tail. He simply would not be Rendog without them.

Martyn is dressed in the same armour as the other knights. His under clothing is green, as is the bandana he wears around his forehead. He usually appears worried, but he smiles often in the presence of the king. He always has a hand on the sheath of his sword, ready to draw it at any time.

Pearl wears a white tunic with flared sleeves tucked into a pair of high waisted black trousers. Over this she has a deep, red cloak that stops at her waist and is held closed by a circular broch that, when unclasped, takes the shape of crescent and wanning gibbous moons. She has a crescent moon shaped birth mark on the left side of her face. Her hair is always down and messy under her hood. When she is on the job, she carries a scythe strapped to her back, along with a crossbow. There is a sheath on her leg which contains a dagger.

Bigb wears a blue tunic with brown trousers, along with a thin white apron when he is working. He always seems to have flour stains on his clothes whether he is on or off the clock, no matter how hard he tries to wipe it off. Big strong arms for him as well.

Skizz wears the same armour as the rest of the knights, and his underclothes are black. The shoulder of his armour has a cross emblem on it that delegates him as a medic, and he has medical supplies carried across his chest. The sleeves of his tunic are ripped off and he does not wear his gauntlets, showing off a plethora of scars along his arms. He is a dove avian, but one of his wings is heavily damaged and half missing as a result of an old injury he sustained on the field. He has white feathers on his upper cheekbones and ears, but he lacks the talons that Grian has.

Tango wears a short sleeved red tunic and black trousers with big chunky boots that are never free of mud. His hands are clawed, and his ears are pointed; both are tipped in a red to black gradient. His eyes are entirely red. He has a long tail that ends in a tuff of fire that doesn't seem to actually have any real heat.

Jimmy wears a blue tunic with a brown vest over it. Brown trousers and chunky boots. His sleeves are always rolled up and he is always covered in some manner of dirt, both because of the work he does on the farm, and from being very clumsy. He has bull horns, one of which is chipped. He also has a tail and bull-like ears. He has a gold ring in one of his ears.

Lizzie wears a flowy purplish-pink dress that is thin, both to allow for free movement and to allow airflow in the Coral Crest heat. Her teeth are sharp, and her ears are fin-like. Her nails are very sharp. She wears her pink hair down with a string of pearls like this. She wears many silver and gold bracelets on both wrists, along with a few anklets on both ankles. She does not wear shoes unless she is out of the castle.

Joel Wears a thin, short sleeved white tunic and brown trousers under a set of armour. While Wintertide armour is more thick and sturdy, as well as a darker greyish colour, Coral Crest armour is more thin and agile, and is a lighter grey, almost white, colour. He wears no gauntlets. His hair is short and messy with the back pulled into a tiny ponytail. He has a short, scruffy beard. He also has fin-like ears, sharp teeth, and sharp nails. He puts on a tough guy act by scowling all the time.

[jcmarchi]

How Does Javelin's Top-Down Attack Work? - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/how-does-javelins-top-down-attack-work-technology-org/

How Does Javelin's Top-Down Attack Work? - Technology Org

Tanks are hard vehicles to defeat. They have thick armour, sometimes – even additional reactive armour tiles. However, main battle tanks can be defeated by shoulder-fired missiles, such as the FGM-148 Javelin. Especially when it attacks in a top-down mode.

Ukrainian soldier with a Javelin anti-tank weapon. Image credit: АрміяInform via Wikimedia (CC BY 4.0)

The FGM-148 Javelin is an American man-portable anti-tank system in service since 1996. It is one of the most advanced mobile anti-tank missiles, mostly because it has been upgraded many times since its initial entry into service. It can defeat pretty much all of the modern main battle tanks in its top-down attack mode, which recently became a target for morbid curiosity because of the war in Ukraine.

The defenders of Ukraine use the Javelin anti-tank guns more than anyone in the world. No one can even estimate how many tanks and other armoured vehicles were destroyed using this particular gun. And Ukrainians are very grateful for their supply.

The key to Javelin’s success is its top-down attacks, which recently came back into the light after a video of Javelin destroying Russian armoured vehicles near Avdiivka has been published online:

Video of Javelin ATGM strikes on Russian vehicles near Avdiivka. https://t.co/H6ko2ZMW6M pic.twitter.com/LpQIGeQLM0

— Rob Lee (@RALee85) January 15, 2024

How do top-down attacks work? Well, one thing you need to know is that main battle tanks have very strong, thick armour on the front and sides of the hull. The turret, which is always the highest, most easily followed target, has the thickest armour.

But the tank’s armour is thinner at the top. This is a bit of a compromise. The limitation is weight and in order to increase the thickness of the armour in the most targeted areas, engineers need to make it thinner and lighter somewhere else.

The top armour was a logical choice, because most anti-tank weapons didn’t target it, unless in urban combat. And so the top portion of the hull is still the thinnest. In addition, there are hatches, which are also a bit weaker than the rest of the tank’s hull. How can you hit a tank from the top when you’re hiding in the trenches? That’s why modern anti-tank missiles have a top-down attack mode.

The Javelin missile rises high and then plunges down towards the target, trying to hit it right at the top where the armour is thinner. That is what you saw in the video. The Javelin is not the first nor the only anti-tank missile that can do that. The first top-attack anti-tank gun put into service was the Swedish Bofors RBS 56 BILL in 1988. Now there are many different anti-tank missiles that can perform a calculated top-down plunge.

By the way, it seems like the top-down attack missiles will not be the weapon that will force a fundamental change in tank construction. The defenders of Ukraine proved that top-down attacks can be performed by very cheap drones carrying even cheaper RPG projectiles.

Written by Povilas M.

Sources: OMEGA COMPANY Telegram, Wikipedia

[harkovastwebcomic]

Chapter 20- The Zadakine Regroup

The trek of the Zadakine refugees was hard going. Most of them were on foot and were carrying all their remaining belongings. They could not stop to rest for fear that the Nymus would come after them. They had no way of knowing the outcome of the battle with the Darsai, or how close the danger might be. Their progress slowed as strange, rhythmic thumping sounds began to pass through the ground they were walking on, growing gradually louder. When they saw marching soldiers coming over the hills ahead of them, their initial reaction was panic and fear. When they realised it was an approaching force of Zadakine, their cries of terror turned to cheers. The Zadakine soldiers were equipped in hardened leather armour, carrying round shields and spears or bows. The soldiers were universally male, as the Zadakine viewed military service to be a task beneath the talents of women. The soldiers were supplemented with significant groups of heavily armoured Ivos and shirtless Junlock warriors, two races known for their shared animosity but united here as mercenaries. However, their marching and drums were not the source of the strange thumping sound. With the thousands of soldiers came a dozen huge War Bralks. These towering, four legged beasts were slow in their movements, but covered ground quickly due to their great size, towering around five times the height of a man. Bralks were snub-nosed reptilian beasts, but from their bodies grew huge rocky outgrowths of solid stone, becoming thick blocks on their front legs, shoulders and heads. These provided the creatures with virtually impervious armour from the front. The only hope to hurt them in battle would be from the sides or back but even those parts not covered in stone where protected by thick scales and muscle that were very difficult to harm. Bralks were dumb beasts and gave little reaction to pain or injury and showed no fear in battle, making them powerful war beasts when driven into the enemies’ ranks. On the backs of these massive animals were howdahs made of wicker, and animal hides that each carried six bow-armed Zadakine.

Realising who the approaching forces were, the refugees forgot their fatigue and rushed to the advancing rows of soldiers, embracing them excitedly. The Zadakine soldiers began to break ranks, the mood becoming celebratory. Chen-Chen stood back from this celebration, smiling and happy the refugees had been saved, but still apart from it. Looking around she saw Nido speaking with an armoured Zadakine man with feathers mounted on top of his helmet, who seemed to be a commander. Behind this man stood large numbers of the most heavily armoured Zadakine warriors. However, from their body language it was obvious that the commander was deferential to Nido’s authority. Chen-Chen approached them smiling, but her expression dropped as she realised what was being discussed. ”We need to make sure they are safe, absolutely, but we must be careful not to weaken our forces,” Nido stated.

“I have sufficient forces, Ma’am,” said the commander, “and the siege will take time. One in ten of our troops can escort our people to the ships, and then they should have no difficulty rejoining us.” Chen-Chen’s walk turned into a run.

“What are you going to do?” she asked in a panic, though in truth she already knew the answer. ”I’m sorry, Chen-Chen,” said Nido, her tone grave. “But you must realise it is war.” ”Oh no, please!” said Chen-Chen desperately, “there must be another way!” Suddenly, another voice spoke. ”Trying to protect your own people, isn’t it?” Chen-Chen looked around to see the Golta Zilfay, glaring at her sternly. ”Who is this Tsung-Dao? A spy?”

“No!” said Chen-Chen, frightened and confused by this accusation. “I’m not a spy!” ”She is a friend,” said Nido. “Chen-Chen has helped us escape the city.” ”Hmm, is that so?” asked Zilfay, straightening her waistcoat. “Not an ally of The Shogun?” Chen-Chen felt even more frightened. ”Well…” said Chen-Chen, “I know him, what does that...?” ”He launched an attack against my people,” said Zilfay flatly. “And now he has retreated to the Nymus city. The Golta will have vengeance, won’t we?” ”I don’t….I’m not really…” Chen-Chen stammered. Just then, Nido stepped in. ”Commander,” Nido said, with authority, “I want Chen-Chen returned to her people’s homeland safely. Her well-being should be considered a top priority.” ”Yes, Ma’am,” said the Zadakine Commander. Zilfay seemed to ponder this a moment and then relented. ”So be it. My quarrel is not with all Tsung-Dao, only those that attacked us…and if the Nymus shelter Shogun’s followers, then I’ll see Yalangov’s city walls turned to dust.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

5 times Merlin does something that requires a considerable amount of strength;

+1 time the gang has time to actually bring it up.

Everyone is baffled, half distracted by Merlin’s surprising buffness and half amused by Arthur’s gay panic:

1)

The clearing fills with the sounds of a brutal fight. 

The Knights of Camelot, along with their King, had given up on trying to figure out how bandits always managed to find them in the woods. It seemed impossible for there to be so many mercenary groups that it was just coincidence for them to stumble upon each other so often, but equally, the knights moved quietly and always covered their tracks well, so... yeah, who knows.

The point is, they’re outnumbered three to one, and all of them were starting to regret not listening to Merlin’s earlier suggestion that they keep riding for another hour or so; their camp was destroyed and the fight was tiring them out.

Three to one weren’t bad odds, especially for knights with such a high level of skill, but it was exhausting and time consuming and they just wanted it to be over. Merlin was having similar thoughts as he stumbles through the middle of the crowd, trying to get out of the way. He was keeping an eye on them of course, but his friends were winning so his magical intervention wasn’t really needed; he was just annoyed that Arthur was almost certainly going to make him clear everything up afterwards.

His attention is suddenly caught when Percival’s voice rings out across the clearing:

“Merlin! Behind you!”

All of the knights’ gazes whip to the servant when they hear the giant’s yell, and they all abandon their own battles to step towards him despite knowing that they were too far away to be able to help in time. The servant takes in a sharp breath at Percival’s warning, becoming suddenly aware of a fast-moving presence behind him; he forms a fist and turns, swinging blindly with all his strength and following through even when his knuckles crunch with surprising accuracy against the temple of a bandit.

The man, not expecting the rapid attack, doesn’t have time to move out of the way, and his head jerks to the side, his entire body following as if an afterthought. He crumples to the floor gracelessly, unconscious before his head makes contact with the trampled undergrowth.

Merlin hisses at the pain bursting through his knuckles and up into his wrist, shaking his hand out as he steps over the bandit’s still form without even blinking, back to focusing on attempting to find a tree to sit behind and sulk, as if nothing had happened.

The knights only have a fraction of a second to freeze in shock before they’re dragged back to their own fights, forced to defend themselves lest they get skewered. 

The battle only lasts a few more minutes; despite being outnumbered, the knights far outmatch the bandits in skill (and sufficient armour) and Merlin was correct in his assumption that they wouldn’t need any of his DIY luck, which is a good thing really, considering how much his hand is throbbing. He peeks his head around the tree when things go suspiciously quiet, getting up and making his way to the abandoned bag of medical supplies when he sees the knights victorious.

The servant runs a quick gaze over them, taking stock of any potential injuries as he makes his way through the clearing, injured hand clenched tightly and held to his chest. He may have knocked the bandit out, but that just meant that the punch was hard enough to do damage to his hand as well as the other guy’s head. When he finds nothing more than the odd bruise on the others, he grabs a roll of bandages for himself, quickly wrapping his hand almost painfully tight, before turning to Arthur with a scowl:

“I told you we were too close to the road, I told you we should’ve kept on going. But do you ever listen to me? No, because you’re-”

He’s cut off by The King stepping towards him and taking his bandaged hand, cradling it gently and looking to Merlin in concern:

“Merlin, are you alright?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and huffs, snatching his hand back and retreating to check on the horses, thankfully tied and uninjured at the edge of the clearing:

“No, my hand fucking hurts, because, surprisingly enough, these idiots have skulls almost as thick as yours. We need to move camps, like I said earlier. Prat.”

Arthur frowns, looking down to Merlin’s unconscious bandit at his feet, and then glancing back to the other knights, who all just shrug with wide eyes. The King sighs, reluctantly nodding at Merlin’s assertion as he stares up at the darkening sky, deciding that Merlin must’ve... hit a pressure point or... something:

“Everyone pack up, I want to be moving on in three minutes.”

2)

Merlin had foregone his jacket and rolled his sleeves up in the surprising Spring heatwave.

Which was a sight in itself.

But what really made the knights look twice (I mean... Arthur was just outright staring, but Leon had long since glared the others into not mentioning The King’s little... crush) was the way the supposedly wimpy servant had two sets of chainmail folded on one shoulder, his arm curled over them to keep them balanced, and a few odd bits of mismatched armour clutched in his other hand. He was making his way from the training field up to the castle, presumably to find an empty room to sit quietly and clean them.

Elyan waves at him across the field, the movement just about catching the servant’s gaze as he twists around, flashing a bright, sunny grin in place of waving back. 

Arthur gulps, eyes drawn to the vein standing out from Merlin’s uncovered neck; apparently the heat had encouraged him to abandon his neckerchief as well. The King takes a deep breath, sending a scowl Merlin’s way to cover his... surprise, holding in a smirk when the servant just rolls his eyes and turns back to the castle.

His stride was strong, and though his arms were straining against the weight, he looked entirely unbothered, not even breathing deeply as he picks up his pace, jogging up the citadel steps.

Training had all but stopped at this point, the roundtable knights staring in confusion as Merlin carefully pulled the door open, making sure he wouldn’t drop anything, before nudging the door shut again with his hip. Gwaine was the first to break the silence, quirking one of his eyebrows up as he speaks in a slightly surprised tone:

“Didn’t know he had it in him. Wearing one set, when the weight is evenly distributed, is hard enough, let alone carrying two sets. And armour. Up steps. Huh.”

Arthur clears his throat, looking away with a slight blush as he asserts:

“Yes, well, knights carry the same weight in armour and weapons everyday, if not more. If you’re that impressed Sir Gwaine, perhaps you should work on your strength.”

Gwaine turns to him with a smirk, but Leon’s warning glare stops him from teasing, or saying anything else that could be considered treasonous. Instead, he rolls his eyes at the first knight before humming non-committedly and pointing his sword at The King:

“That, Princess, sounds like a challenge.”

Arthur, blush forgotten, looks up with raised eyebrows and a chuckle, noting with satisfaction the way the other knights spread out to form a circle around the two of them, swords lowered and expectant looks on their faces:

“Does it now? I suppose you’ll have to take me up on it then, won’t you?”

3)

The knights were on some stupid (in Merlin’s opinion) quest.

The group was currently making their way through a complicated cave system. They had maps, thankfully, but they were old, and provided by a small village of locals who hadn’t spoken common very well. 

They’d had to trade away half of their supplies in return for the maps, so Arthur was already in a foul mood, but a dotted line on the page across the path they were following was worrying him. The note written next to it was in some old, almost lost native language, so The King had just resigned himself to carrying on and hoping for the best.

Which is why he let out a series of echoing curse words when they turned a corner to find a ragged overhang, about eight feet above the path. The wall curved in on itself before jutting out again at the top, making it impossible to climb, even without armour and swords and packs.

Elyan is the first to break the tense silence after Arthur’s outburst, his tone half amused, half annoyed, as he mutters:

“That’ll be why the locals kept pointing at that ladder then.”

Arthur huffs, glaring at the knight with a rare venom, but Leon gestures to the map in his hand before he can retort:

“We can always go back, or is there another way around?”

Arthur huffs louder, letting out a short growl as he thrusts the maps to Leon’s chest and paces closer to the overhang:

“Feel free, if you can find an alternative route, please, enlighten me. The village is a day’s journey away, we don’t have time to go back.”

Leon covers his annoyance at Arthur’s harshness well, but Merlin scowls at The King openly before moving to stand at the junction between the wall of the corridor, and the overhang in front of them:

“Don’t be an arse, Arthur, it’s not Leon’s fault that none of us can understand Old... whatever it was. And it’s not that high, just-”

With that, Merlin braces his foot against the wall, bending his knees slightly before pushing off and jumping up, reaching out and grabbing the overhang, his feet dangling off the ground. The knights stare in shock, but before they can say anything, Merlin swings his feet forwards, and backwards, and forwards again. When they swing back for the second time, he uses the momentum to pull himself up, his arms locking out straight beneath him as he lifts his knees up, crawling over the edge and onto the floor above them.

Arthur blinks, looking from the floor, to the wall, and up to Merlin again, trying to figure out how the hell his manservant had enough strength in his arms and core to pull himself up; he hadn’t even taken his pack off.

Lancelot clears his throat, tilting his head and frowning as he slowly speaks:

“That was... impressive. But we’re wearing armour, Merlin, I don’t think we’ll be able to manage that with all the extra weight.”

No one mentions that they don’t think they could do it even without armour.

Merlin just rolls his eyes and sits on the edge, his feet dangling below him as he gestures vaguely:

“Well if you just get your hands on the ledge then I can pull you up. Take your packs off and throw them up first if you’re so worried, you can give each other a hand up, and Percival can go last because of how tall he is. Come on, it wasn’t that hard.”

Lancelot shrugs, taking his pack off and throwing it up with all his might. Merlin leans out, catching it with ease and chucking it behind him as he motions Percival to interlock his hands. The knight does so, allowing Lancelot to step on them and throw himself up, just about managing to catch the ledge and groaning at the strain in his arms. Merlin brings his feet back over the overhang, bracing his heels against the stone as he reaches down, gripping Lancelot’s wrists and hauling him up and over the edge.

Lance yelps as Merlin yanks him up, rolling onto his back and panting at the ceiling as he blinks in surprise. Merlin doesn’t pay him any attention, frowning down at the others and gesturing at them to hurry:

“Come on, I thought we were in a rush?”

With that, they all huddle below, taking turns to be thrown up and hauled over the edge. Merlin drags Elyan up on his own, Lance still recovering from his slight shock, but the more people gather at the top, the less work Merlin has to do. Which is good, because he may be strong, but he’s not sure he could manage Percival on his own. The giant has to take a running leap at the ledge, and it takes four of them to pull him up without dislocating any shoulders or throwing out any backs.

When they’re all successfully at the top, Merlin wordlessly picks his pack up, shrugging it onto his shoulders as he begins a quick pace along the corridor as if he hadn’t a care in the world; the knights break out of their stupors and jog to catch up, knowing that Merlin was right and they needed to hurry.

4)

Arthur was glaring resolutely at the floor, trying to psych himself up to confront whatever arsehole had managed to get the drop on him and his six best knights. The others were arguing in whispers around him, trying to figure out some way to escape the dungeon unscathed, though The King kept silent, knowing that the only way out was if someone unlocked these infernal chains first.

They’d only been there for around an hour, so no one from Camelot would have realised they were missing yet; their only hope was that Merlin was making his way back to the city to get help. He’d been off gathering firewood, and he’d already been gone half a candle mark when they’d been ambushed; Arthur would never admit it, but he had faith that Merlin would be able to sort everything out.

The King harshly shushes the knights as he hears the guards begin to yell, but frowns in confusion when he hears “They’re going crazy up there!” and “What the fuck?!” before the unmistakable sound of armoured boots running up the stairs and away from the dungeons reaches them.

The knights all look to each other in confusion, straining against their chains to try and see through the small barred window at the top of the door. A shadow passes through the square of light on the floor, and they all shuffle back against the wall, staying silent. None of them manage to hold in their surprised yelps however, when the door suddenly bursts in, the wood around the lock splintering violently and spreading shards across the dungeon floor.

A strong arm extends out, stopping the now broken beyond repair door from swinging shut again, and the knights look up, taking in sharp gasps when they see Merlin stood there, scowling disapprovingly with a ring of keys in his other hand and one foot in front of the other, as if he had... as if he had kicked the door. Leon is the first to break the silence:

“Merlin?? What are you doing here?”

Merlin’s scowl deepens as he glances down the corridor before stepping into the dungeon, sorting through the keys to try and figure out which one would open which set of chains:

“Well I’m rescuing you lot, obviously. I leave camp for barely a candle-mark and you get yourselves kidnapped. Honestly, how hard is it to not find trouble, for once?”

Arthur is too busy staring at Merlin’s apparently muscled legs to say anything, even when Elyan clears his throat and kicks him, so Percival is the next to speak as Merlin unlocks his chains:

“Why not just... unlock the door?”

Merlin doesn’t look at the largest of the knights as he moves on to the others, unchaining them one by one as he responds, his scowl still firmly in place:

“The key was on a separate ring and I only had time to grab one, figured the door would be easier to break than the chains.”

Arthur finally blinks and shakes his head free of.... distracting, thoughts as Merlin finally turns to him, holding his hands out to be unchained as he clears his throat and says strongly, forcing the waiver from his voice:

“How did you distract the guards?”

Merlin finally smiles at that, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a lumpy looking bit of plant:

“Snuck in and pretended to be one of their slaves, laced all the jugs with mandrake root. They’re all going loopy with hallucinations upstairs, a few of them vomited and I think one guy might have shit himself. The guards went to see what was wrong, so we don’t have much time, come on.”

Arthur nods impressed, and was the last of the group to sneak from the dungeon, pausing briefly to run a hand over the splintered wood and warped metal of the kicked-in door, before shaking his head and following the others out of the not-quite-abandoned fort.

5)

It had been almost a year since Merlin had last seen his mother, so when the servant requested two weeks off to visit home, wanting to help the village out with repairs before the winter set in, Arthur agreed immediately, on the condition that he and a couple of the knights could tag along.

Merlin reluctantly gave in, but only after insisting that he wouldn’t be Arthur’s servant, and whoever came would have to dig in and help out. To be honest, Arthur was mentally exhausted after months of work on repealing the magic ban, so Merlin was silently grateful that he was coming; The King needed a break, and Merlin knew how secretly fond the man was of Merlin’s mother, and her simple country life. 

In the end, Leon and Mordred were the only ones who could come; Lancelot and Elyan were left in charge of patrols, Percival and Gwaine were left in charge of training, and Guinevere, Gaius, and Morgana were left to oversee the council and the general running of the Kingdom. Arthur wasn’t worried to be honest, they were only going to be gone for two weeks, and if disaster set in they were only a two day’s ride away at most.

It was chilly, the winter was setting in early so Merlin and Hunith were eager for work to start as soon as possible. There were numerous leaks and fences to fix, and one of the village’s barns needed clearing out so it could filled with grain over the snowy season.

That, and as much firewood needed to be collected as possible so they could stockpile. They normally barely had enough to last them through the winter; Arthur had nodded in approval when Merlin had meekly asked if they could take a cart of wood with them from Camelot, but they still had a lot to gather.

It was the afternoon of their first day, Leon had been sent to a neighbour’s to fix a roof, Merlin was doing something outside, and Mordred was just about to head over to one of the livestock pastures to strengthen a few of the fences. Hunith was preparing the evening’s meal and Arthur stood politely in the doorway as he spoke:

“Merlin said that firewood had to be gathered? I can get started on that if you can point me in the right direction.”

Hunith smiles over her shoulder briefly, and Arthur ignores the warm fuzziness in his stomach at the sight as she speaks:

“Oh don’t worry about that, we’ve only one axe in the village and Merlin is out by the barn chopping wood now. I know there’s a leak somewhere in the basement of the village hall, a few of the boys are already down there if you’re looking for something to do?”

Arthur raises his eyebrow at Hunith’s insistence that Merlin, his lanky manservant, was outside with an axe chopping wood, and he glances at Mordred over his shoulder, who just shrugs, nodding to Hunith’s turned back. The King responds quietly, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice:

“Hmm. I’ll go check in with Merlin and then head down to the hall, if he doesn’t need help.”

Hunith hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t reply, mumbling under her breath about herbs and measurements as she stirs something into the pot. Arthur smirks at Mordred and the two of them head out, neither mentioning how Mordred was following Arthur to find Merlin instead of getting to the fences.

They walk in silence, though they both freeze on the spot when they turn a corner to see Merlin, once again with his sleeves rolled up, hefting around a huge lump of wood, a ginormous axe resting on his shoulder. He gets the wood where he wants it, stepping back and wiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead before lifting the axe and swinging it down again. The stump splits easily beneath the sharpened metal, and Merlin wastes no time in repositioning the new pieces of wood, ready to be chopped again.

Arthur doesn’t even realise his mouth is hanging open until Mordred looks at him and smirks, biting his lip before giving in and snorting quietly:

“You’re the colour of our capes, Sire, and you might want to shut your mouth. Don’t want to catch flies, do you?”

Arthur’s jaw snaps shut with a clack, and he frowns as his teeth begin to ache. Mordred chuckles slightly and though Arthur is grateful that the young knight is finally comfortable enough to joke around with him, he desperately wishes he wasn’t at Gwaine’s level of comfort.

Instead of retorting, Arthur just clears his throat and turns around, striding towards the village hall:

“It appears he’s got things handled. Those fences won’t fix themselves, Sir Mordred.”

Mordred only just manages to hold in his giggle, looking up to see Merlin staring confusedly at him and Arthur’s rapidly retreating back. He waves briefly, sending a quick “I’ll tell you later.” over their mental link before turning himself and heading in the direction of the pastures.

He knows full well that he has no intention of telling Merlin about Arthur’s crush; watching them tiptoe around each other was the funniest thing ever, and he didn’t want to ruin the bet that Gwaine had going.

+1)

The fight was vicious, more so than any of the skirmishes the knights had dealt with in the last several months.

They were vastly outnumbered, and the addition of four powerful sorcerers to the enemy ranks meant that Merlin and Mordred were quickly running out of energy, having to focus on both the magical aspect of the fight, and trying to keep everyone else alive.

The metallic scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and the constant clang of metal on metal mixed with the whooshing echoes of sorcerous fire and vines was deafening. The fight went on a lot longer than Merlin had thought it would; the enemy was clearly more skilled than predicted, but the Camelot knights did prevail eventually, Percival ending the fight with the smooth slice of his blade across the last mercenary’s throat.

Merlin wastes no time in running his gaze over the knights, giving special attention to Arthur as he searches for any injuries that need seeing to immediately. The last of the sorcerers had managed to escape, so they needed to get out of there as soon as possible: there’s no way they’d survive a second attack if he came back with reinforcements.

Merlin was relieved to see nothing too serious; Lancelot had a gash on his temple that would need a thorough cleaning and a few stitches, and Gwaine was holding his wrist to his chest in a way that told Merlin it was likely broken, but everyone was on their feet and no one was crying. That’s a good start.

Merlin relaxes, but his shoulders quickly tense again as Mordred’s voice echoes weakly through his head:

“Emrys... I’m... I’m tired...”

Merlin whips around quickly, his eyes wide and panicked as his frantic gaze lands on the young knight. He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes hooded and focused on the floor. Merlin leaps towards him, catching him just before his head lands harshly on a boulder, and pulling the collapsed younger man into a more comfortable position as Arthur rushes over:

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t see any blood, was he hit with magic?”

Merlin waves him off, checking Mordred’s pulse and breathing before he relaxes again, sending a tired, but relieved smile up to The King:

“He’s fine, just exhausted. This is the first time he’s used this much magic in years, he’ll need a little while to recover his strength, but we need to get out of here in case they come back.”

Arthur lets out a relieved sigh and nods, leaning down to take one of Mordred’s arms and waving Gwaine over to pick his legs up, but before either of them get even close, Merlin stands up, dragging Mordred with him and settling the armoured knight across his shoulders. He looks to Arthur next to him, not seeming to notice The King’s shock as he quickly says:

“I know you’re The King and all, but would you mind carrying my bag?”

Arthur nods dumbly, picking up Merlin’s dropped medical bag without taking his gaze off the Warlock, who wanders around double checking that the other knights were ok and that all the bandits were dead as if he didn’t have about 240 pounds of man and armour dangling from his shoulders.

Leon catches Arthur’s eye, nodding pointedly towards the path they needed to take, trying to pull Arthur back into the present before the others notice him gawping. Arthur gulps, blushing as he nods his thanks and moves away from the battlefield, Merlin’s bag secured on his shoulders as he confidently speaks:

“Merlin’s right, we need to get as far away from here as we can. I saw a cave about two hours’ back North, we can make camp there before heading back to Camelot in the morning. Gather as much as you can carry, we’ve no hope of finding the horses before nightfall, hopefully they can make their own way home.”

The knights all nod, following Arthur’s lead as he steps carefully through the underbrush, trying not leave any obvious pointers to their direction. He keeps his gaze resolutely ahead as he hears Percival ask:

“You alright, Merlin? Sure you don’t want a hand?”

Despite keeping his gaze stubbornly forward, Arthur strains his ears to hear Merlin’s response, refusing to acknowledge the sudden weakness in his knees at what the Warlock replies with:

“Nah, it’s fine, he’s not that heavy.”

Leon subtly sidles up to walk next to The King, glancing behind him before leaning in close, talking quietly as they moved:

“Perhaps you should... let him know of you affections, Sire?”

Arthur’s blushing gaze quickly finds the older knight’s before he looks away again:

“I don’t know what you think you’re implying, Sir Leon.”

Leon just raises his eyebrow in an unusual display of amused defiance:

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur. He’s been by your side for ten years, you’ve been through the unspeakable, both with each other and for each other. That, and he has a surprisingly... admirable physique.-”

Arthur’s blush deepens and he clears his throat, crossing his arms petulantly and staring resolutely ahead. Leon puts a hand on The young King’s shoulder as he continues:

“-You’re...-”

The knight sighs and bites his lip again, debating with himself over whether he should say it or not:

“-you’re head over heels for him, Sire, perhaps it’s time to do something about it? Gods know he feels the same, and the Gods also know that he’ll never make the first move. He’s still... nervous, about messing things up, I think. His-”

Leon glances over his shoulder again to make sure no one could hear him before dropping his voice to a whisper:

“-his magic being outed put him... on edge, even after all these months. He won’t do anything that he think could push you away or anger you.”

Arthur sighs and nods, before turning to him slowly with an embarrassed scowl on his face; he doesn’t shrug off Leon’s hand, which the knight takes as a good sign:

“Not a word to anyone, Leon, I swear to the Gods.”

Leon holds his hand up and uses his other to wave a cross over his heart:

“I swear, Sire. Though I feel the need to tell you that... at least three of the other servants, and I do believe Lady Bronwyn and Sir Galahad, also have... uh... their eyes on him, as it were.”

Arthur’s scowl gets impossibly deeper as he huffs, muttering to himself:

“They do, do they? Well, we’ll see about that.”

Leon just smirks again and rolls his eyes fondly before falling back to walk with Elyan.

~

They finally make it back to the cave, though it took them even longer without horses. Merlin had requested they stop around a candle mark in so he could remove some of the heavier bits of Mordred’s armour, passing them off to the other knights, but he had once again rejected any offers of help, saying that he was slowly siphoning his own magic into Mordred so he would wake sooner. Apparently they needed to be touching for that to happen, and though Merlin had been teaching them, none of them had enough knowledge on magic to know whether that was true or not, but they did know that Merlin was incredibly protective of the young Druid, so they let it be.

A fire was lit quickly and supplies were laid out. A map had been saved, thankfully, so they could figure out roughly where they were and how long it would take them to get back home as Merlin quickly treated Lance’s gash and Gwaine’s wrist.

Mordred begins to stir just as Percival serves up food, groaning slightly and rubbing at his eyes before struggling to sit himself up. Merlin had rushed to his side as soon as he felt the Druid begin to wake, and helps prop him up against the cave wall, handing him a water-skin as he stares at him with concern. Mordred takes a long drink, nodding his thanks and clearing his throat before speaking, his voice gravelly and slow:

“This... this is the cave we passed a few hours ago...”

His voice trails off, and Arthur answers the question in his tone:

“Hmm. We had no horses, so we were never going to make it back to the city, but we couldn’t stay where we were.”

Mordred nods, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes again as he asks:

“How did you get me this far without horses?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, blushing slightly as he looks away, but thankfully Gwaine butts in, answering with a grin on his face before anyone notices The King’s flush:

“Merlin here is stronger than he looks. Carried you the whole way, didn’t use magic or anything.”

Mordred turns his incredulous gaze to Merlin and he just shrugs absentmindedly:

“You don’t weigh that much, it was fairly easy.”

Elyan laughs and shakes his head, joining in on the conversation quickly:

“Are you kidding me? I mean... sure, I could’ve carried him for maybe an hour, if I was at full strength and it was easy terrain. You carried him for three, only took his armour off in the second hour, down what could barely be classified as a path, in a barely tamed forest, after a pretty hefty fight. That’s... impressive.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, looking around the room in bafflement as he realises that everyone is staring at him with varying levels of impressed confusion:

“You guys... you guys know that I grew up in the country, right? I spent my childhood climbing trees and running away from predators, and my teenage years chopping wood, building things with barely any help, and fighting the odd bear. I then arrive in Camelot, only to immediately be given a job that involves carrying a shit ton of heavy stuff, including, but not limited to: armour, luggage, hunting equipment, and the occasional unconscious idiot.”

Arthur sits up straight and scowls slightly when Merlin gestures to him instead of Mordred:

“You have never had to carry me anywhere.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, gaze sinking to the floor as he smirks and coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like “Sophia”.

Arthur’s blush deepens and he jabs an accusing finger in Merlin’s direction:

“That. Didn’t. Happen.”

Merlin bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, but his dimples still show through despite his best effort and he holds his hands up in surrender:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur just clenches his jaw and sits back against the wall with eyes focused on his food and cheeks red, stubbornly ignoring the knights’ curious stares as everyone eats their food. Merlin fusses over Mordred for a few more minutes but is quickly waved away by the younger man; the Warlock huffs and rolls his eyes, but gives in to the fact that Mordred did not need, nor want, to be babied. He moves subtly around the cave to sit down next to Arthur, barely a foot of air between them despite the abundance of space elsewhere.

Arthur forces his blush down at Merlin’s proximity, refusing to think of anything but his food and the difficult journey home, desperately keeping his gaze on his meal instead of Merlin’s strong legs stretched out next to him.

The King doesn’t acknowledge him, but doesn’t move away either, which Merlin takes as a good sign as he settles in, wrapping himself in a blanket to protect his body from the impending cold.

The other knights have long since finished their meals, scarping the lot in a matter of seconds in an attempt to gain back a little energy after the hours of riding and fighting and walking; they quickly settle into the blankets and cloaks and bedrolls they had managed to carry, though Leon seems to deliberately move slower, waiting for Arthur to glance up at him so he can give a pointed look to Merlin, just finishing his food, before laying down and attempting to sleep.

Arthur blushes with wide eyes, but Leon turns around before he has time to glare at him, and The King huffs quietly, risking a glance to a shivering Merlin next to him. He quickly frowns, not moving his gaze away like he had intended to, instead whispering softly:

“Cold? Can’t you use magic to warm up?”

Merlin looks to him tiredly, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyelids droop slightly:

“Hmm. I gave most of my reserves to Mordred, he was worse off than I first thought so he needed a lot more magic than I realised to keep him alive long enough for his energy to build up again.-”

Arthur widens his eyes at the fact that he was so close to losing one of his knights, but then shakes his head, huffing as he glares at the Warlock disapprovingly, but Merlin closes his eyes and continues before he can get told off:

“-I’ll be fine by morning, I just need-”

He’s interrupted when his body is wracked by a particularly strong shiver:

“-I just need some sleep.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, shuffling into a more comfortable position before opening his arms, spreading his cloak wide as if they were a pair of majestic wings:

“Come here, you idiot. I can’t have you freezing to death because you refuse to look after yourself.”

In normal circumstance Merlin would’ve argued, but he really was cold, so when he cracks his eyes open to see Arthur ready and waiting, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl hurriedly over. Arthur ignores the flush rising on his cheeks as Merlin clambers over one of his legs, settling between them and shoving his head under the blonde’s chin; he wraps his cloak around the two of them and rubs his cheek into the Warlock’s soft hair. 

He can feel Merlin grin against his collarbone, and it’s enough to distract him from the surprising, but not unwelcome, weight of Merlin’s muscled form against his chest:

“You know, Arthur, if you wanted to feel up my muscles so badly you just had to ask. You stare far too often to think you’re subtle.”

Arthur’s flush deepens and his body goes rigid as Merlin giggles. He clenches his jaw and lands a punch, far softer than he would normally go for, on the other man’s shoulder, but that just makes him giggle harder, and Arthur has to hush him in fear of waking the others. Merlin looks up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking tiredly with a satisfied smile on his face:

“Just let me know if you ever want carrying around, I’m more than happy to help.”

Arthur gulps, refusing to make eye contact as he stares resolutely at the opposite wall and not acknowledging the red hue of his cheeks:

“When we get back to Camelot, I’m hanging you for treason.”

Merlin snorts quietly, re-burying his face in Arthur’s chest and curling up tightly in his lap to stave off the cold:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur gives in, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes as he tightens his hold on the other man. He lets his cheek fall back to rest on his soft hair as he closes his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to take over and descending into an easy sleep.

~

THE END!!

We stan Arthur gay panicking and all the knights (bar Leon of course, who handles it as tactically as he’s able) ruthlessly taking the piss :D

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you anon, I loved writing this!!!

Same as always, someone wants to write it up in full, go for it!! Drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

[m-jelly]

Viking Levi part 1

Pairing: Viking!Levi x fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Viking AU, romance, falling in love, flustered Levi, cute, fluff, first meeting.

Concept: Levi arrives at a new island and doesn't hold much hope about the locals, but then he meets you. You're a handyman who's helping your brother out who's the town's blacksmith. You and Levi chat before you take his weapons and promise to sharpen and improve them. Levi asks his friends for advice on how to court you. He talks to you and marvels at your craftsmanship. He declares his intentions towards you and announces he will court you.

Part 2 here.

Levi stared out at the island getting closer and closer. He hummed in thought before walking across the deck of the ship to Erwin. “We sure these people are welcoming?”

Erwin smiled a little. “Yes. I sent a ship to them beforehand for communication. They returned and said these people are peaceful, welcome us setting a base here and will supply us with what we need if we protect their borders from a troublesome group.”

Levi let out a long sigh. “Do they understand our language or do we need a translator?”

“They speak the same as we do, but with a few little changes. We’ll be alright.”

Levi hummed. “This place will be disgusting and the people will be like pigs.”

Erwin hummed a laugh as the ship docked. “You never know, they might be nice good people.”

“Tch, doubt it.” He stepped off the ship with his leather armour moving with his strikes. He rested his arms on top of both of his axes on his hips. He hummed a little as he looked at the port. “Clean.”

Erwin stepped off the ship and looked at his friend. “Told you.”

Levi reached up and held his Odin necklace. He let out a long sigh and looked down into the the clear waters to see his reflection. His raven hair was undercut and tied back with braids in. He looked up to see the townspeople coming over to greet them. He stood there next to Erwin as they chatted about what they could do and where they would be resting. Levi was happy he would have his own place, but knew the others would cause some trouble in the inn. 

Levi noticed a muscular with a Viking worthy beard with braids and beads in. He saw the man hammering in front of a furnace. “That your blacksmith?”

The town elder nodded. “Yes. He can help you out if you need any weapons or anything doing to what you have.”

Levi’s eye twtiched at the man’s thick accent, he didn’t mind it, but he had to strain his ears to listen because it was so thick. “Thank you.” He stomped over to the man. “Excuse me? Are you free at all?”

The man stopped hammering and grinned. “Ah! Hello traveller! You must be a Viking, correct?”

Levi liked this man, he was charming, welcoming and was like a cuddly bear. “Yes, I am. I’m one of their warriors.”

“Yes, yes, welcome. I am Ivan and I am the blacksmith! Do you need something?”

Levi patted one of his axes. “I need my thing sharpened.”

“Right, right. Well, I am busy with a job, but my sister can help you.” He walked into the back for a moment before bringing out the most beautiful woman Levi had ever seen. “This is my sister.” He patted your shoulder as he said your name. “She’s good with her hands.”

You offered your handed to Levi. “Hello. It is very nice to meet you.”

Levi blushed at your cute accent and bright eyes. “Y-You too. I am Levi.”

You looked him over. “Ah! You are a warrior! What an honour. I have heard much about your people. I am honoured.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “C-Could you help me?”

You nodded and moved him to the side to the presenting table. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

He took his axes off his hips and placed them on the table. He next placed his knives down and his round shield. “I need my weapons sharpening and my shield looking at.”

You picked up one of his axes and hummed. “This is rather blunt, it is well used. You have not taken care of these. You must treat them like a lady you love. She is an extension of you.”

“I will do that from now on.”

You hummed a laugh. “They are beautiful. I enjoy the craftsmanship.”

He blushed as your fingers ran over his axe. “So, are you a blacksmith.”

You looked up at him. “I do many things in the town, I am…” you frowned a little “how do you say it? Someone who does many things? I only know our slang for it.”

“Handyman?”

You gasped. “Yes! Handyman.” You giggled. “I like it. I work at the school, I also help at the bakers and sometimes at the umm…drinking hall?” You turned to Ivan. “Ivan!? Drinking hall or hole?”

Ivan ran his beard through his hand. “Hmm, oh! Mead hall.”

You nodded and looked at Levi in pure delight at getting the right words. “Mead hall! I serve the drinks and the food.”

Levi couldn’t hold back and smiled at you. “Your accent is cute.”

You blushed and gasped. “Oh my, well thank you.” You giggled. “I have not been complimented in such a manner. Thank you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, are you married?”

You tilted your head. “Married?” You frowned in thought. “Married…oh! Union, yes? Between two lovers?”

He nodded. “Yes, a life partner.”

“No, no.” You hummed a laugh and got nervous. “I am not. No one wants me.” You glared at Ivan as he laughed loudly. “What is so funny?”

Ivan shrugged. “You! You say men do not want you, yet many follow you like little ducklings!”

You pouted. “Mud brain.” 

“Hey! Don’t use those dirty words here!”

You giggled and looked back at Levi. “I shall get these done for you. I will redo the leather binding as well.” 

Levi blushed a little. “Thank you.” He gasped when you leaned over the table towards him. He inhaled deeply and smelt honey, lavender and lemons. “Ah.”

You pointed to the sun. “When the sun moves over these houses, I shall be done.”

He stared at you the whole time with the braids in your hair and cute beads. He gulped hard before pulling is gaze away from you and to the wooden houses and up at the sky. “I will. Thank you.”

You patted his shoulder and squeezed his armoured shoulder. “You are leaving your things in good hands.”

Levi gulped and nodded. “I believe you. I will be back.”

You jumped back down and waved. “Enjoy the town!”

Levi walked away from you and felt like he was on cloud nine. He ran down the path in his leathed boots to his friends talking outside of the mead hall. “Brothers and sisters, I need help.”

Mike sniffed. “What kind?”

“There’s this local woman and I like her.”

Erwin patted Levi’s upper back. “Congratulations, what is she like?”

He blushed. “She smells like honey, lavender and lemons. She is as glorious as the goddess Freya. She is currently working on my weapons.”

“Strong woman and handy, she’s a good fit.”

Levi nodded. “She’s so soft and pretty. Her accent is gentle and like music.”

Hange chuckled. “This is cute. Are you going to court her?”

“I would like to, but I am unsure what to do and what the traditions are here.”

“Show her your body..”

Mike snorted. “Grab her and kiss her.”

Erwin shook his head. “Don’t listen to Mike or Hange. Go out to the fields nearby and collect wildflowers.”

Levi nodded. “I will get the flowers.” He ran out of the town and into a nearby field. He bent over when he found a pretty flower and plucked it. He moved from flower to flower until the sun reached ther other side of the town. He walked back to the blacksmith as he tied a ribben around his flowers. “Ivan? Is your sister here?”

Ivan leaned on the counter. “Yes, in the back finishing your things.” He poked Levi’s leather chest armour. “This is good armour. I must study your people’s work.” 

“I’m sure my leader can give you some armour.” 

“Thank you!” He frowned. “Do you people sleep around because I adore my sister and I won’t let some warrior use her.”

Levi shook his head. “We don’t. It’s a rumour spread about us, a false story. I would never use your sister.”

“Very well.” He stood up. “I will get her.” He walked into the back and returned with Levi’s shield and knives. He placed them down and grinned. “Sharp as ever and look better too!”

Levi inspected his shapr knives with beautiful decorations on and the new leather grips. He picked up his shield next and say his symbol was bold and looked like new again. He traced the patters before turned it around and looking at the inside to see Odin’s symbol and Thor’s. He blushed when he say what he guessed was your initials in a heart. 

Ivan leaned over. “That’s her signature on there.”

“I like it.” 

“Good!”

You walked out from the back with Levi’s two axes. “Ah! Hello! You came back at the right time.” You placed the axes down. “I sharpened them, changed the leather up and checked the weight.” 

Levi picked up one and loved what you’d done. “You’ve burned in Odin’s symbol.”

“Is that okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, thank you. You put your signature on it as well.”

“Yes.”

He tested them out and saw they cut so easily through things. He put his weapons away and pulled his coin pouch off his hip. He fetched a few and handed it over. “Thank you. This is the best my things have ever been and looked. They are very sharp.”

You blushed and held your hand out. “I’m so glad you like them!” You looked at the coins in your hands and gasped. “This is too much!”

He grabbed your wrist and closed your hand around the coins. “You deserve it. Your work is perfection. Take it.”

You blushed and nodded. “Thank you.”

He flinched when he realised he’d been holding you for a while. He let you go and picked up the flowers. “I got these for you, not because of the work but because you are pretty.”

You gasped and took the flowers. “Thank you, but I am not interested in what you Viking men do.”

He frowned. “Do?”

You nodded. “My friend Alistar says you sleep with ladies from other lands for fun and leave them broken hearted.”

His eyes widened in horror. “I would never! I swear in the name of Odin and the Goddess Freya that I would never use you. I am interested in you and would like to court you.” He blushed and moved closer. “You are the first woman I have ever wanted to court.”

You blushed as you observed Levi looking like a blushing mess and he seemed very genuine about how he felt. You looked down at the flowers and smiled. You’d never had anyone show this much intention and interest in you. “I will allow this courting.”

Levi lit up in happiness. “Really? I will work hard to treat you like the Goddess you are! I swear.”

You giggled. “I believe you.”

He cleared his throat. “May I walk you home?”

Ivan pushed you along. “Go, go. Have fun.”

You stumbled out and stood in front of Levi. You gulped as your heart raced at finally being before Levi without anything in the way. You couldn’t get over how handsome he was, but he was also so clean and muscular. “You are very clean.”

Levi walked with you. “Vikings take care of themselves.”

You frowned. “My friend as been telling me incorrect things.”

“He has.”

You nibbled your lip and blushed as people watched you and Levi. “People will talk. They like to know other people’s lives. Are your people like that?”

He looked over at his friends. “Not so much, but we look out for each other. My fellow warriors will want to know everything. We spend a lot of time with each other by sailing for months sometimes.”

You gasped. “You must all be close.”

“We call each other brothers and sisters because we have spent so much time together.”

You hummed a little. “Must be lonely for those you umm…marry?”

He nodded. “Marry, that’s right.”

You hummed. “Well, it must be lonely for them with you being away so much and so often.”

“Well, when we come back we are home for a long time, sometimes years before we go out again.”

You stopped in front of your home. “Still.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I suppose you are right.” He looked you in the eyes. “But not all go to fight. If they deeply love their life partner, they often stay to protect them their children and home.”

“Would you stay?”

He nodded. “I would.”

You smiled at him. “I believe you.” You opened your door and turned to him. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“You will and all the days after.”

You gazed at him and admired how handsome he was. “You are truly serious about me?”

“I am.”

You walked closer and kissed his cheek. “Get some rest, you seem tired. Our beds here in this town are rather comfortable.”

Levi reached up and touched his cheek. “I…I…I will umm…I will rest.” He waved slowly as you closed the door. He turned and walked in a happy bubble towards his friends. “I like her so much.”

[huenjin]

and they were roommates.

summary — who would have thought that a very naked sight of your best friend and a torn shower curtain in the rainiest of weathers could start romance? or in which you start falling for your childhood best friend, lee minho, unaware that he’s always been in love with you.

pairing — lee minho x reader, ft. binsung.

genre — fluff, smut, crack | roommates!au, bff2l!au

rating — 18+

word count — 11k words.

note — smut warnings under the cut, ofc! i suck at making summary adagafga!! but but but, i promise this story is adorable, okay, minus all that smut, my lame humor and those bit of rushed parts? this took forever and i'm so sorry for all that had to wait, especially the one who requested this uwuwu. 

smut warnings — a lot of kissing, a lot of swearing, mentions of naked exposure, fingering, cunnilingus, riding/reader on top, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it), choking. there isn't a loooot of smut either, ah! so enjoy the fluff ride.

"You idiot," you scream, loud enough for your neighbours to hear. You pull out the keys that hang outside in the key hole and pull open the door. "How could you leave the keys outside, Minho?"

"I mean, what if someone stole it?" You throw your keys and Minho's into the small box on a ledge by the door. Removing your shoes, you put on the pair of your house shoes by the side and walk further into the apartment. "Or what if someone broke in? You could get killed, you dumb hoe! Or worse, our new television could get stolen."

You hear no response and just the loud sound of shower running in the bathroom hits the walls of your shared apartment. You walk to your room, passing by the common bathroom, after throwing your bag on the sofa. You talk on the way, yelling in hopes that he would hear.

"Did you walk back in the rain? There's no other reason as to why I did not see you after college. Jisung was searching for you too, Minho."

You change into a pair of shorts and black camisole, pulling your hair up and knotting it, all while your ears pick up the small humming from the bathroom. You shake your head at the fact that since it's Lee Minho in the shower, he is probably going to take his own time to come out. After all, he is the reason why your water bill is so high. 

"Yah, Lee Minho!" You walk outside and hit the door with your fists to bring at least a little of his attention towards you. "Do you want the leftovers or should I get food delivered?"

"Delivery!" he screams back, hearing the shower sounds lower and you yell back in response, "Okay," and walk back to the living room, falling back and plopping down on the comfortable rexine covered sofa. 

Your phone rings in the next minute and you are pulling it from your pocket quickly all because you are bored out of your mind. It is also because your stupid best friend from the god forbidden age of five to till this date, takes forever to get out from the shower.

It's Jisung. Not that you would have a doubt even if you had picked up without looking at the name on the screen — your friend circle is that small. It has just been you, Minho and Jisung majorly for almost three fourth of your life, the other one fourth of it with you having your parents as your best friends. Jisung had always been the annoying kid in the playground that pushed you off the swing because he wanted to play and Minho had always been the knight in shining armour in your local playground, the defender of all things right as he saved you from Jisung's frustrating taunts. 

And then your mother — oh dear, she is the reason why you are still stuck with Minho's rich arse (mostly because she thought too that this is the finest her very antisocial daughter would ever find in a man) — decides that since Lee Minho was so kind to save her poor damsel-like daughter, he might as well do it forever. Fast forward to present day, and you are still cleaning up after him. 

"Did Minho reach home?" Jisung asks as soon as you answer the call. You roll your eyes and shift your position to one that allows you to stretch your leg against the length of the sofa.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," you fake your tone, mocking Jisung's ignorance. "Did you reach home safely? Did you get caught in the rain? Oh no!" And then quickly changing it back to normalcy, "Yes, Jisung. I reached home safely. The rain did get heavy as I walked back home but nothing to worry. Did you reach home safely?"

Jisung is laughing loudly on the other end. "Sorry, Y/N," he makes a weird kissing sound and you pull your phone away from your ear. "I presume Minho's safe at home, else you would be the one to crash my phone with the endless calls in worry of his safety. Ha!"

"He got caught in the rain," you sigh. "I hope he's okay though. I would have mentioned how he was, had he just come out of that goddamn bathroom but no! It almost seems like he is rebuilding the whole bathroom." Jisung laughs so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear again. 

"Dude, dude, dude," Jisung calls out for you through the line.

"Yeah?" 

"You and Minho are totally like my parents fighting." 

"Do you want to get punched in your face, Han Jisung?" You sit up straight, folding your leg across each other and bending forward, your elbow digging into your thigh as your hand supports your head. 

"And my boyfriend would punch yours if you punched mine," he huffs and you know he is talking about Seo Changbin. At a good five feet and six inches, the shorter male befriended Jisung and then wooed him over in grade eleven with some weird shining universe experiment for a science project and the Han Jisung you had always known, fell for the gesture immediately. They began dating a week after, making Changbin the only other human being you willingly chose to become closer to.

"Like Minho would let that," you click your tongue and Jisung laughs again, mumbling, "How have you guys not slept with each other yet? You guys are roommates."

"I'll kill you, Han Jisung."

"Like you would." The minute Jisung taunts back, you hear a loud noise of something crashing down and the sound is from the bathroom. You jump upwards, quickly hanging up without even telling Jisung that you were leaving as you drop your phone and rush towards the bathroom, taking huge steps to reach before the door in less than a few seconds.

You slam your fist against the door, over and over again, yelling, "Yah," to draw his attention before asking, "Minho, are you okay? I'm coming in," and you pull open the door to the common bathroom. A decision you wish you had not chosen but one you had to take for his safety.

Before a very surprised you lay a very, very naked Lee Minho, groaning with his back against the cold white tiles of the bathroom, neck lifting his head above to instinctively avoid hitting the floor. His hand holds a huge piece of the shower curtain that he must have tried holding onto before falling and as the colour drains from your face, lips wide apart, staring at your naked best friend in shock who is staring back at you, it dawns upon you quickly.

You immediately slap your hand over your eyes and scream as loud as you could possibly, "Fuck, fuck. I just saw your schlong, oh my god!"

"Are you not going to look at me at all now that you saw my dick?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you as a soft groan leaves his lip while he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. This time, he is fully clothed, black shirt over his torso and navy blue shorts. You are sitting on a small chair by his side, Chinese herbal medicinal mix in a white ceramic bowl, a tub filled with warm water and a towel and long white bandages on the table by the bed. The Chinese herbal medicinal mix was something your mother specifically ordered you to prepare for the boy before you.

You hand him a cup of warm water first which he takes and is about to swallow it down when you look at the wooden bedpost behind him and mumble, "But I saw your womb raider." Minho chokes on the water before coughing and you quickly pat his back which leads him to cry softly in pain and you are left apologising over and over again for being reckless.

He places the cup on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at you and questions, "Womb raider? What the fuck?"

"You know, your schlong," you look away, heat rising up to your cheek. "I saw your schlong, a womb raider."

"I can't believe you call a dick that," he groans, rolling his eyes as if he has completely given up on you, "After having your womb raided enough by many womb raiders."

You look away, taking the ceramic bowl in your hand and mumbling, "None of them were long and thick enough to be called a womb raider though."

"Did you say anything, Y/N?" 

"Nothing," you yell and glare at him, cheeks still hot with the image still vivid in your head. "You can't look disappointed in me," you frown at him, "I should be disappointed. You tore the shower curtain."

"It was a mistake!" Minho gasps and tries to sit up but quickly ditches the plan when he feels the spin surge through him. You place the bowl back on the table and push yourself forward to help Minho sit up, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest against his as you slowly pull him up. Minho explains himself, "If I didn't hold onto that, I would have gotten injured worse. I'm almost perfect now. It's just the slight—" You press your palm against his back and he seethes in pain.

"Slight pain, indeed," you scoff and finally let him rest against the bedpost. "This should do the magic though." You lift the ceramic bowl again and wave it before him, shoving the weird smelling green substance right in front of his nose. "My mother totally said it would work. She also said that you would have to be on the bed resting the whole day."

"You'll be my maid the whole day," Minho lights up, face instantly shining and you sigh, "Do I have an option? After this day though, we are going to buy shower curtains and you are going to pay for it because you tore it." You accuse him and he clicks his tongue.

"Fine."

"Remove your shirt now," you order and he looks at you, a teasing glint glistening in his eyes and he smiles, moving slightly closer.

"Why? Are you going to call my abs washboard now? That you could do laundry on them?" He purses his lips and leans forward and you push him back, his aching back hitting the bedpost again and Minho is crying with pain on the soft impact, albeit this time, you worry if it is fake. "Y/N," he cries, clamping down against his lower teeth hard, "Can you go easy on me?"

"Then stop teasing me!"

"Fine!" He huffs and looks away, "Help me out of this shirt now."

"What? Why? You put the shirt on fine. Can't you remove it on your own?" You question him, the ceramic bowl securely on your lap. Minho stares at you for the longest time ever and you stare back.

Has his eyes always been this tender? Has his skin always been this soft? Was Lee Minho always this charming and pretty to look at?

This is all because you saw his stupidly good dick, argh!

Minho finally answers, "It's harder to remove a shirt than to wear it." You shake your head and your eyes narrow to crinkled slits as you watch your best friend for a second more before placing the crucible back on the table and bending yourself forward to hold tightly the ends of his black shirt. You lift the black material up and remove it from his torso, exposing his abdomen and chest to the warm breeze in the air. 

He stares at you and you stare at him back, only till you take the white ceramic bowl again and hopefully the last time and you raise an eyebrow at him, mocking him, "Aren't you going to give me the classic Wattpad naked white male line?"

"What line?" 

He looks confused and you laugh, holding the bowl tightly, "You know, the—" You try to lower the pitch of your voice and to sound as cocky as possible, smirking, "Like what you see, baby girl?"

Minho laughs with you till he calms himself down a little, tilts his head and in the most guttural voice you have ever heard your best friend ever go, he repeats, "Like what you see, my baby girl?"

Your heart should not have sped up. Your fingers should not have tightened against the cold white crucible. You should not have pressed your thighs against each other. You should not have had your throat dried up at his very words. But it did and you are staring at Lee Minho in an angle you had never seen him. 

When did that stupid five year old boy who thought he could save the whole world grow up into this man?

"Uh, Y/N," Minho waves his hand in front of you, trying to bring your attention back. "Are you going to apply the medicine or? I mean, it's cold."

"Oh yeah," you stutter. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to. Can you turn back so that I can apply it on your back?"

"Yeah," he nods and pressing his hands into the mattress, he shifts himself, turning a one hundred and eight degrees away from you so that his back is facing yours. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you agree. You bend your arm forward to take the cloth soaked in warm water and you press it against his back. Minho bites his tongue in pain, eyes watering before he can't take it anymore and he turns back to face you. 

"Minho?"

"Can I do that thing you allowed me to do whenever I was in pain and you had to take care of me?" He asks, unsure, "Am I allowed?"

You nod, softly, smiling warmly at the man before you and you lift the chair up slightly. Minho quickly wraps his arms around your waist, his face buried into your soft chest as he edges closer to you. You place the warm cloth again on his broad back and Minho does what he has always done to combat pain.

He bites into your flesh softly, hard enough to trigger something weird within you at this age but soft enough to not cause any pain. 

Your eyes widen and your thighs tighten a bit but Minho is unaware to all this as he snuggles into your warmth, head fuzzy with the pain that throbs through his entire back. After a few minutes, you place the cloth back on the table and hold the crucible tightly. You dig your forefinger and middle finger into the green mix before applying it on his back, soft circles to calm him down and Minho lets go of your flesh, although he still continues to snuggle into you, his thick arms tightening around your frame.

"You're comfortable to hug," he mumbles as you apply the medicine all over his back, his face occasionally pressing against your breast and you gulp, reminding yourself that this is your best friend, that this is the kid you've seen in all his embarrassments. 

"Of course, I am," you laugh. "It doesn't pain that much, does it?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," and you apply another layer over the existing one. "Because if you say anything else to my mother, I swear to God, Lee Minho, I will—"

You don't complete. Minho laughs — soft, precious laughter that fills the air and engages your ears. He tilts his head to look up at you from his lower angle. You look down only to come in direct vision of his bright, glistening eyes that hold the stars behind them and his oh-so-flawless skin that you are envious of. Your heart beat escalates and you are about one hundred percent sure that Minho is aware. After all, he did have his ear against your chest in this position. 

"Fine, fine," his voice is airy and you could listen to it the whole day. "I'll tell your mother that her daughter took care of me perfectly, alright?"

"Perfect," you smile. "Now sit up straight. I need to bandage you up, just in case." Minho begrudgingly pulls back, a soft whimper leaving his lips before he huffs, folding his arms and sitting straight, looking you in the eyes and you gulp. 

"I'll be fine in a day, Y/N," Minho whines and you shake your head, mumbling, "Just in case." You turn your body to grab hold of the white roll of bandage before you beckon for him to come a little closer as you wrap the bandage over his torso, covering the medicinal herbs sticking to his body now. 

"You, in fact," you chuckle as you tighten the bandage and Minho seethes in pain at having his muscles pressed. You rub his hair affectionately before continuing, "You, Lee Minho, should be ready enough to cash out money for the shower curtain."

"Fine, fine, fine," Minho huffs only to break out into a smile as he looks at you. "We'll go as soon as I don't think I'll die if I stand up and straighten my back, okay?"

"Perfect," you laugh and pull yourself away from your best friend, clipping the bandage in the exact manner. You help him lie back against the soft mattress. You pick up the crucible and the tub of water as you stand up. 

"Y/N," Minho calls out for you and you turn, your head gliding against the joint and your eyebrows rising up in question.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he smiles, eyes closed and face so soft that you do want to hold it.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me, doofus. What would I have done had you not been there? You are my knight in shining armour now."

You laugh but your heart is furiously beating against your chest, thrumming against it so loudly that you can hear the beats. Your cheeks flush with heat and you look away, mumbling, "It's nothing," and walk away. You close the door quickly and fall against the vast wooden door finally, away from his presence and you hold the bowls close to you.

Fuck. When did your heart start beating this hard for the same man that you once knew as the stupid five year old with elephant print trunks? When did your heart start thrumming so loudly against your chest for your only best friend?

Either ways, you are doomed. Inevitably.

Jisung: baby, i think it's about time Changbin: for what? Jisung: you know, how we always said those two should probably fuck Changbin: yeah? Jisung: the sexual tension is too high. can we get it over with already and have them date already? Changbin: you've been trying this forever and you failed. Jisung: don't remind me. you're my boyfriend, support me. Changbin: fine! go, sungie!! i love you either way though.

It is exactly three days after the I-exposed-my-cock incident that Lee Minho agrees to go with you to buy the shower curtains. 

"Can't we just buy it online?" He had whined, arms folding against each other as he scrolled through his phone. You stand by the sofa, head shaking in disappointment as you reason back, frustrated, "The material," and you hit his arm. Minho winces. "The material is important. I won't compromise on that. Plus, you promised that you would come with me to buy something that you tore. Isn't that only fair?"

Minho does so. After bargaining with him for one tub full of mint chocolate ice cream that you will never understand why he loves so much. 

That is exactly how you find yourself here in this shop, shopping cart in your hand and Minho by your side.

"We are only buying the shower curtain," you tell him, staring at the half full shopping cart. "So I don't understand why we need all these."

Minho smiles sheepishly at you. He then points at the two tubs of ice cream and says, "One for you, and one for me. I even chose your favorite flavor!" He continues to point at each article and tell why he needs them very articulately and you stand there in surprise before breaking his speech.

"Fine, fine!" You push the cart ahead. "Now let's just go and get what we came here for." Minho follows you, his one hand on the shopping cart handle to keep pace with you. The two of you stop right in front of the array of curtains in different colours, some on display and some packaged and you smile, whispering under your breath, "Tada." Minho looks at you softly, at the small voice of joy that escapes your lips and he just watches you light up in fascination at something as simple as shower curtains.

Fuck, he loves your domesticity.

"Let's take this," Minho announces as he stretches his arms out to hold onto a pretty blue shower curtain. You hold it in between your fingers feeling the texture before announcing, "No."

"But why?" Minho whines, following your footsteps as you hold onto another shower curtain. 

"Because it's polythene," you frown at your best friend. Minho looks at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowing as they look at you like you have grown another pair of hands and legs.

"And so?"

"You could tear it again!"

"It happened once," he sighs, frustrated. "Once. It's not like I'm waiting to fall in the shower, tear the curtain and have you see my dick all the time, babe."

Your cheeks flush at his announcement and the tag he calls you by, your eyes looking away from his pretty face for a split second. Minho shakes his hand, taking a step forward to check a few other shower curtains out when the two of you hear a very familiar voice from behind, in the most professional manner ever.

"Sir, the one you chose is perfect. It is very durable and doesn't stain on contact with water—"

"Han Jisung?" Minho turns, the words of shock leaving his mouth almost instantly. You turn impulsively, eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"Hey," you narrow your eyes at the other male. "I could file a report for bad customer service about now, Sungie."

He folds his arms and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "What are you guys doing here?" He raises an eyebrow at you, scoffing at you, "Like you would."

"What does it look like we're doing here, Sungie?" You bite back jokingly and Jisung laughs, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms again, his fluorescent yellow uniform crumbling with the shift in his arms. "Is this some sort of a new way to date?"

"We aren't—" You quickly start when Minho pulls a curtain forward and breaks your sentence before you can complete as he asks Jisung, "This isn't polythene, is it?"

"Are you stupid?" Jisung frowns before he laughs. "That's clearly polythene. Minho, dude, you're a chemical engineering student. You have got to be kidding me if you can't identify polythene."

Minho doesn't pay heed to Jisung's words. You, on the other hand, stare at your best friend who walks away from you to examine more shower curtains. Did Lee Minho really ask Jisung, a literature student, whether that was polythene — What in the world?

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" Jisung snaps your attention back to the present. "Are you going to buy shower curtains today?"

"Yeah?"

"But your shower curtains were fine the last time I came home." You understand Jisung's surprise because the last time he did come home was five days back and the shower curtain was in a perfect condition. "What happened?"

You stretch your arms and point at Minho. The very culprit rolls his eyes before raising his eyebrows and sighing, voicing in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard Minho take, "Yes, Y/N. Yes, Ji. It's me. I tore the shower curtain because I fell in the shower."

"Ouch," Jisung acknowledges Minho's injury before walking past the two of you and taking a shower curtain. "Here's one. You might like this, Y/N."

"It's not PVC, Sungie."

Jisung wants to hit your head, terribly. Perhaps it's your adamance that is the reason as to why your friendship is this tight and strong but in moments like these, he likes Minho more. Minho stands by the side, arms folded and back resting against the wall as he trusts your judgement.

"Are you not going to tell her anything?"

"She handles all this at home. Give her what she wants, Ji," he laughs, fiddling with a few more shower curtains by his side. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment before mumbling, a soft frustrated groan leaving his lips as he throws his head back, "Definitely a married couple," and takes a few polyvinyl chloride made shower curtains. 

"Here," he presses his lips. "Don't blame me if the designs aren't that great. You don't get that many good designs in PVC. People go for polythene because it's more available."

"PVC doesn't tear and it's easy to clean!"

"Seconding this as a chemical engineering student," Minho chirps in from behind. You and Jisung turn to look at the man who is on his phone currently and shake your head lightly. "What?"

"He remembers his major now!" Jisung clicks his tongue. "All say, praise the Lord."

"I'm agnostic." You frown.

"More reasons for you to say it easily!"

You find a plain one in the ones he showed you and you take it. Jisung smiles finally, mumbling, "You're a frustrating customer."

"Nah," you scoff. Minho pushes himself off the wall as soon as he sees you done with the selection. "I just know what I want exactly. You, on the other hand, sweetheart," you poke his chest and Jisung chuckles. "You're a pathetic salesperson."

"Of course," he laughs the insult away. "I'm a literature student. I should be working in a publishing company as a part timer."

Minho takes the shower curtain from your hand and puts it in the cart by the side. He comes back, throwing his arm over Jisung's shoulder and frowns, "Apparently publishing companies care a lot more about who your parents are than your resume."

"It's just that publishing company," the other male looks down. "I'll try applying for another one soon."

"Do you want to grab a drink at our place tonight?"

"Can I?"

"Sure," Minho agrees. He drops his arm from Jisung's shoulder and holds the cart handle back, pushing it forward slightly. You take big strides to stand by Minho's side, also holding the handle slightly. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the two of you and with a smile that you don't think twice about, Jisung laughs.

"I'm coming over tonight."

"Sure," you throw your thumbs up at him, stretching your arm. Minho smiles softly at you, his eyes lingering a little longer at your happy figure and he feels his heart beat a little quicker at your sight. Your hair strands framing your face so beautifully, eyes shining the minute you find the exact thing you've had in your mind and your lips curving upwards in joy. 

Lee Minho finds the calmness that spring brings him every year in him all over again with you by his side.

"Bring the soju. Beer is on us!"

Jisung: binnie, binnie!! Changbin: yes, baby? Jisung: i think i have a plan. Changbin: let them be, babe. Jisung: we let them be all these years! they pinned after each other without even knowing and we had to see that painfully! Changbin: i guess you make a valid point there Jisung: is it going to rain today? Changbin: it's been raining for the last few days, sungie. it could. just because i study geography as my minor doesn't mean i can forecast weather. hey! Jisung: fine~ i'm going to get them to confess tonight 👀 Changbin: don't mess up. istg Jisung: trust me 🥺 Changbin: i do. more than ever ❤️

Jisung reaches your doorstep at sharp nine. With two bottles of soju in his hands, you see the stains of the droplets of rain falling onto his shoulder. 

It is drizzling for now and you worry if it is to rain heavily in a few minutes as the forecast mentioned. You hate the thunder. You hate how the weather changes drastically and worsens to a point that it frightens you and makes you anxious. It's a phobia you have managed to hide from everyone for fears of being treated weaker.

Jisung makes himself at home. He always has. He places the soju bottles on the kitchen countertop and Minho smiles to himself as he walks towards the point where Jisung has happily seated himself. Minho and you are on the other end of the counter while Jisung sits on the adjustable chair, swirling in it before stopping and facing you, Minho and the bottles of soju before him.

"Did it finally hit him?"

"I think?" You whisper back.

"I'm right here!" Jisung yells and you smile. Minho pulls the chair from under the counter and sits himself opposite the other male, pressing his lips together and trying to not laugh. He opens the bottle of soju after shaking it and hitting it against his elbow for a while. It clinks open, the metal hitting the glass before falling onto the table and you watch the two, as Minho pours a drink for Jisung.

He downs it in one go, letting out a loud sigh before stretching his arms and demanding a second one.

"Go easy, Sungie. You have the whole night."

"I don't," he huffs. "Now, please."

Minho pours it again before looking at you and you shake your head to indicate that you wouldn't mind a few. You grab hold of one of the empty cups on the counter before stretching your arm too. Minho laughs – a soft chuckle, so airy and light that you find yourself holding your breath for a small second there – and he pours you your drink. 

You twirl your drink, watching the liquid glide against the surface of the cup. Your best friend gets up and walks a little into the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a box of leftovers of fried chicken that you bought a few days ago. He pulls open the microwave to heat it and as he waits, he turns to look back at Jisung and asks him finally.

"Do you want me to drop a word to my uncle?"

"About?"

"He heads the Cheongsam Publication," Minho reveelas, pulling out the chicken from the microwave. He places it before the two of you and almost like you and Jisung were zoomed in, in an American sitcom, both of you gasp dramatically.

"Am I really your best friend?" Jisung yells and you narrow your eyes at Minho. Faking tears in his eyes, he persists in questioning,  "Do I not matter to you, Minho?"

"Why are you rooming with me when you could possibly afford a whole room on your own?"

"Yes, Jisung," Minho sighs and sits back on his chair. You bend forward, arms folded against the table as you stare at your best friend in betrayal. "Also, Y/N, don't you love having me around?"

He laughs and rests his head on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to stiffen them in response. Your eyes drift to the left, trying to not make it overtly obvious that Minho's sudden reaction has taken you by surprise. Your eyes land forward on Jisung who looks at you as if he knew this all along, as if he wanted exactly this. The man has a goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

Jisung downs two more shots and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, mumbling, "Slow the fuck down. No one's chasing you."

"Yeah, my goddamn plan," he mumbles before coughing and taking another. Minho sits up straight, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. He stretches his arm to pat Jisung's shoulder in comfort.

"I'll drop a word."

"Now, don't you dare go and say that you want to earn it and all that bullshit," you sigh. "It's the fucking Republic Of Korea. Nepotism is the norm."

"Not planning on saying that," Jisung glares at you. Clearly, Jisung is slightly tipsy, having been the only person to keep drinking. You and Minho opt to just watch over Jisung for the night. Your best friend puckers his lips in Minho's direction and blowing kisses, he says, "I love you, Minho."

"Changbin wouldn't like you saying that to another man though," you scoff and Jisung flips you the middle finger before downing one more and standing up. The thunder rattles the three of you exactly then and you grip the table, face turning pale instantly. Minho's attention darts to you quickly in concern.

"You okay?" You hum in response, unconvincingly though to Minho whose gaze lingers on you in worry for just a while more. That is, till Jisung rips it away by dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead and playing the damsel in distress as he gasps so loudly, staring at the big window.

"It's raining heavily," he sighs and you shudder, afraid of another thunderstorm as you grip tightly on the side of the table.

"So?" Minho asks, both eyebrows raised at the man before him, looking at the two of you with doe eyes.

"I'm staying over, thanks," he rushes and runs to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and latching it and you and Minho stare at each other. As soon as the realisation of what could happen dawns over you, you rush to your closed bedroom, fists banging against the wooden door.

"Yah, Han Jisung," you turn to look at Minho who watches you in amusement. "Open the fucking door."

"No. I don't want to go back home in the rain. You and Minho can share the bed. I am never opening the door. Good night."

"What the fuck? Yah, Sungie, stop acting like a child. Open the door now." You hear no response. "Sungie? Answer me. Open the door please." Minho walks over to you, and tries knocking too, in vain however because Jisung has no plans to open the door.

You look at Minho, the man slightly towering you as he stands by your side and you gasp. You had to share the bed with the same man you just realised you could, perhaps, have developed feelings for?

"Fuck."

Jisung: it finally seems to be working, binnie! luck's on my side this time. Changbin: oh baby. just please don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out this time either. Jisung: i won't be because it's definitely going to work out. eeeee! i'm so excited! 

Another thunderstorm ripples through the air.

Your heart beats quicker in anxiety, eyes squeezing shut as you grip tightly on the pillow, a light whimper leaving your lips. You feel the mattress shuffling underneath you and in the next minute, your ears are covered by Minho's hands. You stiffen as he edges closer to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as his palm pressed against your pinna, covering your ear completely to protect you from the loud sounds of the thunder.

"Minho, what—"

His hand on your right ear slightly shifts to the side as he bends forward to whisper into your ear, to amplify the sounds enough as a way to distract you.

"You never ever told me you were scared of thunderstorms."

Lee Minho is way too close to you to think straight. You feel his body pressed against your back, heat radiating from him to you through your oversized hoodie. His breath is harsh against your skin as he leans close to whisper into your ear. And all this in an attempt to forget the thunderstorm.

So far, it's working like magic. 

Your voice is almost small when you inform him, "We never happened to be in the same place during one," and Minho swears to God, he could lose it completely. All the self control to not confess and take you there is so ready to be shoved out of the window that all he can do is try and focus on worrying about your fears.

"I'll protect you," he mumbles so softly that you turn around to look at him. His eyes are bright in the soft lights in his room and as he lies by your side, so close that you can hear his heart that beats faster and his breath that is shallow, your lips part and you watch him.

You are fully justified for falling in love with this man. 

A man that tells you he'd protect you from your fears, god alone knows how, but the fact that they don't seem like empty words. A man that you know like the back of your hand and the same man that seems to have protected you all throughout your life, even if you have done the same. It was inevitable. Falling for Lee Minho is inevitable.

And that's why you kiss him. Because you're in love with him so badly that all you can zero in is him, him, him.

Your lips press against his, so softly for a split second. As if you are unsure. As if you know you could be ruining years of friendship over something the two of you could consider a mistake. 

You kiss him and suddenly it's the only thing that matters to you right now. Him, him, him. Your lips are slow and soft against him. It is almost as if you are reminding yourself that there has been nothing more morbidly right than this. To fall in love with your best friend. Minho's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss and with Minho so stiff by your side, you panic, and ramble. "I'm sorry. I should have thought it could be unrequited. I like you and I should have asked—”

Minho crashes his lips on yours, so quickly that it takes your breath away and cuts your sentence in half, but you don't care. He pulls you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your pink ones. You let out a small gasp as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you. It is just you and him in this small room. Just you and him in focus. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute. That it has always been beating for you.

Minho presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth, tongue chasing after yours. Minho kisses you like he has finally achieved the greatest thing ever and he never wants to let it go. Minho kisses like he loves you and you feel it. You feel every ounce of it.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. Playing with the ends of his roots, you suck on his lower lips before he pulls away and finally tells you, "I've always been in love with you, Y/N. Always."

Kissing you again, his thumb digs into the skin by your jaw as he delves deeper, as if he never wants to let you go. The air in the room heats up when your hand moves under his shirt, feeling his muscles under your skin and you moan against his lips. Minho lets go of your lips only to kiss the side of it and then your cheeks and then your jugular before he is littering kisses all over your neck. You moan explicitly, gripping on him and slightly grinding on his thigh. You feel your core heating up, arousal sticking to your panties and all you can think is,

“I want you.”

Minho swears to God that he has always loved confident women but when you shattered right before him and built your confidence right back up — that is the hottest thing he swears he has seen. That, and the fact that you had always been hot before his eyes.

“Really?” Minho lifts himself up and hovers on top of you.

“Really,” you decide to respond before you cup his face and pull his face closer to yours. You don't pull him in for a kiss just yet. Your eyes zero on him, trying to cancel out the loud thunderstorms in the background and just focus on the man before you that you love, that you've been in love unknowingly for a while. 

You just hold his face and learn. You try to remember every single detail of his face that you never focussed on before.

You realise over again that his eyes are your favourite thing. They are black as charcoal and yet still shimmer as if stars are trapped and enclosed beneath them. And when he narrows them to look at you with a daze, your heart throbs and you gulp. They make your heart hurt whenever they fix on you.

You know his skin is soft as you touch. As creamy and velvety as they are, you can't stop touching him. 

His mouth is a pretty shade of coral, plump and pouty and honestly so kissable it hurts to look at it for more than a few seconds. You wonder how you haven't driven yourself to kiss him yet. All these years.

Everything about his face is soft and delicate, that is till he turns a little to the side and angles it perfectly, his head backward and you can clearly see the sharpness of his jawline; the distinct manly cut that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat faster. 

“You are perfect,” you gulp, your eyes back on him and Minho smiles widely. His warm breath caresses your face and his forehead is pressed against yours immediately.

“You know what else is perfect, baby?”

“No,” your voice is airy, even though you already know what he is going to say. You know it and yet the thought causes your heart to skip a bit, and flutter a lot in your chest.

“You and everything you have to offer. You are not average. You are one of the most perfect women I've seen in my whole life, Y/N,” he says. As soon as the words spill from his mouth, your lips are on his, claiming his mouth, the same ones that whispered into your ear that there is nothing to be afraid when he's right there by your side.

He gasps loudly as your hands leave his face and move to his hair to pull him down towards you — you need him so close to you. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to bend a lot forward and gladly welcome the intrusion of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses and those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs. 

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bottom cheeks.

“Minho,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing. You fear getting too addicted to this human – more than you already are – to a point where you need to be attached to him by the hip, to never let go of him.

Minho's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin. 

His hand moves from your clothed arse to under your hoodie, hand pressed against your back as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and god, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smiles widely and you think it's cute. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

You nod your head to signal yes. You hold your breath and your eyes flutter shut, awaiting him and his warmth.

Minho's kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, so much more, that you want to pull him in and suck the life out of him and yet, at the same time, it is precious and laced with not only the passion of the moment but also the tenderness of a first time together.

It makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own. 

Your heart is beating quicker than ever in your chest, against your ribs, and you pull him even closer, so tight your chests have no choice but to heave against each other with every single breath you take. You don’t want to let him go, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

Minho is something you desperately want to hold onto in your life. He knows your secrets, your everything. He knows what you like and how you like it. He seems to know everything and the thought of letting him go aches your heart and constraints your throat with a sob you wouldn't dare to let out. You want him to be completely yours.

And these thoughts turn you desperate. They force you to make the kiss deeper, to lick his lips and bite them down, to gulp down every sigh and whimper that comes out of him and make them your own. To make him yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, taking in the way his mouth moves over yours, arching further into him. You groan into his mouth and his grip on your back tightens instantly.

“I want you so much, Minho,” you whimper against him after your lips part from his. You lick your lips and gaze at him with your partially closed eyes. “So fucking much.”

“Then, have me. Take me,” Minho purrs against your exposed skin. In a minute, he pulls the oversized hoodie over you, leaving you in just your undergarments as he discards it to the side. His mouth moves over the skin above your breasts and his hand traces the bra you are wearing. He gazes at it and mumbles before latching his mouth back on your skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. Always have been.”

You gleam in pride and your body arches at the contact of his mouth on your skin. Your hands are on the side of his face as you pull him away.

“Can I?”

“Have me? Yes. Completely,” he smiles. He wonders if you are confident. That's all that he hopes when you look at him so unsure and so doubtingly. 

You wet your lips again quickly, your breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Your hands immediately rush to his top, roughly pushing it above. Minho helps you out and pulls it completely away. You are blinded by the passion burning inside of you, your hands eager to explore and touch every expanse of his glowing skin. You want to touch, feel, have a complete experience. You want Minho to remind you of everything you are missing out on.

Your lips attack his neck in a hurry, all rough and passionate on his tender, soft skin, blooming red roses that turn purple against it. You repeat your actions till he’s softly moaning out your name, almost purring them out that you feel yourself becoming slicker. His hands on your back pull you closer and into him so that you won’t stop tainting his flesh and slowly, his soul, in the best ways possible.

Minho whines and sighs and grunts for you. He doesn't hold himself back as his lips leave appreciation for who you are. He closes his eyes as he parts his lips to whimper out your name with every new thing you find that excites him and it drives you absolutely insane. 

You know you should not but you can’t stop wondering how he would sound like as you fuck him hard, rock on his cock to milk his orgasm, make him beg not to stop. You desperately want to break him and draw all these nice sounds out of him, but you know it would most probably be the other way round. Minho allows you to take control occasionally but you know he wants the lead. He wants to be the one to break you apart and pull you back together. 

He pulls back from you, his hands leaving your back and resting on either of your sides. Minho's dark hair brushes over his crescent lidded eyes and nearly shields the hungry, desperate gaze of them. His hand plays with the strap of your panties as his gaze flickers between affection and lust. He cocks his head to the side before asking, “You do want this, right?”

You nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would resume.

“I need to hear you say it out loud, baby,” he firmly says and you gulp.

“Yes, yes. Minho, fuck, I want this. I need this,” you whine, your eyes glassy, as you grip his forearm to lift yourself up and grate and move against the evident bulge on his jeans. 

Minho merely needs that verbal confirmation. He pulls away your panties, resting on your hips and you groan. Still hovering above you and his hands over your pubic mound, his fingers trail lower and you tug at your lower lip in anticipation. Easily, he finds your clit, and begins to rub in slow, languid, lazy motion, up and down, waiting for the moan he so loves to hear from you to spill from your mouth. He grins when he hears those little whimpers and you feel your legs lose mobility from the pleasure he brings you with just a flick of his finger. 

Your back slightly arches off the soft mattress upon the bed when his finger leaves your clit to draw a line up your wet slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can before slipping his glistening fingers out to admire them in the light. Your cheeks taint pink in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Minho moans, taking his coated finger into his mouth to suck your juices from it. His eyes flutter shut as if he’s tasting the sweetest aphrodisiac ever known and your lips part at this sight. Lee Minho looks irresistible and you want him, completely.

“God,” he groans. Minho slides himself down your body until he’s in level with your pussy. His eyes gazed at it in sheer adoration and your hand slapped against your mouth. He takes two fingers to spread your lips apart for a better view. “You’re dripping, baby girl.”

You wail as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing your fold, making you whine his name out loud. The way you plead for him, beg for him, grind down on his teasing fingers, all set a fire inside you. This has been what you had been craving for so long. The ability of this man to cloud your thoughts and set your body on fire makes you yearn for him even more.

“Minho,” you cry out, whimpering underneath him. “Fingers. I need you. Please, Minho.”

You gasp, your voice airy, when the tip of his finger tentatively slips into you while your fingers dig at his shoulders between your thighs. “Minho, I want you. I just really want you. I need to feel you. Please.”

He drags his finger out of you before you clutch onto him, feeling the need to be overwhelmed. He presses his thumb on your clit and a whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Minho.” And he slides his digit in again almost as if on cue. He pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb harshly rubs circles on your clit. Your hand leaves your mouth and grabs your hair as the other digs further into his shoulder. 

His mouth leaves hot air against the skin covering your acetabulum and you shudder. His lips graze from there till your thigh before biting on them, sucking them deliriously and leaving you as a whimpering mess.

“Minho, fuck!” You scream, your fingers grabbing your hair to hold control of your body. 

“That's it, baby,” he says against the skin of your thighs. “How I've wanted those beautiful lips to scream out my name from when I've felt them.”

Minho adds another finger and your eyes are screwed shut as he curls them within you and you gasp at the feeling of being widened. You are elated and you feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. He rubs your inside and your clitoris faster and you push your hips towards him, moving with his pace. Minho is also leaving beautiful purple marks in a trail on your thigh and you gape in awe.

You find it all too much. Your emotions are all over the place and your hormones rise up. The movement of his fingers inside you and around your clit, his lips attacking your erogenous spots, kissing, biting and licking short stripes on them. It finally gets to you and you scream his name out in pleasure. Your first orgasm comes crashing down upon you, blinding you. You release all over his fingers and Minho helps you ride out your high as he drags his finger repeatedly but this time, slower than what had been. 

Your head lifts up and hits the pillow slightly as it tilts away. Minho moves upwards, hovering over your face and smiles. You smile back. You are so happy and you do not know how to put it into words.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks?”

“For what?” He looks at you quizzically. 

“That was my first orgasm in months now that wasn't brought about by my own fingers,” you smile wearily and Minho leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

"Should have come to me," he laughs.

"Didn't know if I'd be ruining our friendship."

"Pfft," he scoffs, before kissing you again, his lips gliding against yours and piecing in as if they were always meant to be against yours. "I've been in love with you forever."

"Took me a while to know my own feelings," you mumbles. “Also,” you continue, hoping he listens to your request. “Can I . . . ride you?”

Minho is stunned. There are so many things about you that stuns him and maybe it's the way you try to take control that make you look so much hotter before his eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you plead. “If that is not a bother to you.”

“Why would it? Your wish is my command, but only for this night. Next time, my love, we do this my way,” he teases and winks and your core throbs at his words.

Minho pulls himself away from your body, pulling his shirt over his head and his denim down and away. As he flings his clothes aside and relaxes against the mattress, his cock springs free against his stomach, leaking with milky precum. You sit up beside the space Minho has taken over and watch him and his cock deliriously and lustfully.

You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You’re really doing this. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Minho, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Minho notices.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, sensing your reluctance and worry. He pushes back the stray hair falling over your eyes. “You're doing wonderful, babygirl. You are finally all mine. What a pretty girl and all to myself now."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip, and tugging at it harshly, cheeks heating up at his words, arousal gushing out as you look down before aligning with his cock. You want this. You needed this release.

As your folds, dripping with thick, sticky arousal, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you moaning out his name, gasping and panting for air, “Fuck, Minho.”

You rock your hips into him, trying this as you picture it to be, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick length. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord.

As much as Minho wants to give you complete power over this, it isn't like him and he wishes he could be better. Minho takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Minho,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and you feel sad.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Minho, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. You are glad he is helping you out because you know you could not have done it on your own after having just ridden out your high.

The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you. 

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the second time that night. Minho’s finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge. Minho knows how to make a woman putty in his hands and you are a living witness of this.

“Are you going to come?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, you feel so good, Minho.” You lean forward and the motion causes Minho to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Minho, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

“Then, come.”

Minho moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Babygirl, oh fuck. Come all over my cock.”

Minho’s other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find their place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and his eyes flicker a mischief that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Minho’s cock tightly.

Minho learns that your dirty liking for choking is incredibly hot. Seeing you like this is what he knows would get him to come when you are not around. Your fucked out expression as you gasp for air makes Minho plunge into you harder and you choke harder.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Minho's waist, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him. 

“Hey,” you say and smile. 

Minho kisses your forehead and then, the peak of your nose, and finally, kisses your lips, softly. It isn't lustful or anything. Just plain passion seeping from him to you. You feel his admiration and an emotion you fear to mistake for love. He pulls away and smiles, “Hey, beautiful.”

He comes closer and licks the side of your neck, where he had wrapped his fingers out. The one fantasy that you are so in love with. He peppers soft kisses around it and mumbles an apology. 

“No,” you quickly stop him. “That was everything. I— I really like you." Pausing, the thought crashes your head, post your high and you mumble, "Fuck, I fell in love with my best friend." 

You nuzzle into his chest after he pulls back, your arms wrapping around his body as you calm yourself. Minho chuckles into your ear, "Yes, yes. You clearly did. What do we do now?"

"Take responsibility." You mumble as you slowly find yourself feeling sleepy. Your eyes are slowly drooping and your voice lowers in tone, words drifting away almost, “You better take responsibility for my feelings and take care of me.”

“It'd truly be my honour,” Minho mumbles, lifting you slowly to push his one arm beneath your neck. He uses the other hand to push your hair away from your face. Kissing your forehead, lips lingering for a while, he smiles to himself, laughing slightly as he asks you, "Was the schlong good?”

You laugh softly, snuggling into his chest, fist against it as you try to fall asleep, thunderstorms long forgotten. Kissing his chest, you giggle, "Best ever schlong I have ever had, baby. All mine to keep now."

Jisung: can you pick me up? Changbin: this late? Jisung: i just wanted them to confess. not fuck like bunnies. useless fact i learnt today: they are both loud in bed. Changbin: i'm laughing off the bed literally!!! also!!! Jisung: yeah? Changbin: and they were roommates! Jisung: god, they were roommates. 🙄❤️