#have life and color and humor that do not take away from heavier moments and themes

[itsclippingbinch]

the more i think about these adaptations the more annoyed i get. what is with this way of thinking that in order for things to be more mature and meaningful they need to be stripped of joy and swathed in grayscale? how do these clearly capable creative teams keep making projects less profound and competent than the original children's media they're trying to build upon?

[angerstagram]

monster among men // calum (SMUT)

boxer!calum

Pairing:  Calum + Y/N

Words: 4.6k

Rating:  X. For, you know, sex.

Description:  Calum is your long time boyfriend but he’s also a boxer. When his trainer says the two of you can’t have sex before the big match, you find that much easier said than done.

Warning: Oral sex, mentions of violence (for sport).

Author’s Note: I wrote this in one go and haven’t edited it!! Please forgive the typos. Stay tuned for a part two!

——————————————

Calum threw one last punch at the now well-abused punching bag, watching it swing slowly back and forth—toward him, then away, then toward him again—and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The air in the gym was thick with sweat and dirt as men all around him trained against sparring partners, trainers, or a giant bag of sand, like him.

His trainer, Sal, came up behind him and squirted some gatorade in his mouth before helping him remove his gloves. “That was great, Cal. Your form is better than 97% of the guys in here.”

Calum smirked. “My form is better than 100% of the guys in here and you know it, Sal.”

Sal smiled at Calum but refused to boost his ego. “Well your form isn’t gonna win you a belt, Cal. Not on its own. I need you to keep up your power all the way to the last punch.” Sal was talking excitedly with his hands now, throwing fake punches at the air as though it were 1987 and he was back in the ring.

“Don’t worry about my power, Sal. Just get me in the ring and I’ll take it from there.” Calum wiped the towel Sal handed him against the back of his neck and then over the planes of his chest where little beads of sweat had gathered.

“Alright, big shot.” Sal gestured his head toward the ring and Calum climbed in, letting Sal strap the gloves back on once he was inside.

Sal slid on a pair of punching mitts and held them in front of Calum’s face. “Focus on me, Cal. Right here.”

Calum started throwing punches and Sal met them every time. Every time Calum dropped his guard, Sal would take advantage and hit Calum in the face with a mitt until Calum’s cheek was red and starting to swell.

They went on like that for the better part of an hour, before Sal finally let Calum take a break at the edge of the ring.

“It’s that girl, Calum. She’s inside your head. It’s all well and good to get laid when you don’t have a belt on the line. But if you’re spending all your time thinking about what little date you’re gonna go on and picking up a nice bouquet of pansies or some shit, you’re head ain’t gonna be where it needs to be.”

Calum knew that Sal was trying to rip him up and make fun of him by playing on age-old stereotypes, but Calum could’t even hear him.

As soon as Sal mentioned flowers Cal could smell your perfume. He could feel your skin under his fingertips, the soft give of your hips as he squeezed them. It was as though you were standing right in front of him, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the nape of your neck as you worked in the kitchen. He was pulling your back to be flush with his chest, the shape of your ass pushing deliciously into his —

“You’re not even listening to me, are ya?” Sal’s voice cut into Calum’s reverie and suddenly he was whipped back into the gym.

“I get it, no girls before the match. I hear you, Sal.” If the guys wanted to believe that Calum was a womanizer who was bedding a different woman every night, he would let them. But he wouldn’t jeopardize this match for anything.

————————————————

Calum was really, truly planning on staying strong until his match. But then he got home and you were standing there wearing one of his cotton t-shirts, barefoot and swaying your hips in time to the music playing through the stereo. Everything smelled amazing, the food you had simmering on the stovetop, the candle lit on the coffee table, the summer breeze drifting in through the open windows.

He slipped off his shoes and padded into the kitchen while you faced away from him. He knew you didn’t hear him come in over the sound from the stereo, so he had the advantage as he walked up behind you and gave you a playful slap on the ass.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, dropping the spoon into the sauce you had been stirring and letting out a yelp. “Calum Thomas!” you explained, licking the sauce off your thumb where it had splashed when you dropped the spoon.

“Hmmm,” Calum let out a low hum as he nuzzled his face into your neck, just as he had imagined earlier. He let out a soft sigh, the sound of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be after a long day. “Hey, let me have a taste, too,” he murmured, turning your chin between his fingers and kissing you deeply.

You twisted yourself in his arms so that your back was to the stove and your chest pressed against his. You loved when he came home like this; worked up from a day of hard exercise, hair still wet from his shower at the gym, the muscles in his arm thick and corded under his t-shirt where you traced your fingers.

His mouth wandered down your neck, his open mouth warm against your pulse points. You were breathing heavier now and he knew it, pressing his palm against the small of your back and drawing you impossibly closer to him.

“So, um,” you tried to string a sentence together as the feeling of his lips on your skin scrambled your thoughts. “How was work?”

Your little joke passed over him without laughter, his focus unyielding. He was always so focused on whatever task was at hand that he often couldn’t see or hear the world around him. Times like this, that trait came in handy.

You laced your fingers through his wet hair and scratched softly at the back of his head, bringing his focus briefly back to reality. Calum raised his face to yours again and smirked against your lips. “Work was great, sweetie. And how was your day?”

Calum loved playing pretend like that. Pretend like you two were a normal couple; that he had a normal 9-5 job pushing papers behind a desk in a suit and tie and you drove a mini-van or some shit. A joke that made it seem in moments like this that he wasn’t in physical danger 95% of his day and you didn’t spend thousands of hours of your life scared that one wrong punch would be the end of him.

But you couldn’t think about that now, not when he was hooking his hands around the backs of your thighs and hoisting you over onto a clear spot of the counter. Not when he was standing between your open knees and pulling you closer to his chest again, his arms circling your back and his mouth hot and needy against yours.

His kisses were urgent and all-consuming, pulling the breath of you and energizing you all at the same time. You didn’t realize he had pulled your hair out of it’s ponytail until you felt it cascade down your back. He pressed a kiss behind your ear and bit it lightly, causing you to laugh at the aggression.

“What’s gotten into you, Hood?” you asked breathlessly, teasing him for his ability to go zero to ninety in 3.5 seconds. Something in the tightness of his back and the set of his jaw told you something was up, though. “At least let me turn off the sauce so it doesn’t burn.”

Now he was laughing at you, his chest rumbling against yours. “I’m doing some of my best work here, babe, and you’re thinking about the sauce?”

“I just don’t want it to burn! I’ve been building these flavors for an hour, Cal.”

He didn’t stop laughing, but humored you by reaching over and switching off the burners. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happier when you tell me what’s going on,” you said softly as you rubbed circles against his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles there.

He dropped his forehead against yours and pressed a light kiss to your lips. He knew he would have to bring it up sooner or later, but he didn’t think he would have to say it so soon. “I, um, well.” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he searched for the words. “Basically, Sal thinks that we shouldn’t, um.”

You dipped your head, searching for his eyes. Trying to follow along with his train of thoughts going nowhere. “Sal thinks we shouldn’t what, Cal?”

“Sal thinks we shouldn’t be, um, romantic before the championship match.” Cal almost looked like he was blushing. For someone that was so confident and uninhibited while you were actually being romantic, he often had a hard time talking about it when you weren’t.

Your face was deadpan as you looked at him. “Sal says we can’t fuck before the match,” you paraphrased in an unenthusiastic voice.

Now he was definitely blushing, the color rising in his cheeks and spreading to his ears. “Um, well, yeah.”

“The match that’s in three weeks.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your trainer, a man who hasn’t had a wild night of passion in over a century, says that you and I cannot fuck for 21 days.”

“Yeah.”

“And that will do…what exactly? It will help your form?”

“No, my form is great, actually. It’s my power on the last punch that needs work,” Calum replied, genuinely not realizing that you were being sarcastic.

“Then why the fuck did you come in here and start kissing me like that, jackass?” You swatted at his shoulder and dropped your head to his shoulder, huffing at the injustice of it all.

Calum laughed at your frustration, rubbing calming circles into the small of your back again but you pushed against his shoulders.

“You really can’t touch me if you don’t want me to jump you right now, Calum.”

The look in your eyes made him see you weren’t really joking. Calum felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions; half feeling guilty that he had done this to you, and half feeling proud that he had a girl who wanted him as badly as he wanted her all the goddamn time.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, love, I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe I wanted a little something to tide me over.” He was smirking now, leaning in to give you another kiss but you turned your head to the side in defiance.

He tossed his head back in defeat, taking a step back and throwing his hands up to signal that he wouldn’t pressure you.

But that’s not what you wanted, either. It was very confusing, really. He had worked you up and then left you high and dry, so you were just as much want and need and greed as you were angry and annoyed.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back against you, shifting forward on the counter. “If you want to tide me over, I’m gonna need a little more than that,” you said against his lips, sliding your hand down the front of his shorts and palming him over his underwear.

Calum groaned and bucked involuntarily against your hand before grabbing your wrist. “Baaabe, we can’t,” his voice almost a whine.

You slipped your hand back out of his shirt obediently and placed it back on his shoulders. “Fine,” you conceded. “I guess I’ll just have to go take care of myself. You can finish up dinner, right?”

Giving his shoulders a light push, Calum stepped back, surprised. You slid off the counter and began walking out of the kitchen toward your bedroom before feeling his hand grab your wrist. “C’mon, baby, don’t be like that.”

He pulled your wrist to turn you around, holding your hand to his cheek and pressing his mouth where it met your wrist. He held it there for what felt like forever, the worlds slowing down and your heart speeding up as you concentrated on the feeling of his lips against your palm. He was looking at you from under his criminally long lashes, all dark lines and tan skin with a single wet curl hanging over his forehead.

“We can do this, together, I’m sure,” he murmured into your skin. “Now can we please eat this beautiful dinner you’ve worked so hard on?”

Breathing in through your nose and blowing out through your mouth, you focused on both calming down and cooling down. You really wished this place came with a goddamn air conditioner.

“Fine. You make the salad.”

————————————————————

A week went by like that. The tension growing thicker each day. Waking up next to Calum and feeling the shape of his body against your back, your front, your legs twisted between each other’s or splayed like snow angels. No matter the position, you woke up hot, every inch of your scorching where it touched his.

It really shouldn’t be this hard. You had been celibate voluntarily or involuntarily, for months at a time not that long ago. You were an adult who could survive a simple 21-day stretch without sex.

But that was all before you met Calum. Before you had been with Calum; known the way his body could make yours feel. Before you knew the way he could play your body like a fine-tuned instrument, his every touch lighting a fire inside of you that threatened to melt you from the inside out.

And it was in moments like this, when the early morning sun was streaming in through the curtains and causing a cold yellow light to dance over his golden skin that you felt so acutely what he could do to you. You lay awake just staring at him. At his long, black eyelashes curling so beautifully over his closed eyes. His messy morning hair curling haphazardly over his forehead. His strong jaw line creating a line that led down his neck to the shape of his collarbone where it stood out over the swell of his bare chest.

His breathing was slow, the rise and fall almost lulling you back to sleep. But then he spoke. “You’re being creepy,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you replied innocently, swiping his hair off his forehead and running your finger down his cheek to his jaw.

“Staring at me looking all sexy and asleep isn’t going to help your predicament, see cheeks,” he joked as he slowly came into consciousness.

“How do you do that without opening your eyes?”

He turned his face to press his mouth to the pulse in your wrist, one eye peeking open to stare at you in the morning light. “I’ll tell you one day.”

You curled into his side, setting your chin into his shoulder to stare at him up close. “I think I’ve been rather good, actually. I haven’t pressured you even once, even when I really wanted to jump your bones.”

He laughed, curling to face you on his arm, your bodies forming two parentheses barely overlapping each other under the mustard yellow sheets. “You’ve wanted to jump my bones, hmm?” He ran his hand down your back to your underwear, teasing the skin just under the hem of his cotton t-shirt that you had worn to bed.

“Of course,” you said, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “When you come home all sweaty from the gym in those short ‘80s shorts. How could I resist?” Your voice was joking but you really weren’t. Those were the times you really felt like no championship would be worth dying a slow, horny death.

“Well you’ve been very patient.” Calum pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How long has it been, anyway?”

“Eight days,” you replied too quickly.

Calum noticed your eagerness and laughed. “Eight days. Hm. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your heart skipped a beat but you didn’t let yourself get your hopes up. Not after yesterday, when he had texted you I have a surprise for you when you get home ;) and you arrived home prepared to see a naked Calum covered in whipped cream or something….only to find him with an extra-large pizza from your favorite restaurant. Granted, that had been a pretty good surprise. But it didn’t change the fact that you only thought of him a tease with no action to back up his big talk.

“Oh I’m certain I deserve a reward,” you replied, giving him a playful slap on the ass.

“Whatever shall we do about that?” he whispered into your ear. Goosebumps rose everywhere his breath ghosted over you.

Calum rolled you onto your back, throwing his leg over your waist to rest his full chest against yours. Maybe you could get excited, after all.

He pressed small kisses against your neck, nipping at your skin to make you gasp. When you moved your hands to twist them through his hair he grabbed them and pressed them to the pillows above your head, twining your fingers together and making your breath come out unsteadily.

He kissed you deeply, the air leaving your lungs. Suddenly your entire body was nothing but a pile of unmitigated need, a live wire that sparked everywhere his mouth touched. And his mouth on yours made you feel like he was breathing your life into your lungs and pulling it back out all at the same time.

It was an effect no man had ever had on you before. The ability to turn you inside out like this. Was it because you were in love with him? So completely in love with him that it made the want and the need and lust and sex and love all mix up with each other in your mind until they were a single force driving you toward peak after peak.

And he had barely even gotten started. He had you pinned between his strong arms, the muscles in his bicep flexing as he held himself over you. He ground his pelvis into yours, your back arching to meet each delicious thrust. God, he hadn’t even really touched you yet.

Calum held himself above you to watch the effect his actions had on you. The way your eyebrows furrowed together as he rubbed against you. The way you shivered when he traced one finger up your arm and over the swell of your chest to cup your breast over your shirt.

“I feel like I’m in high school,” you murmured. “Dry humping my boyfriend while his mom watches TV in the living room.”

“My mom is here?” Calum looked over his shoulder as though he would find her standing right behind him.

You laughed and used his distraction to push him onto his back. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.” You peeled his t-shirt off of you and threw it on the floor, immediately forgotten.

Calum drank you in above him, pupils blown out with lust, watching you closely to see what you would try to do next. His body looked relaxed but you knew that in reality he was like a predatory cat preparing to strike. That his lazy exterior could spring into action before you could realize what had happened.

Not wanting him to steal your pleasure from you, you acted before he could. First you slid your fingers down your panties and gathered some of the wetness that had grown there before rubbing your fingertips slowly over your clit. Your mouth pouted open into a gasp, reveling in the sensation, grinding harder as you chased that pleasure.

You slapped your other hand to his chest, your fingertips digging crescent moons into his bronze skin as you rolled your hips over your hand, and by extension, his growing erection.

Calum sat up suddenly. His face was still relaxed, but the speed with which he moved gave away how much your action had affected him. He pressed his chest flush with yours and kissed you hotly.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pulled your hand out from your panties and pressed your fingers into his mouth. His tongue laved slowly over your fingertips, drawing a long moan from you, the air between the two of you growing thick and electric.

“God, you’re killing me, Cal,” you moaned. He ran his fingers down to your hips again, digging into the flesh and rolling you against him. Back and forth, back and forth, rolling you quickly toward an orgasm thanks largely to how long it had been since your last one.

“Do you,” Cal pressed a kiss to the base of your throat, “do you touch yourself when I’m away?” Calum’s voice sounded genuinely quizzical, as though he were discussing the weather or asking you for directions.

“I, um.” Your brain was short circuiting as he pressed you harder and faster against him, your wet panties rubbing against your clit like a tongue. He pressed another kiss to your bare chest, nipping you just under your collarbone before taking a nipple into his mouth.

“Well? Do you?” He repeated, his hot breath causing you to shiver where it met your pebbled nipple.

“No. Um.” The screws were coming loose in your brain. Everything you wanted to do with him, do to him, were flashing over the inside of your eyelids as he drew you to your peak. “Not since, um, not since you said we couldn’t, oh god.”

Calum pulled away and you whined at the loss. He was looking at you intently, as though trying to judge if you were being serious. “You mean that?” He slid his hand down the back of your panties and slid one finger inside you easily. You gasped at how unexpected it was and moaned as he used that hand to pull you back and forth into the grinding motion he had you in before. “You really haven’t had an orgasm for over a week?”

“Yeah, I mean it,” your voice was increasing in pitch and your eyes were shut tight. “Fuck, Calum, don’t stop.”

But Calum did stop. At least, he stopped long enough to throw you onto your back and slide comfortably to rest his head just above your mound. “You’ve been an even better girl than I thought,” Calum praised, his voice still gravelly this early in the morning. “Now let’s see about that reward.”

Calum pulled your underwear off quickly and pressed his tongue flat against you, licking a thick stripe from your opening to your clit. You keened loudly, your back arching when he finally gave you what you needed.

He didn’t intend to tease you. He really did want to reward you for your patience. But it was just so much fun to watch you writhe and moan under him as he teased one finger around your opening and licked figure eights just below your clit.

You were panting as the air of the room pressed heavily against your skin. If fucking Calum was a religious experience, having him eat you out was like leaving earth and going straight to heaven.

“Fuck, Calum. I can’t.” You had been so close to your climax before you felt your mouth on you that your brain was disconnecting.

Finally, he took mercy on you. Diving in to eat you like his last meal. He slid one finger into you, just up to the second knuckle, pressing up against your front wall as he flicked his tongue against your clit.

You bucked up into his face and he didn’t even bother holding you down, just tucked one arm under your thigh to steady himself before shoving two fingers into you up to their base.

He pumped his fingers into you steadily, pressing his tongue flat against you. He alternated his pace, pumping faster when he slowed his tongue and flicking his tongue quickly when he slowed his pumps.

“Oh my god, Calum. Fuck, I—,” you blubbered as your soul left your body. You curled your legs over his shoulders, your thighs shaking as you sprinted towards the high you were both chasing. All the want you had built up for a week had created an ache stronger than you even realized, and the beginning of your orgasm was like stretching an atrophied muscle. “Goddamn it that feels so fucking good.”

When he knew you were going to fall over the edge, Calum slowed his tongue and hooked his fingers to press firmly against your g-spot. He tapped them rapidly against that spot as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you reached your peak. You clamped your knees against his ears, locking him in place as you finally fell over the edge. Your entire body shook as the orgasm rolled from where his fingers still tapped inside you out to your fingers and down to your toes.

Even as you reached your peak he didn’t stop, pumping his fingers and scissoring them to rub against every wall, running his tongue over you until there wasn’t a nerve left below your waist that he hadn’t annihilated.

It was like his fingers were fucking the air right out of your lungs. Connecting the two of you and unraveling you all at the same time.

“C’mon, baby. I know you’ve got another in you.”

And he was right, really. Except it wasn’t exactly a second orgasm as it was a second wave of the first that had never stopped. He stayed like that for a long time, never letting you come down, pulling one after another from you until you had to shove his face away.

He kissed his way back up your body, holding his hand still against your mound as you came down, its warmth soothing as your body shook.

Finally he pressed his mouth against yours and you could taste yourself. You didn’t have the energy to kiss him back. Your lips just hung open as your breath came out in small pants. He rolled over onto his side and pulled the sheet over both of you.

“You are really fucking good at that,” you said finally, flinging the back of your hand against his chest.

Calum nuzzled his nose against your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Only the best for my girl,” he laughed, taking the compliment in stride.

You glanced down at the tent in the sheet where it lay over his waist. “Just, uh, just give me a minute. I’ll get right on that.” You gestured lazily toward his obvious erection.

“No, no. Today was about you.” Calum rolled you so that he was spooning you and ran his hand over the back of yours, twisting your fingers together. “I still need to wait until after the match.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and breathed slowly through his nose to try and bring his own body temperature down. Your thoughts were becoming coherent again.

You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. You kissed him deeply, trying to convey to him the feeling that had overwhelmed you. “I love you, Calum. So goddamn much.”

He smiled but he didn’t laugh. The light danced in his eyes where they crinkled at the corners. He kissed you again and brushed his nose against yours. “I love you, too. Now go back to sleep.”

[danddymaro]

Resistance | Leone Abbacchio x Reader

Anime Abba if no one minds; Just an advance since I know the manga and anime have different color schemes.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word count :  3229

 After the fight With Illuso Abbacchio can no longer hold back 

 Stay Back

 His glazed, golden eyes stayed trained right ahead as his body sluggishly slumped over the brick wall. He struggled to stay upright, somehow pushing past the overbearing pain for just a moment longer as the strength of the human spirit coursed on within his tired, worn being long after he’d accepted his fate.

Like a traveling sludge, he'd left a sticky trail behind, one that would be evidence of his sacrifice, all of which would be the only thing left behind aside from his cold carcass,

And he was fine with things being left as they were; so long as the mission was a success.

After all, they'd gotten the key, and as messy as things got, it was a win in his book.

' That's all that matters… ' he thought with content, struggling to breath, his sight beginning to blur as occasional little black splotches scattered across his hazy vision,

"Yeah...At least… At least I did that right," he thought with a snicker, albeit a rather bitter one, humored that while his life had been a waste, he’d done just one thing successfully,

'But...there's just one thing…' he thought to himself, chuckling wearily at the recollection of a rather dejected face he’d last seen, deeply wishing that hadn’t been his last memory of her, but somehow grateful that it was, because then he could live on with the idea that he died with her resentment.

And maybe then, she wouldn’t miss him. Maybe then he’d only be an ugly memory she’d be willing to forget, finally getting it through her head that he wasn’t ever worth the worry.

“Just stay back!” he barked at her, looking back at her with hardened golden eyes narrowed fiercely at her as she tried to leave along with them.

“Keep watch if you want to feel useful,” he said in an offhand sort of manner, making her face fall, disheartened.

(e/c) colored eyes then hardened as he followed up with more expected backlash, the woman visually preparing herself for his sharp tongue, swallowing it all down with a quiet nod.

“Why the hell Bucciarati insisted on you coming… it's a mystery to me.” He said lowly, completely turning from her by then, not sparing her another glance after the uttered words.

Frowning, Giorno stepped towards her, his hand raised to touch her slumped shoulder before she shook her head, immediately perking,

“Okay!” She agreed, “I’ll stay here!” She chirped, “Abba’s Right,” She went on, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” She added, an undertone of hurt weaved through the façade she put on.

“So you guys go ahead. I’ll take care of things here.”

All the while her eyes were stuck on the other man’s back, watching as he drew further, his shoulders squared and tense as he went in search for the important item, the other two males following in suit, though seeming just as exasperated as her at the elder man’s choice of words.

“I’ll have a talk with him,” Fugo said softly as he walked past her, offering her a lax, apologetic grimace of a smile.

‘You always do,’ (f/n) mused, smiling back nonetheless, finding his effort to help her to be sweet, yet futile because it never changed anything.

‘It won’t change a thing,’ She added, her expression dying as they drew further from her.

She wished it wasn’t so and that somehow, the cycle would cease.

“By now… She should hate me…” Leone said to himself, his heart weighed down by the thought,

'But it's all for the best, ' he silently added, lazily blinking.

‘It’s better you’re not here…It’s better you stayed back,’ he thought with true gratefulness, a shuttered, thankful breath falling past his painted lips.

He thought of her running into the Stand user herself, doubting she’d have any better luck than he did, because after all, her stand wasn’t made much for the offensive, just as his own stand wasn’t.

Hers was meant for love; to care for and tend others. It did wonders on everyone else, the drawback being that the power was useless to her, something that was befitting of such a selfless person.

She could do wonders for others, but not for her own self.

‘And If you were hurt...I just know that bastard Giorno would have the time of his life fixing you up,’ He thought bitterly, hating how close the two had gotten, right from the start,

“It’s nice to have another healer,” she said while showing off a happy, little, quirky smile, one that made Abbacchio’s jaw clench, and seemed to have its own effect on the younger male as well.

Sweetly, Giorno smiled back, a featherlight blush dusting over his features, “(f/n), right?” He said back, meeting her halfway to grasp her hand, the small contact being something the elder man paid attention to keenly because it bothered him so much to see her cozy up to the rookie as though they were old pals.

“ Bucciarati mentioned you briefly.” He revealed to her, making her smile grow,

“Really?” She said surprised, “What did he say?” She asked curiously, wondering just what her Capo had said about her to the rookie.

What was she known for?

“He said well...” Giorno trailed off while suddenly growling nervous as the words formed a knot in his throat, “ Oh well, nothing really!” he insisted, not wanting to repeat that he’d actually referred to her as ‘the pretty, little sweetheart,’ much more, that he’d actually agreed with him the second he found himself locked eyes with her and she smiled to him, seeming to be the most amiable of the group.

It was easy to tell that in some sort of way, Giorno liked her and it irked him. It bothered him even more so to see that not only Giorno showed interest in her, but also had the nerve to go out of his way to make her giggle, finding any excuse to do so, behaving innocent with each attempt, 

"Usually the flowers trail behind you," Giorno started, falling into step with (f/n) as she walked alone, "But today..." he trailed off, humming, "I don't know, " He started, “You don't seem as bright," He added, quirking a brow, stopping right before her, reaching down to lift her chin up.

"It just isn't right," He told her, concerned, the genuine look of worry crossed over his features.

"What do you mean?" (f/n) asked, her dimmed (e/c) colored eyed gleaming up at him, curious as to what he meant.

She knew that perhaps she seemed dull, but to be fair she hadn’t had much sleep to begin with.

"You haven't smiled today," He explained, "which isn't right, as the sun should always shine," He added.

Shaking her head, (f/n) giggled, finding the quirky, little line to be even cornier than Mista’s own cheesy throw-away ones. She was ready to comment on it when his stand appeared before her, the humanoid being’s power at work,

" Giorno," She muttered, watching with growing eyes as a little flower sprouted from the blonde’s hand, the golden, little face of the white petaled blossom facing her,

"Ah...There we go," He mused, a cute, little dust of pink on his own face, chuckling at his own moronic actions.

Perhaps it was over the top, but he knew it would liven her up, and that's all that mattered to him at the moment, because to him, if anyone deserved to have a smile drawn over them, it was the kind woman.

All the while, (f/n) thought of him as sweet, the charming young man being someone she greatly appreciated for his considerate nature, while on the opposite end, the other man in the room brooded, annoyed.

"Tch, " Leone clicked his teeth, his eyes fallen far away from the pair as he ground his teeth together, turning his nose,

'She'll grin at anything he does,' He thought irked. 'She'll just stupidly smile at any shit anyone tells her,' He added, wanting to turn back and eye the cute, little expression, but knowing full well it would scathe him as he remembered just why it existed.

"Shit.." He muttered, trying to push the thought of her away as he realized that she’d yet again invaded every bit of his mind, even during his final moments of what was supposed to be peace.

And it seemed as though somehow, his thoughts had reached her, because before him a small moving blur grew, coming closer to him with hasty speed,

“Abbacchio!” He heard her say, following up with large pants as she knelt before him, immediately falling to both her knees to be more on his level, the skin above both joints burning from the sudden, harsh friction.

He could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, the smell very faintly wafting into his nose as she came even closer, slipping through the personal bubble he’d kept himself in. 

During then her (e/c) colored eyes skimmed over him and every beaten bit of him that was visible, visually shaken at the sighed of his missing limb.

'she came…' he thought to himself, 'she….bothered to come…' he added, grimacing.

After he ordered her to stay…

After he'd pushed her away so many times already…

‘You always come to me…’ He said to himself, falling forward, his heavier body almost toppling her over with the sudden action.

"Hey!" She began worriedly, steadying him, slowly easing him back towards the wall to sit upright, “Come on now,” she encouraged him, her comforting smile present as her hands which were firmly placed on his shoulders immediately went to cup his cold cheeks,

“Abba,” She urged him, “ Stay with me,” She added as she gently eased his lolling head straight, trying to get a better look at his paled face with frantic (e/c) colored eyes.

“I’m right here now,” She told him, “ So you're going to be just fine,” She assured him with an unshaken determination.

He squinted, trying to get his eyes to work right, only to find himself stuck on her own shining (e/c) colored gems.

Her (dark/light) eyes looked into him, and as she did so, he felt an electric charge run up his spine at the glance, the powerful bolt that came down on him raking his entire being with unforgiving violence.

He was spiritless in the motion, yet somehow found it in himself to stray his golden orbs away, deciding to not challenge her own look with his own fading will, the man slowly growing even smaller beneath the grace of her sweetly trained stare.

“Quit staring...Quit looking...at me...like that,” He grumbled, savoring down the bitter metallic taste in his mouth, "Tch… you damn idiot," he rasped, slowly shaking his head from her sweet hold, doing so with all the mustered strength he had left.

He couldn't feel anything, and yet it burned, her touch scathed him, the unbearable ache that was present bursting through from deep within his being.

Maybe she was overreacting she reasoned, chuckling wearily, but unable to fight back tears,

“ It’s just...I...I thought I’d come here too late!” She cried out, not able to resist the urge to hold him, latching onto him with desperation, the bloody grime over his body sticking onto her clothing, causing her smell of sweetness to be masked by his pungent gore.

By then his head was pressed to her chest, placed right over her heavily beating heart as she continued to shake, holding on tightly in a desperate embrace, 

“For just a moment there…” She muttered, “ I thought I was going to lose you,” she added, little tears still pricking her eyes as she began to heal him, her (e/c) colored eyes closed as she coddled him.

'stop...stop touching me ...' he thought to himself, his lethargic body beginning to squirm as she tended him, her hold on him remaining unmoved.

'stop crying over me,' he added feeling her tears fall over him, the droplets falling onto his face even after she’d expressed her relief, despite the fact that gradually his body began to feel warm again, function slowly coming back to him.

'stop…' he pleaded, his bottom lip quivering, wanting to snap at her and make her go away altogether.

He could feel his fingers begin to move, his gaze beginning to align right with the more time he spent under her care.

“(F/n),” He rasped lowly, her head rising at the utter of her name as her face lit up the sound of his voice. And it was then that she drew back from him, her brightened eyes gazing into his glowing eyes with expectancy.

(E/c) eyes stared right at him, her face streaked with salty tears and as she saw the dimness from his golden eyes begin to fade, her face lit up with sheer joy,

“Leone,” She said softly, a smile gracing her, very faintly taking over her, "I’m so ha-," she started, cut off as his hand that was now healed, took hold of the back of her head, tightly weaving itself through (h/c) strands as he grabbed her,

"Why don't you just stay away from me?" He said lowly, teeth grit together as he shoved her down, straddling her as he glared down at her, " You shouldn't be here," he reminded her, “remember?” he asked her, having thought he’d been very clear.

“Are you an idiot?” He went on, his grip on her hair bound tight enough that it began to sting, causing her to wince, “If that asshole was around still...what would you have done?” he asked her, already knowing the answer.

He thought about it with so much rage it had him shaking,

‘ Don’t you get it? I’m doing this for you!’ He thought to himself with utter frustration. 

All the while her eyes were wide as she wordlessly looked up at him, caught beneath him as he continued to loom over her, the sight making his hold slacken for just a fraction of a second, realizing just what he was doing,

“Damn it (f/n),” He grumbled, continuing to look down at her, completely taken by the sight of her in her current state, his vexation slowly dying out.

Through teary-eyed and bloodied, she seemed beautiful lying beneath him, her (h/c) colored strands caught in his hand and tangled there to create the very same scene he’d selfishly conjured up on more than once occasion.

Mindlessly, his eyes then drew down to her lips, tempted by the sight of their inviting curve and thickness, causing his own to press together with longing.

She was filthy now, drenched in his blood, her back pressed onto the filthy ground as well, and even then, it took nothing away from her beauty and much more, the undeniable attraction he had for her.

“It’s so damn annoying when you think I need you,” He told her, trailing off as he came down closer, his lilac-colored lips almost touching her (color) ones, “...even more annoying when you're right.” He muttered, hating just how perfectly she fit beneath him.

They fit like two puzzle pieces slowly being inched together, and he’d already known it would be the case.

“Leone...I want to tell you I l-”

“I know,” He said quietly, “ I already know,” He told her, his heart racing, not wanting to hear her say it, because he knew he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he actually heard her say it.

He was currently struggling, unable to function right, and the single admittance would undoubtedly rattle him, making him do something he’d long fought,

“So quit crying. And quite following me around like a lost dog,” He told her, his voice soft, the words meant to be snide, but missed all the bite they needed.

“I...I don’t want you around me,” He struggled to say, biting his lip afterward.

‘You say so.. but you haven't drawn back,’ She noticed, ‘You’re shaking...And all the while your eyes...Your eyes are so soft,’ she mused, a sudden realization falling down upon her with the weight of a ton,

‘...You’ve been doing it purposely.’ she understood, ‘ But you’ve also been hesitant.’ 

"...Why do you do this?" She asked him, her heart heavy as she looked up at him, seeing the same hurt crossed over his features as he tried to push her away yet again.

It was a frail shove, but a sign of resistance nonetheless.

‘Whenever I feel so close to you...Whenever we’re just inches apart, you find a way to drift back away.’ She thought to herself, helpless as she was stuck in the same repeated cycle with him.

Yet again, he was so painfully close, but all the same remaining distant, blocked off as though there was a stone wall between them.

"- It's better," He said to her, though sounding unconvinced.

He shook, his breath being both inhaled and released in the same shaking manner as for just a second, his lips brushed hers, accidentally smudging the soft color of his lips onto hers,

“How?” she dared to ask. 

“ Don’t you get it? I’ve been trying to fight it... But when you go out of your way for me, I just want you more,” He admitted, swallowing down harshly. "So just quit it already," He begged, "Before I regret it...before you regret it too," he added.

"I'd never regret it," She insisted, "because I lo-"

Cutting her off, he smashed his lips to hers, his palms both pressed to her cheeks as he rocked his body to hers, wanting to completely melt over her,

“(f/n)” He said in between the heavy kiss, “What did I tell you,” He panted roughly, his lips trailing down her jaw, falling over the flesh of her neck with long, wet kisses as his hands traveled down to her waist, holding her still.

“Just stop, “ He argued, also being a hypocrite, occupied with trailing his mouth over her, not being the one to draw back instead.

“No..” She breathed, “Because I...I love you.” She said instead, feeling his body suddenly tense, his actions stopping, suspended as he held in a breath.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so much Leone,” She said to him, her hands reaching for his long strands of hair, the silky lengths weaved through her fingers before she curled them down to her palms, tugging them whilst he released the air in a small, light groan.

‘And I don’t want to ever lose you,’ She thought to herself, eyes shut tightly as she focused on the feeling of his hands roaming over her body, desperate to grip every bit of her.

As she’d seen him bloody, and barely alive, she knew she couldn’t live without telling him the truth that lay locked within her chest, much more when she began to understand his own reasoning.

“(f/n)...I...I love you too,” He finally admitted, breathing along the side of her neck with tightly shut eyes as the last bit of his resistance died, by then the only thing he held back on was the threatening tears that welled in his eyes as his body relaxed, finally finding ease.

So this was basically Abba the Tsun-Tsun （≧ｙ≦＊）

[kagemaruzest69]

Lovesick {Karl Heisenberg x Reader}

Ch. 4 - {A Monster in Progress} 

*I updated a note at the end of this chapter, please take a look. -----‐--------------------------------------------

【ωє αяє συя σωη мσηѕтєяѕ αη∂ тнυѕ, ωє ƒєαя συяѕєℓνєѕ тнє мσѕт】

Morning came by quickly, (Y/N)'s delicate left hand rubbed her eyes as she woke up from her deep slumber, feeling groggy before she sat up on the couch and stretched her arms. The smell of oil, grease and tobacco was heavier in the room this morning than what she remembered last night. (Y/N)'s eyes found themselves directed over to the bed where Heisenberg was asleep. It seemed that he had worked late last night and went to bed right away. He looked so peaceful in his sleep as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

The man was lying on his back, shirtless save for his pants. His fedora hat and glasses were placed on the table next to his bed. The female's eyes locked on his manly features, noticing that parts of his body were still covered in grease such as his hands, a small part of each of his arms and his upper body. His body was quite toned beneath those thick clothing he always used.

Upon walking closer and sat softly on the bed, she noticed that there were many scars ran across his body and face. The scars were barely visible, but it was there if one were to inspect the mechanic closely. This made the female's lips curled in a soft but sad smile, thinking about what kind of experiments and pain he had gone through to have such scars on his beautiful male body.

Her right hand reached over to his breast as they traced the scar softly to his collarbone, higher to his neck and his jaw before resting on his left cheek. Right when she was about to touch the scar on his face with her fingers, she was suddenly pinned down onto her back on the bed as a result of his reflex towards anything that could harm him in his sleep. Heisenberg's right hand was placed on between her collarbone to pin her down and his other hand held a knife to her throat.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as she felt a cold metal placed on her neck which was a sharp knife that was called beforehand onto his grip by his power. When Karl realized that it was just (Y/N), he released her body, but his sharp and judging eyes remained on her. "It is not an honorable thing for a woman to touch a man on his bed." He spoke as he rose from the bed. "Especially when she is in his den." He moved over to his closet to take a shirt out and went to the direction of his bathroom.

She sat up and looked down ashamed, "Please forgive my rudeness... it's just that you look so peaceful and that you deserve a better life, a normal life. Those scars on you, I am sure even if they were barely visible now, they still hurt and haunt you, don't they?"

Heisenberg scoffed, "What do you know about me and my life?" He turned his face over his shoulder to look at her form. "I know nothing." She responded, knowing he was right. He went to the bathroom and proceeded to wash himself.

The (H/C) haired woman went back to the couch and sat. Her thoughts once again raced about how she was also infected. Would she be able to understand him one day? Does she even want to understand his pain? The answer is yes. She must if she wanted to survive within the village. Knowing how to handle the pain and nightmare of the mold would totally help her adapt in this place until she would be able to escape.

Not long after, Heisenberg came out of the bathroom, fully clothed. He walked over to the table where he put his fedora and sunglasses. He picked them up and placed them at where they were supposed to be, "Have you felt anything different regarding your body?" (Y/N) shook her head as a no. "Let's assume that the mold within your body is still developing but with a fast pace and you are not really affected by its side effect. It could serve as a sign that you have a great connection or rather affinity with the mold."

"Am I going to be experimented on like you?" She had a worried look on her face, "As long as Miranda doesn't find out, you will be fine." She was content with his answer as she went to the bathroom to wash herself. Since she brought her bag with her to the factory, she had some of her clothes still. She picked to use a grey tank top with a beige jean. It wasn't long until she finished and came out from the bathroom.

"Is it possible to hide from her though?" He lifted his hammer easily with one hand as he headed for the door after he saw her coming out from the bathroom. "Nearly impossible but still possible. Though, I will be the one to perform the experiment on you to ensure that she won't be able to control or detect your mold."

Hearing his sentence, she gulped. She had seen what he did within these walls. Those numerous soldats would have been able to serve more than a proof of his capabilities of turning someone into an eldritch monster. But she chose to trust him still. "We will begin the experiment two days from now." He informed.

"In the meantime, entertain me with a tale about yourself." He motioned for her to follow him. "Well, I work or rather, used to be a data analyst. I don't think that it matters now, I bet the company would have fired me by now." She let out a dry chuckle.

Heisenberg just hummed in response as a clue for her to continue her talk and he would listen patiently to her. "I am only 22, used to live in (City name) and my boyfriend is James. He works at the same company as I did as a data engineer. He is such a romantic, loyal and humorous man." She smiled at the memory of her lover.

"Yet, he tried to kill you." Karl retorted. "I am sure it was not him who attacked me." (Y/N) spoke firmly to defend her lover. Heisenberg sighed as he took a drag from his cigarette that he had lit up earlier during their walk. He exhaled the smoke right to her face. "Wake up darling. He left you here." He spoke firmly. "If he had already escaped the village, fear not, for the mold within his body will attract him back to the village and by then, I will prove it to you my dear, that you are wrong about him."

She gritted her teeth and slapped Heisenberg really hard right then. That was sure to leave a red mark on his cheek. His cigarette fell to the floor as his face was turned to the right side. Heisenberg snapped his head back to her and pinned her to the wall by her neck. "You should face the truth. Do not be a coward." He growled as his body was fuming with his anger.

From the very moment the two met each others, their connection had always spiked like this, one minute they would be talking casually like a pair of good old friends and the next minute, they were fighting like they were enemies.

This time, she had recovered well and she was able to grab his arm with both of her hands hard enough to have her nails dug into his flesh. Her power began to show its color. He threw her across the hallway, which resulted in her hitting her back to the wall and she coughed up some blood. "Bastard..." she murmured as she wiped the blood from her mouth with her arm.

"You are the bastard here! You slapped me because I told you the truth! Would you prefer that I lied to your face instead?" Karl spoke as he stalked over to her with a dangerous aura surrounded him. "Like that bloody James did? HUH?!" His hammer was placed on his dominant hand, ready to smash her into pieces.

She would not give him the upper hand and decided to charge him head on. She tried to punch him but he evaded easily with a side step and moved his foot onto her back, kicking her to the ground before he planted it down on her back. "Do you have a death wish woman?!" he bellowed down to her.

She groaned in pain as she tried to get up from under his feet. She felt a strange power surging through her veins onto both of her hands as her fingers grew longer and sharper. The muscles on her body became stiff as (Y/N) lifted herself off of the ground. He was caught off his guard as he saw her fingers turned to claws, this enabled her to free herself from his foot and within a quick second, she moved as swift as the wind as she turned over to him and slashed him across his chest with her new claws.

Her attack was too fast for him to register and thus, blood spurted from his chest. The gash was deep and clean. Any mortal would have died right away or died because of the blood loss from the deep gash within a few minutes. He looked down to his chest and strangely, his regeneration power had slowed down. It was as if something was keeping his skin tissue from healing. He was positive that it had something to do with her developing power. Before he could say or do anything, she was about to attack him once again, but he managed to slam his beloved hammer towards her head on.

Instinctively, she put both of her arms out in defend but she was not strong enough. She was agile yes, but her brute force was still weaker than his. She chose to jump backward because she realized that she won't be able to handle the hammer's pressure any longer. The moment she jumped away, the hammer came down in contact with the ground and broke parts of the cement, sending some sharp pieces of the cement flying at a random direction.

Suddenly, she felt her heart raced, its beating faster and faster within her chest. The pain was unbearable as she let out a cry of pain. Her vision became blurred and she fell to her knees. Her hands supported her weight as she heaved, trying to stay conscious. (Y/N) was new to this power and it sure had taken a huge toll on her body. Her body was having a shock at the sudden transformation of her body and muscles. She will need time to adapt and train her body to the new power.

Heisenberg just watched in amazement of her power with a sickening grin. Plans already formulating within his brain, because if her power enabled her to inflict wound and slowed the recovery or even disabled the wound to be healed, she would truly be a huge help to him in his plan to bring Miranda down.

Not long after, he was brought out of his thoughts by her howl of agony as she called out to him before falling limp to the floor as the darkness enclosed her vision. He walked over to her and brought her body over his left shoulder as if she weighted nothing. His right hand held onto his hammer as he dragged her back to his quarter. He placed her down on his bed and went to grab some first aid to close his newly received wound, at least until it would close and heal properly. He did not want to risk dying because of stupid blood loss, especially not when he had found a trump card, a great piece to his plan.

-----‐-------------------------------------------- *Hello guys! I hope that you all have been enjoying the story up to this point. I would like to know your opinions on the story so far and what do you guys expect to see in the future? How would you like this story to progress? What kind of interaction between the reader and Heisenberg that you wanted to see and read? Please do leave your suggestion below. I really appreciate that❤ and thank you for the support so far

[aadmelioraa]

CAN I ASK FOR BOTH 1 AND 2 WITH ALDFLAED PLS IM BEGGING

YES YOU CAN!! 1 + 2 being: a conversation you wish had happened in canon + expression of love.

This turned into a whole thing, whoops.

Read below, or on ao3.

Hope (Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, rated T, 1.5k)

When finally she sees Aldhelm again it does her heart good. Despite her insistence to the contrary, the thought that he may have succumbed to his injury crosses Aethelflaed’s mind more than once in the weeks that pass between their meetings.

He’s speaking with one of the guard at the other side of the courtyard and when his eyes flick towards her briefly a restrained smile flits across his face.

She walks towards him at a leisurely pace, waiting for the other man to take his leave before she approaches too close.

He greets her with a bow of his head, bending at the waist by force of habit and grimacing slightly as he does.

“Please do not trouble yourself,” she says, laying a hand on his arm without thinking. He stands as if turned to stone, and she pulls her hand away, heart racing. Despite their exposure, something about this encounter feels even more intimate than their last. She had not expected that.

“Lady. Your victory was well-told.” Aldhelm’s voice is warm, though his eyes remain as shrewd as ever.

“You are looking nearly healed,” she says, no interest in discussing matters of war for now. “I am glad of it.”

His eyes are fixed on her as he replies, “I have recovered, thanks to you.”

“I could not very well have let you bleed to death on my floor,” she chides gently. “If you had wanted to meet your end, you ought to have gone elsewhere.”

He huffs a laugh, followed by another painful grimace, but this time she refrains from reaching out.

“Your husband is within,” he says, glancing towards the palace.

Aethelflaed frowns. “Why have you returned, Aldhelm? Do you not fear he may strike again?”

And as he meets her eyes, she knows the answer, and it sends a familiar quiver through her the way his confession had those weeks ago.

He’s returned for her. Out of duty to her, and to Mercia—they are one and the same to him. It is equal parts calculated and reckless to slink back to the side of the man who’d tried to kill him—who’d tried to kill them both. But she was here, and so was he, and their reasons were not so dissimilar.

“I will happily leave if you have an errand for me,” he says, a hint of levity entering his tone. “But otherwise, my place is here.”

“I have no errand for you,” she replies, narrowing her eyes as she shakes her head. “My only orders were to stay alive, and so far you have not failed me.”

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth again, this time he barely fights it. “If you are pleased, then so am I.”

She sweeps by him with one last glance as she says, “I must greet my husband. I am sure he will be as happy to see me alive as he was to see you.”

And though his face is gone from view, she can see his gentle smile deepen clearly in her mind’s eye.

***

Aldhelm retires that evening well after the rest of the household has gone to bed. He had hoped to catch one more glance of Aethelflaed as he sat by the fire, but she had vanished some time ago.

When he reaches his room something stays his hand at the door. It is closed, as he’d left it, but his years of soldiering had made him attuned to any small changes in his surroundings, and it has saved his life too many times for him to second-guess his instincts.

He draws his weapon and pushes the door open gingerly. He had been right. The room is not empty.

Aethelflaed sits on the edge of his bed mending a tunic—his tunic—and looking so at ease he nearly questions whether by some trick he’d arrived in her room instead of his own.

“You do not sleep, Aldhelm?” she asks easily, glancing up from her work just long enough to cause the color to rise in his face.

He returns his knife to his belt and closes the door behind him, not sure he should, but certain it cannot remain open. “I found myself lost in thought. But you, Lady, are also awake. Do you not sleep either?”

Aldhelm steps closer, heart pounding, and sees the garment she’s mending is the robe he’d been wearing that fateful night in Winchester. The bloodstain, by some miracle, had disappeared after vigorous scrubbing with ash and cold water, but the jagged rift in the fabric had remained, Aldhelm finding himself strangely averse to repairing it. The gash was an echo of the scar on his own body which served as a warning that might reinforce his better judgement should he find himself again at odds with Aethelred. A warning which now has been turned into a message with quite a different tone. Wounds will heal, rifts will be repaired, and his heart will continue beating for a singular purpose—he can no longer deny it does. He had admitted it to her, those weeks ago, now he has admitted it to himself.

“You needn’t trouble yourself.” Objection is futile for many reasons, not least of which is the mesmerizing effect that her elegant and efficient needlework has on him.

“It’s no trouble,” she replies. “And I’m nearly done.” Indeed, as she speaks she pulls the final stitch and inspects her work. “There. You can hardly tell.”

When she offers him the garment he accepts, and it feels somehow heavier than he remembers. Her hands linger near his, fingers buried in the folds of the fabric.

“My lady, you endanger yourself by being here.” He cannot help but remind her.

She lifts an eyebrow in that authoritative way of hers. “You ought to worry for yourself more than you do me, Aldhelm.” And as she traces along the line of her stitches her fingers brush his.

He’s struck suddenly by a memory from several years ago: Aethelflaed in profile, sitting atop her horse as she commands the Mercian fyrd. Something about her expression now makes it impossible for him not to recall that moment. He wonders if perhaps that was the moment when his heart had begun to turn towards her. He cannot be sure, for he had found himself ambushed by sentiment before he’d even realized that his affections had been capable of attaching themselves to such an object.

“I should let you rest.” That thoughtful line he has come to love so well has appeared between her brows.

“I am honored to have been visited by such a careful seamstress,” he says, taking a step back to allow her aside.

She smiles slightly. “I was told as a child to make my stitches neat, or they would not hold.”

“Precision is a strong suit of yours, I have noticed,” he remarks, awed that still she does not leave.

“Not, however, of my husband’s,” she replies, her tone darkly humorous. “And thank God for that.”

“Why are you here, Lady?” The question is as blunt as it is inevitable. It is late, and he is tired, and she is too exceptional not to be aware the effect she has on him.

Her expression turns sober, and he curses himself for his candor. “My apologies, I did not mean—“

She shakes her head. “Do not apologize. You are right, I should not be here."

“You do not intend to tell me why you’ve broached propriety for such a small task?” Aldhelm asks, folding the length of the garment in half and setting it aside.

“It is not a small task,” she replies, and lays a hand on his chest.

He places his hand atop hers as if to confirm he had not imagined it her touch.

“I should let you rest,” she repeats, but instead of moving away, she moves closer.

“You should rest as well,” he replies. “But only after you reveal your true purpose.”

Her eyes crease with a smile. “Do you suspect me of duplicity?”

“If you no longer suspect me, I feel compelled to maintain the balance myself.”

She breathes a laugh, but her grave look returns.

“If I were a more hopeful man,” he brushes his thumb along the curve of her cheek, “I’d invent some foolish reason for your presence.”

“Perhaps, Aldhelm,” she says, and his heart leaps at the sound of his name on her tongue, “Perhaps you may allow yourself a little foolishness, on this occasion only.”

He gently lifts her chin towards him. Her eyes are bright and clear, no trace of uncertainty in her face.

“I am afraid I shall play the fool too well,” he murmurs.

She rises on her toes to kiss him. “I have no doubt you will regain your reason, before long.”

And he wraps his arms around her and gives in to hope, at least for a night.

[1rintooru]

a relationship gone sour

Warnings: physical abuse, toxic relationships, swearing, the whole ‘yandere’ trope, heavily implied death

Pairing: yandere! Tendou Satori x gender neutral reader

Themes: uhm? read the warning again pls

Word count: 1869 - one-shot

Summary: You and your friends devised a plan to escape your toxic relationship, however Tendou ends things before you even get the chance to.

…You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy, when skies are grey…

A familiar hum traveled with the cool breeze that tickled his cheeks. The smell of wet concrete lingered in the air from the heavy downpour earlier. The streetlights had automatically turned off some time ago and the moon hid behind dark, dried-up clouds. ‘Would you be happy to see him? Excited, even? Or would you look at him the same way you’d begun to for many weeks now?’ Tendou could only wonder. For a moment he was worried he’d arrived too early, but it didn’t matter. He promised you that he would visit – even if you didn’t know it yet.

***

Your legs felt heavy once you finally emerged from the bathroom, a yawn escaping your lips. You weren’t used to staying up so late; you had met up with a couple of friends for a much-needed study session and lost track of time. Once you all finally parted ways it was already past midnight and all that you could do was mentally apologize to your future self for being exhausted the following day.

Conversation of school gossip quickly turned into a targeted interrogation towards you. To be fair, your friends were deeply worried for you. They made no secret of their dissatisfaction in your relationship since you heard every complaint under the sun. Gentle concern eventually turned to stern berating out of desperation and much to their dismay, you easily brushed off their remarks and defended Tendou every. Single. Time.

Tendou always stood out to you as an oddball type; he was loud, playful and marched to the beat of his own drum. You fell in love with his quick wit and sardonic humor and grew innately protective over him when you learned about his difficult childhood.

But as months passed, the line between satire and sincerity became more and more blurred. It wasn’t until he would become increasingly obsessive and his lampooning more threatening that you understood the gravity of his words. You were constantly walking on eggshells around him as your formerly sweet relationship quickly turned acidic.

You weren’t wearing your rose-colored glasses anymore and the confession of your relationship woes were met with sighs of relief. Grammar structure and algebraic formulas soon became trivial as you and your friends started planning a way for you to escape your toxic relationship. The worry that weighed heavily on your mind finally lifted as you felt the warm compassion of your closest friends’ envelope you like a heated blanket.

How long has it been since you felt this way?

You smiled to yourself – still riding feathery-light high from earlier – and brushed your thoughts aside, deciding to deal with them again in the morning. You rounded the corner into the hallway, a slight spring in your step as you went, before stopping abruptly.

The light went out.

You made a mental note to replace the broken lightbulb as soon as possible. While you weren’t shrouded in complete darkness, the newly missing light source still created an illusive atmosphere that you weren’t fond of. Your shadow crept up and bounced off the walls and the end of the hallway was left in pitch-darkness. The only thing you could barely make out was the faint outline of your clothes that hung from the clothes stand, creating an eerily human-like shape. You considered to check the door to see if it was locked but decided against it; you were just being paranoid and in your sleepy state it was expected for your mind to play tricks on you.

What you didn’t expect was for the shape to take a step forward.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you could feel how each individual hair stood on end. The figure took another agonizingly slow step forward, revealing its silhouette to be that of a male with a tall, lanky build. You wanted nothing more than to run away, but the cold shiver that went down your spine had you completely frozen. Your legs had locked themselves in place and all you could do was watch in horror as they took a third step forward, the dim lighting cascading across his face and illuminating his features.

“Satori!”

“Hello there, Sunshine.” His tone was sardonic, fleering as he extended his arms towards you. “I’ve missed you… how about a hug?”

You wanted to reply but only managed to choke out a cough; the sharp, excruciating pain at the back of your head traveled down your spine and spread outwards, making your whole backside throb. You didn’t even have time to react when he lunged forward, toppling you off your feet and knocking the wind out of your lungs. The room felt as if it were spinning as you hopelessly watched Tendou and his double merge in and out of each other, both of them offering you an ear-splitting grin. A painful, heavy pressure provoked another coughing fit and your eyes darted to the source – the center of your chest caved in where Tendou deeply dug his knee, the other planted firmly on your left arm while one hand pinned your right down.

You tried desperately to thrash your legs in a frantic attempt to kick him off, but the way you were angled made it nearly impossible to reach him. He remained unyielding as he stayed perched onto you like a gargoyle, his crimson eyes boring into you acrimoniously. A pout formed on his lips as he watched you squirm beneath him, tilting his head so unnaturally that it practically rested on his shoulder.

“Is that any way to greet the love of your life?” he cooed.

“Satori please, I can’t- I can’t breathe,” you gasped, still convulsing in pain.

“Hm? Oh, guess I don’t know my own strength,” he responded dispassionately, focusing his attention on the dirt under his nails. He knew exactly what he was doing, this was all just a child’s play for him. With Tendou it was always a game – and you were the prize. You shifted beneath him, finally able to somewhat breathe as the pressure elevated.  

“Satori, sweetheart – if this is about before, then you have nothing to be jealous about! I was just studying-”

“Huh?” he leaned back with crossed arms, not enough loosen his grip but enough so that he almost sat upright. “Jealous? This has nothing do with jealousy. I made you a promise, remember?”

A promise? Your mind frantically raced trying to remember when he had promised you something. What promise?

He smiled wryly and answered as though he had read your mind, “I promised you that I would keep you safe – that I would keep our relationship safe. I know everything about you and I’ll be damned if anything ever gets between us!”

You winced at his menacing tone; you always knew Tendou could switch from cheerful to incredibly threatening at the drop of a hat and you regretted not listening to your friends sooner. However now, dread enveloped you as you felt a sense of foreshadowing in his words.

“Satori… I am safe! I’m not going anywhere, see?”

His face softened and he abruptly leaned forward, his face just inches above your own. His breath tickled your nose and you had to collect all your willpower to not recoil as his long fingers caressed the side of your cheek ever so gently.

“That’s a lie.”

Your eyes widened in panic as you felt your whole body be overcome with despair.

“Satori, I –”

“I thought we had a pretty good thing going for us. You really accepted me fully and I am so, so thankful for that.” Despite his casual delivery, there was a genuine fondness written on his face, only revealed by the small crinkles that developed under his eyes. “So, when you started to look at me the way everyone else did – like some freak – I knew that wasn’t you. My beloved Y/N wouldn’t look at me like I’m some fucking monster.”

“I – I don’t think that – I would never think you’re a monster!”

You were interrupted by a deafeningly loud clap, the sound still echoing through the room as you felt blistering sting from where Tendou’s hand met your cheek. You briefly saw him multiply again, but even through blurred vision you could see his manic eyes twinkle like rubies.

“Goodness Y/N, you’re just full of lies today!”

His cheery tone made you cower. You knew you couldn’t overpower your 6’2” boyfriend – you already tried that – so in your desperation all you had left was to reason with him.

“Satori please! I’m your sunshine, remember…? You wouldn’t want to hurt your sunshine, right?” your pleas came out as pathetic whimpers, hot tears threatening to spill over your cheeks, already sticky and tear-stained from before.

“Well, yeah I guess.” His face turned thoughtful for a split-second while he considered your words. “But you’re also the one who took my sunshine away. Y/N wouldn’t look at me like I’m some demon.” He shrugged nonchalantly, his expression immediately returning to its morbid excitement.

“But if that’s what you think, then I’ll show you a real fucking abomination.”

He leaned forward and planted a kiss onto your right cheek. Then your left. You wanted to scream but your cries stopped in your throat, right where Tendou had wrapped his long, calloused fingers.

“I wanted to be mad at you, but I just can’t. It’s my fault all of this happened, I failed at protecting you.”

He fastened his grip, adding additional pressure through his digits and onto your larynx. While you felt your throat tighten, you could also feel the weight on your chest get heavier as Tendou slowly and tortuously added more of his bodyweight. His frenzied breath and your choked cries were only drowned out by the earsplitting cracks of your ribs. With both arms freed, you frantically tried to pry his fingers off, scratching his face and punching him as hard as you could. He didn’t even react – completely ignoring the scratches that now decorated his face. The hits you landed felt more like pesky flies to him.

“Forgive me, but I have to do this. It’ll only take a sec.”

Tendou’s grip tightened, silencing you completely. Exhaustion overwhelmed you as the adrenaline from before started to wear off. The weight of your arms felt like cinderblocks as they slowly drooped down, just faintly clasping at the fabric of his sleeves.

“I wish things could have been different.”

You were unsure of who spoke as Tendou’s multiples reappeared, almost as if to taunt you while a black haze emerged from the corners of your eyes. His eyes gleamed nefariously and his face split into a maniacal, shit-eating grin – a final farewell – as your vision fully eclipsed.

“I’m sorry.”

***

The pillowy clouds from earlier had finally dissipated once Tendou stepped back outside, veiling the sleepy neighborhood in a dim moonlight. The breeze from before had died down, leaving the air stagnant. How ordinary. Nothing stood out on this night except for the familiar tune that could be faintly heard in the distance.

…You’ll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away…

[threeletterslife]

[Finale] 02 | Ignis Fatuus

→ part 1 | part 2

→ summary: Who knew six grown men plus stupid Jeon Jungkook were so whiny? You're out here in a fucking zombie apocalypse for God's sake. They need to grow the fuck up. And while all of you are waiting for the zombies to eat your brains, why don't you play a nice game of rated-R never have I ever?

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | NC-17

→ genre: 60% crack, 40% angst | apocalypse!au

→ warnings: profanity, depictions of blood, gore and death, sexual innuendos, crude humor

→ wordcount: 6.8k

cr.

You wake with your entire body feeling like it's blazing in a pit of fire. The moment you open your eyes, you wince, the harsh sunlight pouring through the window and chasing away every shadow in the room. It feels like you're in a dream. Everything is so hazy. Colored weirdly. But the excruciating pain in your body screams otherwise. This is reality.

Immediately, Jungkook rushes to your side.

"You're awake! Thank god," he cries. Gingerly, he takes your hands in his and squeezes. "We're all going to get you to the hospital."

You're not in the state to argue, barely even being able to lift your head to nod at his words. If you were in the right state, you would've pointed out the obvious logical flaw in the plan. Risk seven lives for one? Really? But then again, you're in no place to argue. Coherent thoughts are rare now. You can barely remember the date or the month or the year. It all seems like such useless information when you think you're spiraling down to death.

"We need to get her out of bed," Yoongi says, crossing his arm as he leans against the door frame. He glances at you worriedly before biting the inside of his cheek. "And we should leave now so we don't arrive there at night."

The others peek in behind Yoongi, giving you concerned looks while clutching makeshift weapons, which were really dense household objects.

"Here, I'll piggyback her," Jungkook says. "You good with that?" he whispers to you to confirm.

With a delirious smile, you mumble your answer.

Jungkook returns a meek smile before helping you out of bed and hoisting you on his back. "Comfortable?" he grunts as he shifts his hold on your legs

"Mmm," you manage to hum. You're starting to feel tired again, head limp to the side as your eyelids threaten to flutter shut.

"That's it... try to sleep," Seokjin says, reaching over to pat your back. With his other hand, he grasps his favorite fry pan (his choice of weapon) that had gotten sweaty around the handle already.

"Shouldn't we try to keep her awake?" Hoseok counters.

"Too late now," Jimin points out.

You've fallen asleep again. Though it's not a very deep sleep, it helps you forget the overwhelming pain for just a few minutes more.

"I-I don't know," Namjoon says. He nervously carries Jungkook's baseball bat, awkwardly holding it out in front of him—as if he were carrying a repulsive slug and not wielding a weapon. "I don't know if we should let her sleep or keep her awake."

"But you're the only one with enough medical knowledge to determine that!" Taehyung sighs.

"Sometimes, it's just common sense," Namjoon snaps rather crossly. "But even that can't save us now."

The men look helplessly at you sleeping on Jungkook's back.

"We need to stop wasting time," Hoseok finally sighs after the long silence. "We'll be fine, all right. We'll do exactly as planned."

"Wait, we had a plan??" Taehyung asks incredulously.

"Oh, god."

The walk is arduous. The dirt road is much better to travel by vehicle; otherwise, the dust flies up and around everywhere and gets in everyone's shoes and lungs. The group hasn't even reached the city yet, but everyone's irritated already.

You're dipping in and out of consciousness, sometimes being awoken when Jungkook takes a heavier step or when a shock of pain travels across your body. Every time you wake, you wish you'd never opened your eyes.

Your friends are always silent, their eyes trailed straight in front of them. Yoongi occasionally looks at the GPS on his phone, but other than that, the mood is solemn. Too solemn.

Jungkook trails behind the group, obviously being slowed down by the extra weight he's carrying on his back. No one mentions his lagging pace.

But once you catch a weary glimpse of the towering buildings starting to come into perspective, you realize the group is starting to head into the city.

"We need to be very careful," Hoseok warns. "I don't see any of those freaks right now, but—"

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, DUDE?" Jimin shrieks in a high-pitched scream. "THERE'S LIKE TWENTY OF THEM RIGHT THERE!"

The moment he points, a cluster of the brain-dead monsters all turn their heads around to stare at the eight of you. They begin to limp towards the group.

"Great," Seokjin rolls his eyes. "If they didn't know we were here before, they know now."

"No time for sarcasm," Jungkook grunts, adjusting your legs so you don't slide off of his back. "We need to get the hell away!"

"And stay quiet!" Taehyung puts his finger to his lips, staring down Jimin, who's shivering in fear already.

"Okay, okay!"

And everyone sprints off.

The zombies groan in vast numbers, dragging their decaying bodies toward you in hopes of sinking their rotting teeth into your flesh. The team uses the buildings and the shadows to its advantage, dodging in and out of the light to confuse the dull monsters. But staying inside for months without much moving had obliterated everyone's stamina.

Jungkook's sweating so much that you're starting to slide off of his back, slowing him down. The others are panting, out of breath and struggling to continue running for their lives.

"W-We," Namjoon gasps, "h-have to s-stop!"

"A-And what?" Yoongi wheezes. "D-DIE??"

Namjoon lets out a disgruntled noise, but Taehyung interrupts his next words, whispers urgently, "There! We can hide there!"

Sure enough, there's a dark corner that Taehyung's pointing to that looks relatively safe. Everyone quickly looks at each other, gauging expressions, silently calculating the possibility of what had the higher possibility of survival—running or hiding. And with everyone physically exhausted—Jungkook especially struggling—the latter is deemed as the smarter choice. Quickly, the eight of you file into the dark corner, Taehyung leading the way.

The moment the group is out of sight from the zombies, Jungkook lets you slide off of his back. He collapses on the group, panting quietly and letting you lean against his arm. The others stand absolutely still, wiping sweat off their brows but not daring to move their feet.

Ten minutes later, the hoard of zombies begins to limp near the dark corner in which you're hiding. It seems like they'll pass by, too dumb to comprehend where their meals had gone. They don't exactly have the brain capacity to suspect that the humans had, indeed, outsmarted them and had hidden away.

"Just look at 'em, those idiots," Taehyung mutters underneath his breath.

"S-Shut up, Tae." Jimin shakes in fear, biting at his nails. The poor man looks just about ready to cry. "Don't say that. Don't even talk. Just don't, dude."

There's a reason why Jimin never stepped out of the house again after the initial outbreak. He's visibly terrified. And even so, he can't tear his eyes away from watching those monsters, slowly but surely making their way past the dark corner.

"Just a few more steps..." Jungkook whispers to you.

You don't know what he means.

"Just a few more steps and we'll be safe..." he says. "Just a few more—"

"Will you shush??" Jimin shrieks.

The moment he raises his voice, the color drains from his cheeks. Big mistake.

The last few zombies who had been trailing near the back of the hoard pause. They look around. Then, they start to limp towards the dark corner.

Everyone scrambles up, hearts beating wildly in your chests. Jungkook tries to help you on his back again, but when his knees almost give out, Seokjin has to volunteer to carry you instead, much to Jungkook's protests. But with a silent look from Seokjin, Jungkook begrudgingly takes the frying pan from the older man and lets you go.

"Fuck, Jimin, you really had to be that loud?" Jungkook sighs.

Jimin's absolutely frozen, eyes looking back and forth between the group and the zombies that are starting to limp towards them to investigate the signs of life. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he stutters, gripping his t-shirt and shaking his head in disbelief.

Taehyung sighs. "It's okay. We'll just need to run before they get closer," Taehyung quickly says. "Everyone on my count of three, okay?"

No one dares to speak another work, all opting to nod instead.

"One... two..." Taehyung says. He pauses and swallows before whispering: "Three."

And then he's off, running. The zombies roar in surprise. But Taehyung's too fast for them, the other members of the group right behind him and dodging the zombie's grasping mutilated hands. All except—

"Jimin!" Namjoon gasps quietly. "Wait, I swear, he was right behind me but—"

But there's barely time to stop. Seokjin stumbles when Jimin's pleading shrieks and screams echo throughout the dilapidated city. He quickly regains his balance, gripping your legs tighter before sprinting even faster to catch up to Taehyung. Hoseok's covering his ears, while tears stream down Namjoon's face. Jungkook is biting his lip so hard, he's drawing blood. Yoongi's pale as a ghost. Even Taehyung looks shaken, brows furrowing. But he grits his teeth and continues running.

There's no time to mourn, to time to stop. Everything is a blur.

Minutes of running full speed. Minutes of silent tears. Minutes after Jimin's death.

Finally, the group slows down to a normal walking pace when Taehyung points out that the zombies aren't chasing after them anymore.

By this time, you're silently crying—because you're in physical pain or because of Jimin's death—you're not really sure. Jungkook walks by Seokjin, stealing a couple of worried glances at you. But everyone is worried at this state.

"No more wrong moves," Hoseok mumbles. "No more freezing. No more yelling. No more of anything drastic. I don't want to lose another person."

Everyone nods in agreement. And the walk in silence commences.

"Four more hours," Yoongi says. "Just four more left."

It does little to uplift the plummeting spirits.

When the road turns twisty, Taehyung orders everyone to line up behind him, single-file. He'll check to see if the coast is clear. Cautiously, he checks around the bend to see any threats, but turn after turn, there's nothing waiting for the group. After a while, Taehyung gets more and more careless, walking straight around the curve without even checking if the coast was clear beforehand. The rest of the group starts to relax a bit more. It doesn't quite look like there are zombies around in this area of the city.

You're getting more and more delirious by the second, barely able to see what's ahead of you. You've already mistaken Seokjin for Jungkook twice, and Jungkook still doesn't quite know if you fully comprehend that Jimin.... that Jimin's gone.

Namjoons fiddles with the baseball bat and Hoseok just fidgets nervously—never feeling safe out in the open like this.

And the next time Taehyung turns a corner without looking, a zombie jumps out at him. "Oh shit!" he yells. The two of them tumble to the ground, Taehyung wrestling for his life and screaming out vulgar profanities. The rest of the group freezes—still behind the safety of the wall and not yet visible to whatever monsters that were around the corner.

"Go!" Taehyung screams. "There's more coming to get me!"

Not for one second does he look genuinely scared. But everyone else is.

"Go!" Taehyung yells again when he sees the members hesitate, shell-shocked and pained. "I'm serious! I'll be okay!"

He won't be. Not with all the other zombies coming for his neck. But the others aren't left with a choice—it's either run and leave Tae behind... or everyone dies.

Jungkook doesn't have to say it out loud, but his wide eyes shaped with pain, sorrow and regret speak volumes. Taehyung answers him with a wild grin. Everyone else isn't able to meet his eyes as he fights for the last few minutes of his life. And the group runs away again, forced to abandon yet another member.

None of them stops running. It's like an endless workout—except, when you stop, you don't risk getting less of a calorie burn, you risk death. It's tortuous, really. Especially when you realize that you're a burden. Seokjin has to stop running for a few seconds to take in big gulps of air. He looks almost too tired to move on. Unable to fathom another member giving in to death, Hoseok commands Seokjin: "Hey, I'll carry her."

Hoseok's grip on you is strong but unsure at the same time. He's scared that he'll make you feel uncomfortable (more uncomfortable than you already are, given the wrecked circumstances), and consequently, he's making himself feel worried sick too.

The running presumes.

Everyone is too afraid to stop.

Jungkook gives you worried glances from time to time, but he doesn't offer to take you back. Probably because he can't risk it.

Morale is low, but at least the pain tolerance is high. Everything is a hazy blur to you; it's hard to make up your emotions and comprehend your own feelings through the dull pain. Everyone else is too high on adrenaline to digest the happenings. But you wonder when the pain will finally hit.

It feels like a fever dream. That's what it is. Unspeakable tragedies unfolding before you in rapid succession, leaving you no time to react. So you stay limp.

Finally, after who knows how long, Yoongi orders everyone to stop running. The six of you find refuge in another dark corner that comes right before a wider street.

"Three..." Yoongi pants. "T-Three more... h-hours," he manages to say in between hard breaths. Sweat drips from his hair to his forehead but that's obviously the least of his worries now.

"We're going to have to be more careful," Hoseok says, shifting you on his back but never letting you go.

"Well, what do you think we've been trying to do this whole time??" Namjoon says in an irritated voice. The stress, the pressure, the situation is finally getting to him.

"We can't fight now, Joon," Hoseok answers, shaking his head.

It takes a crisis to get to know one; Hoseok's somehow matured since the last life-and-death disaster.

"You're right. You're right, Hoseok," Namjoon sighs, running his hands through his wet hair. "I'm sorry... I'm just—"

"It's all right," Seokjin says, patting his friend's back. "It's okay. We'll get through."

Jungkook nods. "It's only three more hours."

"There's a wide street just around the corner," Yoongi says. "I don't know if it's gonna work to our advantage, though. Wide streets are theoretically safer than narrow streets... But we're going to feel more out in the open."

"At this point, we can only hope that everything's going to our advantage," Namjoon says. "May I look at the map?" Yoongi hands Namjoon his phone wordlessly. Namjoon studies the map as he always tends to study his binder of med school notes. "I see..." he mumbles to himself. His hands fumble around the small Nokia device, fingers sweaty and shaking as he zooms in and out of the map.

"Sorry to say, but studying the map's not going to increase our survival chances," Jungkook sighs. "I think we should keep on going. That's what we've been doing, right? We just have to keep on going."

"Right..." Namjoon sighs. "Sorry—you're right. Sorr—"

Just as he's about to hand Yoongi his device back, the phone slips from his hand. In slow-motion, everyone watches in horror as the phone plummets to the ground. It makes a loud, echoing clatter when it finally hits the cement.

Immediately, Jungkook acts. "We gotta get in that building!" He points to one near the dark corner. "If any zombies were nearby—"

It doesn't become an if when the horrifying groans of the zombies begin to grow near.

Hoseok's shaking; consequently, so are you.

"How will we know that the building's safe inside??" Yoongi says. He doesn't mean to be rude or to burst anyone's bubble, but it's a chilling possibility that the building isn't safe at all.

"We won't," Seokjin quickly says. "But I'd rather take a chance." He bends down and picks up Yoongi's seemingly unbreakable phone and begins to run towards the building with everyone else at his heels.

By now, the zombies are visible to the six of you, which means they can see you as well. There are about fifteen of them (give or take five), and they grow louder and louder when they realize they're going to have a rich feast. The excitement makes them quick. Before you know it, they're hot on your tracks.

Jungkook's the first one to reach the door to the building. Carefully, he tugs on the door handle. Nothing. It won't even budge. Sweat begins to accumulate on his neck as a form of slow panic.

"Fuck! It won't open!" he hisses.

Seokjin shoves him to the side. He tries to open the door. "Damn, it's wedged shut!"

"What do we do?" Namjoon says, his voice shaky. He keeps glancing back at the zombies starting to close in on the group. "Shit, what do we do??"

"Oh, move aside!" Yoongi shrieks. He grabs the door handle with two hands, places a foothold on the wall next to the door and pulls. The door pops open. A wave of relief passes through his face. "Hurry!"

The zombies are closing in quickly. They're almost an arm's reach away.

Hoseok falls into the building first, carrying you to safety. Yoongi's next and then Seokjin, who clutches onto Yoongi's phone as if it's his lifeline (and not his frying pan). Jungkook manages to wack a few zombies away with the frying pan, but when one almost grabs his leg, he throws away his efforts and leaps into the building. Namjoon isn't so lucky. He's the last one trying to get in, but a monster grabs his arm, making him drop the baseball bat. Another grabs his leg. They begin to grasp onto his limbs with their withered, decaying hands. Namjoon tries to scream, but he must have remembered that the zombies are sound sensitive. The louder he is, the more he'll be ripped apart to pieces to share. But the tears brim around his eyes when he realizes he won't ever make it. There are too many to fight off... He looks away.

Hoseok's the one who has to close the door on him.

The next minutes that follow (that feel like hours) are the worst. Everyone can hear the tearing of flesh, the disastrous chomping of organs... It becomes too much. Everyone blocks their ears. Except you. You're forced to sit through it. Unable to react and too pained to really feel anything. The zombies try to hit their heads against the door, but they're too stupid to actually open it. And as quickly as they had come, they leave, figuring that one human out of what had originally been six was enough for now.

Again, the group is devastated. But everyone's too tired to cry.

Hoseok had let you down from his back and you're wearing Jungkook's sweater, but you're still whimpering, though you had no idea that sound was you in the beginning. You shiver when the others are sweating and red in the face. You can barely see ahead of you either.

"She's getting worse," Jungkook says, biting his lip.

"Great. Just great," Hoseok sighs. "No one here knows anything about medicine now."

"...Well, there's always Google," Yoongi says, looking unsure himself. "I mean, if the hospital has a good connection..." He trails off, unable to finish his sentence. "Anyways, I don't hear the zombies anymore. I think we should leave. I'll carry Y/N this time."

"We still have three more hours left," Seokjin says. "Yoongi's right. We should go before it gets too dark."

No one can argue with that.

Maybe the bad luck had run out—after killing off nearly half of the group, misfortune takes pity on the rest of you. Or maybe the ones who were left were careful enough; they've learned from the others' mistakes. Nothing particularly noteworthy happens from the journey out of the building to the hospital. It's a silent journey too. One where there's more silent communicating (with eyes and gestures) than words.

Your cheeks are wet from the sweat on Yoongi's neck, but they look more like the remnants of the tears that had never fallen from your eyes.

Three hours becomes two. Then one... And soon, zero.

The five of you stand in front of the hospital, a bit off to the side to observe the surroundings before even thinking of coming close.

Yoongi curses under his breath after he observes the scene. "There's no way we'll get in there unscathed."

He's right. There are zombies limping about the vicinity—all in medical scrubs and patient gowns. There's something coldly chilling about that sight. It doesn't settle right within anyone.

You're starting to slip past Yoongi's grip and he grunts quietly as he hoists you up again. "Any ideas?" he sighs.

"Yeah," Jungkook answers. "First off, I'll take Y/N." There's a silent switch before you're back on Jungkook's back again. "Second... um, no, I don't have any ideas."

"Just great," Hoseok sighs. "We came all the way here and..." he trails off, afraid to finish what he had started.

"What are we going to do?" Seokjin says. He looks between the group and the hoard of zombies. "We can't just... go back."

"That'd be even crazier," Yoongi scoffs. He wipes the sweat from his neck and pockets his phone. "We lost three friends today to come this far. Do you want to lose three more of us to get back?"

No one answers.

"We have to remain positive," Jungkook says. He bites his lip again, the skin beginning to tear as a result of his constant state of anxiousness. "For Y/N, at least."

"It's never going to work," Hoseok says bluntly.

Seokjin frowns. "Staying positive?"

"No, no," Hoseok sighs. "I mean, we're never going to be able to get inside the hospital... Unless... Well, unless..."

"Unless?" Yoongi questions, raising his eyebrows.

"Unless..." Hoseok is slow, thinking through and through before he speaks. "Unless I distract them," he finally concludes. "You guys can go in while I lead them the other way."

"No..." Jungkook breathes. "You can't do that."

"Hoseok..." Yoongi shakes his head.

"Buddy, it's not time to be a hero now," Seokjin adds to the looks of disapproval.

You have no idea what's going on—too far gone to tell, but the tone of their voices is enough for you to know that the group is sad. The sadness weighs you down too.

"It was nice knowing you guys, really," Hoseok says. He shrugs, but his hands shake in fear. Quickly, he hides them behind his back so no one sees. "But I think it's time that I did some of the dirty work around here."

No one's quick enough to stop him. Before anyone else can react, he runs. He runs toward the crowd of monsters. Immediately, Hoseok captures their attention, and they groan as they begin to follow him away.

The group waits, horrified, scared, worried.

Hoseok never looks back.

And soon, he disappears. Along with the zombies.

There isn't time to waste. Everyone runs toward the hospital, sure that there were no zombies around now. And once inside, you all collapse, nearly on top of each other too.

"Selfless bastard," Yoongi wheezes, tears running down his face.

"If Namjoon were alive, he would've said that was such an oxymoron," Jungkook scoffs, wiping his wet eyes with the back of his hand. "Always the intelligent fool."

"And then Jimin and Taehyung would've told him to shut up," Seokjin says, crying silently. "God, it's all too much to take in..."

Jungkook looks to you, wiping the sweat from your forehead with his sleeve. "It's okay... We're here... We're finally here. Everything went wrong, but we're here now. We're here..."

But it didn't matter whether the group 'was here' when no one knew what to do.

"We don't even know if it's safe to roam around about like this..." Seokjin says. He sighs deeply, looking between you and the empty, blood-splattered halls of the hospital.

"Here," Jungkook whispers, trying to lift the mood. He hands Seokjin his frying pan, to which Seokjin politely declines, shaking his head.

"You wield it better as a weapon than I ever could," he says, giving Jungkook a small smile. "Besides, Y/N's counting on you to help her."

You never ever wanted to become a burden like this.

Jungkook nods silently, taking the frying pan back in his hands and gripping it tightly.

"I-I.... haven't exactly been in a hospital in a while," Yoongi says. "And I especially have no idea how to treat a TSS patient..." He looks at you and bites the inside of his cheek in deep contemplation. "You know what? We'll take our chances. We'll go into a random room, find refuge—again—and look some stuff up... Maybe we'll... manage to get antibiotics? I don't know."

It's not exactly a solid plan, but it's better than staying collapsed on the floor and waiting for disaster to strike once more.

Yoongi stands up, brushing off his pants and stretching his back. "We'll go in that room." He points.

Jungkook helps you on his back again. He trails behind Yoongi and Seokjin, gripping the frying pan and looking from side to side for any threats. He sees none, thankfully.

"We'll go inside first," Seokjin says.

"Just in case...?" Jungkook says.

"Just in case," Yoongi answers.

"You sure you don't want your frying pan back?" Jungkook asks the talented chef one last time.

Seokjin shakes his head. "You might need it more than I do."

There are a million different arguments Jungkook can make, but he stays silent.

"Ready?" Yoongi whispers to Seokjin.

"R-Ready," he replies. They give each other a small smile before they turn the knob of the door.

Jungkook holds his breath when they step in. For seconds, it's silent, and it's peaceful. Jungkook closes his eyes in sheer happiness. Safety. It feels so attainable now.

Yoongi and Seokjin look around the room, small smiles spreading across their faces. Yoongi turns around. "Hey, I think it's saf—"

A zombie leaps out and gashes his neck before he can finish.

Jungkook screams silently, mouth wide open in horror.

The monsters had been hiding. Two more of them leap out, attacking Yoongi and Seokjin with decaying teeth and mangled limbs.

Jungkook begins to step away, still aware that the door was wide open. But he can't move any closer to shut it. Not with you on his back. It's too risky. Tears prickle his eyes.

Yoongi's the first one down. He stops moving and becomes a lump on the floor. Seokjin turns to face Jungkook, eyes wet and face bleeding. Before he falls dead to the ground, he manages to close the open door. Red blood splatters subsequently on the window. Like it was straight out of a horror film. The zombies in the room don't suspect another two beings outside in the hospital halls and they immediately quiet down.

The world spins for Jungkook.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

He can't stop repeating it in his head.

Oh my god. No other words. He couldn't express the pure trepidation and guilt in words anyway.

He doesn't even know if you're still conscious. He almost breaks down right then and there. The tears have blurred his vision significantly, and he can't even hear anything except the incessant ringing in his ears.

I'm... I'm the only one left.

The thought sends chills down Jungkook's spine.

But he's reminded of what he's here to do when you begin to stir lightly on his back.

God. You're still alive. And as long as he's alive, you're going to live. Jungkook squeezes your leg in reassurance (more to reassure himself than you, really) and grits his teeth. He's going to do this. He's going to get you to safety. He's going to stay strong.

He looks at the frying pan in his hands. Seokjin's frying pan.

He fights back the tears. He can't think of the others now. He needs to focus. He's going to do this.

He runs.

Silently.

Quickly.

His heels never touch the ground. Light on his feet, blending into the wind, Jungkook runs. He doesn't exactly know where—he wishes things will work out in the end. And he wishes you were conscious enough to form a plan. He always admired how you could craft one in a crisis. But now you're basically gone, unable to communicate with him. He's on his own.

Jungkook comes across a large cabinet with a lock on it. Possibly a medicine cabinet. Why else would it be locked?

Keeping you on his back, Jungkook fumbles with the lock, trying to figure out how to get it open. He comes up with an idea in two seconds. Maybe panic does help the gears in his brain. He slams the frying pan against the lock so hard that the shatter of it echoes throughout the hospital.

Fuck.

Of course that would've been loud. But no matter now. The lock had broken. Now he has to take whatever looks helpful and run.

He flings the cabinet doors open, hoisting you up on his back again because you'd started to slip off. He grips the frying pan with one hand and begins to shove pills bottles into his pockets. He would've gotten away with more when he hears a sickening groan.

Jungkook whirls around, immediately shielding you away from the danger. You whimper just a little bit. He wants to comfort you; he wants to hug you. But he can't.

It's a zombie.

Its eyes are empty, but Jungkook can tell it only wants one thing: death. It bids death on Jungkook and you. But Jungkook won't allow it.

The monster's sickeningly close to him, and it's trying to back Jungkook into the corner that the medicine cabinet is in. He'll be stuck if the monster takes another step closer. He reacts immediately, flinging the frying pan in the zombie's face. It lets out a deafening shriek—one that sends chills all over Jungkook's body. But he can't freeze. Not now.

With agile speed and what's left of his grace, Jungkook leaps over the zombie writhing on the floor. He feels sharp pain somewhere—he can't discern where. But it doesn't matter. He's too fixated on getting you to safety. Without anymore thinking, he runs.

He runs and runs and runs. Away from the zombie, away from the problems, away from all the deaths of his friends today. He runs away with you.

When he thinks he can't go any further, he slams himself into a room, hoping, wishing that there was nothing inside. His misfortune had run out. The room is empty, safe.

Nearly crying tears of joy, Jungkook lets you down carefully on the hospital bed and dumps the pill bottles out of his pocket and sets them next to you. Then just for a few seconds, he cries.

He cries out of relief, out of genuine sadness, out of fear, out of an overwhelming sense of gladness. He cries even harder when you slowly but surely move your warm hand to encompass his.

That's when he notices the blood.

That's when he notices he'd been bitten. It had bitten him. That had been the searing pain that he had felt earlier. Jungkook backs away from you, disgusted and horrified with himself.

The thoughts follow in chronological order.

He'll drop dead soon—he doesn't know when, but he does know he can't in front of you.

When he wakes, he'll be undead.

Then... then... he'll try to attack you—if... if you're still alive by then.

He can't allow it.

Jungkook knows he has to leave.

But... He looks at you. You're dipping in and out of consciousness.

"I have to go, Y/N..." He can't recognize his own voice. It's too shaky, too unsure and laced with too much anxiety to be his own.

You stir, eyes fluttering open. You plead silently for him to stay.

"I-I... I can't, Y/N. I want to but I can't."

"P-Please..." you whisper so quietly that Jungkook barely hears you.

"I'm sorry." Jungkook shakes his head, wiping the last of his tears with his unbitten hand. He hides the other away from view. "I can't stay with you, Y/N," he says more surely. "I have to leave."

Then, you say the most coherent thing you've spoken all day. "St-Stay with m-me... I-I'm... I'll d-die... anyway."

Carefully, Jungkook steps closer to you. So close your foreheads touch. He hugs you. And the action is interlaced with so much love, so much care and consideration that you can't protest when he begins to step away. It's too soon.

You wish you could've been in his arms for longer. You wish you could die in his arms.

But Jungkook knows... He knows that once you're in his arms for too long, he'll never be able to find the strength to let you go. And that'd be a disaster for everybody.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again.

You don't want him to leave.

But Jungkook doesn't want you to see him turned. He doesn't want to be the one who turns you too. He can't stand being in the same room as you, knowing that he's become a threat. He has to leave.

It makes sense.

Both of you are going to die anyway.

You reach for him, but his back is turned to you. And without another look, Jungkook bites his lip before walking out of the room. He shuts the door behind him and begins to weep against it, sliding down to the floor in a weak, defeated lump.

"J-Jungkook—"

You reach for him again, tumbling out of the bed as a result. The bottles of pills clatter to the floor. You don't care. You drag yourself against the door with the last of your strength. The world spins with you. And you feel so weak...

Jungkook rests his head against the door. His hand begins to throb with excruciating pain. He doesn't want to wake up... He feels too weak to finish the thought.

You cry against the door, tears running down your face. Your hands try to reach the door handle, to open it, to reach Jungkook, but it physically hurts to do so. Everything hurts. The world is on fire.

Jungkook's world is just the same.

An uncomfortable flame is eating him from the inside. He wants the pain to end. He wants everything to end.

And it does.

Finally, finally, his wishes come true. He falls dead, head lolling to the side.

And you're long gone as well.

✽

✽

✽

✽

✽

✽

You gasp awake.

You've awakened in hell.

Well, not exactly.

Your whole body feels as if it's on fire, but you're not in the hospital. You're not dirty nor are you bloody. You're in Yoongi's room, in bed.

But now the covers are on the ground because you'd had a fit in your dreams.

A dream.

A fucking fever dream.

That's what it had been.

Well, a nightmare, really.

A painful foreshadowing, maybe.

A vivid recollection of your worst fear.

Your head spins, and you fight the urge to throw up.

Outside the confines of Yoongi's room, you can hear the other men getting ready to leave. Your heart drops.

No.

You're not going to let them leave with you.

You refuse to become a burden, to become some sort of torch they pass along with great care, sacrificing their lives to keep you safe.

They'll all die because of you.

And you can't allow that.

Maybe if you run away—

Maybe they'll forget about you and no one will get hurt because of you.

You try to move, try to lift yourself on your feet, but it turns out to be a big mistake. You stumble, unable to balance yourself, and you fall off the bed, hitting the ground.

The thump! is loud enough for Jungkook and Namjoon to rush into the room.

"No! No! Go away! No!" you're shrieking, squeezing your eyes shut and gluing yourself to the floor, refusing to move.

They're taken aback.

"Y/N, Y/N..." Jungkook soothes you, dropping to his knees and trying to help you up to the bed again. After struggling for a bit, you let him carry you—when it becomes clear that he's not going to force you out of the room.

"You'll be fine," Jungkook whispers. He strokes your hair, holding your hands with tears brimming in his eyes. It reminds you too much of your dream. You want to look away, but you can't. "Y-You'll... Y/N, you'll be fine."

Jungkook and Namjoon exchange knowing, painful looks. Even in your barely conscious state, you suddenly understand.

You realize then that you'll die here. And the others have accepted it.

It hurts to think that they're giving up on you. But at the same time, you'd rather they give up than risk their lives to save you.

Jungkook continues to hold you in his arms, rocking you back and forth. "I'm sorry," he keeps repeating. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

When Namjoon opens the door to the room, the others spill in. They tell you their parting words. But you can barely comprehend them. Relief floods through you, however. It makes you feel better that they're okay—that they're alive.

And soon, it's just you and Jungkook. Alone in the room. Just like your dream.

He won't stop apologizing. You manage to shake your head, attempting to give him a smile. It comes out forced. "No... I-It wasn't... It wasn't y-your f-fau...lt." You pause to take deep breaths. "Y-You..." you reach out to take Jungkook's other hand. It relieves you to see no blood. "You d-did... good."

The tears dribble down to the tip of his chin, and they fall down when he manages to smile back at you. "Y-You m-mean... You mean I did well."

You're half-crying, half-laughing, just like he is. Everything becomes less painful like this. It's better to go this way than to be separated by a door. It's better than what you had imagined.

"You did well, Y/N. You did so well," Jungkook repeats over and over again. He holds you in his arms tighter than ever.

You've always wanted to die in his arms.

You lose consciousness feeling safe and happy.

"You're never going to beat me," Jungkook snorts, swinging his baseball bat over his head.

You laugh, shoving the boy aside. "Watch me, then."

"Gladly."

It's baseball day. You and your seven other friends have gathered outside in the warm sunlight, ready to play ball as you and Jungkook had always hoped. Although it's a significantly modified (cough, simplified) version of baseball, it doesn't matter to you. There are no monsters, no blood, no death—just happiness.

Seokjin's polishing his frying pan off to the side, Jimin's wiping the dust off of his officer badge, Namjoon's studying from his binder, Taehyung's video-chatting with his dogs (don't ask), Hoseok's stirring up his best business plans and Yoongi's dozed off while standing.

It's perfect. A perfect world.

"I'll pitch," Jungkook tells you, tipping his baseball cap at you before giving you a handsome grin. "Careful, though. I'm not going easy on you."

You grin right back. "You don't have to. But if you want to keep your ego intact, I'll go easy on you."

"No need to," Jungkook laughs. "Just don't come crying to me when I beat your ass."

You snort. "I don't know, Jungkook, sounds a bit like you're dragging this on so you won't have to cry over an embarrassing loss."

"Oh, really? Okay, then. I'm going to pitch right now."

"Do it, then."

"I'm going to!"

He does, hurling the ball with all of his might but also with calculated precision.

The world around you blurs. All you can see is the ball hurtling towards you. And though you're not very imaginative, you envision the ball to be that sexist baseball coach you had years back; you envision the ball to be an ugly, aggressive zombie; you envision the ball to be death, unhappiness and regret.

You scream like a warrior going into battle when you hit the ball. The angle is just right, the strength is perfectly calculated. The ball flies up in the air—no doubt, a home run. You don't even have to run the bases to see that.

Jungkook's grinning—almost as if he expected you to make such a spectacular hit. He looks at you with adoration, with pride, with love. "That's my girl."

"I know! I'm amazing!" You grin too.

The world has never felt this perfect.

—part 1 | part 2

—masterlist

[cultureisdarkbeer]

Road to All Things

Read New Chapter 5 Here

Excerpt from Ch. 3:

31 December 1999

In his peripheral vision Scully’s head was tilted back, elongating the silky column of her neck. One day he had hoped to sufficiently explore the skin there. Dick Clark, along with the rest of times square and most likely the entire time zone, let out a loud, Happy New Year! And just like that, it was the year 2000. Auld Lang Syne played on the TV speaker while streamers drifted and confetti fell like colorful snowflakes. The camera zoomed in on a couple kissing and Mulder darted his eyes to the left, Scully watched seemingly enraptured, with a small smile creeping at the corner of her mouth.

The moment had moved him and he wanted to share it with her. Would she stop him? He turned and slowly dipped his head, their eyes met and casually his lips joined hers. Lightly, gently, he explored the purse of her lips, a soft kiss to introduce the new year. A first kiss. It was nothing that he thought it would be. No fireworks, but no awkward noses brushing, their lips matching up perfectly. Sweetly. Maybe there were a few bottle rockets in his heart. Pulling away, he felt suddenly shy like he had exposed too much. She tilted her head and he couldn’t quite read her reaction, but as their kiss transformed into a smile it warmed his insides.

“The world didn’t end.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

He put his good arm around her as she leaned into him and they headed out the door into the night.

Mulder had never felt this selfish or this close to coming undone in all his life. That innocent kiss had ignited a flame that could have melted the sun. His meds had started to wear, the pain in his arm quite sharp. Scully had left his hospital room long enough for him to verify that the pain meds would not interfere with his brain meds. Fear trickled down his back when he thought that he had left his other prescriptions frivolously on the counter. Luckily, she headed for the bathroom when they arrived and he darted into the kitchen, ripping the label off and destroying it while hiding the bottle in the back of his highest shelf. She returned with his painkillers and her shirt buttoned down for him to see enough cleavage to need to nonchalantly adjust the bulge forming underneath his pants.  

“I can help you with your shirt,” Scully offered and he raised his brow for the sake of humor.

“Or you could sleep with it on,” she tossed back.

He squeezed his eyes shut as she lifted his shirt from his back. His arm ached as if it was cracking. “Does your head hurt?” she asked in response, her fingertips brushing his forehead near the hairline and he shook it slowly, wetting his lips, and swallowing hard. Everything tonight was taking on new meaning. He could feel every contact her body made with his. She shifted again to complete her inspection, her voice low and soft, “they did a good job. It should heal nicely.”

Scully opened the tube of salve to apply it to her own scrapes. “I’m not a doctor, but I think I could handle that if you let me,” Mulder offered.

The space between them seemed infinitely smaller than usual. Scully sat down on the couch next to him and he couldn’t even breathe properly. Carefully he applied the cloudy soft gel to her tender satin skin. For too many minutes he considered touching the soft strands of her rose colored hair. Watching as her shoulders rose and fell; he closed his eyes and took in her vanilla scent. It allowed his mind to drift to that moment she hugged him so tight, elated that he agreed to be her baby’s bio dad. With his eyes remaining closed he also felt slightly dizzy and a heaviness in the forehead region. Shit. His meds were taking over.

When his eyes opened he could see his happiness mirrored on her face. It made his whole body lighter, or maybe that was the meds, but it gathered enough in him to say, “Next year at this time, there could be a little you and me running around.”

Her blue diamonds glistened in light of his statement. “Could be.” Her voice cracked on the words, and Mulder felt something tighten at the base of his throat. That was when he noticed her fingers trembling, like she was terror-stricken. He reached out and wrapped her hand around his. Scully froze, her expression carefully blank.

His stomach did a slow roll as he looked down at her. “What’s the matter?”

She frowned. “Nothing.”

“Yes it is. You’re shaking.”

She held his gaze and squeezed his hand. Her lashes wet with fear, her lips close enough to almost brush against. “It’s such a long shot, Mulder.”

“But I believe in you, Scully. There’s always room for a miracle and that’s why we can’t give up.” There was a duality in his words, but she would only understand the singular meaning. Her eyes turned molten, and her gaze dropped to lick him up and down. He could see it in her eyes what was coming, he didn’t know if it was the pain meds, his brain meds, or the injuries, but he didn’t have the strength to stop her. The hot lightning he felt the first time their lips touched returned as she pressed hers to his again.

Pure white heat sharply burned in all the right places. His jaw matched hers as it flexed and pushed harder against her mouth, his tongue needily slipping inside as his hand cupped her face, bringing his legs underneath him to face her. Their kisses deepened, slick and hungry, Scully’s gravity pulling him up on his knees to get closer, to have more of her. They rose, never breaking their kiss, any pain in his arm quickly slipped away with the mix of dopamine, adrenaline, and lust. There was no question that his heart was beating quicker than logic considering they hadn’t left the couch. Then his body twitched and his eyes snapped open.

Scully pulled back. “Mulder, are you all right? Why are you breathing so… hard?” Her words fell away as her eyes dropped to his waist. He lowered his own sightline to see the head of his cock peeking out the top of his waistband.

When Mulder’s gaze landed on Scully, his features twisted into a grimace. “Scully.. I.. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… that’s not what I want..”  

Instinctively she ran her fingers through the hair at his temple, tracing her way to the back of his head. She twisted her wrist a bit and started to kneed his neck. Mulder released a low groan, his body tensing against her own. His panting breaths tickled the exposed part of her chest. It wasn’t soothing like her intention, instead it made her needy, warmth spreading deep in her belly. Their feelings had deepened and nuanced since her bout with cancer, and everything that occurred these past few months, and now, sitting here with him, felt like the eye of a tornado.

Images flashed behind her eyes of his barely contained velvet monster, but instead of it tucked in his pants, it was deep inside her, blazing a trail of sparks and light. Her, being so full from him, everywhere, friction reaching her core, growing wetter around him as he stretched her to madness.  Scully rubbed at the tense spots on his neck, increasing her force with each thought, their breaths coming fast and dire. Years of suppressed fantasies rushing in, aching her center. Mulder’s body stiffened once more against her. She could hear his breath catch. “Scully..”

Her fingers played through his hair, then stroked gently down to the nape of his neck. He moaned like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Mulder’s hand reached up to fold around hers drawing both their hands to his chest. She could feel his heart pounding.

He leaned in and repeated, “Scully…” For a moment, he suspended his breath against her ear, the scruff of his face against her cheek. Then it was her turn to shudder, her legs shifting against his, as he rasped out, “Please, stop.”

“Mulder, what is it?” She could feel her throat tight and her lids heavy.

His forehead touched her own and he moaned, “It’s too good.”

Scully’s sightline lowered and Mulder drew his rigid slender frame away from her, exposing the outline of the long thick rod straining against his pants. The shaft, so big it was bent towards the left in its confinement. Mulder reached down melding his hand around it, trying to shield it from her sight. Her gaze swept up towards his face, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the dark bared tip trapped between his waistband and his chiseled belly. Dear God, it was big. Desire coursed through her, clenching the center region of her hips. She blinked up at him.

Mulder’s unslung hand was now spread over his abs, only partly able to hide his sex from her eyes. It was so long and thick, even his huge hand couldn’t shield all of it.

He shook his head, his face a ripe tomato red. His jaw tightened as he shook  again and closed his eyes. “Scully, you should go,” he said, his voice breathless.

Scully’s heart was hammering as if it might give out. It was surreal, being in this moment, with Mulder, on his couch. Her hand came up to touch his rough cheek. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed. And going home is not what I want to do right now.” Scully could hardly breathe as she spoke those words, her cheeks burning white hot, almost in tears, the words exposing so much of her desires it sent shockwaves through her.

Time froze around them as his breath grew faster, heavier. Mulder’s jaw tightened and his features tensed. He leaned in close enough for his chest to brush hers. “Then, I want you to touch me, Scully.”

His hand fell away, but Scully was too fear stricken to not leave his eyes. With their lips barely a breath apart, her hands blindly fumbled with the top button of his pants and carefully drew down his zipper. Mulder moaned and closed his eyes, his mouth parting and eyelids falling heavy, fluttering against her cheek; his sling leaning into her abdomen as Scully reached inside and ran her fingertips around his cock. It felt painfully engorged as her hand danced along the thick curves, up and down from tip to base, long solid strokes, not leaving his eyes, her pulse now between her legs, pounding harder than it ever had before. Scully whimpered, feeling his pleasure in her own core, the noise slipping accidentally from her lips. Her fingers twisted over the tip, tugging upwards and Mulder pulled his pants and boxers farther down, until they gathered against the couch cushion at his knees.

Scully couldn’t look away. Her own knees trembled. She slowed her pace, squeezing the crown. Mulder gasped and moaned, his eyes focused on hers. She paused and he exhaled, she could feel him swelling at her grip. “Scully, we should stop. Knowing you would want to is enough.”

Her eyes fell, Scully needed to give herself a minute to take heed to his words, but was met with his cock, pointing proudly up at her. It was so.. thick and... long. So perfect. Heat zinged through her at a fever pitch. So high she broke out in a sweat. “But it’s not enough for me .”

The look on his face almost made her die from desire. “No?”

“No,” she answered him in a thick low whisper, kissing him gently.

Scully’s hand glided down towards the base and then back up as they kissed, spreading her fingers, rubbing over him with the shaft between her thumb and forefinger until she reached the tip again, tracing the rim. His hips jerked forward and he moaned.

They deepened their kiss in desperation, his good hand stroking gently up and down her arm as she continued pumping his stiff marble length. This time when she reached the base she held it with one hand and used the other to lightly caress and tug the swollen sac below. It drew up with her light touch, turning the area between her own legs into a yawning ache. The reaction made two of her fingers reach beneath to tickle the area behind it.

“Oh shiiit,” Mulder cried out in a raspy breath, squeezing her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He pulled her into him in a hug, his body an oven against her.

“Is this really happening?” he breathed into her neck.

“Yes,” Scully confirmed in a whimper.

“I’m not hallucinating from the medication?”

“You’re not,” she confirmed, giving him small kisses along his cheek and then she whispered in his ear, “Tell me how you like it.”

The request pulsed through him and he throbbed harder against her palm. This was Scully and the reality of that was turning him on more than anything. He swallowed down the scream of joy caught in his throat and choked out, “harder..”; she firmed up her grip. The pleasure tightened his groin, ran up his spine, and lit up the tip of his skull like a solar flare. It had never felt this good and it was only her hand. “Jesus, Scully.” Need inside him grew and he grunted, “ Faster,” The sensations swelled and built.  “Scully, that feels so good.” He was gulping breaths when he begged her “faster,” still, gripping at her hair with his good hand, the heat of her body on his, the sound of her whimpers reaching his ears, the smell of her hair, skin, arousal. He continued his chants of “Scully,” “Oh God , Scuuhlly ,” and held on for dear life,  caught on this roller coaster, hugging her tighter.

She stroked so quick and so hard she was afraid she was hurting him, his cock feeling like steel coated in satin. The passionate pull of his hand in her hair, the quick pain, made her want to spear herself on him. The throbbing inside her was steady now, an almost unbearable pleasure.  Her hands began to shake, the sensations inside her building, her movements matching the tenacity.

Mulder groaned. “If- Scully, if..” Her hand stilled, but his hips rocked into her, urging her to move again. His hand pressed her lower back, drawing her ever closer, “If you don’t stop Scully, if you don’t stop soon.. I’m-going -to-come.”

The warning left her undeterred, instead she felt eager, frenzied, with an overwhelming urge to watch him come undone. She pulled away enough to look into his eyes as she ran her hand up and down his enlarged cock, teasing, languid, gripping the tip, rubbing her thumb over the tiny slit, with her other hand cupping his balls.

“Scully, please, I’m gonna come,” he warned again.

She loved this. She loved having this much control over his pleasure, giving him this much feeling. His life had been so much heartache she needed to add to the happiness. Mulder’s fingers were trembling over her neck, his thumb at her jaw line, dragging air into his lungs, and groaning outward. Scully rubbed her palm around, over the wetness now covering his tip, picking up speed. He clutched her neck. “Scully, I’m really close.”

Again she quickened her stroke, somehow impossibly she felt him swell further. Mulder started to writhe and claw at her back. She closed one hand around his sac and pumped the other up his length. When her closed fist brushed the notch at the rim of his glistening crown, he jerked. “Scully, I’m coming, oh God I’m coming, fuck, Scully, it’s so much.”

Scully’s head spun as she felt his sac harden against her palm and watched his thick cream spurting between her fingers, dripping down his taut swollen cock.

Mulder panted, his face slackened, he tilted his head back and unable to resist, she pressed her tongue to the throbbing tendon and sucked at the pulse thrumming inside his throat.

In his eyes she saw his desires melt away, but between her own legs, a heaviness built. Mulder reached for the hand towel on the coffee table, running it over his soaked length. The sight of him touching himself, feeling the aftershocks of the orgasm she gave him, made Scully throb. Tightly her thighs pressed together.

“You okay?”  he asked as he finished. His eyes were dilated and he looked like the meds were getting the best of him, like he might drift off at any moment.

She laughed out of pure self consciousness, “Yeah. You okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m really really okay,” he said shyly.

She paused for a moment. “Would you mind if I used the bathroom?”

Mulder gave her a peculiar look. “Yeah, let me just run in real quick.”

What was less than a minute felt like eternity. He came out refreshed, wearing simple pajama bottoms. Scully raced in, the throbbing failing to cease, her body begging relief. Quickly she closed and locked the bathroom door, gripping the white porcelain of the sink while her quaking fingers slipped down beneath her underwear, over her scarce coarse auburn curls.

The urge bubbled beyond control. She glided her fingers over her sex, slick and swollen like she had never been before. When her finger nudged between the slit between her lips she had to bite her cheek to keep from moaning and Mulder from hearing.  

The entire time she pictured Mulder, sliding in and out of her with his huge cock and his tormented eyes. Scully worked her fingers in circles, harder and faster, her pants so loud they echoed against the tile. She was surprised at how wet she was as she pushed her fingertip inside. She cried out and fear shot threw her that Mulder might hear, but she couldn’t stop.

The throbbing increased and her whole body ached with the need to feel him. In her fantasy he was lying flat on his back, his large and long erection jutting up. She would grab it as she straddled him and push the thick tip into her swollen flesh, filling her completely to the point of sinful madness. His taut jaw, parted lips, soulful eyes. The smile that filled her heart, his rough cheek brushing hers, whispering his desires into her ear.

Scully’s fingers blanched as she squeezed tighter against the cold sink, trying her best to silence her moans as she came, then quickly dipping her hand into the stream of water beneath the faucet to wash away the evidence.

When she returned to the living room, Mulder had been overcome by sleep, breathing heavily, but peacefully. She helped him lay down on his pillow, and he followed her goading without waking. She covered him with the throw and left him a glass of water, kissing his forehead before deciding to return to her apartment.

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Tagging with love

@ms31x129 @peacenik0 @babygirlmulder1018 @today-in-fic @muldermakesmehorny @skullsmuldon @sandymans-world @rosedyl @veromar23 @knowleitall-super-soldier @edierone @baronessblixen @nigel5603 @postmodernpromartheus @baly87 @kristenscully @gchick1013 @furiouskidcollectorlove @theletterbxd @enigmaticxxbee @secretstarfishgalaxy @danaedaniels @kiwiphroot @scully-yeah-run @pacyt @ednitag @katharina-08 @enigmaticxbee @rosedyl @agertiegirl @jibberjabber001133 @jaina01 @justbeachy42 @aquilla27 @radioactivefish @didhehavealightsaber @kblackm @borogirl@mulderandscullylover2016 @dontunderestimateawoman @karinanic  

[hecohansen31]

To Kill A King

Ivar+Saxon Princess! Reader

The Faithful Wife

I know that I can survive Outside this cage Maybe now I can fight through All this rage

“To Kill A King” by Hungry Lucy

First Chapter (1)

Second Chapter (2)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I wanted to first of all say that... THIS IS SHIT!

This is an extremely filler chapter, as in... it was supposed to be more long, reaching another point to the one I chose, but I lost my inspiration halfway through, plus I do think that if I had kept it longer I would have probably just annoyed you, hence I thought I would break apart the chapters!

Still I hope you won’t hate me for how I decided to end things and as always: my inspirations comes from receiving feedback, so if you want to share your thoughts/opinions just do it!

It’ll absolutely make me feel a lot better, plus they go straight up to my heart and never fails to brighten my day!

SUMMARY: Life in an arranged wedding isn’t easy, even more when your ‘beloved husband’ does everything he can to annoy and ignore you.

WORDS: 16, 8 K

WARNINGS:  Arranged Marriage, Mention of Domestical Abuse and Rape, Violence (Strong Themes), Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Historically inaccurate.

You were lightly woken up by two hands shaking you awake, as you slowly took in the coldness of your room, confused by it, usually handmaidens always made sure to have your room warm solely for you.

But as your eyes were awaken enough to focus on something, you realized this wasn’t your room.

And the hands that were shaking you to wake you up weren’t your handmaiden’s.

They were Ivar’s.

Surprise and shock must have shown on your face and he lightly backed off, although his glare was directly set onto you, waiting for you to simply open and close your eyes a few times before he spoke.

“… my brothers they’ll soon be there…” you mind still didn’t link it at all “… it would be more proper for our play if the found you in bed with me”.

You simply nodded, meanwhile you tried to calm yourself, getting your wedding dress clumsily away from your body as you moved towards the bed, more out of search of warmth than because you were following Ivar’s rules.

Certainly, your sense of pudor wasn’t working in that moment, hazed by sleep.

Ivar let you slid in first, a way to make you feel more comfortable as you were attentive to the blood stain in the middle of the mattress, shifting away from it, as you slipped under the warmth of the furs and Ivar did the same, at first pulling himself in a seated position, and then lifted off his legs, pushing one after the other onto the mattress.

You stared at him captured by the way he moved.

It was something that fascinated you: he was definitely stronger than he let in showing new abilities that brought you to admire him more.

And your eyes couldn’t certainly hide their interest for the way his muscles flexed lightly.

Ivar then brought the blanket onto both your heads, and you were glad that it allowed you two a bit of darkness, covering your blush for the acute exploration of his body you had delved into a few minutes before.

And it didn’t take long to hear a few screams from the outside, mostly males, and you couldn’t help but hide more as Ivar shouted back to them, something that you didn’t understand so you thought were curses.

But soon the tent flapped open, revealing various smirking males, as Ivar lowered the blanket from both your heads, showing him and you as you lightly shifted closer to him, uneasy at so many new faces, although you remembered a few from the feast.

“… brother come on don’t be shy!” muttered Hvitserk, as Ubbe had a similar wolfish look in his eyes, but you quickly noticed that Bjorn, the big bear was missing.

Heahmund was also there, looking out for your face as you calmed softly yourself to try to appear as a bride after her first night, although you soon remembered that you were also a fearing and beloved daughter of God.

The soft smile disappearing on your face for a chaste and constipated expression.

“We’ve all seen your naked ass” retorted beside him Ubbe, and you were thankful they were teasing Ivar and not you, although he was slowly growing stiff right next to you “… c’mon brother you know that it is only a formality”.

But as your mind became more awake, you soon realized that they were all looking at Ivar expectantly, ready to humor his failure, which they took as granted.

Flashbacks to the previous night brought you the knowledge that maybe… just maybe they knew that Ivar couldn’t…. complete the action.

And they would beam in his inability.

Which you couldn’t help but frown upon.

Katherine and Abigail would tease you all the time, but it was done in a gracious way that would always make you smirk, in the end.

Not tighten your jaw, as Ivar was doing, meanwhile Ubbe moved forward and after he waited for a slight nod from you, he raised the blankets away from you both.

The coldness of the room suddenly hit you, and you leaned lightly against Ivar, him even going a step further as he drew you closer with an arm, as if to shield you, for which you were grateful since you were suddenly aware of your naked legs, left uncovered by your tunic.

No man, not even your father had seen you in such an undressed state.

And now a load of them were.

Ubbe searched the mattress and then he found the stain.

Surprise shone onto his face as if he hadn’t expected the presence of blood and he shot you both a confused look to which Ivar replied to with a smug smirk, softly grabbing onto your lower waist, in a show of possession that brought you to shiver lightly.

“Brother did they…?” Hvitserk left it unsaid and Ubbe turned to nod, again moving to you and Ivar one last shocked look, as you tried to stand taller.

“We did it, brothers” Ivar replied, again that smug smirk of supremacy on his face as he adjusted better on the bed “… now will you leave us alone, won’t you?”

The brothers stood a bit clumsily in the room, their tall frames almost too big for it in a way that made you almost laugh.

“Let’s leave the happy couple to their rest, now that we have proved that the wedding is legal” replied softly Heahmund, probably sensing your distress, for which you thanked him with a small look on his way as Ivar turned his back to them, trying to move back to sleep, in an obvious fake attempt to ignore all the ‘witnesses’.

Soon they all left the room, following Heahmund’s suggestion and giving you a moment of privacy as servants brought in some of your trunks for which you were thankful, because the tunic you were wearing wasn’t as covering as your usual nightgown, and alongside the trunks, new clean water was brought.

The basin you had used to clean your hand stood unused at the top of the table but the blood in it made it definitely too dirty to be used.

You were thankful as the servants brought it away, without any questions.

Ivar got away from bed, awake like you, but left you the little private room to change as you chose a quick dress, something that you wouldn’t need to help of servants to put on, well aware that you couldn’t do much without them.

The dress you chose was simple, not proper for your princess’ status but you would wear it whenever you hoped to pass off as discreet and for something comfortable: it had a first gown of white fabric and one of heavier fabric onto it of a darker color, all linked through a series of hooks.

And the behind of it had threads that just needed to be nodded together in order to obtain a tighter silhouette in a way that, according to Abigail, brought out your waist… and breasts.

You mostly liked it because it didn’t have a corset and it wouldn’t crush your chest and lungs, allowing you fuller movements, not heaved down by the richness of the jewels that decorated your most lavish gowns.

As you slipped on the gown, you moved onto wearing some leather boots, again a comfortable attire unsure of what Ivar would have you doing, today and trying to minimize the time you spent undressed.

Although the knowledge that Ivar wouldn’t take advantage of you calmed you a bit, you still felt uneasy being undressed in a room with another man, aware that he might come out of the bath anytime and catch you naked.

Although he wasn’t a simple man.

He was your husband.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of the small ring you were wearing the band plainly attached to your skin, as it shone of light silver through the sun filtered by the tent.

It wasn’t simple, having a light decoration on it, a serpent eating its tail, in a circle.

You tried to remember where you had seen a similar drawing but again, sleep clouded it and soon Ivar appeared on the bathroom threshold, breaking you away from your thinking as you quickly closed your trunks, trying to shield Ivar from seeing the small knife your father had given you.

It hadn’t been there in your trunks when the servants had prepared them, and the shock of seeing it gave you a thrill.

You father had talked of you as a spy among the heathens, not a murder.

It went against your nature as a fearful Christian and your own nature as a timid and fragile woman.

As soon as you had caught the sight of the weapon, you had immediately hidden it under some rich fabric, hoping that Ivar’s guards wouldn’t go through them meanwhile you were away, locking them properly as Ivar approached you.

Once you were done you turned to him, waiting to know more, since he had been the one who had directed your threads since you had come there, and would forever do soon till death did you apart.

But Ivar promptly went past you as if you were a ghost, not even deigning you of a glance, as you obtained one solely as your hand shout out for one of his arms, making him turn to you.

He seemed almost bothered, not the smug boy who had cuddled you closer to his chest just a few minutes before.

He was certainly a good actor.

“… I… what am I to do?” you mumbled, immediately regretting your silly words, sounding too much as a plead as  irritation was written all over his face “… we are married, we should enjoy married life”.

You tried to sweeten your words as much as you could, your hands lightly caressing his arms, something that you had dreamed to do since you had first seen him, finding them as muscled as you had believe them to be, throbbing under the strength he used to keep himself upright.

“… you might as well, wife of mine” his tone had something sickly sweet that made you quickly understand he was teasing you “… I am the leader of an army, I don’t have time for such thing as ‘enjoying life’, we are going back to Kattegat in four weeks, enjoy the time in the camping”.

You couldn’t help but be lightly stung by his words as you lowered your head nodding, leaving your grip as he moved away, two guards appearing on the threshold, one following Ivar outside and another remained on the threshold an obvious show that he would be staying with you.

You sent him a smile, although in your heart burned the humiliation Ivar had put you through.

He talked about respect but treated you like that.

How could you trust him?

Thankfully you weren’t left to your own devices for long, because you heard a miscellaneous language of Saxon and Norse, and then your sister Kathleen peaked in the tent, sending you a worried look, and in that moment slow tears streamed down your face and she bolted to you, almost throwing you down onto the bed.

“… (Y/N)!” she cheered as Abigail joined you, with no less energy and effectively sending your body to smash onto the bed, covered again by furs to hide the blood for which you were grateful “… you are still alive and smiling, oh sweet sister!”.

“Was he gentle?” went straight to the point Abigail, her eyes curious as she set up on her heavy dress, coming closer to you “... his brothers told us, that you did… your marriage was consummated”.

Immediately Katherine searched your eyes as you clutched your hands tighter on your lap, as a blush creeped from your neck to your cheeks, and you sent a quickly look to the confused guard, probably not understanding the giggles of three women.

Katherine realized what you were thinking about and she lightly shook her head.

“He doesn’t know Saxon don’t worry”.

“We didn’t… consummate the marriage” you talked too fast to make it impossible for the man to even understand you had spoken “… he told me we would never…”.

“Then it is true that he can’t get it up!” replied immediately Abigail, making you and Katherine quickly shut her up as you both sent the guard a small look, checking on him whether he had understood but he just looked at you vaguely, wondering what you were talking about.

“… I don’t know… we didn’t talk… I didn’t ask” you couldn’t help but calm yourself lightly “… he asked me respect him as a husband and he would do the same with me, as his wife”.

“Then why isn’t he here?” Katherine’s tone was piercing, and she slowly took your hands, clutching them together as you send them a protesting look “… we could still run, live in the woods as we joked when we were children”.

“We wouldn’t last a day, Katherine” you had trouble simply dressing yourself up, and this would mean to ruin the peace your wedding had created “… I would, believe me I would love nothing more, but this is my life now, and I better start liking it”.

“I just… I just wished it wouldn’t have been you” you held an hand out to Abigail who had spoken softly.

Although she didn’t have the protectiveness that belonged to Katherine, she knew how to sweeten everything with her gentle personality, something which brightened softly your smile as you led them in a quick hug.

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to live without you” you had lived with them all your life, they had been the sole friends you had had, too awkward and shy to attempt a smile or a smirk at anyone that wasn’t your family.

You couldn’t believe in a life without them.

“… we don’t either” mumbled Katherine, tears seeped in the deep fabric of your dress, but you felt like it was some kind of badge of honor.

“Can’t think that I won’t have you waking me up, whenever I run late” replied instead Abigail, making you laugh through tears “… you aren’t gone for ever still, are you?”.

You hoped you wouldn’t, but with the knowledge that you would be going back to their original land you couldn’t see a reason for you to go back to your kingdom, another time.

But who knew? By then you might have charmed your husband.

And donkeys would have flown.

“… we are never ever leaving each other, although we may be apart, oceans away, we are never away in each other’s heart” as you said so your hands linked to their hearts, feeling them rush as they slowed down calmed by your words.

They both smiled softly, and before they could hug you again you heard a distinct cough and found bishop Heahmund and Hvitserk looking at you, expectantly in a clear way to tell you that your time had come to an end.

And you slowly let go of their hands, your eyes teary as well as those of your sisters as they collected themselves calmly, turning around to face with neutral faces Hvitserk and Heahmund, the bishop trying to smile to brighten the mood, although he himself was lightly moved by the scene.

Katherine sent you one last look, blowing you a soft kiss as Abigail, gripped her hand, understanding she had to be her rock, for the time being.

Hvitserk still stopped your sisters before they could completely exit the tent and you worried suddenly for a minute, scared that they might have discovered something, but then he moved something from behind him, revealing the sword your sisters had gifted Ivar, adding a quick whisper in Norse you caught, and with a small smile you translated.

“He says that prince Ivar saw the way you looked at the sword, and that he wouldn’t dare to steal it from you after he has already stolen a sister” the entire discourse was grim, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture Ivar had done.

Katherine had loved the sword from the moment it had come out of the furnace, looking at the polished metal as it elegantly swished against the air when she handed it so so carefully, attentive to avoid hurting anybody around her.

Father had given Katherine a military and weaponry training but had never allowed her to own a sword, knowing perfectly well that this would have put Katherine in an upheld position, almost as his equal, and your father hated with all his heart to be overtaken.

That’s why he had tried to keep desperately his children beneath him, training and educating solely his heir, meanwhile he left his other daughters ignorant, having them treated as perfect ladies, left in the hands of unknown governesses, pushed in small corsets and tight dresses.

He had made you and Abigail grow up as perfect wives and mothers.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Not to be heard or feared till they were useful.

As in your case.

You sent one last look at Katherine, who nodded lightly and bowed to Hvitserk lightly, a dull excitement in her eyes as she exited alongside Abigail, casting you one last soft look, a wish of ‘happy wedding’.

Heahmund in the meanwhile walked around the room, taking in the stain of blood, rushing back to you as Hvitserk moved to accompany your sisters, leaving you privacy with the bishop although he shot him a direct glare to invite him not to try anything.

“… my princess, was the heathen…” he immediately rushed to ask, softly touching your body as you allowed him to do the same “… violent with you? I know the marriage was consummated, despite the rumors about your husband’s… inability”.

“He wasn’t” you lied, aware that you were lying to a man of faith “… it was… a quick matter and soon over”.

You didn’t know what to mumble, not being experienced on that matter and having to formulate some kind of rational discourse on it.

You ran through lady Claudia’s small talk of the previous day trying desperately to find something that might convince him of your relationship with Ivar.

“… he wasn’t too rough with me and it hurt just for a bit” you replied softly, keeping your voice in check to hide the lie better “… he was careful and attentive”.

“That doesn’t seem the Ivar I met on the battlefield” he commented tightly and you were worried it might have given out your lie “… but I am glad that he has a softer side for his rightful wife, my princess, you have quite charmed him”.

You nodded your head simply, as you tried to avoid saying too much that might give you out.

“… I now have to get your sisters back to security but I’ll be back before nightfall, please be attentive and safe, my princess” you almost wanted to protest there and then that you were in danger because of them, not because of any of your action.

If you could, you would be in a convent with your precious books and your sisters beside you.

But again, you nodded, adjusting yourself on the bed as Heahmund gave you a soft kiss onto the palm of your hand.

As Heahmund exited the tent, Hvitserk came back in it, and took a quick look at you, which you returned shyly but questioning, wondering whether you would be allowed outside the tent or Ivar would keep you as a mighty dragon, storing you as a treasure.

But at least that would mean he thought you were precious.

“Is everything alright, princess?” although Hvitserk had a teasing smile on his face, the way he talked seemed genuinely concerned “… feeling cold?”.

You weren’t properly cold but you had shrunk back into yourself, clutching your hands around your body in a tight hug more to comfort yourself as the feeling of loneliness set in your heart.

“A bit” you justified yourself as the man moved closer, something that made you back lightly on the bed, suddenly making you realize that you were in a cove of enemies, and although your brain wanted to do nothing more than to trust anyone, your common sense advised you against that.

“We should get you some better clothes” he mumbled looking at your flimsy dress, certainly not the highest example of style, but it was comfortable and easy to put on, not necessarily warm still, and you weren’t used to exiting the castle, at least without an heavy coat of woolen, which would stop the coldness “… in Kattegat is cold and we don’t need you to get sick at your first Winter there”.

And Hvitserk had guided you outside to the small market brewing in the camping, surprising you for the organization of the entire structure, making your eyes widen as you took in the sight of the exchange between cultures.

You had worn a light cloak that Hvitserk had lent you, which was a bit too long sometimes entwinning in your legs, and you were grateful you hadn’t worn a more complex gown.

Extremely grateful it would avoid you from falling face first in the mud.

Your eyes darted over the small stalls, as Hvitserk chatted cheerily with anyone who stopped him, all the people around you staring discreetly at you in a way that almost made you want to hide your face with the hood of the cloak.

You were well aware that half of them had witnessed your marriage to Ivar and your different traits wouldn’t certainly pass unobserved, but you had hoped to attract less attention this sudden.

You tried to shift your attention on the small trinkets that were sold, being extremely interested by the creation of the blacksmiths, beautiful jewels and small statues, relatively more modest than your jewels but they held a particular fascination for you.

As the man saw you staring at his creations, he puffed out his chest but kept his distance as Hvitserk graciously took your arm to guide you away, pushing you onto a stand that smelt… horridly.

Furs weren’t much in vogue in your court, since they were thought to be vulgar and popular, mostly if not properly treated, and you could understand since the smell wasn’t pleasant and you had to take a deep breath as Hvitserk calmly talked with the lady who was taking care of stalls.

She was a small old lady, her hands worked through years of treating furs, in a way that made them extremely wrinkly but beautiful for the stories they told, almost a thread of magic and skin.

She smiled at you, with no knowledge of your status, with a warmth that seemed damnably familiar and homely and you just smiled back as the woman moved to collect a few furs from behind his stalls as Hvitserk told you her name was Hilde and she had been working furs since she was as small as she was now.

‘She is the best! You’ll be warm don’t worry”.

You were thankful for Hvitserk’s cheery and mindless tone, since it helped you focus your mind away from Ivar’s rejection and your sisters’ departure.

As Hilde came back, she held two beautiful furs in her hands: one was smaller, having an orangey color tending lightly to red, a color which complimented your skin according to Abigail.

It was probably made out of fox fur and it had be linked into a cloak to protect the neck and the shoulders from coldness.

She pushed it onto your shoulder, having you bowed slightly for her in order to permit her to comfortably place it there, adjusting it with a few pins, in a provisory set up, before she pushed you next to the mirror in the stall, allowing you to set yourself.

You hadn’t seen yourself after the veil had been pushed on your face since Ivar’s room didn’t have any mirror, and you couldn’t help but follow for a minute your profile with your eyes.

You found it changed from the anonymity you always saw in the mirror, almost as if you were now looking at every stain or spots in your skin, almost wanting to dig your fingers in the skin to find out if it were you.

You were brought down from your inner thoughts by Hilde, asking if you liked the first piece, and as you nodded, she exchanged the first piece with a fuller fur, completely covering your frame, weighting heavily onto you, but its warmth was very much appreciated as it hugged tight keeping you calm and sated.

Hilde lightly pulled on the end of the dark furs, painted lightly with red reflexes something which shone even brighter in the light.

“They are both beautiful!” you exclaimed, honestly heard in your tones as the small woman smirked happily at you, twirling in her comfortable leather shoes, as she went back to show you more, eventually filling you with also leather corsets and a few cloaks, this time, of your height.

You couldn’t help but see the total pile up in front of you, almost worried about how you would pay it.

Your father had gifted you with a few coins to help you mostly in case anything happened to you, but you didn’t feel like letting Ivar pay for your dresses, because it made you uneasy to depend on him.

Although you saw no other solution.

As you asked Hilde to start choosing what you truly needed and you didn’t, she stopped you, baffled and almost offended, as she put her hand on her chest.

“… these are gifts for the future queen” she explained slowly, each word being spitted out with its pure meaning, making you open your eyes wide, not solely for the mention of the word ‘queen’.

“I can’t accept this, Hilde! It is too much!”.

As a princess you were used to gifts of any kind, but you felt like stealing from this people, taking away their precious goods without any retribution.

You didn’t have a high enough place there to do such a thing.

These people weren’t the cruel and calculating spies of the courtiers that populated your reign, they seemed genuine and gentle.

It felt like taking advantage of their gentleness.

“… take it, sweetheart” her voice was gentle, pushing the furs in your hand as you shook your hand and Hvitserk gently helped Hilde with the furs, murmuring something in Norse too fast for you, but the woman seemed to calm, taking the furs from you “… let me have the honor of gifting some of my masterpieces to the future queen”.

Again, you were confused and embarrassed by the mention of you as a ‘queen’, but nodded softly thanking her and letting Hvitserk handle everything else, since you felt like you were a complete stranger to these traditions.

He contracted swiftly with the old woman, who mumbled something about sending you the furs in your tent, so you didn’t have to carry them for the entire city.

“… thank you” you mumbled one last time, meeting her determined stare, as she moved towards you a bit too close for comfort and  gently pulled on your cloak to make you lower yourself.

“You are more special than you think, little one”.

You were almost thankful when Hvitserk dragged you away, feeling lightheaded by the way the woman had talked to you.

As you were again in the crowd, Hvitserk calmly spoke:

“I’ll Ivar drop some coins to her tonight or this afternoon, don’t worry” he promised, talking as if it was natural and you couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed.

“I can… I have some spare money” and jewels, too many for your liking.

“You belong in our family” he spoke again, as if it was natural to him as breathing, turning to you with a soft smirk “… you are my family now, so what is our is yours”.

The truthfulness of his words broke your heart in a way that made you feel even more ashamed for the spying your father had meant to do here.

“… thank you” you mumbled simply, moving further in order to let the crowd around you distract yourself, as you tried to shift your attention towards anything else.

The rest of the morning passed softly and without any true conversation, other than Hvitserk talking about various things about the culture, as you took a stroll around the stalls.

Hvitserk bought sweets he shared with you, meanwhile you were attracted by the beautiful sculptures of the gods, but didn’t dare to speak out loudly your interest, worried that they might try to offer you them again.

You didn’t want to take advantage of them.

And then Hvitserk’s eyes were caught by a beautiful girl, a cheery blonde dressed as a man, an obvious sign that she was a shieldmaiden, a female warrior.

He exchanged with the girls a few stares, enough to make you feel invisible and bothering him to the point where you suggested he just went to talk with her.

‘I won’t lose myself in the stalls’ in fact the small market had a clear end and it had started losing a bit of its original crowd, the warriors moving to eat and the merchants slowly starting to count the coins they had made.

You had also seen a bench where you could sit more comfortably and maybe hide even better.

“… are you sure?” as much as Hvitserk seemed taken by the girl he had a bit of difficulty letting you go, worry washing over his face and with the way he seemed so careless and lighthearted you could only think that it was because he had received direct orders from Ivar to keep you under his watch.

“Never make a lady wait” you taunted him and he sent you a soft smile, one you wished Ivar also owned, before he strutted off smirking devilishly at the woman, exactly as you imagined a young demon to do.

You waited onto the bench, your figure hidden further by your cloak in a sat position as you tried to think about a way to get information through Ivar, when he clearly didn’t want you between his toes.

You could try to sweeten him, but the proposal of spending time together as newlyweds had clearly made him on edge and you had no idea of how you could have your husband trust you when he barely let you in.

You felt that although you might parade yourself in your best dress Ivar would have still ignored you, which frustrated you more than you were open to admit.

You found comfort in thinking that you might have talked about it with Heahmund so that he might have told you what to do in these cases, what men might be interested in.

He seemed to be quite experienced in that ambit.

You knew that the ‘righteous warrior’ wasn’t so righteous once a woman appeared in front of him and once you and Father Peter had almost caught him with a desperate widow, him consoling her ‘properly’.

You weren’t sure how much Ivar and him might have in common, but you felt more comfortable talking with him than with Hvitserk.

He was the only link to your family now that your sisters were gone.

You were left from thinking about your dark thoughts, till a shadow loomed over you and quickly sat near to you, immediately catching your attention since you thought it to be Hvitserk.

But you were surprised to find that he was Harald’s brother, the man who had looked at you with pity in his eyes, at the wedding.

But now his eyes held a curiousness that made you shrink in yourself, as he lightly bowed his head to you, obviously trying to catch your attention.

“… princess (Y/N), I am so glad to have caught you alone, on this lovely day” his tone was definitely overly chatty, evidently a bit out of his comfort zone, something between the lines of cherry and insulting “… are you enjoying the market?”.

“Very much” you tried to keep your words curt and short “… I am sorry but I didn’t quite catch your name, yesterday”.

You knew better than to be the one who knew less about the other.

“Halfdan, Halfdan the Black” he spoke up, a proud smile, on his face as he turned to you not hiding the quick look of disdain in his eyes as they ranked over your body, almost making you feel naked “… the brother of Harald, king of Norway”.

You remembered his brother: he had tried to anger desperately Ivar, making him ashamed in front of everyone.

“Why ‘the Black’?” his nickname made your attention perk up as you raised up your head to look at him in the eyes, showing him that although you were nervous and embarrassed, you weren’t scared.

“I don’t think that it would be proper to talk about it with a lady” he muttered back, aggressiveness clear in his tone.

“I am not a lady, I am a princess” you spoke back, trying to keep your back straight as you kept looking at him in the eyes.

He seemed taken aback by your words: although your tone had kept itself mild, the words were piercing, almost as the gaze you shot him back.

“… I might start seeing why Ivar has chosen you” he mumbled under his breath “… did he choose you for your frisky character? Or for your pretty legs?”.

You were confused and a bit offended, mostly for his accusing tone.

Nobody would have talked to you like that straight up in your face, back home.

Maybe behind your shoulders, but you didn’t know how to react properly at such a facial invective choosing to just shoot him an incredulous look.

“You have no right to talk to me like that” you shot indignantly back, looking through the crowd for Hvitserk.

You had been aware that there might be some protests against you, but so direct and frontal…?

You weren’t expecting it.

“… they said that you consumed your marriage” he discarded your indignant reply, and his tone was even more teasing “…but we all know that your prince couldn’t…”.

“… my prince couldn’t what?” now embarrassment was written all over your face and your tone was raised lightly, your reply more emotional than you would have liked “… I suggest that you don’t finish that phrase”.

“I’ll teach you something, little girl: you can’t threaten an alley” but his tone seemed amused at your reply “… your husband knows of your fierce character, or is it only reserved for men who don’t call you, princess?”.

You couldn’t help but feel like that all these spiteful talk wasn’t exactly meant to be rightful or meaningful, but they were meant to distract you from the real argument.

So, you stopped taking in Halfdan’s words, and looked at him in the face, his secure behavior seemed out of place in a body that did all it could to shrink himself away from you, something you had done too many times, back in the day.

And you realized that he was also a second child, living in the shadow of his brother and everything that he did or said should have been linked to him.

You got up from the bench, effectively wanting to distance yourself from the huge man, who seemed taken aback from the sudden action, but he soon gave you a teasing smirk, expecting you to run.

But you stood your ground and spoke:

“Whatever your and your brother’s business is with my husband, I suggest you to quit these provocations, before they get too much for you to handle. You are a man not a child”.

And you were almost ready to be slapped, remembering perfectly how much a slap would sting your cheek, every time your father struck Katherine for speaking back.

You had never dared to, too scared to be able to raise your voice.

But you were in a different land, far away from your father, with a new master, but his leash at least was looser.

You were already cowering a bit away, your gaze set away from him to search for Hvitserk till a sincere laugh left Halfadan’s mouth.

“… that crippled bastard is luckier than he thinks” he replied softly, shooting you a sincere look.

“Halfdan!” Hivsterk’s voice surprised you, startling you but you were thankful to see him “… thank you for keeping company to my sister”:

The way he mumbled ‘sister’ was an obvious proof of his possessiveness and you were more than happy to hide behind him lightly, although Halfdan now had a sincere grin on his face, shadowed lightly by his hair.

“I had quite a nice time talking with her, don’t worry” he raised up quickly, moving away, through the crowd.

You let out a huff of breath as the man disappeared finally making you feel like you were allowed to relax, before you suggested, whispering it softly in Hvitserk’s ears:

“… may we go back to my tent, I am… tired”.

Although you had barely walked one meter, you felt emotionally exhausted and Hvitserk nodded, offering you gentlemanly a hand as he brought you back inside your tent.

That was enough outside world for the day.

---

You had spent the time in the tent improving your Norse, alongside Hvitserk, who would help you with the pronunciation and the writing, although he seemed much less versed than you had thought.

‘It was Ivar’s idea’ he had justified it, as he checked your writing of runes ‘… I am not exactly the smart brother, here’.

‘At least you are making me company’ you had grumped down in Saxon, before sending him a seraphic smile.

You had processed this way till lunch time, when Hvitserk’s stomach had started grumbling and you had smirked remembering Abigail: they would have probably stormed into a kitchen and stolen any food there.

And probably got stomachache with all the food.

‘Do you think that Ivar has eaten?’ you had asked softly, as you moved into the dining hall, the same one they had organized for your first meeting with Ivar, seeming less crowded than by night.

A few servants ran around taking care of what looked like the royalty of Vikings, and there you found Bjorn, the big bear, who sent you a roaring salute to which you bowed, again unable to wash away the sensation that everyone was looking at you.

‘I don’t think he has’ replied Hvitserk as you both sat down, and a brunette servant a few years younger than you brought you two plates with what looked like stew and smelt delightfully.

The small thrall looked at you, surprised but then moved away.

“Then maybe I should bring him lunch…” you were aware by the look that Hvitserk had sent you that it wasn’t a good idea, but you had just to go through every possible way to spend time with Ivar, and as he had denied you that morning, you hoped he wouldn’t do the same, now.

“… that is a rather nice idea…” Hvitserk spoke, his face already dripping in the stew “… but I don’t think that my brother would take kindly being interrupted”.

“I just want to try” you modelled your voice to be pleading.

You had learned through your courtiers that a pleading woman was always either an annoyance or a true attraction for men.

Either way they would surrender quickly.

And Hvitserk, probably warned to comply all your wishes and keep you safe and happy nodded his head, although his eyes shone dull, clearly not liking the job he had been given.

You let him finish his stew, not daring to stop him from his beloved food and then he accompanied you with a small tray of wood: your lunch and Ivar’s on it.

Hvitserk convinced Ivar’s guards to let you in, as you smiled prettily at the huge men, who simply looked at you almost as if you were nothing more than a flower they could crush under their shoes.

And as you sneaked past them, you again left a huff of breath.

It would have been a truly difficult thing to adapt your life to all those tall people.

Hvitserk still was stopped by the guards who pushed him with their chest back, effectively separating you from him.

He tried to fight back, more for his own virility than for you, but you shot him a comforting look.

You just hoped it would work also on you.

A guard gave you indication to find Ivar, he had recently finished an inking session and was elaborating some strategical plans.

Which meant that you could have also gotten some information.

And you did.

More than you expected.

You were frozen on your spot as you heard shouts in Norse, but instead of cowering away from the bullpen you moved closer, trying to be discreet, as you balanced the tray on one hand to raise your dress to secure you faster movements.

And then slowly you recognized the voice, Ivar’s unmistakable one and Ubbe’s, which surprised you because you weren’t honestly expecting a man like that to shout so furiously, but you kept your mouth closed.

“… you are overthrowing the natural order of things!” shouted the blonde prince.

“I am doing what father would have wanted to do! What you and Hvitserk don’t have the balls to do!”.

Ivar’s rage resembled the way he had spoken to you when the ring had been dropped.

You couldn’t help but be nervous with that side of him, but you tried to calm yourself with the thought that it wasn’t used against you.

“You are destroying our family! That’s the shit that you are doing!” replied promptly Ubbe, and you felt him move a heavy step forward “… just like you did with Sigurd!”.

The name caught your interest, but also the way Ivar replied, something being thrown against the door, definitely told you, it wasn’t something you should think about bringing up with him.

“… you always have to fucking tell me all this shit, don’t you?!” shouted back Ivar “… he was insulting my virility! Believe me I am…”.

“You aren’t” Ubbe’s tone was serious, damnably serious, having grown quieter suddenly, enough to make you hear Ivar’s deep intake of breath “… you never were, you are simply damnably prideful and ambitious and can’t see that it’ll break us apart, that it is already breaking us apart”.

A silence fulfilled the space between you two and you felt Ubbe shifting closer.

“… you are married brother, enjoy it” he continued on speaking “… I am sure that you haven’t even consumed your marriage, although the blo…”.

Another sudden hit of something against the wall made you uneasy.

Ubbe stormed away from the room and in his hurry almost crashed onto you, who were slowly turning to hide away yourself from them, and were secretly thankful when the man was more attentive to his sudden outburst, gently grabbing your trail, to let you adjust your dress.

“… didn’t see you there, sorry my princess” he commented, sending you a look to apologize “… what are you doing here?”.

“… bringing the lunch to Ivar!” you replied quickly, trying to hide any threatening intention.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea”.

“I don’t also think that it was a good idea to shout against him” you didn’t know where all this disobedience came from: you used to be the small little mouse who hid itself behind her sisters’ shadows.

But it seemed that you would need to use your teeth and nails for this.

“… you know nothing of this” he replied directly, and you knew you should have backed up, but you had dared more.

“I know that the marriage was consummated” you pushed back “… you know nothing about what happens in our bedroom and I suggest you don’t put your nose there anymore”.

Ubbe seemed shocked, exactly like Halfdan had been of your previous outburst, and then moved away muttering something darkly, as he moved away, almost bumping in the guards.

You collected yourself a minute, your own outburst leaving a light blush on your cheeks, but you hadn’t much time, and gently pushed your hair away from your face, the few strands that had come off from your lazy updo.

And then you knocked.

A gruff voice advised you that Ivar ‘wasn’t in the mood to talk with Ubbe, anymore’.

“It isn’t Ubbe, it is (Y/N)!” you thrilled happily, trying to make the atmosphere more relaxed.

And Ivar came quickly to you, opening the door with a tight expression, making you uneasy, but you kept your smile.

Your smile would have never been the summer typhon Katherine’s was, but you had to be satisfied with a small spring breeze.

“… wife” he muttered simply, but something in his had calmed down “… what are you doing here?”.

“I brought you lunch” you commented gently, holding up the tray and honest surprise shone on his face as you smirked softly at him.

He quickly took it from your legs, balancing it onto one of his crutches and almost closed the door in your face, before you added:

“I did think that we could have eaten together… maybe” or maybe not, from the startled look on your face.

And then your stomach grumbled loudly, and Ivar smirked, letting out a small laugh.

“Did they even feed you in your castle or are you simply a hungry beastie as Hvitserk?”.

Although the insult he opened the door further for you to slip inside.

“I’ll gladly pass over the fact that you just called me ‘beastie’ “ Ivar tried to complain that he meant it with affection, but you shushed him further, putting the trail onto the small table in the room, no paper or map anywhere on it, but you tried to seem at your ease “… and about the fact that you compared me to Hvitserk”.

“You are right” he replied pushing out a chair for you “… you are smarter”.

“Let me give you some matrimonial advice: don’t insult your wife” you replied, sitting down with a huge huff, making him smile cunningly at you as he sat on the other side of the table.

“… everybody seems so keen to give me marital suggestions” he mumbled, a cloud of annoyance appearing on his face “… but yours is good”.

Again, the intensity of his gaze made you divert your attention, all too happy to focus it on the food.

Ivar quickly did the same, and you couldn’t help but notice the ruthless way he proceeded to eat, in a voracious way you weren’t used to, and made you almost laugh at him, definitely feeling more at ease with your ‘messy eating’, one of the many reasons why you had been always kept away during the ceremonial dinners.

“… did you like it?” he asked, once your plate was finished.

“It was extremely delicious” you smiled at him “… I have never eaten something like that”.

Or so much.

Usually you were expected to leave at least half of the food in your plate, but this wasn’t the case.

“How did you find your staying in here?” Ivar’s words were careful and attentive, as if he was choosing the best ones “… did Hvitsersk show you around properly?”.

“He was a perfect company…” and immediately your hand shot out to his, making him raise his eyes at him, confused and startled, almost like a caged animal “… but I still wished it would have been you”.

“You don’t have to pretend” his voice was harsh enough to make you retreat your hand, almost burned “There is no need to fake feelings that you don’t have”.

“That isn’t true…” you spoke back “… I would just like for us…”.

But before you could utter more, another knock came from the door, pushing Ivar to raise up without sparing you glance.

And you tried to push down any kind of bad feeling for his rejection to look around the room, trying to see something out of its place, but as your room, it was in perfect order and Ivar soon came back, a wicked smile on his lips.

“Well well! My gift for you my lady has come!” he smiled brightly, gently pushing you onto your feet, and although his mood was strange, you followed the cheeriness of it “… would you like to see it?”.

And you had immediately nodded.

But as soon as you had seen the gift you had realized that maybe you should have been less cheerful.

Ten women were in your tents, their hands all bound together through a thick rope and their faces bearing some kind of bruises.

Only two of them were Vikings, meanwhile the others were Saxons, wealthy ones mostly by the clothes they were wearing: tattered and broken in some parts, but still expensive enough to make them daughters of local lords.

The one the Vikings had conquered.

“What is the meaning of this” you shouted turning to Ivar.

Was he playing some kind of joke on you?

He had told you he would respect you, but this all seemed as a damnable tease for you and your people.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t give you thralls, did you?” he replied, his tone truly ecstatic “… they are your people, so you’ll feel more comfortable”.

“This is not a gift for me” you spoke back, maybe more ardently than you should have, a dare in your tone “… this is an insult”.

Ivar’s smirk on his face completely lost itself and he turned to the guard holding the end of the robe bounding the prisoners, shouting something that seemed ‘get out’.

And then he turned to you.

He came a step closer to you than you would have liked, and you were well aware nobody was in the tent except you and him,

And you were well aware of what a scorned man could do to a lonely woman.

“… it is a gift and you should be thankful” he simply spat out.

“There are children in there!” you shot back, high on adrenaline.

A few of the slaves were barely older than Abigail and a few younger, two seemed only children and although you were aware that that wasn’t a problem for many people, it was for you.

“You are barely a child and were sold off so easily” the insult cut you deeper than you would have liked and you couldn’t help but take a small breath, shifting away from Ivar “… (Y/N), you know what I…”.

“Release the children” you spoke softly, your voice wavering a bit for the sadness you weren’t able to drown “… at least the children: you know they won’t be useful, and this is just cruel”.

“Maybe you don’t know it, but…” he replied quickly, shooting out to you, but you stopped him, gaining all your strength.

“…I know that you keep them as hostages, for their families, I am not that stupid, I might have been a child, but I am not an idiot” you retorted quickly and this time he was the one taken aback from your words, backing up and stumbling with his legs “… but this is not something that you can simply push off and onto me. That is my people, I won’t see them reduced to chains”.

“You all already are reduced in chains” he mumbled and although his words were vicious his tone was lighter, as if he was doubting his ideas “… they are just not that evident”.

“… I am already in chains, you don’t have to put anyone int hem for a father’s mistake” you spoke back “… just the children that’s all I ask”.

“This will show that I am weak” although his words were spiteful, their meaning meant he was considering it.

“It won’t” you spoke back, your hands reaching out for his “… gentleness is the greatest virtue we can show to humanity”.

“Maybe for your Christian god! Not for me” but his body language spoke of being tired of that small fight, as if he hadn’t expected you to confront him.

“I don’t need ten slaves, free six” you started negotiating.

You might not have been the rebel daughter, but you had been the stubborn one.

“… not going to happen” he turned to straighten his admission.

“Five” you breathed out and he turned, a bright smile in his eyes, your stubbornness making this funny for him.

“Two”.

“Four”.

“Two”.

“Three”.

“Three”.

You let out a breath of relief, at his admission but as you turned to thank him, he was already gone and you couldn’t help but feel your chest damnably heavy.

All the words crashing through you.

And you felt on the bed, already tired.

Desperately wanting to go home.

---

You woke with gentle but stern touches on your arm, and as you shifted your eyes to finally accommodate your sight to the light absence of the sun, since the sunset had already passed.

And when your face turned to the source of the tenderness being bestowed upon you, you recognized the eyes of the old woman, in the thralls group: her eyes were a lighter shade of blue as if they had been discolored like her hair by the passing of time.

“My lady” she spoke in a heavily accented Saxon and you nodded lightly a bit numbed by the hours spent sleeping “ … we prepared you a bath, would you like any help for it?”.

With the way you stank you couldn’t help but agree for the bath, putting yourself in an upright position, rubbing your fists on your sore eyes, as a tired pup, and as your eyes finally focused you realized that the old servant wasn’t the only one.

The ten thralls that had been Ivar’s gift were all staring at you: a few seemed too shy to actually meet your eyes, others stared at you confusedly, as if they hadn’t expected you to act like that…

… which was strange also so you.

And finally only two other people looked at you differently from the rest: the other Viking thrall, a few years younger than you but with a striking maturity in her eyes, that followed your movements shyly but attentively, as if she was used to follow any order she was given.

And the other person was a Saxon girl, beautiful in every way you wouldn’t be: light fluent black hair cornering perfectly an angelic face, complete with beautiful green eyes, set up in a feline and languid form.

She wore a bloodied golden dress, with an heavy cleavage and a long trail, tattered by dirt and mud, but she didn’t seem to even care about any of those things, sat upon one of your trunks as if it was a throne and she was hosting her own court.

She looked at you coldly: an obvious challenge in her eyes.

And you were caught in that pitiful state that made you lower your eyes immediately, and you quickly realized you had lost the first battle.

But honestly you hadn’t even the strength to feel bad for it.

You let the older thrall guide you to the bath, giving you the privacy of undressing and slipping in the bathtub, helping you in it as the younger one, filled the water with an oil that smelled deliciously.

The tender water, warm enough to comfort you, dripped you further down the uneasiness of your sleepy body, but you fought it needing to be as lucid as you could, after the small fighting with the girl outside.

Clearly the Saxons girls were looking up at her and she had no gentleness towards you, which might be dangerous.

Although you hated the thought of owning servants, you knew better than to let them command you like that, even more after what you had done and talked about with Ivar.

Now it wasn’t no secret that he thought that you were ‘weak’ in his eyes, and you needed to prove him that it wasn’t like that, in any way.

You had gained his sympathy as easily as you had lost it.

Although the entire thought of it hurt you in a way that made you uneasy to approach him again, it made your mind colder and more lucid about you true task in the camping.

So far the only thing that you had discovered was that Halfdan and Harald were desperately trying to get on both yours and your husband’s nerves, although you couldn’t help but feel like Halfdan’s taunting had had a proper purpose although it was simply messing around with you.

He wanted to test you.

He had wanted to see who you truly were.

And you knew exactly why.

You exited the bath with a new knowledge and new strength, the younger thrall immediately rushing to you with a towel to wrap you up in it comfortably and although you didn’t meet her gaze embarrassed, you thanked her softly, blushing.

She simply squeaked away, embarrassment also upon her cheeks, as the older thrall fastened the towel on your chest, as she moved another towel on your hair to dry them, before she started braiding them loosely and comfortably.

She let you dress on your own and as you were in your undergarments, she reappeared with one of your dresses, a light blue one with silver decorations on the upper part and long open sleeves.

“Turid is mute my child” she explained, as she fastened the laces on the back of your dress “… she saw her mother drowning and never came back from that”.

You couldn’t help but feel an immediate pity for her, but tried to focus onto the older woman: she might be an interesting alley, she had a motherly behavior which you couldn’t help but appreciate, but she still made sure to show you the obstacle between you and her.

The different social level.

Still you leaned in her gentleness as she dusted off your dress, before she proceeded to adjust your neckline, as she took a lighter cloak to add to the entire complex, one of those that Hvitserk had graciously dropped off for you.

As you returned a few of the children had sat down on your bed, meanwhile the black-haired beauty continued on hosting her court completely unbothered by your presence as you appeared on the threshold of the main room, showing yourself.

Thankfully her ‘courtiers’ weren’t so shameless and turned to you.

A child, most of all, seemed surprised enough to move over to you, her childish naivety disrupting any etiquette or protocol as another girl who looked like her older sister, barely twelve, tried to stop her, but you raised your hand letting the child come at you.

She touched your dress curiously, probably surprised by the intricate details on it shining brightly as they caught the light.

“… you look so pretty” she spoke slowly as you let her sat beside you on the huge bed, helping her up, as you sent a smile to everyone else in the room “… like a princess in the stories Mary tells me before going to sleep!”.

You couldn’t help but be startled by the child’s soft words.

“Mary is your sister, right?” you asked, looking at the older girl who smiled shyly at you “… you must be a wonderful sister to tell her these amazing stories!”.

“Thank you, my princess” she spoke, a soft tone as she smirked lightly, still embarrassed but she couldn’t hide the pride “… they help me ease my mind away from… everything”.

“You’ll go home tomorrow” you announced softly, pushing a few strands of blonde hair away from the small child’s face and she looked at you confused before you spoke again “… you’ll meet your mom and dad again”.

This got an ecstatic smile from the child who went straight to hug you something which surprised you and made even the black-haired beauty stop talking to send you a look to see how you reacted to the hug.

And you couldn’t help but gently hug the child back, careful of her miniscule body, as you held her close, before you turned to your fellow Saxon people gently smiling at them.

“I am sorry, but I wasn’t able to negotiate for nothing more than for three of you to be released, but it is my intention to speak with my husband again and…”.

“… and maybe by the next year we’ll all be free” completed under her breath the brunette girl, standing up straighter as her golden dress highlighted itself as it caught the light: she looked more beautiful now, without a bath and in a dirtied dress than you looked in a proper dress and after a shower “… I was a lady back home! I am not going to serve you”.

You were struck, but you didn’t lose your breath as you slowly tried to calm yourself down.

You were being undermined, which was something that could matter highly on the perception of these people.

So far, they could also be allies, hence you needed to calm yourself and collect yourself.

Both your father and Ivar wouldn’t have wasted a single second to punish such insolence, but you weren’t simply able to do such a thing.

“It is true” you spoke with a steadiness that you didn’t know you owned as you pushed yourself up onto your feet, standing a few feet taller than her, sat down on the trunks.

She was surprised by you speaking back to her but hide it well.

“… I don’t expect any of you to serve me but remember that we are all in a stranger’s house, that we have only each other for protection”.

Your word sounded twisted in your own mouth, but you held them together with a serious glare as you moved your eyes on each of the girls, trying to test out their loyalty.

“… you think that simply because you have screwed him, you have some power over him” she spoke back to you and you couldn’t help but blush to her words, but stood your ground “… he’ll kill you as easily as he did with any Saxon soldiers that has crossed his path”.

“But still I got him to release three of you” you spoke back, letting a smirk appear on your face “… he might be ruthless, but I know how to make him act civil”.

“Those are just empty words” she spoke back, but as she turned around she seemed to understand she had lost the favor of anyone, there and she sent you a direct look, before she turned around avoiding your gaze “… he will never ever be civil, he is a Viking for God’s sake”.

“He is a human like you and me” you shouted back, letting more emotion than you had thought in the phrase and a light blush covered your cheeks.

“… to be human you need a heart and be warned princess, he doesn’t have any”.

The last words were a clear slap and you were almost glad when Hvitserk appeared with a few guards from the tent, putting you out of the misery to reply to the girl, suddenly feeling guilty of not having even known the name of such a worthy opponent.

Hadn’t she been already so set on hating you, you would have found her a welcome alley.

“Princess (Y/N), dinner is ready” he said, sending a weirded look at the strange atmosphere as the older woman moved to collect your cloak adjusting it onto your back as she brushed the braid out of it.

“Just leave me a minute” you asked him as he retreated, before shooting the girls a look “I’ll be back after dinner and we’ll talk further, for every necessity you can come to me”.

And as you were trespassing the tent’s threshold you turned one last time and mumbled.

“… sometimes owning a soul is not enough to be human”.

---

Dinner was spent again with simply you and Hvitserk, but you were almost grateful for the chance since you were able to clear your head from the discourse and to plan a way to get the Saxons women to collaborate with you.

“… are you upset?” asked Hvitserk, seeing you toying with your food “… and are you going to finish that?”.

You just moved the enormous piece of meat in his plate, glad that you hadn’t the complex etiquette you had back in court and glad that everyone was too busy chatting to notice you.

The atmosphere was so warm that you couldn’t help but be a bit cheered on by the atmosphere.

“Hvitserk?” you asked, turning to him so suddenly you caught him with meat in his mouth “… may I ask you a suggestion about Ivar?”.

“My favorite subject” he mumbled, spiting out partially the meat in his mouth.

“… do I displease him in some way?” you asked, blushing lightly “… he seems so cold with me”.

“Don’t take it personal, princess, he is Ivar” he replied sending you a soft look “… he is cold with everyone”.

You had decided to ask such a thing to Hvitserk because although he was a Viking he had seemed pretty nice with you, whether he was doing it on his brother’s orders or because he felt pity for you.

“… I just wish…” you smiled at him sadly “… it would be easier”.

“We all do” he replied, before he chugged a good gulp of mead “… but it wouldn’t be half funny if it was”.

You nodded, although you didn’t agree with him wholeheartedly.

“… he’ll warm up to you, soon, still…” and he then moved to come closer to you, gently pushing an arm around you “… he would be a stupid man to lose such a beauty”.

You couldn’t help but blush both for Hivtserk’s compliment and touch: no man had ever come that close to you and you couldn’t help but be a bit taken aback as you took in Hvitserk’s distinctive smell, mainly and tough, his rough beard lightly rubbing at your soft neck.

You immediately pushed yourself away, coughing, at the closeness Hvitserk had assumed: no woman should have been so close to a man who wasn’t her husband, back home, but the women in the camp seemed so liberal.

They were discussing with them as if they were their exact equals something that fascinated you, even more when a woman dared a man for a knife-throwing competition, remembering you about the bow you had been gifted.

You were sure you could find someone who would teach you that.

But would they be willing?

The brunette Saxon had remembered you again that you sadly weren’t exactly well-loved although Hilde’s reaction at the market would say otherwise.

“… when you are finished, tell me, I’ll bring you back to your tent” you were almost thankful for Hvitserk’s suggestion and nodded your head as you moved, raising yourself up and regaining your cloak as Hvitserk did the same, saluting the beautiful girl you had seen at market.

Who shot him a languid look, in an obvious show that Hvitserk wasn’t simply worried about your tiredness.

Still you couldn’t blame the boy: he had basically had to be your handmaiden for the entire day so you could deal with staying in your tent, almost desiring the privacy of it, hadn’t you realized that the girls would be there.

You almost missed the peace before their arrival.

You wished Hvitserk ‘good luck’ as he left you on the threshold and he looked extremely smug, bowing lightly as you came back in the tent, all the girls sat around the room, in what looked like a whispered discourse.

About you, since they all quit talking to each other as you entered.

Turid came to quickly collect your cloak as Solveig asked whether you had felt cold the previous night and needed other furs.

You said you didn’t, but made sure to tell her to take a few for herself, Turid and the others, who seemed to beam at that gracious offer, the brunette beauty now held a much smaller court, but she still regarded you with hateful eyes.

“… again, if you need anything, just come to me” you spoke in Saxon and repeated the same things to the older woman and Turid, who bowed their head, the former smirking a bit “Now I’d like to know all your names”.

They all looked around like shy bird, daring each other to speak, and then the small child who had called you ‘the princess of her stories’ moved to you and bowed lightly, with a childish deference that made you smirk.

“… I am Delilah”.

You nodded gracefully as her sister Mary stepped up beside her, and then another girl, blondish and with light eyes came forward, bowing and uttering her name, Sophie.

Then came forward the older Viking woman no bowing to you but her face held a genuine smile and her eyes devotion.

‘Solveig’ and then all the other girls stepped forward, one after the other, and you tried to test their loyalty: some seemed more convinced than others, but you didn’t get too much resistance, which was a step forward.

And you finally were in possession of the brunette beauty’s name, Angelika.

Pretty proper.

You chatted a bit more with them, informing yourself about from where they had been taken and who was waiting back home.

You would have sent back both Delilah and Mary home, alongside Christine, an eight-year-old, minimizing the children among them, to simply two, two ten years old that you had put in Solveig’s care.

‘It’s been a long time since I was a wet nurse’ she had complained, but had still taken the two children willingly, to get them ready for bed.

The thralls didn’t sleep with you, having their own tent which you could only guess could be crowded for seven women, even more if half of them had an ego as big as Angelika.

You were still happy to have company, people who were like you, who at least shared a few of your traits, such as missing home.

Your small talk was interrupted by a quick cough and as you turned to the flap of the tent, you caught a glimpse of your husband, waiting on his crutch with a wondering smirk, suddenly turning into a teasing one as all the girls showed their fear for him.

“… you better go and sleep, it is late” you chose to spare them from that show as you bowed lightly at Turid, the mute girl immediately moving towards the tent, forming a bee line with the other girls as they hurried outside, all bowing at a smirking Ivar.

He enjoyed extremely the submission he had broken in those girls’ heart and you couldn’t help but, again, realize how different you were.

Would you ever match together, truly?

You got off your bed, as you talked with the girls you had changed in your nightgown, a long flowy one that covered completely your body, almost as much as the dress you had worn that day.

You had let your hair down from the small braid and they fell on your back in small curls, covering even further anything which was revealed by Ivar’s hidden gazes.

Although he quickly moved himself to hide his face, you felt his light eyes on your body as they followed the hidden curves of your body, in a way that made you tremble.

“Welcome back, husband” you uttered softly, as you bowed and sat onto a chair beside the bed, not daring to enter it as Ivar approached it pushing himself onto the bed as a guard followed him inside.

And once he was sat down, after you had spared an embarrassed look at the guard, the guard helped him out of his braces, the metal that grasped his lower legs in an attempt to keep them straight.

You looked at the gestures, trying to understand how to unlace them so that you could do it yourself, quickly realizing that smaller hands would have worked better, since the man seemed to be pretty clumsy, making Ivar growl in pain.

He barely got one left before Ivar shouted at him to make him go away, moving to pull onto the metallic cast and you crouched down to do the same, Ivar reserving you the same treatment of the previous day when you had bended to take the ring.

But you weren’t scared this time, focused on the mechanism of the braces, fascinated by the creations etched on them, a you swiftly moved your finger through their hooks, unhooking them as you then helped him out of it, with a quickness that the previous guard hadn’t owned.

As you raised your head to meet Ivar’s eyes. they found yours and you smirked lightly, seeing them looking at you surprisedly, definitely not expecting your actions, but you just shot him a quick smirk.

“… thank you” he huffed out, pushing his legs onto the bed as you raised up, helped by a hand of his, which clutched yours tight.

“I can do it for you, each night, from now on” you told him as you overlooked him seeing if he might need something, but by the hazy look in his eyes, he seemed too tired for anything else “… I am a quick learner”.

“That you are” he mumbled, his tone held something between sweetness and annoyance.

“Who did them?” you asked gently, taking one brace in your hand as you twirled it around your hands, looking at it with curiousness, trying to understand the techniques, not having ever been so exposed to a demonstration of practical science, but fascinated nonetheless.

“Me” he replied, as he slithered away from you on the vast bed.

You shot him a surprised look, dropping the braces as you pushed them away from the side of the bed.

“That is… those are amazing creations” you complimented softly but he just nodded as if your words weren’t true “… I mean it”.

“You are too gentle” his tone was almost emotionless, and you retorted back, daring a step further.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” again you dared more than you had the ability to, but he didn’t seem to mind it too much, turning to you and again the intensity of his questioning gaze made you flinch away your eyes from him.

“I don’t know, yet” he mumbled, before turning away “… I am tired, so I’ll probably fall asleep soon, have a goodnight wife”.

And soon his lids shifted closer, giving you no chance to talk to him, able simply to move yourself into the bed, the farthest corner from him and then slipped a in very not peaceful slumber.

Your only reassurance was that another day had passed.

---

You were woken up by movements beside you, your head no longer projecting the illusion of being home as you moved the blankets and furs away from you and you sat in an upright position, opening your eyes to the tender light in the room, the sun being too low to be truly morning.

You turned to the other side, realizing Ivar had sat there and was trying to lower himself to the ground and as you turned to him, he realized that you were staring at him.

He seemed calmer, almost less guarded as he turned to you softly smiling.

“Sorry to have woken you up”.

You were frozen and surprised, after his continual outbursts of the previous night you almost feel like you were being tricked by his actions.

“Don’t worry, I have always been a restless sleeper” you promised softly at him “… what about you? Why are you awake so early, husband?”.

“Work” his mutter was an huff of annoyance and you couldn’t help but frown, almost wanting to push yourself further and hug him, bringing him back in bed, but didn’t dare to, both scared of what Ivar might do, since although he respected you, he didn’t fully trust you, and of the impure actions you had in mind.

And you couldn’t help but feel like any of those actions would have been greatly disapproved by your father.

It was already… embarrassing to have slept together, although at the extreme corners of the bed.

“We could have lunch together, again” you proposed as you sat in a more comfortable position, trying to get him to talk with you more, and to set up a proper appointment, hoping that the his mood might make it easier for him to talk with you.

And that it might be going on for the entire day.

“… we shall see” it was better than a no and the smirk he sent you left you flushed and worried as you lowered your head nodding “… go back to bed, wife, I’ll tell the thralls to wake you up in a few hours”.

“Don’t scare them” you told him softly and suddenly his good mood disappeared, but he nodded turning himself away from you as he slithered in the room to collect his braces before disappearing behind a secluded area to dress up.

You rolled yourself around bed trying to appear asleep when he returned back, but your body seemed at unease and restless.

You had always been the type to find it difficult to fall asleep, you would either fall asleep completely tired or you would roll around in bed, unable to completely relax as you tried to tire yourself out to get some sleep.

That’s why you had taken the habit of sneaking around by night, something which father Peter encouraged, remaining with you till late at night if you ever needed someone to talk to.

You had also always been an easy sleeper, so it wasn’t hard for you to feel Ivar’s eyes lingering onto your shielded body for a minute more before he stumbled away out of the tent, and you were alone.

As you always did in these cases you moved towards your trunk, checking the knife hidden in silks: the girls had been in your room alone and although all your trunks were locked you wouldn’t have put it past some to try to find something on you, mostly Turid and Solveig.

As much as you liked both, you couldn’t deny the fact that they were very different from you and them belonging to the Vikings ranks would have mattered greatly, hadn’t you done something to make them loyal solely to you.

After you were reassured the knife hadn’t been touched, you dug deeper and found a carpet of books you had laid out beneath all your dresses and picked up the first one you found, a small one with an elegant cover and golden inserts on it, denoting a writing in Latin.

You had taught yourself Latin with the help of father Peter and the use of the Bible till you had managed to read something else and then became more accustomed to the strange language, eventually being able to read all your favorite Latin authors, like Cicero.

Its sarcasm and strong personality definitely came as a reassurance for you, but you soon discarded the book for another, finding “Ars Amatoria” by Ovid, the book that might help you discover what went through men’s head.

You couldn’t help but blush through the erotic side of Ovid’s narration, but tried to sign up a few of the things that were told, before Solveig appeared on the threshold of the tent and you swiftly hid the book beneath your pillow, welcoming the older woman with a soft smile.

“Good morning, my princess” she wished you as slowly all the thralls appeared behind her, changed in cleaner dresses, although they weren’t as rich as the previous ones, but they all seemed much more relaxed, for which you were thankful.

“Good morning Solveig” you smiled, a you raised form the bed, Turid coming behind you immediately, almost as if she was used to helping you as she might have done with Ivar “… I hope you slept well and weren’t too cold”.

“… the… guards and prince Ivar were nicer with us” spoke softly a small girl, a bit older than she seemed, brown hair and deep amber eyes, Lia, if you weren’t wrong “… we had a nice night”.

“I am glad you did” you spoke, trying to look through all the girls who bowed their heads, bigger smiles through their grim appearances except Angelika, but you guessed that you would need more than simple furs to get her to like you “… does anybody like braiding hair?”.

Lia stepped forward:

“I have a smaller sister back home, she is barely five, I always braid her hair” she explained, making your heart swell with sadness “… she is… ruthless. She is always constantly unlacing her hair and making it a mess”.

“My sister Katherine is the exact same!” you giggled, making the girl relax as you gently pushed her to sit next to you “… she would need me to braid again her hair before any important meeting because she would go and run away through the castle”.

Although Lia still seemed at unease, she smiled genuinely.

“… Clelia is always trying to imitate our older brothers, she says that one day she’ll be a knight”.

“Well, she’ll be an amazing knight I am sure” you joked back, softly “… my sister Katherine dreamed of being like Lancelot from the legends about king Arthur, she would make me play Merlin and my sister would be Morgaine”.

Something of recognition shone in Lia’s eyes who relaxed.

“… we would play the same! My brothers even got us a round table!” she spoke, before a veil of nostalgy brought onto her face and you felt like it was better to change your opinion.

“… the reason why I asked who could braid is because… although I have a lot of practice in that matter, I do have to say that I don’t have much on myself, so if you could braid my hair, I would be extremely thankful”.

It was mostly a test, to see if these people would be loyal to you, offering yourself in such an intimate and feminine suggestion.

Lia blushed lightly, but scooted closer asking you to turn around softly and she started braiding as you invited another girl to come further, as your braided her golden hair, and soon you were all immersed in the soft atmosphere of feminine attentions, even Turid, who had big voluminous curly hair were being braided by small Christine.

It was a nice atmosphere definitely making you feel more at ease, almost as if you were again in your castle with your handmaidens, definitely not in a tent in an enemy camp, but you still kept your eyes sharp and attentive on everyone.

Angelika didn’t join the ‘braiding group’, but she still held her court with a few of the youngest thralls for which you were low key grateful, allowing them to try various braiding techniques on her long hair.

Both Solveig and Turid were determinate in their movements, almost mechanical, whereas the Saxons soon replenished the tent with low chatting and you quickly tried to catch onto it.

Something that caught your attention was said by Eleanor, a beauty in her own right, long dirty blonde hair and green eyes, a voluptuous body that her modest clothing didn’t hide, but her eyes held a purity and a shyness that you recognized all too well.

She had been talking with Arabella, a sixteen-year-old with a slim body and a tightness to her limbs that came from nervousness, almost as if she was constantly anxious.

‘… the guards and all these men… they have been looking at me weirdly’ muttered trembling lightly the blonde-haired beauty ‘… prince Hvitserk even went as far as to…’.

But her small confession stopped as the mentioned subject appeared in front of you, an obvious show that your presence was requested, and that he was in charge of you again.

The small chatting had immediately ceased and Solveig moved away with your nightgown, busy adjusting it back in the trunks, as she had dressed you up in a green gown, a bit tight on your stomach, and the skirt fell heavily on your hips, but you smiled through the pain.

Jewels had also been added, a small circlet of golden to crown your beautiful braided hairstyle, for which you had thanked multiple times Lia, the small girl smiling brightly at you, as you reached out for one of her hands.

You took a look of your body in the small mirror at the entrance of the tent and couldn’t help but feel more like your royal self than anything else, keeping your head high, as you bid the girls ‘good morning’.

The three that would be coming back coming with you followed you: the small Delilah cradled in her sister’s arms, meanwhile Christine clutched onto your gown as a child, comforted as you passed a hand through her braid

You led them to the chariot with a few guards on it, that would be taking them home and you slowly encouraged them to move further, but both the children gripped your arms tighter, scared by the men’s behavior.

“… you are going back to your families, sweeties” you softly spoke as you crouched down beside the small children “… your mom and your dad will be so happy to see you”.

“We won’t forget it, princess (Y/N)” spoke softly Mary at your shoulders, a few tears coming down her face as she fidgeted with her hands “… our father might be a small lord, but he’ll know that you freed his daughters and when you’ll need help my princess, just come to us and ask a favor”.

“Do me a favor, Mary” your voice wavered a bit, moved by the child’s offer “… protect your sister and Christine”.

“I will, my princess” she mumbled softly, as the two children loosened their grip on you, but kissed both your cheeks, hugging you tight “… you are a true saint, my princess”.

“Have a safe travel, Mary”.

The girls moved onto the chariot helped by the guards to whom you sent a small thankful smile, before turning to a surprised Hvitserk.

You made sure the chariot exited the camp before you turned to him.

“… Hvitserk I am going to ask something of you” you mumbled, shyly and nervous.

“Just ask and you shall receive” he joked back, but as he turned to face you, finding that your glare was pure steel.

“Don’t ever touch or talk with my handmaidens, again, or I’ll get your eyes out of their sockets”.

And you turned, your gown swishing soundly against the ground as you did so.

Missing Hvitserk’s shocked expression.

---

This time your daily stroll was taken at boat building sites, since you had insisted about a less crowded place and more open, wanting to see the reason why Vikings were so famous and undefeated: their boats.

You had been fascinated by the entire process and you had been looking through everywhere almost as a child with a new toy, Hvitserk barely following you and soon he had lost you, as you threaded through the setting where they covered boats with pitch and where they set up wood.

You had always been a bit excluded by such a practical knowledge and were now taking anything in with interest, as you run around, everybody surprised by your presence but nobody gave you any trouble, even answering your questions as you asked them.

Fear and respect in their eyes.

As you were stopping onto a cliff in front of the vast sea, you felt a presence reaching your side, and turned thinking it must have been Hvitserk, but to your surprise and dreading it was Halfdan.

He hadn’t the cocky expression of the other day, he instead seemed nervous almost uneasy, showing his true colors, for which you were thankful since he wasn’t the only one.

“Princess (Y/N)” he called out to you, bowing slowly his head, more out of circumstance than anything else “… may we talk?”.

“If you are going to insult me, I’d prefer not to” you shot back, the dress having given you a confidence you hadn’t known, a façade different from the one you owned.

“I actually came to excuse my poor behavior, my brother always tells me that my behavior with women… is not… something I should be proud of”.

You were definitely able to feel like Halfdan was sincere in his talk and lowered your steely glance, setting onto the small rock propped up by the cliff, as Halfdan did the same.

“… your apologies are accepted, my lord” you spoke “… but I’d like you and your brother not to use me as a way to get back to my husband”.

He seemed shocked with the way you spoke, having caught the bullseye, something you had thought about in the morning as you read, thinking about the way both the brothers had tried to get a raise out of Ivar.

But what they did with you was testing the waters to see if you’d betray your husband.

“… you see, Halfdan The Black, I might seem naïve and young, but I am not stupid or blind” you talk about it slowly, pushing every word out almost as spitted against him.

“Why then, if you aren’t stupid or blind, do you stay with Ivar?” he spoke, genuinely curious “… he isn’t properly husband material, the way he got so angry at your wedding… it isn’t…”.

This explained the pity glance.

“My God wants a wife to be faithful by her husband’s side, whether in sickness or health, till Death do us apart, I might have rejected my God, but I stand by my beliefs” you spoke slowly “… and I don’t think that you and your brother might offer me something more than my husband”.

And you were already someone else’s spy.

Halfdan didn’t look too shocked by your confession, before he adjusted on the rock, looking around at the sea, the way the grey waves crashed to the shore in a continuous cycle that hypnotized you, your gaze stuck there.

“… you are seriously smarter than I thought” he spoke, making you blush lightly, reverting on your timid personality “… ND you are more interesting than I thought, princess”.

“Then you might want to let me know why you are named Halfdan The Black” you retorted, shifting the argument of your conversation, definitely uneasy with the attention set on you.

“… that princess is a long story” he retorted, a small smile on his face, a bit more at ease with you.

But your conversation was quickly set off by a sudden scream and as you both turned you found a girl the origin of the desperate scream as a man moved to grab onto her hair, pushing her down and pulling onto her hair to bring her back in his tent, as the girl dug her hands onto the ground, to avoid moving further.

You immediately moved forward as Halfdan was immediately behind you and before you even knew it you had pushed onto the man, making him release his hold onto the woman who immediately crawled away, setting herself behind you.

She was different from any woman you had ever seen, her skin darker than yours, a beautiful shade of ebony that completely matched the blackness of her ink-like eyes, as they stared with fierceness the man.

He was  older than you, but in a way that was more due to his weight and evil expression on his face than to his actual age, as he moved forward to you with an animalistic growl, getting right on your face.

“… want a fucking lesson too, little whore?” he spoke in Saxon, his tone dripping with venom and alcohol “… I am more than willing to show you…”.

And as his hand was coming down your face, a sheathed sword pulled it back, making the man fall onto his ass as Halfdan came into your view, something savage in his look as he came in front of you.

But the man didn’t desist.

“… don’t you teach your whores to stay out of the fucking way” the entire phrase was too slurred for you to completely understand it, but you understood the dreadful meaning of it.

Again, Halfdan came to rescue, pushing himself in front of you as he pointed the sword at the man, stopping him from getting up.

“Do you know who you just called ‘whore’?” the man shook his head softly “… she is Ivar’s bride, shithead”.

And like that the man’s face grew restless and white, almost as if he had suddenly realized the terrible mistake he had done, backing up slowly from Halfdan and you, who instead overstepped Halfdan and moved to the man.

The fear of God shone in his eyes and you slowly crouched down to him.

“… you better ask forgiveness” you whispered, and the man immediately raised his hands almost to protect himself blabbering forgiveness, but you stopped him immediately “… not to me, but to the lady”.

The beautiful woman who now was looking at the scene from behind Halfdan’s strong legs perked up, her voluminous hair dirty of mud and her dress simply rags patched up together which made you understand why she had tried to run away.

Although the man grimaced at your small order, he did mumble a slow ‘sorry’, and you exchanged a small look with Halfdan who pushed feet onto the man’s protruding stomach, effectively stealing his breath.

“… do it better” and when he stood there without doing anything your anger got the best of you “… beg for forgiveness and don’t make me ask again”.

And the man did, almost starting to cry, something that brought you back from your small moment, as Halfdan released the man kicking him away as you moved towards the woman, who had looked at all the scene, tears slowly slithering onto her dark cheeks.

You approached her carefully, crouching down, uncaring of the mud that got in your dress as you did so, gently helping her up her fragile feet and softly asked her if she was alright.

She seemed shocked by the fact you had spoken with her but quickly nodded, her weigh being suddenly pushed onto you as she slumped in your arms, her feet having given out under her.

Halfdan quickly took her from you, carrying her in his arms easily, as you were suddenly met by Hvitserk, who seemed confused by the entire scene but didn’t dare to question it as you told him to go back to your tent and to advert Solveig of preparing a bath.

Halfdan carried the girl as you tried to check on the her, worried almost as if she was one of your own.

But what caught you and made you raise your eyes from the girl was Halfdan sudden stare fixed on you, a slightly dark smirk on his face.

“I always thought that Ivar would be your undoing…” he mumbled softly “… maybe you’ll be his, only time will tell”.

---

Solveig had almost threatened to push you out of your own tent as you fretted around her worried for the poor woman: she had blood on the hem of her dress, between her legs, which had made the poor Turid almost faint.

All the Saxons ladies had been pushed out and as much as you hated separating Solveig and Turid from the rest of them, using them for manual actions, you thought it would have only scared the girls, even further the younger ones, who were playing with Lia and Arabella, outside, under the watchful eyes of Halfdan and Hvitserk.

‘Do you think that she’ll… she’ll feel better soon?’ you asked continuously at the older woman as you had slowly dropped the girl in your bathtub, after you had discarded her clothes.

You had tried not to look at her body, the Christian modesty you owned closing your eyes, but you hadn’t been able to avoid witnessing the scars that decorated the woman’s body, all recent and you could only guess what that horrid man had done to her.

You couldn’t help but have memories of what had happened a lot of years ago to another woman, who had her body branded by scars, under her rich clothes.

That’s why you had moved in and that’s why you felt so so damnably tense at the thought of that woman never opening her eyes again.

She did it, finally, waking up as one would from a cruel nightmare, moving her body without a true order as she splashed the water, enough that both you and Solveig rushed to bind her arms, making her only pronounce other words you didn’t know, unknown also to Turid, who had rushed in with a towel for the woman.

“You are alright” you spoke softly in her ear, slowly releasing your grip onto her arm as you told Solveig to do the same “… that man won’t hurt you anymore”.

She seemed taken aback, needing a moment to process your words and then she dipped in the water, her hand raising high and her words seemed prayers, thankful for being free, as her voice broke pitifully and she was overcome by a cry.

You dismissed Solveig and Turid, knowing all too well that whenever such bare emotions were uttered one didn’t need a crowd and she softly turned to you, her face being again stained by tears as you softly hushed her, holding her close.

“… thank you, my lady, thank you” she cried and you softly smirked.

“Don’t worry, no woman should ever be treated like that” you spoke, gently handing out a hand for her as you grabbed the towel Turid had brought, turning around to give her some privacy.

“You are… you are the… younger prince’s bride, aren’t you?” she asked as her voice wavered a bit, evidently wanting to shift the conversation away from herself, and you didn’t blame her since you were a stranger to her.

“… yes, I am, I am princess (Y/N)” you told her, bowing lightly “… and you are?”.

“My name is not... understandable in this tongue… but since I came here my father… he called me Caryn” she told you, slowly lowering her voice, something delicate and intimate in her talk, but you didn’t push her further.

“… that’s a beautiful name” you mumbled as you helped her out of the bathtub “… can I leave you with Solveig and Turid, now? I’ll check on the other girls”.

“Of course, my princess, I am sorry if I said you were a lady…” she started rambling and you just smiled at her, grabbing softly her coarse hands.

“… no need Caryn, I am just happy if I can make you feel a bit better”.

And you exited to control on the girls and more importantly the men, but Hvitserk was careful to look at anywhere else that wasn’t the girl, whereas Halfdan’s eyes were set onto you.

“How is the girl?” he asked, softness shining in his eyes.

“Bruised but holding on” you told him and released a soft breath, before he asked you and Hvitserk to join him for lunch.

“I don’t know if I…” you shot a small look worried for Caryn “… can you bring me lunch here?”.

“First she threatens me and then orders me around…” mumbled Hvitserk annoyedly “… she is becoming too spoiled”.

“I do think that she’ll be funnier than we think” retorted Halfdan.

And you smirked at him, before turning, the light circlet on your head catching light, almost as a lightning as you drove back in the tent.

You had saved a life today.

And maybe God would have seen it and decided to help you.

Or maybe you had helped yourself out of this shit.

---

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[songofsoma]

A Chance Meeting

31 days of wayhaven | day 17: au

a scene from @rosejellyy​, @aelwen-art​, and i’s au blades of dawn :)

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: nora bishop x iris lee x cecilia beck word count: 1,750 rating: general

read it on ao3

Her eyes opened with a groan.

Everything hurt. There were muscles she didn’t know she had that ached. 

The sound of bowls clanking together and a soft humming pulled Nora back to reality. She tore her eyes away from the dark ceiling, the fog creeping out of the edges of her vision.

Her head fell to the side as she surveyed her surroundings. She had no idea what she was up against. The last thing she remembered was falling to the ground next to the unconscious knight she had been fighting.

The knight in question appeared in her vision.

Nora sat up quickly, her head spinning.

Hands grasped desperately at her belt, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger, metal singing as it was drawn. But before she could plunge the blade into the sleeping figure, a silent force stopped her hand.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that it is incredibly rude to draw weapons in other people’s homes?” A voice called.

Panic was surging through her veins. She couldn’t move her limbs. 

It all clicked.

She was in the house of a witch—a powerful one at that.

Memories came flooding back: the wind whipping across her cheeks, the trees seeming to part around an approaching figure, the feeling that she could barely breathe. It had been magic.

Nora hated magic. It made her skin itch.

The woman was ethereal in the dim light of the candles, the lines of her body silhouetted beneath the sheer dress she wore. Gods, she could see every damned curve.

As she grew closer, bare feet padding against the wooden floors, Nora could begin to make out the features of her face.

Warm brown skin harbored an intoxicating smile, complimenting the amused twinkle in the depth of her dark gaze. She was quite short but was at an advantage to where Nora sat up on the makeshift cot. Bending down so her face hung inches away from hers, her fingers wrapped around her jaw, forcing her head to turn in her direction.

“Now if I free you, do you promise to be a good girl?” Her smile transformed into a smirk as she tugged the dagger free from Nora’s grip. “Otherwise, I think I shall make you a new piece of décor. You would make such a pretty statue I must say.”

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She struggled with a small nod.

The witch pulled away and Nora found herself a bit regretful at the loss of her touch. Thorns of magic released her from their grip. She was able to move again. 

Her gaze scoured the room once more. 

A variety of dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling, seemingly filling every inch, and leaving no hint of the wooden beams beneath. The room they were in was small. Most of the space was littered with books, spell jars and bottles, and more plants cutting through the earthy tones with their lively greens. A few more rooms were hidden by old wooden doors. Nora had to pause and wonder how they managed to stay up.

The witch had turned her back to Nora and had resumed her humming. Long tendrils of hair, the color of rich soil, spilled down her back, reaching just above her waist. Her fingers ached to touch it.

A sweet aroma was beginning to drift over from where she stood. Nora was not kept waiting much longer for a steaming cup of tea was offered to her.

She stared at it tentatively before her eyes flicked up to the witch’s face.

“It’s not poisoned,” she sighed. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered dragging you both to my home. You’re lucky I let you keep your armor for it made you both significantly heavier.” A hint of irritation colored her tone.

Nora wordlessly took the cup, straining to tear her eyes away from the addictive gaze that threatened to swallow her whole.

But she found it impossible not to follow her.

The witch paused beside the knight, bending down to whisper something inaudible into her ear. A few moments later, drowsy dark eyes blinked open. 

“That’s it, sweetness,” she cooed, helping the girl sit up.

Nora stared at them wordlessly. For once in her life, she felt helpless and vulnerable. Iron and silver were useless against a forest witch. She had heard tales of such beings but never expected to meet with one face-to-face. Although, in the horror stories told to her by the elders, forest witches were something out of nightmares with monstrous claws, skin falling off the bone, and needles for teeth. The image used to keep her awake at night when she was a child.

“Something on your mind, my hunter?”

She bristled back at the pet name. It only widened the woman’s smirk.

“That is what you are, is it not?” She purred, pressing her knee onto the edge of the rickety cot.

Nora couldn’t find the words to answer her question as she leaned down, the ends of her hair tickling her face. She was struggled to continue to meet her eyes for the already sheer fabric of her dress dipped lower.

Warm fingers trailed over her cheekbone. “Truly a shame. I do enjoy watching you use that pretty little mouth of yours to try and wiggle your way out of problems.” The witch’s thumb brushed her bottom lip so lightly, Nora wasn’t even sure she had done it.

“Who are you?” Was the only thing her mind could pull together as the intoxicating woman pulled away.

She was gifted with a lovely smile. “I have many names. The Witch in the Woods, the Forest Guardian, sometimes hag by those who are feeling quite bold,” she laughed at the joke meant only for herself. “But you may call me by my given name, Cecilia.”

“Cecilia,” her lips wrapped around each syllable, savoring the way the name sounded on her tongue.

“What are you going to do to us?” A panicked voice sounded from beside her. She had almost forgotten the knight’s presence.

The humorous quirk of Cecilia’s lips was back. “Eager I see. I do take requests.”

Deep brown eyes grew bigger as she looked the woman up and down, perhaps she was sizing her up.

For the first time, Nora had the chance to study the appearance of her opponent.

Dread filled her once more upon realizing her beauty.

Delicate features sat upon porcelain skin, mirroring the sweetness of her voice. Eyes, so dark they were nearly black, held a mixture of anger and fear. Unlike Nora, a significant amount of her armor had been removed. Hints of a thick, white bandage could be seen peeking out from the loose collar of her undershirt.

An odd pang of guilt shot through her upon noticing it. She quickly turned her gaze away.

Why should she feel sorry? This woman was her enemy.

Still, Nora hadn’t realized she had truly wounded her.

“If you plan on killing me, I would rather you get it over with.” The knight complained, wincing as she shifted.

“Why is the first thing travelers’ minds go to is that I want to kill them?” Cecilia huffed, crossing the small room to busy herself with a bunch of flowers waiting to be dried. “Have none of you ever been taught manners? Especially you,” she turned to point at the knight who curled on herself at the attention. “Someone of noble birth should know to at least introduce themselves to their host.”

“How do you know I come from nobility?” The question was almost accusatory.

Rolling her eyes, her fingers began to bundle the flowers together. “Your sigil is on your breastplate, sweetness. House Lee, if I am not mistaken”

The knight said nothing. She only looked away, pretending to study a ginger cat sunning itself in one of the windows.

“For a forest witch, you’re quite familiar with human affairs,” Nora snapped.

She raised a shaped brow. “‘Tis a matter of my survival. I have not lived in these woods for centuries without knowing what goes on in the world around it—that would make me a fool.”

Centuries.

The thought made Nora’s stomach churn.

“Now, if neither of you has anything more to accuse me of, I have duties to attend to. I shall allow you two to rest.” Cecilia dropped her task back onto the counter, making her way to the door. “Oh, and please don’t kill each other, Lucius will be very unhappy with you both.” She gestured to the corner of the room to where a large, scrupulous wolf she hadn’t noticed before was watching them closely.

The knight squeaked in sudden fear, scrambling away, breath hitching from jostling her injuries.

Nora’s jaw hung open as she looked at the beast.

“Worry not, he only bites when he must!” And with a bell-like giggle, she disappeared out the door and into the forest beyond.

They were quiet for a long time, both of them staring warily at the wolf. The animal, however, seemed entirely unbothered by them as he laid his giant head back onto his paws, eyes drooping from boredom.

“What do we do?”

Nora’s gaze slid over to the rigid figure of the knight, watching as she wildly began to pat her waist.

“My sword, she took my sword!”

“Yes, she took my weapons as well,” Nora grumbled.

She chewed at her bottom lip and Nora was unable to keep her eyes off of the small movement. Luckily, the other woman did not seem to notice. “Should we run?”

“I doubt we’d get far.”

She rubbed a hand over her forehead in thought, skin smeared with dirt and blood from their earlier scuffle. “Then I suppose we have no choice than to wait for the witch’s return.” Her eyes shut as she sank back into the furs with a defeated look. “Surely my mother will notice my absence and come looking.”

Nora snorted. “Fantastic, just what we need so she can execute me immediately.” Venom coated each of her words carelessly.

“It’s better than your people raiding this hut!” She protested, eyes flying open once more. “Pillaging this entire forest while they are at it!”

She pursed her lips, looking away from her. “Then I guess we will wait, preferably in silence.”

“Fine.” The knight crossed her arms, pouting like a child.

Just like that, Nora decided she was not sorry she had wounded the girl after all.

[sandalwoodhusbands]

sooo.... new chapter when? 🤠

my dear tata tata, now that i'm finally done with finals (🥳🥳🥳) and our government has slowly but surely been lifting up the confinement my friends are very set on dragging me out of my house every day for the past week.

that means chapter 4 will be pushed back until monday probably (i'm very sad about it) but maybe i could interest you in some good old sexy elu times?

-

(also on ao3)

“Like this?”

“Stay still.”

“Make sure to get my good side!”

“Oh my God,” Eliott laughs, falling backwards on the bed as Lucas flexes his arms with a scrunched-up expression. “You’re such an idiot, fuck.”

“Hey! Eyes on the star here.”

Eliott huffs out another quiet laugh before sitting up. He brings his phone up to eye level, waiting until the lens focus on Lucas’ figure, and taps. Snap after snap, Lucas changes position every few seconds, each more ridiculous than the last one, and Eliott’s sides hurt from laughing this much.

He thinks this is the most fun he’s had in months. With them in their tiny apartment, loud laughter echoing against the walls, the summer sun disappearing behind the buildings.

Lucas sticks his tongue out, and Eliott’s eyes crinkle with something akin to happiness. He takes another picture.

This fucking boy, he’s gonna be the death of him one day.

“Are you sure this is my good side?” Lucas asks again, throwing him a glance from where he’s staring at the window. “Yann laughed at me when I showed him my student ID card last semester.”

“As if you have a bad side. And Yann is a tasteless moron.”

Eliott watches as Lucas’ lips twitch.

He manages to take a picture before Lucas is turning around, one arm already poking out from under the t-shirt he’s wearing. Eliott gives him an amused look, but Lucas just shrugs, getting out of the t-shirt and throwing it at Eliott.

Eliott catches it easily.

“I got tired.” He says, the corner of his lips quirking up. “I wanna try on something else.”

“Be my guest.”

There’s mirth in Lucas’ eyes when he turns to look over his shoulder. “Well yes, aren’t I half the owner of this apartment?”

Eliott rolls his eyes with amusement. Still, he doesn’t miss one second of Lucas walking away from him.

The grey sweatpants he has on are loose around the ankles. They look soft; incredibly soft, drawing the curve of his ass perfect, and the waistband hugs his waist in a way it has Eliott wondering if his fingers would warm over if he slipped them under it.

There’s only so much a man can do when the guy you’ve been committed to for the past few years bends over right in front of your eyes. With no fucking shirt on. He’s not even ashamed when he feels something stir inside his pants, mouth going dry at the sight of Lucas’ spine arching up.

He wants to run his hands across that smooth back. Cover his shoulders with kisses and let his mouth trail down until his lips are swollen. He wants to pull him apart with his tongue, and let Lucas do the same to him. There’s no self-preservation when it comes to them; they take, and take, and take until the air in the room is sucked dry.

He’s never been this stupid for anyone before, ever.

“Holy shit.” Lucas’ voice cuts through Eliott’s mind. “I had forgotten we had this here.”

Eliott frowns as he watches Lucas disappear into the wardrobe completely. “What are you-?”

And his thoughts die at his mouth.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Lucas asks with a smug grin. His hands go to smooth down the brown jacket draped over his body, pulling it open enough for Eliott to catch a glimpse of his nipples.

The phone gripped between Eliott’s hands slips onto his lap.

He watches entranced, irrevocably captivated by the expanse of sun-kissed skin standing right before him. The jacket looks huge on him, hanging off his shoulders loosely and reaching past his hands. A protective flare raises inside of him at the sight of Lucas wearing his old jacket, a sense of possession that he rarely, if almost never feels.

Lucas’ whole body is a masterpiece. His toned chest makes Eliott’s lips tingle from afar, his flat stomach begging to get a set of teeth sunk into it.

“So?” Lucas asks again. There’s humor in his voice, but Eliott knows where to look. The faint pink on top of his ears isn’t just from the heat in the room. “Are you gonna take a picture or are you gonna stare at me forever?”

Eliott smirks.

Holding his phone up to his face, he frames Lucas in the middle of the shot. He notices the second Lucas sees right through him. Right through the screen, he sees Lucas’ eyes drop down for a second, gaze dancing by where there’s a bulge right between Eliott’s legs.

And then he’s looking right at the lenses, stealing Eliott’s breath away, and with it goes all of the composure that was left in him. Because Lucas looks at the lenses, and he wears that teasing smile that has been directed at him so many times. Because Lucas looks at him, and he lets his eyes fill with lust when his eyelids drop, and Eliott knows he’s not posing for the camera.

He’s posing for him.

And then slowly, ever so slowly, Lucas’ hand travels towards his groin. His eyes flutter closed when he grabs at his crotch, moaning softly as he squeezes before rubbing his palm over it. His blue eyes are bright on the screen, but the only thing Eliott notices are the fingers that slip under the elastic waistband of Lucas’ sweatpants.

He takes a snap.

Lucas’ thumbs toy with the waistband of the sweatpants. His fingers brush against his skin ever so slightly, and a shiver runs up Eliott’s spine when he thinks of getting his hands on him, too.

His hands freeze on the shutter when Lucas shows an extra inch of skin.

“Lucas…”

It’s said like a question. Like a breathless plead, his heart beating out of his chest as he watches Lucas reveal another inch of skin, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his hooded eyes staring at the camera.

Can I? He wants to ask. Can I do this? Should I stop?

But no words come out of his mouth, tongue tied between one moan and the next one.

“You can.” Lucas’ voice is surprisingly calm over the rushing of his ears. Eliott’s eyes snap up to Lucas’ face, finding pools of deep blue lust staring back at him. “I know you want to. I’m giving you permission.”

And what is he supposed to say to that?

So he says nothing.

He stays completely silent, taking snap after snap as Lucas starts to pull down his sweatpants more decidedly. There’s complete quietness in the room, only his ragged breathing echoing against walls, heavier and heavier the more skin Lucas shows.

His mind goes numb with want, heat growing from his chest and climbing up his neck, spreading down to his belly and making the inside of his underwear uncomfortably hot. Lucas takes it a step further, pulling down on the fabric enough to see the perfect outline of his dick catching on the waistband, and Eliott bites his lip so hard he’s afraid he’ll draw blood.

“Christ.” Eliott curses, squeezing down on his crotch with craving desperation.

It’s enough to encourage Lucas, who gives the camera one last tilted smirk before he’s pulling his pants down to his ankles.

Lucas’ dick breaks free from his pants. The pink at the tip stands out next to the tan of his stomach, and it twitches against his belly under Eliott’s stare. It matches the color in his chest, and in his cheeks and the top of his ears.

Eliott doesn’t know where to touch first.

“Holy fuck, Lucas.”

He sounds fucked out already, he realizes. And they haven’t even begun.

Fuck.

“Yeah?” Lucas asks. He’s looking at Eliott through his eyelashes, tucking his chin to his chest so a few strands of hair fall over his eyes.

There’s always that moment in someone’s life that breaks your identity in two, and from that moment on, you think of yourself as the person you were before, and the one you’re after. There’s a moment that reaches your core; that has such power over you it feels like everything that comes after is controlled by it.

For Eliott it was Lucas.

There had been a party, at the very beginning, and it says a lot about Eliott that he doesn’t remember much from it. Except from Lucas’ body under the neon lights that night. They’d been dancing, maybe with the wrong people, but they had gotten it right at the end. And then Lucas had tilted his chin up, and his tongue had been peeking out from his pretty lips when he smiled.

And Eliott knew he wanted him.

It happens again this time.

Lucas rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, and then his pink tongue swipes over the bruise he’s left there.

The phone flies over Eliott’s back.

It goes over his head, how he’s sitting on the bed and a blink after he’s so close to Lucas their noses almost touch. But it happens, and his heart beats at his throat, and Lucas’ face is warm under his palms.

“You.” He enounces the words carefully, whispering them in the gap between their mouths, feeling Lucas’ fingers dig into his arms. “Are the most fucking beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen.”

Lucas sighs, and the breath that leaves his lips makes the hairs at the back of Eliott’s neck stand.

“Hmm.” Lucas hums happily. His hands slide up Eliott’s shoulders until they wrap around his neck, and he pulls them closer together. “Tell me again.”

Eliott coaxes open Lucas’ mouth with his thumb. He slips the finger between Lucas’ lips, pressing down on his bottom lip until he can feel teeth scrapping at it, and it’s not until he feels a hot tongue swirling circles around it that he lets go to crash their lips together.

Their mouths slide together, lips on lips moving eagerly with slick noises. Lucas’ tongue is in his mouth, and his nose drags across Lucas’ cheek when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

He can feel Lucas’ jaw working under his touch when his mouth parts. The grip on the back of his neck that Lucas pulls at when he nibbles at his lower lip before sucking on it. The heat between their faces, burning up his mouth until it’s tingling, and the shivers shaking Lucas’ shoulders whenever their tongues are pressed flat together.

“You look so hot,” Eliott pants between kisses. He presses harder against Lucas, until his back hits the wall, until their crotches rub together, until Lucas moans against his mouth. “Just standing like that. Fuck.” He leaves a trail of spit down Lucas’ cheek as his lips travel down his neck. “So fucking hot.”

Lucas loosens his grip at the back of Eliott’s head, grabbing the hand on his cheek before pulling it down between his legs. The second Eliott’s fingers brush against his length Lucas hisses.

“You gonna do anything about that anytime today?” He asks.

Eliott smirks against his neck before sucking a bruise behind his ear. When he pulls back, his tongue laps at the bruise softly, and he lets his lips drag down the expanse of his neck. Lucas gasps as Eliott runs one finger up his shaft lightly.

 “Is that enough for you?”

“Not,” Lucas breathes. He makes a little ah sound when Eliott’s tongue runs over the mole at the base of his neck. “Not quite.”

With the hand that he has free, he pulls the front of the jacket open, fitting his hand against Lucas’ ribcage. With every kiss pressed down further, the heart under his hand beats louder, and he makes a show of taking one of Lucas’ nipples between his teeth, staring up as he rolls it around his tongue.

“Fuck.” Lucas’ eyes are clenched shut, mouth falling open with breathless gasps. “Fuck, Eli.”

He keeps drawing soothing circles on Lucas’ hipbone, even as Lucas’ moans turn impatient and his own jaw starts to ache hallway down Lucas’ stomach. The skin is warm under his lips, smooth when he draws on it with his tongue, and it makes the swell in his lips worth it when he feels Lucas’ stomach quivering.

“How about now?” He asks, and his lips brush against the base of Lucas’ dick.

Lucas exhales. “That’s better.”

With one last kiss to the inside of his thigh he wraps his mouth around Lucas.

He hears the bang on the wall as he slides his hands down Lucas’ body, looking up to find Lucas’ head leaning against the wall. From that position he sees the way Lucas swallows when he grips the back of his thighs, just below his ass.

He hums around Lucas’ dick, taking in his mouth as much as he can. Lucas’ breathing turns shallow, flush spreading to his cheeks. His mouth falls open every time his dick hits the back of Eliott’s throat. His fingers twitch hopelessly at Eliott’s hair, hips moving in aborted motions as Eliott bobs his head up and down.

 “Lucas.” He rasps out, pulling away. He speaks between flickers of his tongue at the head, making Lucas moan loudly. “Lucas.”

“What?” Lucas pants. He looks down at Eliott. His face is red, glassy eyes twinkling with lust and mouth bitten red, shiny with spit. It’s enough to make the tent in Eliott’s pants impossibly tighter. “Fuck, what?”

Without saying anything, Eliott lets go of his grip across Lucas’ thighs, guiding his hands to the back of his head. Through his eyelashes, he watches the way a breath stutters out of Lucas’ chest as he intertwines their fingers on his hair.

He swallows Lucas inch by inch, head bobbing down to the pressure their hands make on the back of his head. The sound that comes from Lucas reminds him of a wounded animal when Eliott’s nose brushes against his belly.

“Holy fuck, Eli.” Lucas chants. He cards his fingers through Eliott’s hair, setting the pace. “Holy fuck, you’re so good.” His voice sounds breathless, out of it. Fucked out, even though Eliott is the one with a dick in his mouth. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

Eliott lowers his hands back to hold Lucas’ hips in place, digging his fingers into the swell of his ass. He hollows his cheeks, sucking, licking, humming at the back of his throat when Lucas’ body starts to get restless under his hands.

“Eliott,” There’s begging layered with desperation in his voice. His thighs tremble, and the flush in his chest gets redder with every heavy breath he takes. He’s so fucking beautiful, it feels like it might consume Eliott whole sometimes. “Baby, please. Oh my god,”

From the bottom of his fucking heart, it burns a craving that Eliott has never felt before.

He pulls away.

He shoots up on wobbling knees, trapping Lucas against the wall. Lucas makes a confused noise, but Eliott shushes him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His lips move frantically in search of Lucas’ mouth, hands tugging at the hem of his own t-shirt to take it off himself.

Lucas kisses back just as enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Eliott’s middle and pressing their chests close together. His dick gets trapped between their bellies, and with every shift in their position Lucas mewls against Eliott’s mouth.

“I needed to touch you.” Eliott whispers with urgency. His hands run up and down Lucas’ sides, over the back of his thighs, under the swell of his ass. He clutches Lucas closer to him, holding him tight as he presses hard kisses to Lucas’ lips.

He’s never felt this kind of desperation; the one where your heart is at your throat, where you feel like the life will slip out of your fingertips if you don’t bury them in someone’s skin.

“Please. I had to kiss you. Please, Lucas.” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for anymore, just that his tongue works in autopilot. Everything is burning hot inside the room. “I feel like I might die every second you’re not with me.”

“Hey.” Lucas’ voice is soothing against his temple. His hands are cool against Eliott’s cheeks, his touch soft as he presses their foreheads together. Lucas’ lips cover Eliott’s in a slow kiss, and then there’s blue staring up at him. “Hey, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” Eliott nods. Because he does know. Still, his hands tremble on the small of Lucas’ back, and he has to close his eyes to get a grip on his breathing. “I know.”

Lucas’ hands don’t leave his face when he kisses him again, and the heart at Eliott’s throat goes back down to his ribcage. “I will be yours,” Lucas whispers to the corner of his mouth, “for as long as you’ll want me.”

Eliott clutches the hem of the blazer.

“I want forever with you.” He murmurs, one breath away from giving out to Lucas’ hold. “For as long as I can.” Lucas’ smile against his mouth is something he wants to be branded in his skin forever. He starts smiling too. “You’re mine. And I yours.”

Lucas nods into the kiss. “You are,” He agrees quietly, “And I am.” His eyes light up a moment later, getting brighter by the moment like a sunrise, and then he’s saying, “but could we now please go back to the part where I’ve got my hands in your hair and you’re about to give me an orgasm?”

And despite himself, Eliott laughs.

Lucas grins childishly at him, dropping his hands low to squeeze Eliott’s ass over his pants. The movement makes their dicks rub together, both of them shivering at the contact.

“We could,” Eliott agrees. With one hand he makes the path down Lucas’ ass, brushing a finger between Lucas’ cheeks, and looks at Lucas with a raised eyebrow. “Or?”

The black in Lucas’ eyes eat the deep blue.

“Oh.” He exhales. “Or sounds very good. Let’s go with that.”

They fall into bed laughing.

They’re laughing when Lucas shoots a disapproving glare towards Eliott’s clothed chest, complaining that ‘why the fuck are you still clothed, and how is it fair that you’ve sucked my dick but I still haven’t even seen yours?’.

They’re laughing as Lucas so much as rips the jacket off his shoulders, because ‘holy fuck, no blowjob is worth all that sweating’.

They’re laughing, and laughing and laughing, bodies rolling around on the sheets with hands on backs and smiles pressed to each other’s mouths.

They kiss each other lazily, Lucas’ hips trapped between Eliott’s legs. Lucas’ hands run up and down Eliott’s sides as he kisses him, and Eliott makes goosebumps arise with the pad of his fingers brushing lightly down Lucas’ back.

Lucas’ eyes close every time Eliott buckles his hips up, and Eliott waits readily under him to swipe the moan away from Lucas’ tongue with his mouth. Their groins rub together wetly, a veil of sweat covering their bodies and making their bellies slippery as they sway in sync.

“How do you want it?” Eliott asks. He cups Lucas’ ass, spreading his cheeks apart and squeezing, kneading it like dough. “I owe you an orgasm, you make the rules.”

Lucas’ breath hitches as Eliott’s fingers brush against his rim drily.

He rolls out of Eliott’s arms, lying flat of his belly. His eyes are shadowed by the hair falling down his face when he pillows his chin on his arms, and his stare pins Eliott to the bed as he lifts up his hips teasingly slow.

His back arches, knees spread apart sinking into the mattress, ass on full display. He lets a smirk settle over his face, and then he’s tilting his chin towards Eliott’s face. “Like this,” He breathes. His mouth is open when he kisses Eliott, and his face shines with want when he pulls back. “I want it exactly like this. I want you to cover me completely until you can’t tell us apart.”

Eliott’s response gets stuck at the back of his throat.

Fuck.

Okay.

With weak legs he climbs over Lucas’ body, a buzz thrumming inside his veins that leaves him dizzy as he reaches for their drawer.

He positions himself between Lucas’ legs, running his hands over the inches of skin at his naked back before dropping to his ass. It reminds him of a rollercoaster, the way his hands go up Lucas’ ass and then follow the curve of his arched back.

Lucas leans back into the touch, moaning brokenly when Eliott’s fingers touch the crease of his thighs.

“If you really think this is the appropriate time to worship my fucking ass, I swear to-”

Lucas’ mouth snaps closed, the feeling of Eliott pulling his cheeks apart with his thumbs enough to shut him up.

“Indulge me for a second, baby,” his breath ghosts over Lucas’ rim. Lucas’ ass quivers against Eliott’s hold, and Eliott digs his fingers deeper into the meat of his thighs. He rubs slow circles on Lucas’ skin, blowing softly. “You enjoy it as much as I do.”

“I do, but,” a surprised moan falls from his lips when Eliott rubs the pads of his wet fingers over his entrance. “But fuck, if you don’t get your dick in me soon I’m gonna pass out.”

He pushes one finger in slowly. “Patience.” He whispers. With his lips to the small of Lucas’ back, he pacifies Lucas’ gasps, and with the hand running up and down his thighs he soothes the trembling of his body.

One finger turns into two, that turns into three, Lucas’ rim swallowing him up to the second knuckle. He leaves small kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, trailing up and down paths he’s roamed before as he moves his fingers in and out of Lucas. To the curve of his ass, to the bumps of his spine, shushing with his lips Lucas’ small cries as he twists his fingers inside of him.

“I’m ready,” Lucas groans, fucking himself back on Eliott’s fingers. “Eli, I need you.”

With one last kiss to Lucas’ plump ass he takes his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets and rolling on the condom. He pumps himself with a palm rubbing against Lucas’ crack, dick hardening in his hand as a strings of curses falls from Lucas’ lips.

His heart beats fast with anticipation, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he sinks himself into Lucas. Lucas’ breath is heavy under him, turning heavier and heavier the more his rim takes, pink and stretched around Eliott’s dick in a way it makes Eliott fear he’ll come the second he bottoms out.

“Down, down,” Lucas whines, making grabby hands behind his back. Eliott pushes closer with his hips, tangling their fingers together. “Down, I want you here.”

Eliott’s heart swells. He lowers himself down to Lucas’ request, bringing their hands above Lucas’ head and squeezing hard as he feels his dick sink deeper inside of Lucas. He mouths sloppily at the back of Lucas’ neck when he feels Lucas’ ass flush against his belly.

“Fuck,” Lucas groans out. “Fuck, it’s so much,” his head rolls to one side, cheek pressed against the sheet, and Eliott uses it as an opportunity to nose at his jaw. “So good. You’re so good, baby. God.”

His chest aches with the sweet feeling of Lucas’ back pressed to him, and he moves his hips in shallow thrusts. He’s addicted to the taste of Lucas’ skin under his lips, to Lucas’ noises ringing in his ears, this feeling of complete contentment as Lucas squeezes their hands together.

He lets their hips slap together, faster, and faster, and faster.

He can’t get enough: of Lucas pinned under him, of the sounds punched out of him when Eliott drives into him with sharp thrusts. Of the melody their skins play when they smack together. Lucas’ moans go higher and louder, and he curses, speeding up.

He notices Lucas is slipping on the bed when the thrusts turn deeper and harder, and he pulls back a little, kneeling between Lucas’ legs and guiding their hands behind Lucas’ back.

Lucas’ shoulders drag against the sheets as Eliott pulls him up.

He grips Lucas’ wrists tight, pressing them against the small of his back as he starts thrusting into him with fast jerks of his hips.

“Oh, my god.” Lucas gasps. His hips chase Eliott’s frantically, hands clenching and unclenching helplessly in Eliott’s grip. “Oh, fuck, how are you fucking real?”

Eliott pushes their palms together, squeezing their fingers. “And you’re asking me?” He pants. His eyes watch entranced how he disappears inside of Lucas, how the back of Lucas’ thighs tremble with exertion and pleasure. “You’re so gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. I’ve never met anyone like you. My baby.”

Lucas breaks free of his grip then, falling flat on his belly.

Before Eliott can ask if there’s something wrong, Lucas is turning on his back, patting Eliott’s stomach with his hands.

“Up here.” He gasps. His cheeks are red, hot under Eliott’s hands when he bends down to kiss him, and he’s saying Eliott’s name silently with strawberry lips. “Say that again. Again.”

Legs wrap around Eliott’s hips, and then Lucas is moaning wetly against Eliott’s mouth as Eliott sinks into him again. There’s fingers in his hair, running down his neck and gripping his shoulders, Lucas’ pink lips brushing against his cheek back and forth with every thrust.

“You’re my baby.” Eliott whispers breathlessly. His hips pick up speed, hiding his face in Lucas’ neck. “My baby, baby, baby. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Lucas cries out, tightening his grip around Eliott’s body. He trembles in Eliott’s arms, nodding at Eliott’s words.

“And no one else’s.”

“And no one else’s.” Lucas repeats. “And no one else’s.”

“Fuck,” Eliott places wet kisses to Lucas’ neck, blindly gripping at his hair, tilting his chin up. The roof of his mouth tingles, and a burning heat coils at his belly, heart stuttering out of his throat. He kisses him desperately, hungrily. He kisses him with his mouth, and with his eyes, and with his fucking soul. “Fuck, baby, I-”

And then he’s coming.

He doesn’t register anything except Lucas’ face, slack and brimming with pleasure, mouth open in a silent scream as he follows right after him. He doesn’t register the nails scratching at his back or the sound of an ambulance rushing through the streets a block away from their apartment.

There’s no room for black spots in his vision. His whole mind fills with the boy under him. There’s only Lucas, and the way he looks when they’re kissing, and the face he makes when he’s coming.

When Lucas’ voice comes back, Eliott smiles.

“I’m gonna sleep for three days after this. I think you broke me.”

Eliott bends down to steal a kiss from him. Because he’s there, and he can’t not kiss him when he’s so close.

“I fucking hope not.” He whispers between them. His fingers brush the hair off his sweaty forehead, and Lucas huffs fondly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever broke you.”

“Hey.” Lucas runs the back of his hand down Eliott’s cheek. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Hearts don’t break when it comes to us two, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

There’s a moment when they just look at each other, and then-

“Eli- baby, where the fuck is my phone?”

[catnaples]

You Really Are Perfect, I Swear (Fluff, Angst)

Hi! Thanks so much for sending a fic request in, I was so excited to write it! I didn’t know what kind of insecurity you were hoping for, so I tried to write for one that really hit close to home (because it’s a little easier to write for something that you can understand and relate to). So I really hope you like this! And if you’d like, please feel free to send more requests in!! Also, Tsukishima is a bit out of character in this, but I was trying to go for the concept of the reader bringing out Tsukishima’s soft side. Oh, and I hope that this is angsty enough for you! I didn’t go too hard on the angst, but I really tried to put some tears in there lmao

Tsukishima teases Y/N about her insecurity, but doesn’t realize how mean it is until it’s left his mouth and she’s walking away

“Tsuki, I don’t think you have any right to tease me for the possibility of getting glasses when you’re literally the teams token four-eyed loser.” You scoff at him, humor lacing your voice. You both had been sitting on the bench outside of the gym for the entirety of your lunch hour, teasing each other mercilessly. “Okay, but if I’m the token glasses-wearing loser of the team, then does that make you the token pizza face of the team?” He blurts out, quickly trying to have the last word. You pause for a minute, processing exactly what he had said to you. His face morphed into one of guilt as he averted his eyes. “S-sorry, Y/N.” He mumbled sheepishly. But it was too late. He knew how self-conscious you were of your freckles, yet he didn’t hesitate to take a jab at them anyways.

 You quickly get up and excuse yourself, leaving your half-eaten bento sitting next to him. He quickly stood up, the normally snarky boy calling out to you with a pleading voice. “Y/N, please! I really am sorry!” You ignore his calls as you continue to quickly make your way back inside the main building, heading straight for the bathroom. As soon as you were able to shut yourself into a stall, you let the tears fall. All your life, you were surrounded by your pretty classmates who had soft, clear skin. All of your life, people were quick to make snide comments about it if they weren’t pleased with you. Tsukishima knew this, not just from hearing you vent about it to Yamaguchi countless times, but from witnessing it first-hand too. Foundation never really cleared them away, so you were always stuck with the countless brown dots dusting your face.

 You stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the day, too embarrassed to face anyone. You had a pizza face, according to Tsukishima, and you felt ashamed that you had finally started to feel confident with your appearance in the last month. You didn’t even get up from the floor of the stall until Yachi came in, searching for you.

 “Y/N?” She asked softly, her feet appearing at the entrance of your stall. You didn’t bother responding. “Y/N, the school day is over. Would you like to come to practice with me?” She asked. You scoffed at her. “And what, show my ugly pizza face to the rest of the team? To Tsukishima? No thanks.” You mutter bitterly, your voice breaking. Yachi knelt down and slid her way into the stall with you, surprising you. She sat with her knees pressed to her chest as she stared at you with eyes full of sympathy. “Y/N, I heard about what happened. Tsukishima may not show it very often, but he truly is sorry. He feels really bad. Maybe you can come to the gym and talk to him?” She said gently, giving you a reassuring smile. You thought about it for a second, before feeling shame wash over you again. “No. I can’t believe that I truly let the team treat me so nicely. They probably were just doing it out of pity. I can’t face them right now. It’s too embarrassing.” You mumble, burying your face in your hands. 

 You could hear Yachi sigh softly. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but you could hear her tapping something out on her phone. Bored with me already, huh? You think to yourself bitterly. When she’s done typing, she tucks her phone back into her pocket and puts her small hand on your knee. “Y/N, no one is nice to you out of pity. The team loves you, and they just want to see you happy. Especially Tsukishima. The only way that things are going to get resolved is if you simply talk it out with him.” She said softly. A few more minutes of silence pass before someone new enters the bathroom. The footsteps are heavier, and you think it’s a teacher until Yachi opens the stall door and exits. Before you can get up to close it again, a tall, lanky figure is taking her place.

 You meet the honey-colored eyes of Tsukishima himself, and you look away in anger. “Y/N, I’ve decided not to go to practice today. Can we walk somewhere? Maybe talk?” He asked. You were so used to him being snarky and holding that constant tone of disapproval in his voice, that you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise into your cheeks when you detected the softness that now laced his voice. You stared at him for a minute, before nodding and looking away. He helped you to your feet, and with his hand tightly gripping yours, lead you out of the bathroom and through the school gates. Yachi was nowhere to be seen, most likely at the gym now. 

 You remained silent as you both moved towards your favorite park. Your mind was flying with a thousand mean things you wanted to say to him, but before you could open your mouth, he just stopped and yanked you into his chest. He held you underneath your favorite tree, the pink blossoms shedding all around you. “Y/N, I truly am sorry.” He whispered into your hair. Your first instinct was to struggle. To yell at him and hit him. Hugs don’t just erase the things that have been said. But as he continued to rock you back and forth and whisper sweet little things into your ear, you couldn’t help but relax. You truly did care for him. You just wished that he hadn’t said such an awful thing when he knew how much it affected you.

 You finally pulled yourself from his chest and looked up at him. The petals were flying around you both, catching in your hair. “Tsuki...why would you say something so cruel when you know that I’m so insecure about it?” You asked him, tears threatening to return. Tsukishima placed a hand on your cheek. “I-I wasn’t thinking.” He muttered. “I truly didn’t mean it. Please, Y/N.” His eyes looked glassy, almost as if he was starting to tear up. Does he think that he’s lost me? You thought to yourself. You felt a pang in your heart. He held true regret, and it seemed like he was scared that his snide remark would be enough to end your relationship. “I...I forgive you. But please, don’t say that again. I can handle most teasing, which is why I’m dating you. But my freckles are off-limits.” You said softly, pulling him in for a soft kiss. 

 His body relaxed in relief, and he held your face, giving soft kisses to every single freckle that he could. In no time, it had you giggling as he continued to tell you he loved you. “You truly are beautiful, Y/N.” He said. You studied his face, taking a mental picture so you could always remember this moment. You had never seen Tsuki look so happy. So relaxed. And it meant the world to you that you were able to bring that out of him.

[apprentice-lex]

Thank you <3 Warnings for alcohol, obviously. Mildly suggestive humor, but SFW.

Valerius

Usually, when he had indulged too much, the Consul still retained his grace and dexterity. Now, however, you were witnessing the exact opposite of that. The Consul was seated at the dinner table - and lucky he was sitting, too, because it took him three tries to capture the (perfectly unmoving) wine glass. He tipped the bottle, glancing at you from the corner of his eye and managing to absolutely saturate the pristine tablecloth with the dark, crimson liquid. You winced. That won't come out easily. The Consul flashed what would usually be a charming smile - had he the proper control of his face - and grabbed another glass to pour wine for you. Unfortunately, since he was looking at you, he failed to notice for quite some time that the glass he was attempting to fill was upside down, wine pouring all over the table while he was giving you his best dazzling smile. That was it. With a sigh, you stood up from your chair. It was time for operation "steer Valerius towards his bed" to commence.

Valdemar

Something extremely concerning had happened. Valdemar, usually more punctual than clockwork, didn't show at all, the assistant doctors sharing half-concerned, half-relieved glances, more than a few of them looking expectantly at you. Of course it fell to you. With a frown, you departed, heading for their estate. Empty. Deserted. Your footsteps seemed too loud as you pushed open a door which stood ajar; it creaked on its hinges. An involuntary shudder ran through you. They weren't there. Which meant you had to check their personal laboratory. You descended the steps; the feeble light of torches was barely enough to illuminate the narrow stairwell. A sharp smell of steel, blood, and antiseptic assaulted your nose. And something else... alcohol? Boldly, you stepped into the laboratory only to be greeted by a sight you never thought to see. Valdemar, slumped over their alchemical table, a dazed look on their face. The alcohol fumes were near-unbearable. You took a few cautious steps towards them none the less. "Valdemar?" you called, concerned. They raised a gloved hand, waving as if they were chasing off bothersome insects instead of your concern. "S...mishcalculated." What? Your frown deepened. "'s... 's gave off more fuhmes than exshpected..." They were waving again, this time towards the tilted and spilled beakers of some purple liquid. "The procesh... help...will you?" They extended a slender arm towards you, and you immediately jumped into action. In retrospect, intoxicated Valdemar seemed to be 150% more limbs than usual and heavier than expected. Still, you - carefully - helped them upstairs where there was fresh air and they would likely recover from their little mishap. You received at least a dozen of compliments along the way, including but not limited to how your musculature seemed very functional and they'd love to study it further. Oh well.

Volta

The Procurator was usually a timid, excitable person. So the flush on her cheeks and the giggles were a surprise. As the evening progressed, more and more often did you find the Procurator's hand on your arm, or her leaning into your touch. The pink blush that colored her cheeks every time you gave her a questioning smile or a raised eyebrow was simply confounding. This was entirely out of character for her. So, when she leaned towards you and whispered that she could just eat you up, you had to get to the bottom of things. She did not have anything strong to drink that particular evening, so you couldn't blame the wine which, judging from her behavior, would have been the most likely suspect. Your eyes zeroes in on an empty box of candy at Volta's elbow, and you discreetly got a nearby servant's attention. You did not have to ask, you merely looked at Volta - who was almost doubled over in her chair, giggling - and raised a questioning eyebrow. The servant's hand shot to her mouth to cover her own grin. "Oh, forgive me! These were a gift from Prakra - I do believe they are made with a great quantity of apricot liqueur." The servant stifled a giggle of her own, before shooting you an apologetic look and hurrying away. Your attention turned to Volta, who was currently reaching for a very tempting-looking decoration consisting of fake fruit, gifted to her by some diplomat or other. You grabbed her outstretched hand. "Now, Procurator, why don't we go for a walk?" you suggested cheerfully, then added, suppressing a laugh: "perhaps it will help clear our heads."

Vlastomil

The soiree was perfectly boring. The music was boring, the food was unimpressive, and the gossip was absolutely not worth the effort. So, what else could the Praetor do, but retreat to a shadowy corner, find a comfortable-looking armchair, and take the bottle of plum liqueur with him? Sure, he'd already added a little something extra to his tea that afternoon to ward off the cold, but certainly he wouldn’t overindulge... Well, that was what he decided, about two hours prior... Sprawled in the armchair like he'd usually never be in front of guests, the Praetor was currently giving you cheerful, mellow smile, his otherwise pale cheeks tinted pink with the tell-tale sign that he did overindulge...a little bit. You sat in your own seat by his side, listening to an impassioned story about worm racing, before Vlastomil fell silent, his eyes glazing over slightly. You remained silent too, watching the practically visible wheels turn in the Praetor's mind. "You know what this evening is perfect for, my dear?" He leaned towards you, entirely too close, close enough to feel his breath on your skin - surprisingly, you couldn't smell any alcohol; instead there was just the subtle sweetness of fruit and Vlastomil's own scent - lavender and a hint of sage. You arched an eyebrow, waiting in polite silence. "Worm riding," He whispered, a wide grin splitting his face. Patiently, he waited to hear what you thought about his obviously brilliant idea, unaware of the blush creeping to your cheeks as you remembered the Praetor’s true form. It took him a moment. "Oh. Oh. I meant..." he blinked, a matching tide of color rising to his own face. "No, oh heavens. Literal, ah... I meant... actual... The racing..." Suppressing a laugh, you cut him off by grabbing his hand. "Let's go." Your gaze lingered on his face for a moment, to appreciate how his eyes lit up with joy, before you allowed the overly-enthusiastic Praetor to lead you out of the estate and towards the gardens, where you knew Wiggler would be. You'd return hours later, both you and him covered in mud and your sides aching from laughter. Of course, there would be rumors, but it was worth it.

Vulgora

"I WILL DEFEAT THEM!" Oh no. You rushed out of the dining room and into the chill evening air, chasing after the clearly intoxicated Vulgora; the other dinner guests parted like a tide, casting worried glances towards both you and the Pontifex. They stopped dead in the middle of the courtyard, their golden eyes searching wildly for any foe worthy of them. Gasping for breath, you finally reached them. And you had to think fast, lest there be a diplomatic incident for the ages. "Ah, no, Vulgora - Pontifex - how can you... how can you go into battle without a trusty, uh, steed?" They frowned at your words, thinking hard. Then you saw their eyes zero in on the life-size statue of Count Lucio in the middle of the courtyard, riding his warhorse with an expression of smug superiority on his marble face. Oh no. By then, you had a sizable following of curious dinner guests, who silently trailed in your wake, eager to see what kind of scandal the intoxicated Pontifex would cause. And oh, would their curiosity be satisfied. "HE'S ON MY HORSE!! OFF, YOU KNAVE!" With an impassioned shout, the Pontifex rushed at the statue - obviously completely oblivious to the fact that it was marble - and in one powerful motion shoved the likeness of the Count. You sincerely hoped the statue was carved out of a single piece of marble, and that the stone Count wouldn't budge. It wasn't. With a heavy thud, the marble likeness of Count Lucio fell to the ground, landing in an extremely undignified pose - a rider's posture meant the Count's face was in the grass, and his posterior in the air, on display. You heard the laughter of the crowd behind you, but you had more immediate concerns as Vulgora climbed the marble animal, pointing a gauntleted hand towards the horizon. "ONWARDS!" "Uh, Vulgora-" your meek requests went unheard. "TO VICTORY!" Oh, Nadia would be furious. But first, you had to get Vulgora off that horse...

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 9)

Daryl pushes the out of function automatic doors open and takes a step into the convenience store. He looks around, lets his eyes pass half-empty shelves and broken fridges for soda and bottled water. It’s dead quiet, except- Daryl turns around. Juri stands right behind him and looks curiously into the store, hands deep in the pockets of the dungarees. Where did Mila go? He looks over Juri and sees the door to the liquor store closing. Great. He looks down at Juri again. 

”Okay, kiddo. Stay behind.” 

Juri nods obediently and Daryl turns to the store again. Cautiously he takes a step further into the empty store. But he hears nothing, no hissing noises, no dragging steps. The coast is clear. He turns and nods at the boy, who walks into the store and steers towards the shelves with candy. Daryl directs his steps to the section of the store with washer fluid, car wash tools and gas cans. Does she usually let the boy go away on her own? Probably not, she seems like the protective type of mother. What made her let the boy run after him then? Does she trust him, Daryl? Daryl’s cheeks suddenly turn all warm, again. Damn it. He takes a red five gallon can from the bottom shelf and walks over to the shelves with candy. On his way out he grabs two bottles of water from one of the dead fridges. Juri methodically goes from one end of the chocolate bar shelf to the other when Daryl approach. There is not much left, but he is still careful about what he chooses. How does muteness even work? God, Daryl felt stupid before, he had no fucking idea what it meant to be mute. Juri’s little nose wrinkles at the sight of a raisin bar. 

”Hadn't chosen it either.” Daryl says. ”Found any Mars? Snickers?”

Juri points to a plastic bag on the floor. There are about ten Snickers bars in the bag, along with KitKat bars and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Daryl gives him a thumbs up. What do you talk to mute three year olds about? 

“You’re tough, kiddo.” Daryl says and grabs a Snickers bar from a shelf, opens it and takes a bite. “Your mom too. And stubborn...” 

At that moment he sees something in the corner of his eye. Mila is back, holding the rifle.  

”Ready to get some gas?” she asks.

”All good to go.” Daryl says and holds up the metal can. 

They leave the convenience store and head for the pumps. Mila's backpack looks moderately heavier than before, filled with Juri’s bag of chocolate bars and, what Daryl thinks, a few bottles of vodka. He doubts that she uses it as mouthwash. Daryl’s just about to start filling the red metal can with gas when Mila exclaims:

”We have a visitor.”

A limping figure, whose skin is reminiscent of sour milk to the color, hurls himself against them from behind the corner of the supermarket. Daryl puts his hand on the crossbow, ready to take it out, but instead he gets Mila’s rifle pressed into his solar plexus.

”You fix gas, I take care of him.” Mila pulls a knife from the shaft of her boot. ”Look away, Malish.” she says softly to Juri, who clings to her jeans. 

Obediently, Juri puts his hands over his eyes. With determined steps, Mila goes to meet the walker. With impressive finesse she stabs it in its neck, bringing it down on the pavement, where she finishes him off by inserting the knife deep into its ear canal. She stands up, noticeably unmoved by her action, albeit clumsy and probably in pain due to the fact that her midsection is wrapped up like a Christmas present, and walks back to them. Daryl continues to fill the tank under silence. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s like being in the presence of a tornado and he feels dazed, like after a rollercoaster ride. Mila exhales and leans up against the petrol pump. Sweat runs down her forehead.  

”Here.” Daryl hands her one of the water bottles. ”Couldn’t find any cold ones.”

She takes the bottle, unscrews the lid and drinks, before handing it to Juri. 

”I thought I had better, what’s the word? Physical… stamina than this.” she says and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. 

”Ya’ also thought ya’ were a great medic.”

”Yeah that was pretty dumb.” she chuckles and meets his gaze. ”What was it you called it, scrapbooking?”

Daryl quickly looks away. Mila chuckles.

”I heard about it. Denice told me.” 

”Didn’t mean it-”

”I didn't think you had humor.” Mila says and nods towards her stomach. ”Juri calls it the ’mummy tummy’. I don't know which bad name for it I prefer.” 

Daryl can't help but grin. He puts the gas pump back and screws on the cork to the gas can. When he lifts the heavy can, a rhythmic clucking sound is heard when the gasoline hits the metal on the inside. He’ll probably have to go back and get another can or two tomorrow, but for now this will do. Besides, Mila seems a bit wobbly. 

They start to walk back to the car in slow pace, passing overgrown lawns, abandoned vehicles and houses. A rusty swing set cries out for attention from children that no longer plays on it. A shopping cart lies on the sidewalk and walkers are scattered around the ground like the first yellow leaves of autumn. Juri scurries a few meters in front of them. The blonde hair bounces around his head. Every now and then he turns, to make sure they are following. 

”Where have you been, by the way?” 

”Huh?” Daryl turns his focus back to Mila. ”What?”

”I haven’t seen you since I was interrogated, in bed. Where have you been? What do you do? I practically know everyone else by now… almost. You saved my life. I wanna… talk.”

”Haven’t ya’ been sleeping for, two days straight?” Daryl scoffs.

”You could have dropped by?”

”What do ya’ wanna know anyway?” 

Daryl glances her. Why is she so determined to talk to him? What does she want to know, and why? There’s nothing to know. He’s a nobody. Besides, he can’t talk with her. Obviously it’s completely impossible for him to have a normal, intelligent, conversation with this person. And yet, although he feels like the biggest idiot in the world in Mila’s presence, he’s quite comfortable in her company, or their company. It may be because he stayed away from them, didn’t do as the others and checked up on them. Just because he’s, what? A social misfit? Whatever he is; here they are, walking past rotting corpses side by side, talking to each other. How ‘bout that. 

Daryl raises his gaze. Mila’s eyes glow like sapphires in the sunlight, peering at him underneath the brim of the hat. 

”What do ya’ wanna know?”

”Like, did you pick the unusually boring wall color I was forced to stare at while in bed?” 

”Shut it, Jersey.”

”Okay. Take me to the quarry then.” Mila responds.

”Why?” 

”Because, I want to see what the fuss is about.” Mila lifts the backpack and rifle higher up on her shoulders and grunts when she stretches her abdomen wrongly. ”Did you say thousand?”

”Ya’ think I count them?” he waves his hand at her. ”Come on, give me the backpack.”

”No, why?” 

”Because you’re weak and will collapse any goddamn’ second. Hand it over.” Daryl waves his hand in front of her again, to show her that he’s serious. “Come on.”

Mila sighs and crawls out of the shoulder straps. Daryl throws the clinking backpack over his shoulder.  

”Great. Let’s go look at the dead bastards.”

[sophcaro]

Warriors | WMatsui - Chapter 28

A long, blissful sigh escaped Mayu’s lips as she enjoyed a rest under the shade of the large branches of a maple tree. From her position at the top of the hill, she had a privileged view over the main grounds of the Shinoda clan. The head of the clan’s main residence. The samurais’ private quarters. The stables held over two hundred of horses of every color and kind: black, white, grey, chestnut, roan and bay; packhorses, workhorses and riding horses. The Buddhist temples, central places of prayer. The cemetery, where people came to mourn their lost ones, often soldiers fallen during the last great war. But also, the small houses, taverns and trading centers, that stretched in the valley as far as the eye could see.

The movement, the hustle bustle, the energy. It reminded her of her childhood. Of how the Watanabe clan used to be when it stood proudly as one of the leading authorities of the country.

The remembrance of her lost heritage made Mayu a touch melancholy, but she pushed it firmly to the back of her mind. She was content living here. Every passing day, she was grateful Shinoda-san had accepted to let them stay. At last, they were off the roads, filled with disreputable individuals ready to rob them of their scarce resources. Mayu felt safe within these walls, and wasn’t afraid to call it her new home.

She had settled into what proved an idyllic life, with only one cloud on her horizon. Her sister, Jurina, who had difficulty adjusting to their new day-to-day routine. Maybe it was her optimistic side speaking, but Mayu wished to remain positive. Believe she would come to appreciate this second chance life gave them.

The maple forest had become a sea of reds, oranges and yellows. The grass swayed in the autumn breeze, the sun bathing the foliage and flowers in its golden rays. Gone was the scorching heat of Summer. Mayu found the current temperate, neither hot or cold, pleasant. She had heard that, in this northern region, Winter could prove to be ruthless. Some years, inhabitants had even witnessed lakes freeze. The sole idea made her shiver, and she hoped her thick kimono would be enough to keep her warm. She had spent all her childhood in the South of Japan, where the Watanabe clan used to be located. Only recently, she and her sister had begun to travel norther.

Never before had she had the chance to witness lands covered with the white substance people called snow. The prospect made her secretly excited.

Mayu’s eyes fluttered close. Relaxed, her body felt heavier. She wasn’t particularly tired, but the atmosphere was serene. She drifted away. Without warning, a certain kiss came back to the forefront of her mind, and she was wide awake. Her heart leaped. She raised her hand to her lips; they quivered slightly at the touch. A shy but happy smile broke out across her face. The memory of the soft and warm kiss she had shared with the kyudo instructor was vivid and sharp.

There were gaps in her memory concerning that particular evening, and she blamed it on the excessive use of alcohol. She had always been a light drinker, and she couldn’t explain why she had gotten carried away. Despite her mind fuzzy about the course of events, she didn’t imagine the kiss. She had a hard time believing it happened. For months, her attraction for Kashiwagi-san grew, but she hesitated to make the first move.

What if her protector was gentle and caring out of duty? Mayu had seen a couple of signs suggesting a mutual romantic interest. The personal attention, the lingering eye contact, the physical proximity. And what about the evening Jurina had left the bedroom in a haste after a violent nightmare, and Kashiwagi-san, witnessing Mayu’s disarray, had invited her to her room and provided her comfort?

As days transformed into weeks, and weeks became months, the protégée and her protector grew closer than ever. Their relationship didn’t progress as much as Mayu secretly hoped, but she didn’t want either to take the risk of overstepping boundaries. What if Kashiwagi-san held herself for the same reasons, and believed a romantic relationship between them was inappropriate? The kiss, reciprocated, had put an end to any remaining doubt, and filled Mayu’s heart with happiness.

At the crackling sound of leaves and twigs stepped upon, Mayu pulled out of her reverie. Her eyelids peeled open, finding Jurina standing in front of her. Mayu blinked, coming back to reality. Her sister’s delight caught her attention. “I see some habits don’t change.”

Mayu readjusted her seated position, flustered to have been so lost in her thoughts she didn’t hear someone approach. “What do you mean?”

“It reminds me of when we were little. How often would I find you napping under a cherry tree?”

“You mean…” Mayu continued, in a slight humorous tone. “You mean when you escaped your bodyguard’s attention and explored the lands of our clan, disappearing for hours, sometimes even until sundown?”

Jurina slumped down beside her, and rested her back against the tree. “It’s not my fault if they were too slow to catch up.”

Mayu let out a small chuckle. “I’ll always remember Father’s fury when the bodyguard confessed having lost you. How many times did he change your bodyguard? Four? Five?”

“I have no idea.” Jurina shrugged her shoulders, grinning. “It never made a difference anyway.”

Mayu laughed openly. A comfortable silence fell over them, during which both enjoyed the view and each other’s presence. Once in a while, Mayu would steal a peek at Jurina when she wasn’t paying attention. She felt so lucky to have her by her side. They had endured so many hardships. The murder of their father. The downfall of their clan. Years of restless wandering. Life at the Shinoda clan was a fresh start; an opportunity to put their painful past behind.

“Why don’t you join Rena-san’s lessons? You haven’t come to the dojo. You need to learn kenjutsu.”

Mayu shifted uneasily. “Thank you, but… I’m fine with kyudo. It suits me more.”

An awkward silence followed.

“You’re spending way too much time with Kashiwagi-san. You follow her everywhere. You barely leave her side all day.”

“What are you talking about?” Mayu asked, taken aback by her manifest disapproval.

“I’m not blind,” Jurina rolled her eyes at her. “You get that dreamy expression when you interact with her. You have a crush. I hope you’re not making yourself false illusions about your relationship.”

“W-We kissed,” Mayu blurted out.

Jurina’s mouth dropped open. “What? When?!”

Mayu hesitated. “The other day, after the dinner organized by Shinoda-dono. Kashiwagi-san offered to accompany back to my room, and we ki-”

“Did she take advantage of you?!”

“W-What? No… Kashiwagi-san is not like tha-”

“I knew I couldn’t trust her!” Jurina abruptly stood up. “I warned her to not play with your feelings but she seized the opportunity as soon as she saw one! She used you during a moment of weakness! What else did she do to you?! Tell me! You have to tell me everything!”

Her outburst rendered Mayu speechless.

“Do you even remember what happened that evening?!” Jurina asked, in a slightly mocking tone. “No, of course you don’t. Let me refresh your memory. Hasegawa-san harassed you the whole evening. He made you drink again and again, and you were too nice and polite to refuse. I had no choice but to intervene to make him stop! I wouldn’t be shocked if you were half drunk when Kashiwagi-san walked you back to your room. Your beloved protector didn’t lift a finger to help you!”

Mayu was baffled by Jurina’s fury. Processing the information revealed, she put the missing pieces of the puzzle back together. Little by little, her memory of that evening became much clearer. “Kashiwagi-san couldn’t say anything! It would have caused an incident!”

“Tss. What a silly excuse,” Jurina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “She was too much of a coward to act, and I was forced to step up.”

“Yes, and it could have gotten yourself killed! And what do you mean by you ‘warned her to not play’ with my feelings?”

“Exactly as I said,” Jurina spoke with confidence. “I had a clear conversation with her on the subject. I won’t let anyone toy with you.”

Mayu didn’t like arguing with her. Conflicts left her emotionally and mentally drained. But this was too much. She couldn’t accept nor condone what she had dared to do behind her back. “I can’t believe you did that!” Mayu sprang to her feet, anger bubbling within her. “How could you? You had no right!”

If Jurina was shocked by her raised tone, she didn’t let it show. “You’re my sister, and it’s my role to protect you. I don’t trust Kashiwagi-san. I never did. Even less after her behavior during dinner.”

“You don’t know her like I do. Kashiwagi-san is a good person!”

“You’re naïve.” Jurina wasn’t so easily deterred. “You always see the best in people. Kashiwagi-san is acting nice to get close to you. Once she gets what she wants, she’ll get rid of you without any remorse!”

“You always believe everyone has bad intentions. I know what my heart feels and that Kashiwagi-san feels the same. I don’t judge your relationship with Matsui-san!”

“I-It’s different.”

“How is it different?” Mayu countered. Her sister avoided her gaze, and Mayu guessed she had caught her off guard. “I won’t pretend I fully understand the nature of the relationship you two have. But look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for her. Or you want me to believe it’s a simple flirt? That it’s not serious?”

When the younger girl didn’t reply, Mayu added. “I think we’re both experimenting the same. We met someone who makes us feel something different; something new and strong. But at least, I’m honest about it, and not afraid of saying it.”

Mayu stood face to face with Jurina. She wanted her to realize she meant every single word, and nothing, no one, would make her change her mind. She half-expected her to come back at her with a clever retort. Against all odds, Jurina’s lips remained tightly sealed. Mayu took a step back, and slowly walked away. Their heated debate had left her shaken, and it would take her a while to recover from it, but she was also proud to have been brave enough to stand up to her convictions.

**********

 “She’s totally infatuated with Kashiwagi-san,” Jurina mumbled, leaning her back against the stall. “It doesn’t make her think clearly.”

The whinny of her horse distracted her. “What?” She cocked an eyebrow at her black stallion, meeting his visible disapproval. The animal tilted his head to his left, pointing his nose towards the untouched saddle on the rack. “Yes, yes, we are leaving! You can be so impatient, sometimes!”

Jurina pushed away from the door stall and picked the saddle, throwing it on the horse. All morning, she couldn’t get out of her head her argument with Mayu. She had taken the direction of the stables, hoping a ride would help dissipate her bad mood. “Why won’t she listen to me!” She growled, putting on the bridle. “I know I’m right, right?!” She studied her horse’s reaction, hoping for support and understanding, but all she got in return was a silent stare.

Akihira-kun, the thirteen-year-old stable boy, who brushed the knotted beige mane of a horse, spoke up in a small, hesitant voice. “I-Is everything alright, Watanabe-san?”

Jurina spared him a quick glance. “Yes, yes.” She answered, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. A complete lie. She was anything but fine.

“And how can she compare it to my relationship with Rena-san! It’s ridiculous! It’s completely different!”

A chestnut head popped over the next-door stall. Her protector’s calm and gentle mare appeared, and twitched her ears at her in a friendly hello. The stallion disregarded Jurina’s presence and greeted the mare with a nicker, rubbing his nostrils against the head of the female horse.

“Great,” Jurina groaned, her frustration rising. “Remind me who defended you when Rena-san didn’t want you two to be together? Me! So, you could at least pretend you’re interested in my problems!”

The stallion turned his head partially towards his owner, and snorted in response.

The front door of the stables opened, and Jurina diverted her attention from the couple to the group of four men entering. Amongst them, Jurina recognized two kenjutsu apprentices, Tanaka-san and Matsuura-san. She failed to identify the two others, but by their dark blue outfits, concluded they were young shinobis at Kitahara-san’s service. Her own horse ride all forgotten, she observed the scene unfolding. The four horses saddled and prepared. The heavy, large packages. The weapons concealed beneath the kimonos or wrapped up in dark clothing.

This group of men spiked her interest.  

Unable to contain her curiosity, Jurina approached them. “Going somewhere? You seem prepared for a long travel.”

“W-Watanabe-san.” Tanaka-san spun around. “Oh no, we’re only going to the village.”

“So heavily armed and food supply for what? A week? Has anyone told you before you’re a terrible liar?”

He swallowed nervously. “Matsui-dono told us not to disclose any information.”

“And if you’re not aware of it, it means Matsui-dono doesn’t trust you enough,” Matsuura-san chimed in, snickering.

Jurina glared at him. Her hand travelled toward the hilt of her katana, loosening it from its guard. Her protector had asked her to work on her temper, and to socialize with the other trainees. On that first point, Jurina had made efforts. Did she sometimes lose her calm? Yes, she did, but she had made great progress. Three months ago, she would already have pulled out her sword and challenged him to a duel.

Concerning her relationship with the other apprentices, it was a different story. At first, any opportunity was good to challenge them into spontaneous fights. She relished the adrenaline coursing through her veins when their swords clashed together. Eventually, her thirst depleted to a more reasonable level, and she was satisfied with the daily trainings and regular tournaments. Jurina had neutral feelings for the majority of her fellow companions. She hadn’t developed any friendship, but some had owed her respect, such as Tanaka-san, whom she considered as a valuable opponent. However, if there was one trainee she remained in permanent conflict with, it was the pretentious and self-assured Matsuura-san.

Jurina released her hold on the tsuka of her katana, calming down. Ignoring the provocation, she addressed Tanaka-san. “You’re going on a mission?”

“Yes, we are,” he confessed, a little reluctantly. “We were ordered to patrol the clan’s southern border with Ikeda-san and Abe-san.”

Jurina’s eyes widened at the revelation. The southern border. It was where she and Rena had been attacked. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Jurina thought of interrogating him further, but refrained. He probably had been told the strict minimum. The group mounted their horses, and trotted out of the stables. Why didn’t her protector warn her about this mission? And why wasn’t she part of it? As the four riders vanished in the distance, she decided to have an explanation.

 **********

 Jurina made a beeline to the samurais’ quarters, discovering Rena’s bedroom empty. She moved to the dojo, finding the kenjutsu instructor equally absent. For an instant, she wondered if she had briefly left the clan. No, it wasn’t possible. Her protector had to be within the grounds of the clan: her horse was still present in the stables. Jurina checked a few other locations, such as the courtyard and the garden, without any success. After half an hour of fruitless research, she came to the evidence: she needed to question a guard.

The first guard proved completely useless, having not a single clue about her location. The second one she interrogated provided her, at last, with the information she desperately sought: the kenjutsu instructor was in the council chambers. Jurina took its direction, feeling slightly foolish for omitting that place. Her protector had regular meetings with the head of the clan, and lately, her presence was requested on a daily basis.

Jurina arrived at destination, but was disappointed to find the doors shut. Jurina hesitated: come back later or wait? In the end, she chose the second option. Ignoring the two guards eyeing her suspiciously, she made herself comfortable in the waiting area, praying it wouldn’t take too long.

Time passed slowly, so slowly she found her patience strained. She never had been the most patient person in the world – Mayu would be the first to attest to it - but this meeting was unusually long. Nevermind. She would have to postpone this conversation to later. Jurina raised from her chair, decided to not wait another minute, when the doors opened. An advisor hurried out, his arms filled with scrolls, and Jurina used the opportunity to take a peek inside the room.

Astonishment touched her. The head of the clan was nowhere to be seen. Behind the office where she usually handled meetings and claims, was present the one and only master kenjutsu. Head bent down, she was focused on the table heaped with papers, listening to the male advisor who stood beside her and gave her instructions.

Jurina considered her next move. Should she make her presence known? Or leave her protector to her occupations? No, she had waited long enough to turn back. She approached the entrance, but was halted by a guard. “Do you have a meeting? Matsui-dono asked not to be disturbed.”

“No, I don’t. But I want to talk to her.”

“What is it?” Rena’s inquiry sounded from inside the room.

“It’s Watanabe-san,” the guard announced, turning in her direction. “She wants to speak to you. I told her you wished not to be disturbed.”

“It’s fine. Let her in.”

Jurina walked in and, as the doors closed behind her, didn’t wait to point out the oddity of the situation. “Shinoda-san is not here?”

“Momijimori no kami dono is unwell, and is resting in her quarters. In the meantime, I’m assuming her obligations.”

Jurina frowned. “Is she sick?”  

“It’s a simple allergic reaction to the season.” Her protector’s tone was controlled, but Jurina detected a hint of concern in her tone.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” with a slight joking tone, Jurina went on. “If anything were to happen to the head of the clan, you would make an excellent replacement. You’re practically already doing the job for her.”

The advisor’s features contorted with shock and stupor. Rena pursed her lips in slight disapproval, yet a look of veiled amusement crossed her face. “Forgive my protégée’s erratic sense of humor. Obviously, she wishes no harm to Shinoda-dono. Am I wrong, Watanabe-san?”

“Of course not,” Jurina answered, suppressing a smile. “I hope Shinoda-dono will be on the road of recovery in no time.” She continued, not losing sight of her primary objective. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Matsui-dono has a busy schedule. I’m sure this conversation can wait,” the advisor intervened firmly.

“Yes…” Rena’s voice trailed away, with embarrassment. “Suzuki-san is right. I have all this paperwork to finish by the end of the day.”

“It won’t be long,” Jurina tried to sound reassuring.

Rena could sense her advisor’s eyes boring into her, pressuring her, but she felt guilty for denying her protégée’s desire to speak. “Alright.” Rena relented, and lowered on the table the document she was reading. “What did you wish to talk about?”

Jurina’s gaze drifted from her to the advisor, and Rena deciphered the meaning of the message conveyed. “Suzuki-san. Would you mind leaving us?”

The advisor exchanged with her a glance of surprise, not making any secret of his discontent. His mouth opened as if to speak, and it took him all his self-restraint to not object, bowing slightly, and leaving the council chambers.

“I don’t have a lot of spare time…” Rena’s face creased; her stress palpable. “It’s not I don’t wish to speak to you, but this added workload was unexpected. The Autumnal season seems to affect Shinoda-san’s health… more than usual. She’s been unwell for the past few days.”

“Is it true you sent Tanaka-san and Matsuura-an on a mission?” Jurina didn’t intend to be so blunt, but the question had been nagging her all day. She couldn’t hold herself any longer; she was in desperate needs of answers.

“H-How do you…” Rena stared at her, astounded. “Yes, I did. A couple of days ago, Shinoda-san organized a meeting. She asked me and Kitahara-san to gather and send a group on a patrolling mission. She wants to make sure the frontiers of the clan are well secured. It’s simple routine.”

“We both know it’s more than that. She sent them in the South, where we were attacked.” Jurina confronted her with the truth. “Why didn’t you choose me? I’m your top trainee. I was the best fit.”

“Tanaka-san and Matsuura-san have proved their value. Choosing my protégée would send the wrong message. I didn’t want Shinoda-san or the other trainees to believe I was partial in my decision.”

Rena sounded extremely convincing, but Jurina didn’t buy it. “It’s not the real reason. You didn’t choose me because you don’t trust me. You don’t have enough faith in me to complete a mission without messing up.”

“Jurina-san… No, it’s not true.”

Jurina drew closer to the table, placed her hands flat on the surface and leaned down inches away from her. “You think I’m uncontrollable, don’t you? That I can’t follow orders?” She studied her, trying to read her response. “You know how much I hate being cooped up in this place! I told you… I opened myself to you. This mission, it was exactly what I needed! I needed the distraction!”

Jurina glanced away, overcome with embarrassment. This wasn’t right. She was doing it again. Losing control over her emotions. Precisely what she fought so hard against. She breathed in and out, calming her fast-beating heart. It wasn’t the image she wanted to project. Not to her protector. She wanted to prove she changed, and wasn’t anymore the impetuous child of their first encounter.

“I feared you would be unhappy if it came to your attention. It’s true, I didn’t want to send you. But it’s not for the reason you think. Of course, you have issues to work on. Your temper, your independent and stubborn personality. But you had all the physical and fighting skills required to fulfil this mission.”

“Then why?” Jurina said, allowing her frustration to leak into her tone. “Why didn’t you send me?”

Rena grew rigid and tense, and drew her attention back to the scroll in front of her. “I don’t think it’s the appropriate time for this conversation.”

Jurina felt a stirring of anger. “No, I want to know!”

“Jurina-san, please.” Rena cast her a pleading look. “We can talk about it later. But now is not the best moment.”

“Why?!” Jurina slapped her hand on the table. “It’s not fair, Rena-san! I deserved to go on that mission! You had no right to-”

“I don’t want to lose you!” Rena blurted out, her voice shaking angrily. “Two years ago, I lost someone. It was supposed to be an easy mission, but things didn’t turn out as planned. She never made it back alive to the clan! She died! I don’t want the same thing to happen to you! Can you understand that?!”

Shivers racked Jurina’s body; the confession destabilized her. She withdrew her hands from the table and pulled back. Her protector’s deep brown eyes glittered, and brimmed with unshed tears. What was she supposed to say? Or to act? When the silence stretched unbearably long, Jurina did the first thing that came to her mind. She reached out, touching Rena’s hand. As she held her palm, fingers tremble inside hers, and Jurina met her watering eyes.  

“You’ve come to mean so much to me,” Rena’s voice crackled; a tear slid down her cheek. “I cannot accept to lose you too.”

Jurina was about to protest, before realizing the irony of the situation. Who was she to disagree with her protector’s desire to protect the ones she cared about, when she acted the same way with Mayu? “I understand you want to protect me.” Her voice was calmer and gentler when she spoke up. “But I can protect mys-”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Forgive me for the disturbance, Matsui-dono.” The advisor, Suzuki-san, stopped at the entrance, and bowed in respect. “The emissary of the Yokohama clan has arrived. Will you receive him now, or should I make him wait?”

“Oh, right.” At the reminder, Rena straightened up in her seat. Noticing her hand still linked with Jurina’s, she gently extracted her fingers from her hold. “Let the emissary know I will receive him immediately.”

The discussion was over. The thought of protesting didn’t cross Jurina’s mind. She couldn’t delay her protector from her obligations. Jurina slowly backed away from the table, not breaking eye contact with her. “Maybe…” she paused for a breath, hesitant. “Maybe later we’ll have the opportunity to continue this conversation?”

The master kenjutsu didn’t hide her surprise. She didn’t reply immediately, before giving her a small silent nod of consent.

Jurina’s face relaxed into a faint smile of relief.

She spun on her heel and retraced her steps back to the exit. At the doors, she marked a stop, and glanced over her shoulder. The male advisor, Suzuki-san, had already reached her protector’s side. Jurina was too far away to distinguish the content of their conversation, but imagined he was prepping her for the upcoming meeting. Jurina observed her protector attentively, amazed by her ability to regain her composure. In the blink of an eye, her demeanor had altered entirely, her serious, work-hardened expression not revealing an inch of what had transpired in this room.

 **********

 Every evening, Rena had a ritual.

Her daily chores done, she bid goodbye to Momijimori no kami, and took the direction of the samurais’ quarters. After a hard day’s work – the life of a master kenjutsu anything but restful - it was often sundown by the time she joined her bedroom. Her first action was to lit the candle on the small table, wait for the flame to grow and illuminate her surroundings, and move towards the weapons rack.

Detaching the katana and wakizashi from her belt, she disposed of them and proceeded in disrobing. She removed her hakama and kimono, swapping her daily clothes for her nightly yukata. Before laying down on the futon, she checked her tanto was secured under the pillow, before falling into a deep slumber, exhaustion gaining her.

This evening followed the same path, for one exception. As Rena removed her weapons and placed them onto the rack, she fixed the ninjato laying at the top. She tried not to dwell on it, but was unable to look away. The familiar sword brought her back to the conversation that occurred in the council chambers, one that triggered painful memories to reemerge.

Rena took if off the rack; her fingers slid along the surface of the 30 inches flat blade. That moment of her past was supposed to remain buried deep within her. Only two people, Shinoda-dono and Kitahara-san, had borne witness to the scene, and seen how devastated Airi’s death had left her. The monster who took control. Her delirium and destructive fury. It wasn’t a memory she was proud of, and wished she could erase it from her mind forever. Unfortunately, it still haunted her.

People praised her benevolence and good manners, her sound education and ability to never let her emotions cloud her judgement. Aside from her misconduct two years ago, she had kept them under control. Her encounter with the young Watanabe sister had disrupted the stability of her perfectly organized daily life. After the confession that left her mouth in the council chambers, she didn’t recognize herself. It wasn’t like her to disclose such personal information. The weakness she had displayed. It left her both disturbed and ashamed, and she was lucky only one person had been testimony of it.

“May I come in?”

The familiar feminine voice, hesitant behind her bedroom door, distracted her from her thoughts. Rena cleared her head, and carefully replaced the ninjato back in place. At the request, her mouth lifted into a smile. “Since when you do my protégée ask for my permission to enter?”

The fusuma panel slowly slid open. “Since I learned it’s not appropriate to barge into someone’s bedroom without their approval.” Jurina said, mischief flickering in her eyes. “So, is that a yes? You haven’t answered.”

Rena suppressed the urge to laugh. “Yes, Jurina-san. You may come in.”

Jurina stepped inside the room, closing the fusuma panel behind her, and locked her gaze with hers. They fell into silence and Rena turned around, busying herself with the untying of her hakama. She convinced herself she was simply following her nightly ritual, but revealing secrets of her past had left her vulnerable. She didn’t know how to confront the situation. Rena fumbled with the hakama, the knot resisting her. Her fingers, usually so clever and deft, seemed to have lost all dexterity.

“Do you need any help?” Jurina moved behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist, cradling her against her. Rena stiffened in surprise. “It’s funny. You always seem to have troubles with your hakama. Last time, you couldn’t tie it properly. Now, you have difficulty removing it. What would you do without me?”

It took her a few seconds to recall what she referred to. That day at the lake rushed back with vivid clarity, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She turned around in the embrace, and frowned at her protégée’s wick grin. Jurina’s hands didn’t wait to work on the front himo of her hakama, untying it, then moved to the back. Rena watched as she followed the process, respecting the steps, impressed by her calm and diligence.

“I see I don’t have anything more to teach you.” Rena smiled at her warmly.

While a smile appeared at the corner of Jurina’s lips, she wore a pensive and serious expression. “You know… it’s alright. I’m not upset.”

There was a startled pause. “You’re not?” Rena bit her lip, attempting to keep her voice casual. “Then I guess I must have imagined your anger when you entered the council chambers and interrogated me about the mission.”

Jurina’s expression clouded with unease. “Yes, I was angry at you. Upset, disappointed, and angry. But I’m not anymore.”

Rena vacillated between disconcert and disbelief. “But you have all the right to be. You deserved to go on that mission.”

“You explained yourself. You told me about your past. After what you went through, I understand you would want to protect me.”

Rena stared wordlessly at her, uncomprehending.

“Nothing will happen to me. I’m too stubborn to die,” Jurina said casually. Her job done on the hakama, she took a few steps backward, and sat down on the edge of the futon. “Besides, I’m counting on you to teach me everything you know. I won’t be satisfied until I managed to beat you. So, you need to fulfil your part of the bargain.”

The teasing in Jurina’s tone made her relax, and she smiled in spite of her worry. “Didn’t you defeat me in the forest?”

Jurina waved a hand in dismissal. “No, that didn’t count. I want to beat you in fair fight, without any trick.”

“Please don’t be offended, but I’m afraid you’ll need a few more years for that,” Rena said softly and kindly, but truthfully. “It took me years to perfect my technique, and acquire enough experience to defeat my own instructor.”

“Years? That’s perfect. I’m not going anywhere.”

Rena sent her a small, doubtful look. “You have enough patience to wait for so long?”

“Ah yes, that’s one of the many things I need to work on,” Jurina chuckled, nodding in agreement.

Rena gave her a knowing smile. Dragging her eyes away from her, she stepped out of her hakama, collected it from the floor and neatly folded it on the chair. She reached for the belt of her kimono, aware of her protégée peering at her, but didn’t feel uneasy under her scrutiny. Halfway through the process, she gave her a sideways glance. The amusement had died from Jurina’s eyes, and Rena saw something new and deeply serious within them she couldn’t decipher.

Jurina rose from the futon and closed the distance between them, catching her off guard when she gently pulled her into her arms. “I know you’re troubled by what happened in the council chambers.” She whispered close to her ear, her breath warm against her cheek. “You don’t you like being vulnerable in front of others, and I understand the feeling. I don’t have the habit to confide in people. I’ve never been good at comforting people either,” Jurina confessed awkwardly, struggling to find the right words. “When I told you how much I felt lost and lonely here, you didn’t judge me.”

She pulled back enough to gaze into her eyes. “Today, Mayu told me something that made me think. There are many things I don’t understand. Things… that confuse me. But I know I’m a better person when I’m with you. You said you wanted to help me feel more at home, and I want to try. Not only for my sister’s sake, but because I think it’s worth it. I think you’re worth it, Rena-san.”

Rena’s heart accelerated.

Jurina reached for the front of her kimono and began to detach it. Rena reacted on instinct and seized her hand, interrupting her. She expected the younger girl to fight against her hold, but she didn’t resist. Rena was used to her protégée’s dominant personality and possessive moves. Tonight, she could sense the dynamic between them had changed. She felt her protégée’s desire for her, but she showed more patience, her gaze soft as a caress as it traveled over her face.

A shiver came over Rena, and a knot welled up in her stomach. Jurina leaned closer, her lips paused inches from hers, offering an invitation without taking any liberties. The decision would be all hers. Rena hesitated for the briefest of moments, as her self-preservation instincts warred with her heart’s desire. She knew where this was leading if she didn’t push her back. Her heart won out. She closed the gap separating them. Their lips brushed. She could feel her heart beat faster as Jurina’s mouth moved gently against hers. They had kissed before, but never like that. It made her go weak in the knees, and Rena responded to her kisses with equal tenderness.

Her grip on her protégée’s hand diminished, conveying her consent for her to keep on. Jurina broke the kiss and drew back slightly. Her face brightened with happiness, and Rena gave her a shy smile. The younger girl took her hand in hers, leading her towards the futon. Jurina sat down and gently pulled her down to sit on her lap, and she didn’t oppose any resistance. Without haste, Jurina untied her belt, and swept aside the fabric of her kimono. She feathered her lips along the valley between her breasts, and Rena felt her hands slide over her arms as she freed her from her kimono.

Rena felt the air caress her skin. Her touch claim her. Jurina’s kisses bathed her in delicious intoxication. Her senses roared. Rena’s hands plunged into her hair, fingers tangling, getting accustomed to the sensations of pleasure coursing through her veins. She tried to fight for a minimum of self-control, but found no desire to back out of her embrace, and allowed herself to give free rein to her feelings.

Jurina lifted her off her lap, and laid her gently down the futon. Rena settled back, enjoying the feel of her arms around her. Jurina swooped down, her lips brushed her neck, her cheek, and found her mouth, kissing her. The friction of the fabric of her protégée’s kimono against her skin reminded her that one of them remained fully clothed.  

“Is there a reason why I’m the only one naked?” Rena murmured in between kisses, tugging at her protégée’s kimono.

The latter removed herself from her lips and looked at her, visibly entertained by the complaint received. She rose from the futon and undressed, keeping her eyes locked on her face, letting her clothes fall on the floor without ceremony. Rena found herself openly staring at her nude form, admiring her shapely body in the pale moonlight that came through the fusuma leading to the garden.

Jurina climbed back into the futon, reclaiming her position on top of her. “Better?”

Rena reached up, capturing her chin with her thumb and finger, tugging her down for another soft lip touch. “Yes, much better.”

Despite the dominant position, Jurina’s touch was not aggressive or demanding. It was remarkably gentle, coaxing. Jurina’s mouth wandered up the tingling cord of her neck. With a slow, leisurely touch, her fingers roamed over her curves, and she explored her body as if she had all the time in the world. When she touched her breasts and traced their roundness, her nipples surged at the intimacy.

Rena softly moaned with pleasure.

Their eyes met through the dim light, and Rena wondered if the other girl wasn’t holding herself. Taking things slowly for her sake. Rena studied her, trying to obtain a response, but didn’t detect any sign of frustration. On the contrary; all she witnessed was the similar raw pleasure etched on her features. It set her heart pounding. When Jurina dipped her head to recapture her mouth, she met her halfway.

Soon, they both were back in a passionate embrace, their naked bodies entwined, gently making love. While Rena’s hands glided over her back and shoulders, Jurina’s hands left her skin hot and tingling. Tonight, Rena was witnessing her protégée’s softer side. But if those last three months had taught her one thing, it was that Jurina was a complex, multifaceted person. And she was eager to discover all aspects of her personality. 

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Cursed G Pt 31 (Hakuno, Gilgamesh, Enkidu, Siduri)

Previous Part: 1 - HakuPOV / GilPOV, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30

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“How long have they been gone now?”

Gilgamesh leaned back, staring towards the windows of the ziggurat. The morning meal had been long, but compared to the lunch hour, it may as well have been the blink of an eye. He hadn’t expected to spend hours without Hakuno around for him and Enkidu to entertain themselves with. The servants had pushed them away several times while preparing her to go visit his mother. He’d seen Siduri looking through some of her tablets, no doubt debating on whether or not to allow Hakuno to do much work at all.

She’d never manage to keep them away from Hakuno, but it had been amusing for a moment to watch.

Then the day had progressed. The audience chamber was as long-winded as he remembered. The lions curled up around his throne, beginning naps as a few nobles offered their daughters to him.

He didn’t want them. Never had.

What he had wanted was someone much like Enkidu: a challenge. He wanted wit and humor. He wanted steel nerves and unrelenting backbone. Someone who would bend at the mere breath he gave was useless in comparison.

The advisors today had not met Hakuno yet, but they knew that he had brought a woman into the palace. Their hands were wringing, their eyes were darting to him and the clay being nearby.

He had ordered his wedding to be arranged.

However, they did not know the woman or her lineage for this affair.

The result was simple: They doubted him.

“My king,” the latest presenter announced. “This is my daughter, from the clutches of Ishtar’s temple, I’ve retrieved her for becoming a wife to you. She’s wise, wise enough to know how to please a man and keep your bed warm. The wedding could be right before the one you are holding soon for that outsider.”

“How boring.”

Gilgamesh glanced over to Enkidu, earning a small nod.

“Take the woman back to her temple before the gods get angered. This is a waste of my time. I have no desire to waste my time on a woman that can barely show any sign of allure let alone-“

The doors were opening.

“Ah, Hakuno’s finally back,” Enkidu murmured somewhere near his seat.

The woman had quite the entrance.

The robes that she’d been adorned in were of the same colors as his own. Her necklaces shifted here and there, falling into the valley of her chest as she strolled forward. The kohl to protect her eyes seemed to do nothing more than make her features more obviously foreign.

Siduri walked at her side, holding a few tablets in hand and grinning whilst she talked to the woman quietly. Whatever distaste she had held for Hakuno was gone, replaced with a slight flush to the woman’s face and a glowing expression that would have had him questioning her had Hakuno not already become his in body.

Yet, neither Siduri nor Hakuno’s appearance were what drew a hundred eyes to stare at her in shock.

It was Hakuno’s audacity.

Hakuno marched right passed those speaking, mounting the steps before his throne and up to where he stood. She leaned up, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him in.

Lips pressed to his own.

He wasn’t sure what had brought this about, but…

She’s nothing if not entertaining.

Gilgamesh pulled her flush against himself, feeling the warmth of her person against him. She made a small sound, probably missed by most, before clinging to him further.

“Leave us,” Gilgamesh managed to get out.

The chamber was emptying. Siduri was ushering those out who had no business here now. The suitor was going, alongside her father. He could sense the advisors hesitating, their robes in his peripheral vision.

“Gentlemen,” Siduri greeted. “May I present Hakuno to you all? She is the woman that our king has chosen for his queen consort and the woman whom Ninsun herself has claimed as her daughter.”

He had to pull back, finding his mother’s talisman amongst the jewelry around Hakuno’s neck.

So she had liked her huh…

“Ninsun told me to call her mom,” Hakuno murmured to him.

That… was surprising.

His mother was not one to take to people. He’d expected complaints. He’d half expected to find Hakuno mounting the steps in outrage and declaring that she would win Ninsun over somehow. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. If anything, his mother would have solidified weeks of entertaining attempts to win her over.

Instead, the woman had placed a protection necklace around her and had told her to call her mom.

Perhaps his mother was aging.

Doubtful, but he could think of no other reason his mother would be so desperate to protect Hakuno that she would place such an amulet around Hakuno’s neck.

He’d need to speak to his mother later.

“She has been claimed by Ninsun?!”

The group of elders stared at her in astonishment, earning a look from Hakuno.

Once again, she was being unpredictable.

“My mother-in-law was kind enough to give me her blessing and tell me to remain close to the palace. Is there something wrong with that?”

Upfront.

It was a good way to show backbone and a good way to make those against her fall silent. However, he noted a couple holding their hands carefully. Devoted to Ishtar, they had no doubt been told to find him someone close to her.

“If she has accepted you, then that is that,” one told them simply.

The others nodded, chiming in their agreements.

“Excellent,” Hakuno smiled at them. “Then-“

At her pause, Gil glanced to her.

“Sorry, I felt a little off again.” She shook her head, her confident mask back up in full force. “Since that’s done, I’ll be working with Siduri in the offices. I’ll look forward to working with you all.”

He found himself kissed again, the woman holding his necklaces before she walked herself straight back to the doors.

…How boring.

Enkidu was hurrying after her, leaving him with Siduri now. The advisors were dispersing, no doubt to speak of what had occurred. The great king had found a woman with enough spine to temper him. It was news that no corner of Uruk would be lacking the knowledge of by nightfall.

“She heard, didn’t she?”

“She was a bit upset at hearing them call her an outsider and offer their daughter as a better choice,” Siduri confirmed. “She took one look at the guards averting their gaze from her and decided to act.”

“And what did she mean by off again?”

Siduri shook her head. “I’m not sure, but Ninsun’s priests told me that under no circumstances is she to leave the palace again. I was told to inform you to boost the defenses.”

That had been in process already, but why would his mother wish for such a thing?

She was not one for protecting loved ones. She knew better than to worry herself about others’ health. When he had been risking his life, she simply threatened Enkidu to do better. When his father had gone to war, she had waved him off with a hand and told him to come back to give her more children.

Giving Hakuno an amulet that showed her favor of her was strange.

The whole situation was strange. She wasn’t gaining anything from helping Hakuno. Why would she be…

The lions were migrating towards the doors now, their low murmurs of hunger and wishing to play in the gardens ringing in his ears.

Kitten needs to hurry up.

“Siduri,” Gilgamesh rubbed at his head. “Which one of the damn lionesses is pregnant?”

“Hmm?”

“They’re grumbling,” he complained.

“The apsu that looked at them the other week said none of them were.” Siduri glanced over to them. “I suppose I could call one again, but I don’t think they’re being any louder than usual, my king.”

Wait.

“Siduri, take Hakuno to my chambers to work.”

“What?”

He was already heading for the door, moving towards the front of the palace. “Do not, under any circumstances, allow Hakuno to leave the palace, do you understand?”

He headed down the stairs as fast as he could, his mind revolving around what this could mean. If true, then he had more beef with Ishtar. If true, he truly needed to stop the woman before she did anything further.

There was one thing his mother would defend to the death: heirs.

It was why she threatened Enkidu often. It was why she had stopped caring as much about his father’s life after he had been born. His kingdom was secure with a person to ascend to the throne. Had Ishtar not been the patron goddess, he had no doubt in his mind that his mother would have been the patron goddess.

“MOTHER!”

He threw the doors open to her temple, finding the priests falling back in surprise.

The woman adorned in blue looked up, her feet currently propped on a small pillow for a good rubbing.

“Gilgamesh, what brings you here?”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

The small smile on her face was barely hidden by her hand. Ninsun waved her priests away, pressing her feet lightly to the floor before she stood up.

“Mo-“

“She’s very different from the women that I have seen come here to pray to be yours,” his mother replied. “She has a mind, one that has much broader knowledge than I had expected.”

“Is she?”

His mother moved forth, stepping before him and lifting his face to look up at hers. The woman was unnaturally tall, unerringly attractive. It was little wonder his father had picked her, but all he could see was just another pretty face when he looked to her.

“Mother,” he tried again.

“I used a bit of power to see into her open mind,” she told him. “Morning sickness, a heavier chest, a more pronounced hunger; I saw her morning and understood the meaning. You’ve done well, far better than the gods had told me you would manage.”

He felt his knees give way, his eyes staring up into those so much like his own.

“You were such a pretty thing. Do you know how deep that love of hers goes?” His mother laughed, kneeling down to keep that close contact. “I felt it, like a golden chain around my heart. If anyone hurt you, she would go wild. If anyone took you, her heart would break into pieces. You’re so deep into her spirit now that forgetting you would mean forgetting all of herself. She would be no more than an empty vessel.”

Such nonsense. There was no such thing as an adoration that deep.

“Do you not believe me? How would she react if those advisors of yours brought another woman for you?”

They already had.

Gilgamesh stared at the woman, his mind blanking at the memory.

“You are so simple,” his mother cooed, brushing at his hair. “So very simple. This will be so entertaining. I want the barrier around the palace increased. Do not let her leave the palace. Marriage ceremonies can be on the palace steps. In fact, it may help to let all see her.”

What did he even do with heirs?

There would be noise and crying and-

What was he supposed to do with an heir?!

“You should make an offering for Ishtar,” his mother murmured.

“No…”

“Take it to her temple and give it to the priests.”

He couldn’t do that.

Ishtar had tried to put Hakuno in her deathbed. She had left the woman lying uselessly in a public toilet and had assumed that she herself could still claim him.

When he had rejected her, she’d turned him into a beast and thrown him into another world.

“She is still the patron goddess,” his mother reminded him. “Fortify your defenses and make an offering. If not for you, then for her.”

He wouldn’t.

The gods did not dictate who would do what and when. They held no control, considering that he had brought Hakuno back and he had helped to aid her healing with his own strength and that of Enkidu’s. He wasn’t going to let Ishtar know that his child was coming.

“Gilgamesh-“

“I need to return to Hakuno.”

His mother earned her hug, her kisses for being of his own blood. He laughed with her for a moment as she recommended names, but he pulled himself from her temple.

His feet felt numb.

He, himself, felt numb. The world around him was alive and bustling. His people were waving and he had to force himself to give waves here and there as he went, but he didn’t stop.

For once, he ascended back into the ziggurat and followed the path he had taken a good few hundred women back to his chambers. He opened the door to his room, finding Hakuno cuddled on the bed with a half dozen of his lions.

Kitten.

Kitten.

“Gil!” Enkidu grinned as they motioned over to Hakuno. “I think the lions have found a new favorite. They’ve been cuddling Hakuno.”

“Enkidu, leave us for a moment.”

Hakuno looked up, frowning.

“Enkidu-“

“I’m going,” the being pat his shoulder. “I need to take some of these tablets to Siduri anyway. Hakuno can’t read all of them yet and was needing my help to translate them to her language, but it may be faster to just let Siduri handle them for now.”

“She’ll learn in the next few months.”

Enkidu nodded, heading from the room.

“What’s wrong?” Hakuno asked.

He moved forward, watching that frown growing. The woman’s eyes were searching his face, her body sitting up a little more.

“Gil-“

“Did you know?”

“Know?”

“About this?” He motioned at her, earning a heavy sigh and a hand running through her hair.

“I didn’t know that the lions would like me at all, but I’ve never necessarily been bad with animals. I tend to just leave them be, but your lions are the cuddliest cats- other than you.”

“I’m not talking about the lions.”

“You just pointed at them.”

“I was not pointing at the lions.”

Hakuno glanced down before she shook her head. “Then I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gil. What’s going on-“

“The baby.”

“Baby?”

“Yes, the one you have growing in you.”

Hakuno stared at him. Those brown eyes were wide and that scowl was stronger than ever.

She hadn’t known.

The woman had no idea that she had been- which meant he was the first out of the two of them to figure it out.

“There’s no way I’m pregnant. There would be obvious signs. I’d be missing cycles…” She paused, shaking her head after a second. “plus the whole time jump would mess up my counting so I’m sure I’m not-“

“The lions cuddle you and say kitten.”

“The lions are overly friendly.”

“They ate a man the day before I disappeared.”

Hakuno glanced at the lions a moment before looking to him skeptically.

“Shall we go down to the city to see? I’m sure there’s a criminal deserving down there.”

“Gil, I’m not pregnant. I’d be gaining a stomach.”

“It’s early. These things take months to fully develop.”

“Who told you that I was?”

“My mother did.”

Hakuno groaned, pulling one of the lions closer. “She may just be wishful thinking-“

“She’s a goddess, Hakuno.”

“Gilgamesh, we slept together only a couple times. I haven’t-“

He yanked her to him, tired of this.

The woman would figure it out sooner or later. She would understand the meaning of her morning illness and she would realize what she had done. She had to take responsibility now. Claiming him so forthright, allowing herself to welcome so much of him into her life and then daring to spawn another generation.

“Gil-“

He pulled back to breathe a moment before he was climbing onto the bed, kissing her again.

She didn’t resist. No, she held him just as tight as ever, her legs seeming to part just for him. The lions were grumbling, moving from the bed, leaving him to have her for himself. He could hear the mutterings, but right now he wanted to entertain himself.

“You fool,” he growled, laughing softly. “You fell in love with me.”

“You know this already,” she complained.

He did, but he wanted to hear it again. The way his mother had described it had been all too great. Would she really lose all of herself at the loss of him? Was she truly that smitten?

“Gil, am I pregnant or are you just trying to make it so?”

His laugh grew louder, his forehead pressing to hers.

She was clinging to him, with him not holding her at all.

“I have only seen children in the kingdom. I don’t know about rearing them. I’ve helped my lions give birth, but my knowledge of people doing so…”

“What about Ishtar?”

“I’ll deal with her.”

“Gil-“

He stole her lips away, watching her wane. His mother had been right. It was foolish to argue when she always was. And that, combined with his good fortune, led him to this.

Hakuno was already looking at him with darkened eyes. Her arms were pulling him in further. The plain fool, claiming a king in this manner.

She was lucky she was so entertaining.

She was lucky that she could pull such interesting expressions when she looked to him.

She was lucky that she could manage to stir such strong responses from him when she touched and held him in her arms.

She was so incredibly lucky, he thought as he pulled those robes down her body and bore her naked person to his eyes. He all but purred as she shivered beneath him. His tongue ran right up from her navel, sending his name escaping her lips once again.

“The tablets,” Hakuno tried to remind him. “There’s work-“

“No one will expect them today.” Gilgamesh pulled his robes from his person, tossing them off the bed as he looked down at the woman beneath him. “I’ll make you loud enough that it will be obvious where the rest of my day will be spent.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Her shouts were louder than ever in his chambers. He held her hips and sent her over the edge so much that the flush to her cheeks would probably be permanent. Those lips rained down upon him, fighting desire with desire.

No one came for them.

It was very clear why.