#he assumed the merchant meant one of the hearts he was wearing

[sugaredparchment]

I keep telling myself I'll introduce my ocs and then i remember how wild some of them are like wait until I start talking about Flare, a clown/court jester character who accidentally traded his heart on the black market and has just been. moseying his way about life unfazed. he can hold a conversation with you but he will not change his tone or expression and will leave you with more questions than you had. his joking is so deadpan he hasn't actually earned a laugh in years (this is both an exaggeration and a lie)

[sleepy-fiction]

Please, God

○ andrew kriess x gn!reader

○ 5.8K WORDS

syn: you're a wicked temptation he should be running from, but you make him so hard. Please, God, let him cum.

tgs: NSFW reader bottom, undisclosed sex and gn sex terms for reader, andrew overcomes fear of sex (religious oppression), loaded religious terms, masturbation, unprotected penetration, silly virus, andrew busts 7 million nuts cause hes sensitive as hell, cutesy fluff, comedic, comfort

a/n: I had so much fun writing this. It was entirely self-serving. but for those who are scared that this will be mostly angst, lit dw I try to balance comedy and a whole lot of romantic sex within it!! It's not meant to be a deep dive but more so a sexy comfort fic looll. pls give it a read it's super funny and cutesy and ofc, sexy as hell

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Andrew knows he shouldn't. He's always set so behind others - he was born a monster - a sinner. He had to work harder to relieve the favor of his community, of his God. He can't stop now. He has to continue. But a wicked, beastly desire within him was stirring in his belly. Tormenting his soul. It raged like a fire within his heart, that sparked down brilliant flares to his loins.

He swallows thickly.

It all started when you came into town.

You were a foreigner, different in how you talked, spoke, and carried yourself. He could taste the sunny vibe you glittered as you talked to everyone, including him. He had learned from gossip that you were a traveling merchant, coming here to rest from your travels before you head to the capital. And though he tried to protect them from the contagious sin that was him- you never stopped talking to him.

You didn't stop either when you cornered him against the cemetery gate, demanding he homes to see you in your inn. Saying how cruel he was for running from you and assuming you didn't like his company for "forcing him away" as you call it.

You were so close, so angry, and so zealous about him visiting you. You demanded him to see you and even went as far as to confess that you loved his company- alone. He swallowed thickly. You said it all in innocence, but the way you made him feel wasn't. Your arm pinned him against the gate by his collar. All the while your face had such a serious expression he had never seen you wear before.

He said yes quickly because he wanted you away from him, so the glittering feelings would disappear. But you persisted, scolding him until you got your fill. You only stopped when you noticed his trembling breath and shaking hands.

Before you left, you told him one last thing, "Tomorrow evening. Dress nicely." He already knew what that invitation meant.

You were taking him to dinner.

If only you knew he was shaking, not because he was afraid of you but because of the wickedness in his body. He was afraid of how excited he was. Afraid of how his body seemed to tingle in a way, he thought he shut down when he was a preteen.

If only you saw the way he squirmed.

If only you could see him now.

Andrew stood naked from the waist down in his home's small bathroom, his hands tugging and pulling at his amazingly wet cock. His clothes bunched at his ankles. His dick dribbled and spat up like a hungry animal, creating erotically slick sounds for every tug.

He just had to make it go away.

His cock was boiling in his hands, his face burning a brilliant red as his free hand held up his shirt. His eyes slapped lidded, moans barreling out at the most sensitive touches.

It normally only took a few pumps, but God was this taking long.

He leaned back against the wall of his bathroom, sinking his back into it and lazily drooping his head down to look at his weeping cock.

He dropped his shirt, and his free hand greedily met his other in massaging his cock, the two-handed squeezing and rubbing causing his back to arch off the wall as his moans filled the bathroom.

Please, he hopes God--

"Just touching there?"

He hears the phantoms of your voice egging him on from the depths of his wicked mind. He gasped at the idea, the sound so clear in his mind that he even looked for you and found nothing. But it continued, "Play with your tip, while you stroke yourself." He groaned painfully at the thought.

He leaned down to watch himself. Obeying as his fingers fluttered, light circles into his tip, while his other hand stroked himself viciously. The friction had him cry out, his legs buckling and shivering under the pressure.

He was going to come.

His moans peaked, his mind betraying him. As he imagined you, staring at him with that intense glare. He bursts, shooting hot, thick streams that splatter against the toilet.

With a dry moan, he leans back against the wall panting viciously.

"What? You're finished just like that," you egg him in his thoughts.

He looks down frantically, staring at his still achingly hard cock.

A whimper flees from his lips, "Oh no..." He tries to shut his eyes, praying it all will go away.

"No what?"

"No... I can't keep..."

"Touch it, Andrew." You command.

He bucks his hips forward in delight. "No." He rushes out of his bathroom, haphazardly pulling up his clothes safely around his waist, rushing to his bed. He barrels into it face first, groaning at the minuscule friction it gives him. Uncontrollably his hips rock into the bed, his poor cock mewling for pleasure.

"Andrew," you tease, he moans in delight, "I want you-"

"No!" He yells. Andrew barrels up to his feet, running out of his home deep into the dead of night. "That house's cursed," he yells into the late air for none to hear. His feet clamored against the pavement, eyes following the streetlights, as he ran to the only place he knew.

Andrew ran into the local Inn before he even knew where he was headed. He burst through the large oak doors and was greeted by the blinding lights of the warm building. He hissed and covered his eyes with his hand. Yet, his bursting into the doors was not a pleasant sight for the innkeeper.

"Oh. It's Kriess," she grumbled. Amid his panic, he was delighted to note that she at least used his name.

But the delight quickly warped to horror.

Why did he come here?

What sort of wicked spirit is possessing him right now?

"I-I shouldn't be here," He squeaks, but it falls on deaf ears.

"Room Nine, third floor," the lady grumbles.

"W-What!" He barked.

"Are you raising your damn tone at me?"

"No, I would never--"

"Get out of here! Get you, white devil!" She barrels as she points to the staircase.

With a terrified gasp, Andrew ran up the stairs, not stopping until he hit the third floor. By now, he was shivering, his teeth clamoring together, his heart beating so fast it could burst. Paranoia ensues him, as his eyes flicker down the hall, left to right with no real substance.

White devil, white monster. He's here acting on his demonic instincts, trying to satisfy the needs of his flesh. What sort of prayer would get him out of this? He needs to know. Please, God he--

"Oh? If my eyes are correct, that's Andrew Kriess!"

You spoke.

He heard your chipper voice mumble. His whole body takes a much-needed deep breath. A mewl of delight escapes him, as his mind floods with serenity.

It was the real you this time.

His head turned to see you at your doorstep, with a cozy robe on. You were preparing for bed, even now you looked so radiant. Your eyes were filled with fondness that fondness that made his heart squeeze. "I was just going out to get - wait. What's wrong?" Your face droops instantly.

You move so quickly to get so dear to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and staring deep into his eyes with that intense look on your face. That's when his grateful tranquility flutters into pure embarrassment.

With a growl, he stammers, eyes trying not to look into yours. His hands fly up as he tries to speak, "I- I thought... It- was," yet nothing of substance comes out.

"Hey? Andrew? What the hell--"

"D-Dont curse," He squeaks as his face grows impossibly red.

"Well, I'm going to need you to calm down," you say, reaching and grabbing his hand. A disgusting squelch bubbles out from where your hands meet as a stocky substance smeared into your palm. "What the hell!" You shriek as you pull your hand away.

Andrew's heart fails him as he screams out horrifically, grabbing your forearms before you can look at your palms. He pins your hands down to your side as he leans forward, his head bows to the floor, but you're painfully aware of how sticky your palms are, and how sticky your forearms now are too. How hot red his ears are.

"Oh mercy! M-Mercy! You must believe me- and do not hate me!" He blabbers.

"What are you smearing on me, Andrew?" It's your squeak now, your face flushing with confusion and embarrassment. You try to pull away and successfully slip from his grasp, but that cold slick makes a disgusting sound and smears worse down your arms. "Ew! God Andrew, what is that!" You howl as you rush back to your room.

"N-No! Let me wash your hands, close your eyes!" He nearly screams, and that's when panic truly settles in for you.

"No!" You rush into your bathroom as you hear Andrew enter and shut the door behind him. You flicker on the lights to your bathroom, as whatever it is begins to rapidly crust and dry on your arms. "What the hell!" You cursed. Your mind raced.

"Oh please! Please," you hear Andrew cry as he fits up a beat red hand to cover your eyes.

You screech and dodge it. "No more touching people, Andrew!" You cry and notice how his hands are crusting now, too.

"I'm s-sorry! A spirit overcame me and I lost to it," he whimpers impossibly broken. His face is impossibly red, as humiliated tears prick the corners of his eyes. As you look at him, it all slowly begins to click.

"Andrew. Please do not tell me this is y--"

Before the words could fly out, he squeaks and grabs your crusty arms, turning on the faucet to the sink and burying your hands into it. He mingles soap and water into his hands, building suds and before laying them onto your arms. He had a hand slung around you, trapping you between him and the faucet so you wouldn't run anywhere. "Just let me wash you," he whispers so lowly.

You swallow thickly, as arousal and curiosity blooms in your body. "Alright, but after this you'll have to tell me what happened. And without any of the fancy mumbo-jumbo spiritual bollocks," You hissed.

He squeaks, his voice budding soft, "D-Don't curse..." His head leans and rests its weight on yours.

You've never had Andrew this close to you before. The water was perfectly warm, his touch was gentle as he stroked your skin, not leaving any side of you sticky with his... Juices. His hands were much larger and gritty than yours, rugged with the callouses of a working man. Yet they turned pink under the warm water, reminiscent of how pale he was. And you could feel his chest rising and falling against your back, his nervous, humiliated breath against the side of your face, too focused on touching and massaging you than actually washing you off.

He cupped warm water and splashed away the suds, but still, he held you there, softly running his hands along your arm again.

You're so warm and soft.

"That's enough, Andrew," you scolded, aware of how intimate it all was.

"Ah," He squeaked as he turned the water off. And you took the liberty to free yourself. "Don't look at me," he whimpers.

You sigh deeply, staring at his shoes. "You walked your shoes into my Inn. And you smell like the cemetery. Take them off and go shower, there's a robe there that you could borrow," You grumble, watching as he instantly fumbles out of his boots. "I'm going to clean the floors."

"A-Alright!"

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The hot steam blew up from the shower head as he stood meekly in the porcelain bathtub. He raked his hands through his blond locks, feeling the hot water run down from his scalp to dribble at his feet. The bathroom at the Inn was much more modern than his smile water basin and shower pipe. He really could sit down in the bathtub if he wanted. Was he deserving to use your bathroom like this?

Oh God, he's in your bathroom, showering- naked.

The heat rushed to his senses as the reality of it all started to settle in. His face blew a stark red as he leaned against the tiled walls, shuffling a shaken breath. His forehead messed into the wall, as he leaned his palms against it.

He was touching himself to you.

That forgotten heat was still there, slowly creaking. His mind raced with it all, the idea, the sounds, the sights. He sucked in a breath one of his hands sneaking down to touch his half-sleeping cock again. It ruptured awake at the minuscule touch, aching into his palm. He swallowed thickly.

Were you naked under that robe?

He hissed at the thought, his eyes rolling back in delight, a subtle chuckle airing from his lips.

Your skin was so soft when he was touching you earlier. You were between him. He could smell you. You smelled of exotic fruits, the time the rich only seemed to know. His hand began to pump his length.

This was so evil of him.

He was letting his flesh win, but it felt so good. His hips bucked into his hand as your name moaned out from his lips. He was so hard he could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his palm. His cock weeping slick in a constant stream mingling in with the hot water and dribbling down the drain.

He wants to touch you like that, in different places too. It's so wrong but God, please, if you're watching him, just look away for tonight. He grips his base in a tough squeeze.

You're so amazing, so beautiful. Just let him touch you a bit. He swallows. "Please," he whimpers out into the air, his thrusting grew animalistic, the pleasure tingling in his back as his grunts grew loud.

He needs you, he doesn't care anymore, he needs you.

He's been needing you for so long.

When you first came here, he spotted you on his grocery trip. You were so stunning that the light seemed to cast a lovely halo on your sweet features. You were so stunning when you rushed to him, to compliment his looks, he moans out at the memory.

He's going to cum. Oh God-

A loud knock split his thoughts into two as he yelped, slapping his water-mixed slick-filled hand over his mouth. You call, "Andrew?"

He yelps again at the fluids on his chin, and at the alarming sound of your voice, "What's going on in there? You're taking a long time," you speak.

He frantically swipes his face and hand again, crying out, "I'll be out!" He immediately shuts the water off, hopping out and to the towels to wipe himself off.

"Andrew... I'm worried about you," you call, and his heart bursts.

He longs for you.

He stares at himself in the mirror, feeling his hard-on twitch.

"You know... It's quite terrifying for you to suddenly appear at my door. And frankly, you looked terrified, I thought... I thought someone had done something to you again..." You whisper, he can bearly hear you over his heart. His eyes flicker between the reflection of his eyes back to him, searching within himself.

He lays his palm against his heart.

"I don't like it when you censor yourself either. I hate it when you act like a holy fraud," You said. His hand clenches to a fist. Him, a fraud? "There's nothing in the world you could say that'd I hate. If there was, that's for me to decide. Not for you to decide for me... So tell me what's going on with you," you whisper into the wood of the door.

"I don't want you hurting. You're so sweet and kind. You're not a devil at all! And it pisses me the hell off whenever -" Your words get cut short, and the door opens, revealing Andrew, eyes lidded, wrapped up in a white rope.

He looks good in the color.

It's a shame he never wears it.

"Don't curse," he whispers, water dripping from his head to his shoulders. His chest heaving with every breath, desire flooding his gaze, lips cracked open breathlessly.

You're taken aback, your blinks are furious. "Sit," you murmur as you bring him to your bed. You both sit facing each other, your arms crossed.

You watch as his face heats up, as his eyes flicker up to see yours in a daze. You suck in an enamored breath, "Tell me."

"Y-You... You provoke my flesh," he whispers it earthly, leaning forward to you, placing a hand by your hip on the bed. Your eyes flicker between his, your blinks slow. "I... want you carnally. I desire you. I pray... N-No. I want you deeply." He's inching closer and closer with a sweet gentle voice, his other hand cupping your arm dear to him. Your hand finds his chest, glimpses of his pale skin underneath his robe. "I couldn't control myself tonight... I'm not sure I want to..."

"Andrew," you hush you between lidded eyes.

"I beg you, let me touch you, please," he's so close to you now, letting his nose brush against the tip of your ear, lips brushing against it for every word, breath mingling and fueling your desire.

You swallow so harshly, grabbing onto his shoulder for stability. He continues, "I can't help but think, isn't it so wrong for a man like me to want this? It's a wicked desire," you hear his confidence falter, and for some reason, it hurts more.

"Don't give up on yourself like that... Succumb to your desires, Andrew. Succumb," you whisper scantily, gripping chunks of his robe and slipping a leg on the bed to fully face him.

He groans viciously, the primal sound sending waves of pleasure through your body. You make the first move, licking a stripe up his neck, dragging the sharpness of your canines gently against his sensitive skin. He moans deeply, the beautifully breathy sound forces you to clench around nothing. It's been a while for you, traveling so much, you haven't had time to take care of yourself.

You lean up to suck briefly on his chin, fluttering your lips closer and closer to his own. But you stop just before to gaze into his eyes. He leans in for you, pressing your sweet lips together. His lips are deliciously delicate, the friction like a much-needed quench. It's barely long before the kiss deepens, as you feed him your tongue. Your soft muscle rushes in to meet his, as you swallow up his yelps and mewls.

His tongue gains its confidence, the shiveringly pleasing feeling of his foreign tastebuds sculpting up your hot mouth. You slurp on his sweet tongue. He grunts and bucks into nothing. Your lips pull away sloppily as he places a hand on you, pushing back onto the bed. "Mmh, wait let's get comfortable," you whisper.

He feels himself ache in his robe

He pulls away from you to follow you as the two of you shuffle to the heart of the smaller bed. "Lay down, I'm going to show you a few things," you tease.

"But I wanna' touch you," he begs into the air.

You shiver intensely at the sound.

"You will," you press him back into the bed, his head resting on his pillows.

He stares at you in disbelief and wonder, the cutest expression dotting his face. You brush his hair out of his face, smiling at his surprise. He's hiding a strong jaw beneath that meek bang, hid beautiful sculpted nose leading to two budding, pink tulips. You shuffle in between his legs, pulling the cord to his rope. His breath hitches, his chest rising and falling with a vigor to run a marathon.

The question pops into your mind as you pull back part of his robe to reveal his lovely chest. "When's the last time you've ever touched yourself, Kriess," you mumble.

"Uh... I suppose... I might have been fourteen," he blinks.

You giggle in disbelief, "Ten years? What a good boy you are. So holy," you hush.

He grunts viciously, "P-Please stop. Just touch me, touch me... Touch me..." He begs, shutting his eyes weakly.

You pull back his robe fully, flashing his wonderfully tone body to you. He was so muscular, so big in stature - the true power of a grave keeper. Your hands tail down his body to his hip, your eyes immediately shifting to toggle the incredibly pink cock of his. His tip was a bullied red as he pulled and twitched into the air. Dribbles of pre-cum touched his belly, and the wet scene was erotically sloppy. He was leaking like a faucet, and it sent your organs aflame.

You groaned at the sight, "So wet for me, Andrew. I'm scared I'll get you pregnant," you tease.

A humiliated squeak flies from his lips, "I-I- I'm sorry. I'm not so s-sure as to how you'd be able to--" but you wouldn't let him continue his lowly apologies as you bent over and pressed a deep kiss into the base of his needy cock.

He moans out into the open, his hands instantly flying to entangle themselves in your hair. You lick up a stripe to his tip, never breaking your stare at his gorgeous face. You pull back, slipping your robe off tantalizingly slow, watching as he whimpers. He gasped at your sweet body, his cock twitching to be touched more.

You gave him something to look at. You smirked.

You leaned down back to his pretty dick, grabbing it at the base and taking the tip into your hot mouth. He was average in length but thick as it filled your mouth. You greedily slurped up his runny juices, closing your eyes with a content sigh as you guided him deeper and deeper into your mouth. His hands clenched chunks of your hair.

The feeling of him entering your mouth was euphoric, as his sweet gasps and moans filtered the air. The sounds were on the quieter side but were sharp and filled with bliss. He chuckled out a delighted sound, his chest heaving as you began to suck.

You twirled your tongue at his piping-hot muscle, hollowing your cheeks and drinking him up. He moaned sweetly into the air, as his legs flew up on each side of you. You bobbed on him, carefully massaging all that you couldn't reach with your hand, lapping him up as if you were thirsty.

"Oh God!" He wailed. His grip grew blood-hot on your hair, the feeling enough for you hiss. You bobbed him viciously in retaliation, the overstimulation forcing his head to lean back. "C-Can't. Can't..." He groaned, he bucked deep into your mouth, gagging you as he held you there with his large fists.

He trusted deep into you, his back arching off the bed, his sounds vulgar and pleading. "F-Fuck, fuck. Please, please, please," he cried out a mantra of fucked out whimpers, riding his high at your expense. His voice picked up strongly, swear dipping down his forehead.

With one final buck into the back of your throat, Andrew pulled out, releasing into the hot crevice of your mouth, his hands releasing you, as they flopped to the side. His rugged fulfilled groans filled the air.

You slipped off him, coughing as you gagged on the intense mixture of your saliva and his slick. "I'm so sorry," you heard him cry as you wiped your lips.

You giggled tiredly, your voice hoarsely adjusting back to the feeling of a dick-free throat. "You're so lovely, 'drew," you leaned up to kiss his lips. The lingering taste of himself meeting him.

You redirected his hands to your chest, and greedily, he squeezed and tugged at anything he could, breaking the kiss so his eyes could oggle you with the passion of a starved man.

His fingers prodded at your nipples until they were hard, then they slipped down your body, feeling the curve of your belly. He instantly shot up as his hand reached down to cup your sex. You giggled out an estranged moan, reaching up to embrace him over his shoulders. "You're so needy," you tried to deflect, pulling your sex away from him.

"Please, jus- please lemme' touch you." He cries out like it pains him.

He the two of you up, not even needing an answer as he pulls you into his lap.

You whimper, leaning into his shoulder as his fingers massage your sex, his tongue frantically passionate. You're deliciously warm to him, and you feel your sex begin to slick his hand. He laughs blissfully at the feeling. The sound of it is soft and filled with childish delight as you rock into him. He speeds up his barrage of you, the friction causing you to rock into his hands, lapping at his neck with your tongue like a dog. Your sex feels painfully hot and messy as you buck into him like a wild animal.

You feel your hole begin to ache, as you push all the way into him, redirecting his hands to touch the puckering hole. "In there," he squeaks suddenly, but you leave no room as you grind down into him.

"Andrew, I was suppose to be devouring you," you whined.

"Haha, it's alright. We can try again later," he twists to see your face, pressing a loving peck against your lips. You blink in shock, his gaze filled with gentleness.

"I haven't had anything up there in a very long while," you whisper into his lips.

"Oh golly..."

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You arch into his fingers, gripping chunks of the bedsheets. Andrew has you laid out beneath him, his thick, burly fingers playing in your thick walls. You huff into him, his fingers themselves coated in a dangerous mixture of your slick, his cum, and his spit. He's knuckle deep within you, his middle and ring finger plunging into you passionately.

His gaze never left your figure, not even for a second, as he drank up the sight of your trembling form. He leans down between your legs, planting a kiss on your sex the way he's seen you done his mere moments prior. "Andrew," you cry with all your might.

"You're so aroused... Am I that tempting to you?" He purrs, his eyes lidded, hair tucked behind his ear. He's gotten too confident.

You couldn't deny him for a second, "Mmhm, yes, Andrew."

He shudders, his name sounds so good from your lips.

He can't take it anymore.

He slips his finger out of your hole, grabbing himself as he lines up to fit inside. His tip bulged against your entrance, and you puckered kisses against the weeping muscle. He pressed against you, his head breaching into your body.

"Aah! Oh," you hissed. Peeking out from closed eyes, Andrew's face was tensed tight. His lips were glued, his eyes lidded, eyebrows furrowed and his cheeks were filled with air. His strong hands reached and grabbed your hips, squeezing so hard it stung deliciously. The familiar subtle burn of stretching as he pushed himself halfway in.

It was finally then did he released his first moans, the sound was strained and needy, his mind held by the single thread that he should hold himself back.

But by the time you sink into his base, your hot, warm, slicked-up insides are screaming at his senses. He lost all sorts of sensitivity. "Fuck," He cried, his voice burly, as he began to pump at a decent pace.

His head grew heavy as he plummeted onto his hands on top of you, his expression erotic. His toned pale body, his strong arms on each side of your head, his eyes that briefly rolled to the back of his head. "Oh, god," he groaned out. The sound fighting against the shameful sounds of your sexes bumping.

His moans abruptly peak again, his eyes rolling back with stuttering hips. Suddenly an abruption of cum spills into you, making you shudder an arch. "S-Sorry, tryna' hold back... Jus' hold on a bit more," he moans, speech slurred, drunk off your goodness. He was still hard after cumming inside you.

He pulls out slowly, all the way down to the head before plunging right in, causing you to cry and wrap your legs around his waist. You were extra slick now, with how his cock fed you more of his juices. His grip on your hips was intense as he buried his head into your shoulder, thrusting quicker as the heaving sensation of you eating up his cock overtook him.

Every sight, every smell, every taste and touch from you, sent him teetering over the edge. This was so dirty, so vulgar, so shameful, that it made his hips stutter in spiteful bliss. Like an animal, he pumped into you at the pace he liked the most, fueled by your irregular, overstimulated moans that rewarded him. You wrapped your arms around him in the tango, burying your nails into his skin as he hit your sweet spot, your jaw falling slack in disbelief.

He was so thick, so filling. Your belly was swarming in satisfaction, feeling all of your inside move and squirm to his every wild buck. He pulled out of your shoulder and pinned your head between him again. His reddish, blueish eyes found you like a greedy hawk. He was completely fucked out, staring down deep into your eyes, not looking away for a second, daring you to keep the gaze.

You whimpered and cried, holding onto his forearms, squeezing and jerking around his cock. He grunted deeply, etches of a delighted smile ghosting his fucked out expression. He was glistening with sweat, a non-stop pent-up sex-machine.

You growled in fear, feeling your orgasm overtake you. You arched down deep into his body, as you spilled out, crying out a useless, "An-Andreew," that fell on deaf ears.

"Please, p-please, please, G-God... Just a little more," he whispers to you. He presses his kisses on your cheek. But truly, he's unsure of who he's calling out to anymore.

He slows for your orgasm, grinding on you wildly, riding out your high as your head collapses back on the pillow.

He pulls out and turns you on your side, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. "Just a little more, please," he cries, he's still hard, still twitching. He peppers sweet kisses on your eyelids, nuzzling his nose into your warmth.

"F-Fine, Andrew. Don't make me say it," you stutter, your face heating in this embarrassing position.

He leans to suckle on your collarbone, distracting you almost until you feel his abrasive length slip into your body again. You mewl out, listening to his shaky breath deep in your ears. He rests his head against the side of yours, your knee hitting your shoulder. "Y-You're very flexible," he praises with a giggle, it almost soothes the anger you feel at his wildness.

You can't even retaliate when he begins to thrust slower, as his wandering lips slip around to pepper kisses on your earlobe, your jawline, your neck, and even on the back of your leg. Your eyes roll at the tantalizingly slow thrusts, all paired with the sweet kisses. He gently cups your chin, turning you to face him as he leaves an earnest peck on your lips. "I love you," he whines childishly.

You giggle in surprise, "I know. I love you e-even more, Kriess," you manage between your pants.

"Oh, God," he whispers, bucking into you with a stutter. You gasp in shock, overstimulation brimming through your body.

"Don't cur- urse," you somehow manage out, grabbing chunks of the bedsheets.

He laughs lazily and begins to pump up the pace, leaning up and fucking into you fervently. You squeeze down on him at the sudden abrasiveness, arching and crying out with all of your body.

The wooden bed creaks, a sound that causes Kreiss' breath to hitch. A sound so dangerous you could see the thought process behind it. He pulls almost out and slams deeply into you again, your toes curling painfully- and yet to your dismay, the bed creeks again.

He laughs blissfully again, stuttering out between moans, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, pistoning into you roughly, desperate to hear the animalistic creaking of the beneath you too. You cry out in overstimulation, your own orgasm building up, ready to spike.

"Please, pleugh... God- gonna... Oh!" A shiver overtakes him as his thrusts get sloppy and stuttering, as you squeeze and milk him of everything he has, your own high reaches its peak at the same time you're bursting with cum deep inside you, as Andrew thrusts into his base and grinds deeply against you, forcing you into an intense orgasm. "C-Cummin' cah..." You watch as sporadic twitch trails from his back, down his arms, and sparks into his fingertips.

His face is completely fucked out, his jaw relaxed, eyes rolled up to the heavens still in prayer. He finally, sweaty, heaving, pulls out of you, his penis going completely soft.

You've never been a religious person, but seeing him finally soft almost turned you into one. You were saved!

You dropped your head back onto the pillow your leg slipping off him as falls back onto his ass. You stare at the wall as you catch your breath, the room suddenly aware of how it smells like sweat and fluids. His cumming so much within you is going to be a problem, but a problem for later you.

Andrew weakly reaches and pats your ankle, and you turn to gaze at him. He's smiling panting out, pure joy bursting on his sweet face. You knew you were going to be so sore, and so tired in the morning but. It was hard to stay mad at a face like that.

He crawls over to you, sitting next to you as he rolls you onto your back. His fingers subconsciously rub circles into your belly as he mutters, "That was heavenly..." He hushes into your lips as he kisses them sweetly.

"Mmh... Andrew," you mutter.

He giggles ecstatically, leaning down and placing a hand on each side of you. He kisses up and down your neck dearly.

"I want to do this with you more," he mutters shyly in that familiar, raspy, airy tone.

And just like that, you were no longer religious.

"Please God save me," You cry playfully.

"Don't curse," he giggles into your neck.

[extraterrestrialechos]

Edward Teach: How to (de)Construct a Legendary Villain

The show introduces us to the legendary Blackbeard as a traditional Hollywood villain. He’s positioned, specifically, as Bond villain Ernst Stavro Blofeld, head of the global criminal organization SPECTRE. 

This character came to define the trope of the criminal mastermind, including the trope of never showing the villain’s face. The chair obscuring Ed’s body while his minion takes orders from across the desk is classic Blofeld. 

Along with Black Pete’s story, this is meant to pour in information about and expectations for Blackbeard in the short three episode buildup to his reveal: He’s big news, he’s bad news, and he’s the undisputed big dog whose underlings are cogs in his evil schemes.

Yet even in his first scene, the show begins to highlight the artifice at play and humanize Blackbeard and his subordinate. 

Izzy is doing his level best to play the sufficiently professional henchman. Edward flirts with him until he’s forced to drop the pretense, his henchman act collapsing into an exhausted and familiar “Oh, Edward, can't I just send the boys?”

And, if we look closely in retrospect, the reason Ed doesn’t turn to the camera is that his leg is elevated to give relief to its nagging knee injury. There’s a cane in the bin in the foreground beside Izzy. These stereotypical trappings of villainy are partly a product of Edward’s high seas career wearing his body down. 

On to Episode 4

Episode 4 isn’t a significant departure from any other day at SPECTRE flotilla headquarters for Edward. Yes, he meets a fun new guy. He also shows off what kind of brilliance is routinely demanded of him by his profession (of being a criminal mastermind) day in and day out, even if he hits a hitch. The emotional beat of the episode is exposing how this intense workplace grind is wearing him down. 

Next, he decides he’ll sail with that fun new guy, murder him, desecrate his corpse and take his identity. The kind of nefarious scheme a pro would expect of himself. 

The subsequent plot, then, does not come out of the idea that Ed, as Blackbeard, is any less than a man who’s achieved the pinnacle of Big Bad attainment, who in conversation with his subordinate checks off on killing entire crews as part of “the uzsh.” He really is that good, and Stede really would have made the perfect and unwitting mark Ed identifies him for. 

Two things are true at once:

Blackbeard is his world’s all time pirate villain overseeing the dispatching of countless lives (we see the population of a whole merchant vessel butchered just in Episode 5 — but laugh, because the sequence is shot through with camp), and

Ed Teach “works for Blackbeard.” 

Blackbeard isn’t who Ed is but a product of Ed’s theatrical skills. 

The show has, already, in Episode 4 cast a realistic light on the inevitable psychological toll of being the Big Bad mastermind keeping yourself at peak performance all the time. 

On to Episode 6

In Episode 6, the show deconstructs how one man, who has one gun and one knife just like everyone else, could feasibly construct such a legend.

This is, at the same time, a meta interrogation of how much effort a man like Blofeld and his infinite villainous counterparts across all cinema would have to actually put in to maintain their seemingly effortless style. 

Here, the answer is Ed is a theatre kid at heart, relying on all the same techniques the real life crew themselves are using to bring us the show.

We’re given a scene of Ed seemingly teleporting around a clouded ship, delivering cinematic lines like “Flee and survive, or face me and burn!” 

Barrels of sparklers stream flash powder into the air. The unnatural fog turns out to be the product of stagehands hard at work behind the scenes. We can extrapolate the flashes of lighting were likely, seeing as we can’t assume stage lights, the product of even more flash powder prepped in the style of old time photography. 

Ed ends up in an elaborate harness. One that Izzy’s doubtlessly removed him from countless times, as he reminds Ed if they don’t work together Ed’s balls will chafe. (Ostensibly, this all used to go smoother before stress aged their relationship to the point of its present squabbles.)

Now we can spy back earlier in the show and see even in Episode 3 they were employing theatrics. 

The smoke steaming behind Izzy as he fixes his spyglass on the Revenge isn’t mysteriously atmospheric. It’s from a big cauldron kept stoked on the deck of the ship, the handle of which peeks through. It’s a constant effort to keep the Queen Anne billowing across the ocean. 

And Forward to the End...

Ed goes through multiple phases of trying on different Eds in the next four episodes. From living as tea with seven sugars Ed, to deciding he needs to physically move on if he’s not going to ice this guy but being prompted by Lucius to explore being “being in a relationship Ed,” to us seeing Jack’s Ed and his ability to relish brotivities, to stripped down Ed on the beach, a blank slate now able to open himself to considering what to paint there, to Ed choosing what to paint there.

Unfortunately, while it’s a new work, it's a dark one.

Having been rejected by Stede and Izzy successively as they see him trying out tidying house, become upset for individual reasons, and walk out of the room in nearly identical scenes, Ed takes stock of what he has left and what capacities in his repertoire will assure his future security. 

We now see Ed pinning (stabbing) up a picture of the archetype he’s going to take on. This is Ed in his make-up trailer, looking to a character design by a concept artist and building a costume around it.

Grease paint, sword earring, jacket shrugged back on, full gloves, and, we see later, Stede's black cravat tight around his neck as @speckled-jim describes (and discusses further here) “like the albatross of Ancient Mariner fame,” reminding him that love itself can be a burden and to never allow himself to be that vulnerable again. 

This new Blackbeard variant cuts a genius, poetic, unmistakably more dangerous image than the comparatively relaxed tough biker pirate we first met.

His newer, dialed up villainous persona, the Kraken, is face revealed with, among the many cinematic variations on the trope, what tightly resembles another more recent Blofeld shot, at once telegraphing this Ed is the Big Bad again and reminding us that being any Big Bad is a high camp performance.

The seams are already fraying. Fang and Ed are both shown drinking heavily to help cast off their sympathies for their recent associates and loose their MUAHAHAHAHA laughter. Already, before this scene, Izzy’s “Blackbeard is himself again!” is paired with the manic smile of a man who knows that whoever the new boss is, it’s not the original Blackbeard and he's in over his head.

But the three of them cut imposing figures on deck, and the future will tell if the movie magic holds.

Errata

Why would they think "Blofeld"?

It might be SPECTRE's trademark giant octopus.

[afatlotofchance]

Kristoff's Full Year (commission)

This was a commission for a weight gain story involving Kristoff from Frozen. If I recall this was written when there was still just the Frozen movie, and not its sequel. Enjoy!

Kristoff felt really uncomfortable. He was starting to regret his decision. Anna had begged him to go live with her in the castle, and while he resisted the fifteen first times, he gave up at the sixteenth. This girl was certainly persistent, and darn cute. He thought to himself “Hey, why not? After all, living in a castle isn’t that bad.”

And it wasn’t that bad. At first. It was nice to sleep in a warm, soft, comfy bed. To be able to wear fancy, expensive, shiny clothes. To not be insulted or beaten up by angry merchants or bandits in the woods.

But then, there was… the rest. All those servants who kept being polite, formal and careful around him. All those weird rules he had sometimes trouble understanding, these strange etiquettes people kept referring to but that he could see nowhere. The domestics were patient and kind with him, yes, but it made him feel worse. They acted like that out of pity. They knew that he didn’t fit in, that he wasn’t made for this kind of life. It showed in their eyes.

And, on top of that, there was… well, the bigness.

Not the castle. Kristoff had grown accustomed to live in big, deserted places. The castle was like the forest, only with a roof on top, and less cold. And less wolves.

No, what really troubled him were… the meals.

Three different types of soups. Followed by five different meats, seven different fishes, eight different cheeses, and an incalculable amount of pastries. There were beasts on the royal table he had never heard of or seen in his life, like spider crabs or swans. He didn’t know how he liked his food cooked – medium, rare, blue, these terms meant nothing to him. For him, meat was cooked, burned raw, there was no in between or nuances. And the sauces! There were so many sauces! He never had sauces before, outside of Sven’s saliva, and even then, saliva wasn’t changing the taste of the food! Here, he had to be careful not asking too little or too much… And the sauces could be sweet, salty, yellow, green, sour, plain… His head was spinning after each meal. Hell, one time they asked him what kind of quarry he wanted: he thought they were speaking of stone-pits!

As a result, Kristoff took a shy approach to the food in the castle. He ate very little, always left a bit on the plates, sent back dishes to the kitchen. He was used to two, maybe even one snack a day, not five parades of dishes between sunrise and nightfall! The only thing reassuring in these meals was the bread. Plain, old bread, you can never go wrong with it.

Well, that’s what he thought. Until he discovered that the castle’s kitchen offered ten different types of bread.

Kristoff’s lack of eating worried the cooks. Kristoff feared that the servants would realize that he wasn’t a man of refined taste, but it ended up being the opposite: the staff thought that he couldn’t enjoy his cooking because it was too bad for him. So the chefs tried harder and harder to please him, commanding the finest, richest, rarest food, multiplying the spices, the herbs, the sauces, making each meal bigger, more complex, more extravagant… But still, nothing. Kristoff was eating like a bird. Only Sven was eating his heart’s fill, and that was because he only ate raw carrots! The cooks tried to include a lot of carrots in Kristoff’s menu, assuming that he would have the same preferences as his mount, but that was another failure.

Anna, noticing the state of despair in which the cooks were plunged, thought it was time to step in and talk to Kristoff.

“Kristoff, why are you vexing them like that?”

“Who?”

“The cooks! They are all working so hard to please you! And yet, you keep eating nothing of what they prepare! I saw the head cook crying in his apron this morning! Why don’t you try to be a bit more considerate? You know, food doesn’t appear magically on the table! There are people behind it, who make it with patience and love!”

“I’m not trying to be inconsiderate! It’s just that…”

Kristoff sighed.

“I don’t know how to act here, okay? I know I don’t belong here! You understand that, Anna? I was raised by trolls, in wild nature! I ate raw vegetables each day! I drank straight out of the brooks! I’m not used to all this… fancy food. And there are so many forks and knives and spoons, and things I don’t even know how to name! I don’t know what to use!”

“I prepared you a little guide to help you with the cutlery.”

“I know, but still! And, anyway, it’s all too much! I always fear I will not be able to finish the meal! I don’t want to get sick! It’s a wonder and your sister are so scrawny with eating so much!”

“I’m not scrawny!” Anna replied. “I’m a strong woman, with a perfect weight for her height and age! And we are used to these kinds of meals. Just like you can get used to them!”

“I don’t know if…”

“Have you learned nothing from what happened with Elsa? Stop fearing what people will think of you! Restraining yourself and hiding your feelings is not a good solution. Accept the gifts people want to make to you, alright? It’s all just good intention. They want to please you. So, eat your fill, eat what your heart desires, and the servants will be glad. You’ll show them you appreciate their work, and they’ll probably stop preparing so much food. Trust me, you can pig out a bit if you like, it will only do good for everyone.”

Kristoff agreed. Anna kissed him on the cheek as a reward.

The head cook never stopped preparing so much food. He was filled with joy at the mere sight of Kristoff cleaning his dishes and digging in his meals – and he thought that him regaining his appetite was because he had finally reached the perfect level of food quality and quantity. As a result, he kept working hard to provide rich, filling and nicely fattening food.

Kristoff actually ended up enjoying this journey on the culinary world. He discovered so much new things! He ate smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, prawns and crab, cod and herring, sardine and mackerel, mutton stew and pork chops. He was particularly amazed at the amount of seafood the cooks served him. There were so many weird things with weird names and weird looks and weird tastes. Oysters and clams, lobsters and mussels, scallops and cockles… And there were so many ways to cook them! Braised, boiled, roasted, raw, smoked, salted, pickled!

For the first time in his life, Kristoff went to bed with a full belly and without any fear of being hungry ever again.

And this new life took quite quickly a toll on him. After all, you couldn’t go from eating whatever berries and potatoes you could find in the woods to a full breakfast-brunch-lunch-afternoon snack-dinner routine without seeing some changes in your body.

Kristoff was living in the castle for roughly two months now. He was naked in his bathroom (that he tried to not use as much as the servants wanted him to). He looked at himself in the mirror and said:

“Yep. I’m fat.”

He wasn’t enormous, of course. But he still had his flab.

His belly was soft now, soft and fleshy. It was still quite flat, but thicker and plumper. He had grown love handles, which gave him the feeling that he was carrying a belt of fat around his waist. And his chest, that used to be stone-hard, felt more doughy and flaccid than usual.

“It would be a good time to work out a bit… Staying in the castle all day long and never going outside isn’t the best for a mountain man like me.”

It was true that his level of physical activity had drastically dropped. While the castle was big enough to make him walk several hours a day, it was nothing compared to the roads he had to take, the mountains he had to climb or the ice he had to harvest.

At this thought, he looked outside. One of the windows in his room was overlooked a small court, the one where his sled waited. The beautiful sled Ana gave him as a gift. The beautiful sled, with its cup holder. He tried it maybe once or twice, and then he put it there.

He should be getting out more, he thought. Doing his job.

Because, as it turned out, “Royal Ice Harvester” was a real job after all – but it consisted mostly of sending other men to work, and watch the team as they cut the ice, and making sure there wasn’t any accident. But he wasn’t supposed to cut the ice himself. He was there to oversee.

It was nice at first, to give orders around, to teach young men how to correctly cut the ice, to advice the team on what were the best times and places in order to have a good ice. But soon, he felt quite useless. They all knew their work and what they were supposed to do. They were good workers, with strong bodies and a zero-percent rate of accidents. They didn’t need a babysitter. So, he came back to the castle and left them be, only checking if the amount of ice supposed to be delivered each month was due.

Thinking so much of ice made his stomach growl. He wanted some ice cream. The castle’s cooks could make some wonderful ice creams, with flavors only Heaven could surpass. He salivated a bit, but then wiped the drool on his chin.

“Come on Kristoff, we said exercise!”

He got onto the floor and, still naked, started doing some push ups.

After a series of ten, he decided to take a pause. He was hot, sweaty, tired. He didn’t mind the hot and sweaty part – all those baths they forced him to take made him feel cleaner than a healthy man should be, and it grossed him out a bit. Not, it was the tired part that was bothering him. He used to do three series of ten each day, without pause.

Kristoff laid on his bed to rest a bit. His big, comfy, sweet bed. With good-smelling sheets. And soft pillows…

“You have a pillow on your belly already…” a voice whispered in his mind.

He got up once more to look at himself in the mirror again.

His belly wasn’t so big. It was just wider and thicker. If he kept his clothes on, no one could tell the difference. He still looked buff and muscular, and that’s all he needed.

“Yeah… your chest may be a bit bigger and your stomach more bloated, but you can still close your belt.”

To make sure, he got out of the closet his old ice harvester suit. He had stopped wearing it after setting in the castle – the place being very warm, the suit, with its lining of fur, kept making him too hot – and not in the good sense of the term.

He put it on and looked at his reflection.

“Yeah. No difference whatsoever. Don’t worry. It’s just some… some sympathy weight, as they say. Nothing to worry about.”

He took a new look at his sleigh, outside. He felt a bit guilty not using it – but, at the same time, he thought about what happened to his old one, right after he finished paying for it, and it was enough to cool him down.

“No, I won’t take that risk. This beauty will stay here. I’ll get out another day. Another, safer day.”

And thus Kristoff stayed indoor, enjoying the royalty’s life.

He did not worry one bit about his stomach getting bigger. He didn’t realize that his stomach expanding meant that he would get hungrier and be able to eat more food, which would only expand his stomach even more, leading him into a vicious circle of feasting and fattening. Kristoff had spent most of his life with trolls and reindeers, who had very different eating habits and seasonal diets than humans, resulting in him lacking a knowledge about how his body worked.

That’s why he went on gulping down fish, cream or mutton soup, wolfing down meatballs, meatcakes and beef with mustard, gobbling up liver pâtés, salted offal and braised pheasants, putting cheese on his buttered bread with a bit of cream on top, sometimes devouring entire roasted pigs! However, he couldn’t bring himself to eat moose – the cooks proposed some to him, many times, but it reminded him too much of Sven and made him really uncomfortable.

But what Kristoff fell for the most, out of everything that came out of the royal kitchen, were the pastries. The cakes. The desserts. As a child, he never knew the delightful bliss of eating sweets or biting into candies. So, when he discovered those at the palace, he went full sugar-crazy. He kept asking for more. More cherry pies, more apple pies, more rhubarb pies! More strawberry tarts, more bilberry tarts! More raspberry waffles, more cloudberry cakes! More meringue, more cardamom, more whipped cream! The cooks were happy to oblige.

Of course, sometimes he felt guilty. Guilty for not taking the sleigh out of the castle like he promised. Guilty for not supervising the workers at the ice harvest. Guilty for not getting out as much he used to, and for not being active anymore.

But he quickly found out that fried food was an excellent way to wipe your guilt out of your mind. With the amount of butter Arendelle produced, they tended to fry everything they could put their hands upon: onions, fishes, sausages… And fried sausages soon became Kristoff’s favorites. With a bit of gravy.

Of course, like we said earlier, all of this was a vicious circle of feasting and fattening. Kristoff’s belly started to get rounder and more prominent, while his pectorals grew and puffed out and his arms got flabby and tubby. But the young man never noticed how chubby he was actually getting. Partly because of his own lack of interest in his appearance, and disdain for mirrors, and partly because of Anna. She mentioned to the servants that Kristoff was starting to fill out his clothes, and that it wouldn’t be a good thing for him to stress over such little things. As a result, the servants started to offer the prince-to-be larger clothes, more fitting for his new castle-life-size, and Kristoff gladly accepted them, not thinking much about it. After all, royals must get new clothes every week, right? That’s how rich people did it.

There was nothing weird with that.

Months went by, and soon it was time to celebrate Kristoff’s first year at the castle.

Kristoff walked towards Elsa. He was munching on an Arendelle flute – a local candy he particularly enjoyed. It was a chocolate bar shaped like a small chain of mountains, filled with butter, biscuit, hazelnuts and caramel. He was mad about them, eating nearly one per hour. Absolutely delicious.

Kristoff had a little friendly chat with the young queen, nothing out of the ordinary. Except maybe for some… allusions Elsa kept making.

For example, how she called him “big guy”. Usually she nicknamed him “reindeer prince”. Or when she said he should lay down a bit on the Arendelle flute, “You know what they say. You are what you eat, and it shows that you’re snacking on little mountains”. Later, she even compared him to a “full-grown snowman”. Kristoff tried to imagine a human-sized Olaf and wondered why he would ever look like him.

Well, that’s until he later saw some kids in the court make a snowman. An actual, traditional snowball. A big, round, white snowman.

Tortured by the most horrific doubts, he rushed to his room, gulping what was left of the Arendelle flute, and got rid of his clothes before standing in front of the mirror.

His worst fear had come true.

He was fat.

And not just pleasantly plum, like before, no. He was really fat and pale. Just like a snowman.

His belly was a big round ball. His chest was all puffy, and falling down on his gut. His behind was enormous, his thighs double the size of what they used to be, his arms all chunky – even his face was round now, with two bloated cheeks! And was that a double chin? It was! He had a big, round, snowman face!

“But… I don’t feel different… I don’t feel heavier!” Kristoff lamented. “And my clothes still fit me perfectly!”

Well… the clothes of the castle still fitted him perfectly, he thought. But what about his original clothes? His ice-harvesting suit?

Kristoff took it out of the closet and tried to get in the pants.

It wasn’t easy. They were tight. Tight around everything! Around his calves, around his thighs, around his behind… He couldn’t bend over, out of fear of making the seams explode.

“Well, I may have gained a bit of weight, alright… But it’s not that much…”

He then put the sweater on. It was as tight as the pants. He couldn’t even make it past his belly button! Not wanting to admit his defeat so fast, Kristoff sucked his gut in, and took his belt. He tied it around his now-slimmed-down-but-still-flabby abdomen, hoping that it would help to hold his gut in. He then put the tunic and looked at himself in the mirror.

“See? Not bad. Yeah, your shoulders are puffier, and your arms bigger, and your face rounder… and maybe you have a hard time moving in your clothes but… you’re not as fat as you think!”

That’s when he made the mistake of releasing his gut. He had lost the habit of using his abdominal muscles – he couldn’t hold it back anymore. When he let it out, the beast went wild. His belt snapped, his tunic ripped off and his sweater was pulled back all the way to his stomach, revealing his belly-button once more.

Kristoff let out a whimper as he had to face the hard truth.

He was as big as a whale.

“You knew the whole time?”

“Well… yes. It was a bit hard to miss.” Anna answered.

“But then, why didn’t you tell me?”

“What should I have told you? You put on a little weight, and what? No big deal! And no, that wasn’t a joke at your expense. What I mean is… there’s a lot of tubby guys in Arendelle. It’s not something out of the ordinary. Everybody gain some pounds in winter… it’s their winter weight.”

“I am the double of my original weight! That’s not just a few winter pounds! Have you seen just how much I eat per day? I paid attention recently, you know, and guess what I realized? I eat more than anyone in this castle. Much more than you, than Elsa, than Sven, than Olaf – well it doesn’t count because he doesn’t eat – but still! I’m the biggest eater in this castle! I’m the one walking around, snacking on fried sausages like if they were carrots!”

Anna didn’t know what to answer.

“Hey… wait a minute.” Kristoff whispered. “I get it, now… That’s why I always had clothes that were fitting me perfectly, when I should have busted out of them! It was you! You kept replacing them!”

“Well, I didn’t want you to feel bad, or stressed. You said it yourself, you feared you wouldn’t fit in! And again, it’s not a joke on the fact you can’t fit in your old suit anymore. I just… I didn’t want to destroy your self-confidence. And the cook was so happy that you finally ate his meals and…”

“The cook? It was all about the cook?”

“No, not at all!”

Anna sighed.

“You were happy. For once, you stopped caring about what other people thought. You weren’t anxious anymore about what fork to use. You weren’t fearful of the other’s judgement. You weren’t hiding yourself in your shell. You were outgoing, funny, happy, always smiling… and I liked that. And I wanted to keep it that way.”

Kristoff sat on a chair. Anna sat right next to him and hugged his big frame.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of your look, or your weight.” she whispered in his ear. “It’s just how you are. And you are still strong, and cute, and I still love you. You’re still the same Kristoff.”

“No. You’re wrong on one thing, and that’s what bothers me the most. I’m not strong anymore. I’m lazy. Sluggish. Weak. This morning, I was wondering “Hey, shouldn’t I stay in the castle today? It’s a bit cold outside.” Do you realize what that means, Anna? Me, who spent my whole life in the snow, the mountains and the winter, me, for who ice was the purpose of existence… I feared that it would be a little cold outside! I’m not me anymore, Anna. I want to get back to my old self.”

Anna bowed her head.

“I understand.”

“Thanks.”

He kissed her on the forehead while stroking her hair.

“Alright. Then I’ll have to do some exercises. Ask the cooks to cut down on the butter. And the bread. And the cheese. But leave the pastries. One – or two – at each meal isn’t what’s going to make me fatter.”

First step of the “From Fatstoff to Fitstoff” program: get a new ice-harvesting suit. Kristoff went to buy one at Oaken’s place. He nearly died of humiliation when Oaken offered him one of his own suits, from when he was younger. Even worse, it fitted him perfectly.

Second step: Ice-harvest again. The good, old fashioned way, with big saws and giant tongs. Kristoff went to work with the guys of his team at least three times a week. He felt himself reliving, adrenaline rushing through his blood.

Third step: Races with Sven. Running was good for him. Of course, he failed every time – but at least, he was moving and sweating.

Talking of sweating, fourth step: spend time in Oaken’s sauna. Oaken’s family making remarks about Kristoff’s size and the children slapping hard his “jelly-belly”, asking if he was pregnant, was quite a trial on its own, but he endured it as the penance he rightfully earned for his gluttony.

Fifth step: stop eating those damned Arendelle flutes!

“Kristoff is back! Kristoff is back!”

The trolls all rushed towards him to welcome the boy back, taking his clothes off to wash them, pressing him with questions about his life in the castle.

“And you’ve grown quite well!”

“Yeah, you’re becoming more and more like a troll now!”

“All big!”

“And all round!”

“Yes, that’s one heavy, heavy Kristoff!” they all sang in a choir.

Kristoff didn’t mind their playful teasing. Besides, he knew very well that he had lost quite a weight.  His chest, while still saggy, was now smaller. Same thing for his flabby arms. His face wasn’t round anymore, and he had lost the double chin (even though his cheeks were still a bit puffy). His belly had deflated – goodbye, ball gut – even though he still had to work on the lard that was hanging over his belt. And his butt was back to a roughly normal size.

He was even floating in his new ice-harvester suit! If this went on, he would have to get it fixed, or buy a new one!

He was fully confident that he would go back to his usual silhouette in no time.

He shouldn’t have been so confident.

It happened the day of his birthday.

“Tadaaa!”

Kristoff couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him, the biggest, largest, longest table he had ever seen. And on it… food. Lots and lots and lots of food. Piles of fishes, entire roasted menageries, mountains of cheese and bread, a sea of soup, a forest of pastries… And, in front of him, an enormous ice-cream cake with “Happy birthday Kristoff!” written on top.

“Where are the other guests?”

“It’s all for you, Kristoff!”

“But… but I can’t eat all of that!”

“You don’t have to, silly! But feel free to do if your gut can handle it.”

Anna sat beside him and took a slice of cake.

“It’s just that… I saw how hard you worked.” she said. “You lost so much weight, and you’re so often out there, and you restrain yourself at each meal… Don’t lie to me. I see how you devour the cheese with your eyes at lunch. Even yesterday you were drooling just by looking at my loaf of bread! And I know you’re dying to bite again in an Arendelle flute.”

The mere mention of the candy made Kristoff’s stomach swirl and rumble in hunger.

“But today is your birthday. Your day. Go on, it’s all for you! Go ahead, it’s your gift! You deserve a treat after all, for all your hard work.”

Kristoff hesitated, but the glorious glow of all the butter, the fat, the frying and the oil finally broke him. He had been dieting for too long and Anna was right, he could offer himself a little treat.

He started with the cake. Then he went on with the seafood soups, the creamy soups, the meaty soups… followed by the mashed potatoes, carrots purée, raw carrots, salads, beetroots, some lingonberries, stewed peas with bacon, boiled cabbage with potatoes… he gulped some fruit juices, before finishing the berries and attacking the meat. Big, salty, heavy meat. With a lot of mustard.

After finishing the roe’s liver, the boiled lamb, the braised pheasant, the roasted sheep and the brawn, Kristoff laid back on his chair, his shirt raised on his prominent abdomen, his big hands rubbing his distended stomach. He let out a burp that resonated throughout the empty dining room.

“Excuse me…”

“No offense taken.” Anna replied.

“I never ate so much before… I think I’m full. I don’t have room for more.”

“What do you mean? You can’t end now! There’s still the fishes, and the cheese, and the biscuits, and…”

“I don’t think I can… my gut won’t…” Kristoff whispered before letting out another, smaller burp.

Anna put a hand on Kristoff’s belly and started rubbing. Strangely, it made his cheeks and his ears feel hot. 

“Come on, I’m sure you can do that… A big guy like you, afraid by a little meal? Plus, if you finish the rest… there’s a bunch of Arendelle flutes waiting for you.”

“Many?”

“Many.”

Kristoff looked at Anna, then at the half-emptied table. He sighed.

“Well, if I have to… Damn, what couldn’t I do for some Arendelle flutes… Pass me the gravy, would you?”

He poured it straight in his mouth, to help him wash down everything he had already eaten. He burped once more and attacked the fishes.

Poached, fried or braised, there was probably all of the inhabitants of the sea on the table. The trout and the cod, the halibut and the haddock, along with crabs and cockles. Sometimes, Anna would help him out, or by rubbing and massaging his belly or by handing the plates that were too far away – his now bloated and rock-hard belly making it harder for him to bend over the table.

Then, it was the turn of the five different cheese wheels, before the biscuits and cookies, with a bit of milk. He gulped the other, smaller birthday cakes, and rinsed his mouth with a bottle of apple cider.

Now, only the Arendelle flutes were left, several boxes of them.

Kristoff was panting, his head completely thrown back, his forehead sweaty. He wasn’t speaking, merely letting out small burps from time to time.

“If you can’t take the Arendelle flutes, it’s okay…” Anna said. “I can put them away for you. You’ll eat them tomorrow. We don’t want you to be sick.”

But Kristoff stopped her and gestured with his hands “Leave them here. I didn’t stuff myself with all of that just for missing the Arendelle flutes. Gosh, look at me, I’m like a Christmas goose.”

Yes, Kristoff’s hands were quite expressive.

Anna giggled and kissed him on the cheek, staying by his side as he slowly grabbed the first box of Arendelle flutes.

He purred when the sweet chocolate mountains melted on his tongue.

The following day, Kristoff couldn’t fit into his ice-harvesting suit. And he couldn’t fit into his latest royal garment. In fact, he couldn’t fit into any of his clothes! He spent several hours trying to find what to wear, only to result in a concert of pants ripping, belt snapping and button popping. Eventually, the royal tailor had to come to his room to make a new outfit for him on the spot.

And, as he stood in front of the mirror while a wide-eyed tailor took his measurements, Kristoff took a good look at himself.

He was bigger. Bigger than before he started to lose weight. Just so… big.

His belly was big. Wide, round, enormous, hanging in front of him like an enormous cauldron of flesh.

His chest was big, wide and large, falling into rolls of lard on his flanks, with fleshy nipples the size of mushroom caps.

His legs were big, his jumbo thighs pressed against each other, continuously rubbing – he had to outspread his feet so that his skin wouldn’t caught fire.

His hips were rolls of fat, his arms looked like over-stuffed sausages, and his behind – well, it was better not to talk about it. And his face! With these round, overgrown cheeks that fell on the side of his face like pork jowls, and this double chin that dropped from under his jaw like a little goiter, and his fat, bloated neck that drowned into a big bulge of meat…

He was all flesh and fat, and rolls and curves, bloated and overstuffed, with lots of lard and lots of gut. Fattened up like a hog for the winter.

And, strangely, he kind of liked it.

Yesterday. The banquet. The feast. Eating to the brim, until he was ready to burst, savors and flavors dancing on his tongue while his beautiful fiancée rubbed his belly and whispered in his ear… It was a weird… new… pleasing experience. Yes, it was a pleasure he had only rarely felt before, and usually in the middle of the woods, during long, lonely, cold, wintery nights.

And, looking at his reflection, he didn’t felt the same reluctance as before. He was even bigger, fatter and grotesque, yes, but he did not felt weak or sluggish. He felt strong, full of energy, ready to walk all the way to the mountain and harvest all of its ice. He didn’t know that it was mostly all of the sugar he had eaten the past day that was still affecting his body.

But, even outside of that, something, deep down, told him that this shape was a good shape. The instinct he had grown living in forests filled with woods. The inner beast he had opened himself to in order to speak to Sven. The wild man that was living in his heart. They were all pointing out how fat was useful to keep warm in the winter, and a good way to last for several days without eating, and a natural armor to prevent major wounds. They all said “You’re the perfect surviving machine. You’re the best, Kristoff, the coolest guy in the woods. You’re a super-man, baby.”

Kristoff, feeling for once proud of his fatness, ordered a servant to bring him both a fried sausage and an ice-cream. Hell, he even asked him to put the sausage inside the ice-cream.

 “Let yourself go, let yourself go…” he sang. “Can’t hold back your gut anymore… let yourself go, let yourself go… Eating never bothered me anyway.”

[fals3nd]

creelisel 'creel' carlbrun

raised with her younger brother hagen by her unfeeling aunt after being orphaned, creel was one day sent up to the local dragon in an effort to catch the attention of a knight. it wasn't creel's idea, who had no interest in knights or anything like that, but if a knight was interested in her and wanted to marry her after saving her from a dragon - as is customary - the family would be pulled up out of poverty, so she did as she was told and trudged on up the side of a mountain

there she met the less than fearsome dragon theoradus, who had absolutely no interest in a damsel or fighting a knight. he offered creel something from his horde to just go away and take any incoming knights with her. creel had assumed that would mean gold, maybe a nice big ruby, only to discover that theoradus' horde was composed entirely of shoes. she picked a soft pair of blue leather slippers that seemed to take the dragon off-guard, but he let her leave with the promise to leave him be.

rather than heading home, creel decided to take her new dragon slippers and head to the king's seat. she had to convince the knight who had come to save her to just go - which hadn't been very difficult - and then set on her merry way. she had always had dreams of being a dressmaker in a fine city and was now determined to make these a reality.

on her way to the city, she was waylaid by bandits. her rescue came in the form of the golden dragon shardas, who had come to save her for reasons unknown to creel. the two of them returned to shardas' lair and became friends, with creel taking inspiration from shardas' horde of beautiful stained glass for dress designs and embroidery. creel spent some time with shardas while she created several designs and samples to bring with her into king's seat to show the dressmakers there in an attempt to find an apprenticeship. after about a month she headed into the city with the promise to come see shardas with any news.

the city devolved rather quickly into a mess. creel almost stepped on the dog of a princess amalia the first day - a visiting princess from another country meant to wed the oldest prince - and the princess took an immediate interest in the shoes creel wore. creel's designs caught the eye of a dressmaker there, who takes creel and several other young women in as apprentices. some become friends, but creel's skill and unique work gained her a fast enemy in another apprentice, larkin.

larkin stole the dragon slippers and spirited them away to the princess amalia on the evening of the merchant's ball, which creel of course attended - even with a heavy heart at the missing slippers. little did creel know that the slipper she had been wearing had been created from the hide of velika, the queen of dragons, and that the wearer could command all and any dragons. the princess amalia used them to command shardas first, and forced him into attacking king's seat, as her true mission had been all along to take over the kingdom in one way or another.

creel rushed back to shardas' lair and found his beloved stained glass shattered. there they found another dragon, feniul, who had been saved by shardas from amalia's control by way of a magic collar. shardas had been able to leave instructions to make more, which creel and her friends immediately set to work forging. it was difficult work, with feniul luring dragons from their attacks back to shardas' lair for creel and her friends to collar them and break their curse.

this all came to a head with a great battle between creel and the freed dragons against amalia and her controlled ones. the battle only ended when velika, queen of the dragons who had been kept imprisoned, broke free and dragged amalia and the dragon slippers into the boiling sea. shardas dove after them to save velika, his beloved, and both survived - albeit injured. many dragons perished and those that lived found it best to go into obscurity to remain safe.

creel returned to king's seat a hero, and opened a dress shop of her own. it was offered to her by the king that she could marry the eldest prince and become a princess, but creel turned down that offer, as she still had little interest in knights and titles. she still spoke to shardas, as one of the few humans with trusted by the dragons and with knowledge of where to find them. she oversaw a memorial for the fallen dragons, including a museum for the horde of theoradus, who had fallen in battle.

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 10

The Darkling x Reader

*I’ve changed this part like 5 times so if there’s any inconsistencies I do apologize 😝

In a perfect world, you and Aleksander would have spent the day in his luxurious bed surrounded by his soft silk sheets. You felt an overwhelming feeling to open up to him, to tell him everything that happened to you since you saw him last, nearly a century ago, but life has a way to ruin perfect opportunities.

Wars didn't take breaks or vacations, they got more deadly as time went on and each side got more nervous as more people gave their lives to the cause. A solution was necessary and from your understanding, Aleksander still had the same plan as he did all those years ago he just had a different way to go about them. No doubt Alina was at the center of them.

You had business to attend to too. The first on the list was a meeting with the council. The King and his advisors were to be there to 'greet' you with open arms, but you were sure you'd have to put on a quick performance of your abilities to satisfy their curious minds.

Maybe that's why he gave me the shadows, to ensure my position. You quickly brushed off the thought. It didn't really matter to you why he did what he did. You had your shadows back. He claimed protection, but you knew there was a different reason behind it as well. It seemed too quick and too easy in your opinion but who were you to judge what kind of trust he truly had in you. You felt comfort that you always had piece of him wherever you went.

On a lighter note, you could finally wear a black kefta. The thought itself had you quickly leaping out of his bed and skipping to your chambers in a mere robe through the secret passages of the Palace. You didn't want anybody to see you leaving his quarters, not in the state you were in. You needed to grab a Healer and get rid of those very visible marks on your neck that Aleksander took his time creating. He intended to mark you as his own but jokes on him, you never wanted to belong to anybody but yourself.

Time passed and servents scurried in and out of your chambers, carrying information from here there and everywhere. You were already overwhelmed with tasks and your position wasn't even announced to the Palace yet. You were still the mysterious Grisha that served with the Darkling, not for.

Your vanity was covered in papers and reports in handwriting you had trouble reading and your bed had maps strung across it. Aleksander truly meant it when he said he would get you started right away and share his responsibilities as soon as he got the chance.

When the time finally came, you were escorted to the Grand Palace with Aleksander walking right next to you. The conversation was devoted to work and nothing else, Fjerdan intel, rumors of West Ravka and Zlatan, and upcoming skiff journeys but you didn't mind. You were damn good at your job, having started out in the First Army and then joining the Second Army had given you experience not even the General had, it's what made you the first pick when dealing with plans involving otkazat'sya soldiers, they respected you. I wonder if they will now.

You had spent 3 years in the First Army once upon a time. You came from a wealthy merchant family, a family full of drunks and abusers and cowards. You gave up the feeling of a full stomach and duck-feathered beds for the rations of the army once your mother admitted to you being a bastard and not worthy of the family name. What a shame. Look at me now.

You never knew what you could do, but a slip-up with a Tidemaker had you served to the Darkling on a silver platter. He was meaner then, more unforgiving. Your years spent with him after that had changed him, made him better in your eyes. You fell for him, hard, even though there was so much death and destruction in his wake. When you love somebody, it’s easy to see past all of the nasty stuff and focus on whatever is left of the good and Aleksander still had an abundance of if.

You could still remember his cold stare as he asked you what the hell you were. After pleading with him that you didn't know and his Heartrenderer confirming it, he whisked you away to the Little Palace where soon enough you had become his equal, if not his superior.

'I actually wanted to ask you something about one of the Grisha in the Palace. I seen her with Alina, red-hair, big blue eyes... she wore a white kefta?' You said as you wlaked down a mirrored hallway in the Royal building.

'Oh, that's Genya Saffin. She works for the King and Queen.' He said with an underlying tone of irritation.

'What does she do? She wears a white kefta so I'm just curious'

'She's a tailor. Member of the Corporalki. She should be wearing red, I know. But trust me the time will come' He ushered us both into a guarded room of glitering gold and pearly white walls. So tacky. I could make out the king slumped in an overdone throne-like chair.

'Moi tsar' you and Aleksander bowed much to your distastes. You hoped nobody had seen the brief look of disgust wash over your face as the Lanstov King rose and gave his advisors a raised eyebrow, signalling to you. A man wearing a navy uniform looked at you like a piece of meat ready to be devoured. I'm gonna throw up.

'Deputy General Y/L/N is it?' He took your hand in his own sweaty one gave it a wet kiss. 'You Grisha are always easy on the eyes aren't you?'

You took a step back and cleared your throat. 'Yes, Moi Tsar, it is an honour to make your acquantance' You tried so hard to keep your fists at your sides.

'And what can you bring to the war table, apart from the newest fashion' He let out an obnoxious laugh and his advisors followed. They all looked smug and spoiled. None of them had any idea what the real world looked like and yet had the audacity to sit this council. I'll show them what it means to be powerful.

Aleksander stepped away to the side and gave you a nod. You slowly unravlled your fist and plunged the room into darkness while simultanseoly blowing a strong wind throughout the space, letting papers fly in all directions and the fire go out. You relit it, and every candle in the room. The man in the navy unifrom got the runt of your powers, as you slowly medled with his heart until he breathed a worried laugh 'Stop it Girl'.

But you didn't stop, you carefully stared at the chair the man sat in and pushed it just enough for him to let out a yell. You accidently let out a chuckle that was meant to be in your head. You felt Aleksander move toward you 'All right, that should be enough' He said visibly amused too. You let it all drop.

'It's Deputy General to you' You looked at his fearful face that tried to cover by fixing his jacket and whiping away invisible dust off of his shoulder.

'I must say I am impressed. With the Sun-Summoner and... you, we will have West Ravka and the surroundings begging for our alliances.' He sat down on his chair once again and pointed to an empty one across from him and to the right of Aleksander, who unbeknownst to you had already seated himself.

'Please, Deputy General, do take a seat, we have business to tend to'

****

A painful 2 hours later you and Aleksander walked out of the Grand Palace. You had a headache and your hands hurt from clentching them so hard.

'I'm assuming you sitting the King's meetings for me is off the table now?' Aleksander mused and all you could do was give him a side-eye.

'I think I want to kill him'

'In due time'

You weren't even surprised. If he didn't do it himself you definitely would have taken one for the team. That man is unbearable; like a child in a grown man's body.

As you wallked into your home, Aleksander gently took hold of your wrist and pulled you in the direction of his quarters.

'Come'

Your head was pounding too much to say no so you obliged. The hallways were bare of people, not a Grisha in sight.

You reached his war room doors and walked in after him. He pulled out a map and laid it down.

'I've sent out a First-Army search for the Stag.'

You paused. The headache suddenly gone. Morozova’s Stag. He had tried once before and failed. The weeks following his failure sent him into a frenzy, he questioned Morazovas journals and almost burned them all, but you had gotten to him last-minute. You never doubted the stag to be real. You just never believed he would use it. He's powerful on his own unless- it's for Alina.

You audibly sighed and leaned your back against the table. Alina.

'Does she want it?'

'Does that matter?'

‘Of course it matters!’ You scorned but he stayed silent.

You turned to look at him and whispered 'What are you planning this time?' He had been dropping hints here and there, but so far there was no plan you knew of. 'I can't help you if I don't know the plan'

'No. You're better of not knowing anything. I can't lose you again' you turned you head and looked at his side profile.

'But you need me. I'm powerful, I can lead an army'

'If anything happens you can take over for me then, Deputy.' He cocked a sad smile and left a lingering kiss on your forhead before he left you standing in the war room alone and confused.

Part 11

Taglist

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal

[nochiquinn]

campaign 3 episode 23: you're tearing me APART delilah

liam: dat ass

that's still one of the smoothest ones she's had yet

"keep it up, you might have a career in this yet"

I'm going to try to watch Calamity. I don't have anything against Brennan, I just unfortunately associate his face with smug d20 fans who pop up every time they've decide CR is morally bankrupt again.

what kind of godawful cliffhanger are they going to leave us on for four weeks

marisha what did you do

well-oiled machine

hey. hey chetney. hey chetney whatcha doin.

hey chetney WHATCHA DOIN

CHETNEY

do it DO IT

GRINCH STYLE

JESUS

he's been writing this in his head for weeks.

CHETNEY

"I wouldn't want to see him in a Whole Foods"

"she is not armored. she is a merchant."

"you can't NON-LETHALLY behead someone!"

did you get your clothes

Reverse Kool-Aid Man

DOORS

"just assume if you give it to her you never really wanted it in the first place"

"where was that?"

GIFT

I'm gonna CRY

I'm CRYING

I tormented myself with vax's exit earlier today, why do this to me

"your big moon, your little moon, and whatever comes next" more like put me in the GROUND"

"that's in-character, whoever's etsy page he got that from, it's lovely"

FANTASY PREPPERS

tantrum hole

collapsible guillotine

travis' face for .2 seconds when laura SUGGESTED shopping

8 whole adults

I Love Him

weh

LIAM

how many times is this episode gonna make me cry before break

DON'T LET THEM TAKE YOUR HEART

whisper so hard my stream froze

"what did you do with YOUR makeup kit"

"so you're the captain's best friend?"

nb tief!

swedish nb tief!

"you don't do what we say, we throw you overboard"

"like twenty. so many. they just keep making problems!"

honestly I don't get tommy wiseau from this, they talk too fast

tommy wiseau talks like he's been drunk for 30 years

the henley looks like one of those padded shirts you wear under armor, just bulky and scratchy and blech

"you're scarier than I am, you know that, right?"

Very A Lot

I love them

"hey dad" hey what

is it just Liam Makes Me Cry Day or

dragons

DRAGONS???

SKY EEL

SKY MANTA

what in the treasure planet

"I SHIP IT"

TREASURE PLANET

oh man hands for scale, it BIG

speed of WHAT

WHAT points of piercing

fuckin sky porcupine

I came back to "the cake is a lie", what the fuck

I hate it

everybody looks really good in this lighting

taliesin stop doing that with your arm

demon? demon manta??

"I DON'T LIKE THESE BIRDS"

"because they're POOPHEADS"

WHAT'S GONNA WORK

TEEEEEEEAMWORK

need art of orym doing a pull-up on the ballista

god bless gordi

"I want one!"

FLY

taliesin DID compare her to a summers

(I may or may not be dozing off, idek why orym's overboard)

"everybody alive except laudna?"

laudna: [carves up sky eel] imogen: GROSS :D

"I had a weird dream and was like 'fuck it', that was weird but cool!"

"you did good! you flew!"

listen I know I say this immediately upon meeting every party but I mean this more than I have ever meant it before: CANON POLYAM WHEN

liam

he's milking the creature

"look out, fellow toymakers"

love the mental image of ashton just coming out of the room and being like "…..sure." and keeps going

I've been playing forbidden west so getting specific parts off of creatures is giving me ptsd

"I wanna know your intent" "that implies that she has intent"

laura's face is my face

"it's like trying to birth a cow"

the ROLLS tonight

I love her

don't ruin boba for me matt

matt throwing mental daggers at his description chart

"I had to!" "NO YOU DIDN'T"

"I'm grasping for. eyeballs."

"I feel like you should blame khalil because he's obviously asleep"

"that's not true at all. we start with the toes."

loudna

This Is What Flat Earthers Actually Believe

"who's on top and who's on bottom now" travis

I love laudna so much

delilah want magic rock

aw shit

delilah is why we can't have nice things

oh I was worried that was where her brain would go

this BITCH

"you wanna destroy whitestone because this is how you destroy whitestone"

"I have QUESTIONS"

"I fucked around and I FOUND OUT"

[raeynbowboi]

Dating Disney: Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast features my favorite love story and my favorite Disney Princess, so it holds a very special spot in my heart. So, it’s worth looking into the film to decide when the Movie is supposed to be set.

During the opening musical number “Belle”, Belle is telling the Baker about the book she’s been reading. She’s clearly describing Jack and the Beanstalk, the earliest version being the tale of “Jack Spriggins and the Enchanted Bean” in 1734. But she also deliberately mentions an ogre, not a giant. Near as I could find, the only version with an ogre was written by Joseph Jacobs in 1890, making Belle nearly contemporary to modernity. Belle’s excitement over the book is likely a sign that this is a new story.

During the same musical number, we see a sign depicting a tobacco pipe, but unlike with the Calabash pipe from the Little Mermaid movie. I could place it to possibly be a Billiard type, but the exact era of creation escapes me. However, tobacco pipes have been around as long as Tobacco has been introduced to European trade, starting in the 16th century.

The history of colored printing goes as far back as the 16th century, and there are illustrations from the early 1700s with an impressive variety of color that help establish a stronger time period. The book also shows the words Le Prince Charmant or Prince Charming. Prince Charming started being used in 1697 in Charles Perrault’s version of Sleeping Beauty, although there, Prince Charming was not a name. Rather, Perrault stated that the Prince was charmed by her words. The first story to use Prince Charming as a name is the Tale of Pretty Goldilocks. It was written at some point in the 17th Century by Madame d’Aulnoy, but in her version the hero was named Avenant. It wasn’t until 1889 when Andrew Lang retold the story that Avenant was dubbed as Charming. One year later in 1890, Oscar Wilde used the term “Prince Charming” sarcastically in his novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, meaning that the term had gotten its more modern meaning by this point in time.

Gaston’s musket is a Blunderbuss, which was invented in the early 1600′s and remained popular through the 18th century before falling out of fashion in the middle of the 19th century. However, considering Belle states that this is a backwards town and Gaston is an old-fashioned, Primeval man, it’s possible he’s using a largely outdated weapon.

While there are no street lamps in the city, we can see in the background lanterns on the sides of buildings, which might allude to the movie taking place before the invention of gas lamps. However, gas lamps were invented in 1809, and if the version of Jack and the Beanstalk is from 1890, then by all accounts the town should have gas lamps. What this amounting evidence is leading me to believe is that the film is directly following the plot of the original fairy tale.

In the story, Beauty’s father is a merchant who loses his fortune due to a storm destroying his cargo. They’re forced to live on a farm until the merchant stumbles upon the Beast’s castle and kick starts the plot. In the opening song, Belle says “every morning’s just the same, since the morning that we came, to this poor, provincial town.” This could mean that she grew up in a much more modern, urban, and progressive town. Possibly even Paris. But that after Maurice suffered severe financial trouble, he was forced to move them to the small, backwards town that was practically living an entire century behind the rest of France, which is why she’s so bored and unimpressed by the little town. It helps explain why she’s so eager to want to get out of this town and see the world. She wants to be part of the modern world again.

Interestingly, I can support this theory with background information. According to some of my research, Belle’s village was based on the little town of Riquewihr, France, which still looks like it did in the 16th century to this day. So the idea that Belle’s little village lacks so many modern elements could be a nod to the architecture of this sleepy French village that has remained largely untouched by the march of time. Hence why it looks more like something out of the 1700s despite the many elements from the 1800s being present.

During the song “Be Our Guest”, Lumiere dances with a match stick. Match sticks were invented in 1805. Assuming the film still takes place in the 1890s, this would be concurrent with the other evidence we’ve seen thus far. Later in the same song, the silverware makes an Eiffel tower, which was constructed in 1889. Since Jack and the Beanstalk was written after that, it still fits within the suspected time frame.

During the climax of the battle, Cogsworth is wearing military garments reflective of Napoleonic styles. Napoleon was coronated in 1804 until 1814, had a brief return to power in 1815, and eventually died in 1821. So this is also congruent to the established time period.

In the Youtube Video “Fashion Expert Fact Checks Belle from Beauty and the Beast’s Costumes” by Glamour, April Calahan, a Fashion Historian from the Fashion Institute of Technology directly noted that Belle’s yellow gown lacks the shape of a proper 18th century dress, and more closely resembles the shape of 19th century dresses, fitting into the evidence that’s been mounting in support of a late 19th century setting.

As a part of his primary costume, Lefou wears a waistcoat and tailcoats, which came into vogue in the 1800s, namely from the 1840s through the 1850s.

But if the film is set in the 1800s, how can the Beast still be a prince after the French Revolution? Well something worth noting is that when he finds out that Belle isn’t coming to dinner, the Beast storms through the halls to her room as Cogsworth calls after him as “Your Eminence” and “Your Grace”. The address of “Your Eminence” is reserved for Cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church, and is an ecclesiastical style of address. “Your Grace” is noticeably an English style of address, but it’s being used by Cogsworth who is British, so I can chalk that up to just part of his culture. Although it was used for British monarchs, it fell out of use during the reign of King Henry VIII (1509-1547) and after that, the use of “Your Grace” became used to address archbishops and non-royal Dukes and Duchesses. Now clearly the Beast is not a cardinal or a bishop, especially if he is looking for the love of a woman to make him human, since it’s forbidden for Catholic priests to marry. So clearly that is not what is meant here. But the other answer actually does hold a bit of weight. Beast’s father was in fact, a Duke. So how is the Beast a prince? He’s not. Not entirely. See, there’s more than one kind of Prince in French nobility. There’s a Prince du Sang, or a Prince by Blood. Effectively, the Crown Prince, the sons of ruling monarchs. But the title is also given to lords in charge of a Principality, one of the smallest territorial sizes. The Beast’s principality probably only extends to having power over the little unnamed village. And with it being after the revolution, Beast might not even have the proper use of his title anymore. He’s effectively a rich kid in a fancy house with no real authority or power. He’s just old money from a by-gone era of human history. But if Beast’s address of “Your Grace” is accurate, that would mean that he’s a non-royal Duke, meaning he would not likely have been executed during the Revolution, as his family would have essentially been governors or senators than actual monarchs. They just had jurisdiction over a small piece of the Kingdom of France and reported back to and obeyed the orders of their King. Thus, he would not have been important enough to be killed or chased out of power by the townsfolk.

CONCLUSION

The movie is set between the late autumn and early-to-mid winter of 1890. Although the snow is gone when Belle returns to the village, the trees are still bare, signaling that it may just be unseasonably warm, though it could be the very early spring of 1891 between the receding of the snow and the blossoming of new spring foliage. Between the books, clothing, and references made, my conclusion is that Belle is a very modern girl living in a backwards little town stuck in the past, thus why a village in 1890 looks so completely lacking in modern technology despite the era. The Prince is nothing more than a fancy title as the son of a Duke, and he likely has very little if any actual government authority. Essentially, Belle married into wealth, not power, and will never be a proper queen, and I’m not sure if the wife of a lord ruling a principality is a princess or not, but I suspect the answer is no. Making Belle, like Mulan, a Disney Princess who did not marry royalty, was not born royalty, and thus, cannot be called a Disney Princess. She’s definitely a noblewoman, but she’s not royal by any means.

SETTING: Riquewihr, France

KINGDOM: The French Republic (France)

YEAR: Autumn, 1890 - Spring, 1891

PERIOD: The Third Republic (1870-1940)

LANGUAGE: French

[blametheeditor]

DnD Backstories: meet Fritz and David

Warnings: people being treated as lesser beings. Attempting to steal.

Run Down: how a cleric became loyal to the God of Favors

Don’t worry, the DM has approved everything

______________________________________

There’s only a few times Fritz has wished his hair and fair skin didn’t make him stick out like a sore thumb while hiding in the shadows. And the angry inn keeper reaching for a weapon to chase him out into the frozen night makes this one of them.

“M-Ma'am, I’m sorry!”

The halfling yelps as he leaps back from the broom threatening to toss him across the room. Something he’s rather dreading. If he was well rested and fed, escaping from the well-deserved rage from trying to take already thin rations is usually easy. Enjoyable, even, considering the only time he’s ever tried to steal was in his own kitchen, not wanting to wait for permission to eat a cookie his mom only just finished cooking.

“Out!” the woman roars, growling as he dodges another swipe.

Well, ‘dodges’. More like trips from his energy running low and not noticing his ripped cape got caught underfoot.

Fritz scrambles to his feet, sprinting out from behind the counter, heart in his throat at the thought he’s going to die. If not by her hand if she decides to chase him down in order to be properly executed, then by the fierce blizzard waiting patiently to offer a snow filled grave. This was the only building he saw after walking for miles. He was actually lucky to find a place filled with fire-lit hearths right as the gales strong enough to throw him off his feet started up.

Of course, he got greedy. A half-dead halfling can hide effortlessly if he’s only sitting in one spot. But if that same halfling attempted to sneak past a human of all people, he sealed his own fate.

It’s just snow. At least the few hours he had had surrounded by warmth and the smell of food reminded him of-

“OOF!”

Fritz falls onto his back after running into a support beam, the breath knocked out of him. But he can’t lie here forever. The woman, she was upset, he needs to run. Where did this beam come from, anyway?

“Now where is a little thing like you running off to?”

His blood runs cold as the wooden beam starts speaking in common. Fixes amused hazel eyes on a thieving halfling that just ran at full speed straight into him. Finally registers as a human smirking down at what must be quite the sight.

Before an apology can be spouted, an angered huff sends Fritz skittering behind the man. Meaning he just keeps digging his own grave.

“It was running from me,” has him flinching. “I apologize for getting you caught up in the mess, Mr. Harrison, but I can take it from here.”

He should run. Why isn’t he running?

The halfling stares with wide eyes as a hand that effortlessly covers the flaming red hair suddenly ruffles the unruly tufts, unable to move away from the calming action. “What happened?”

“It’s a thief. Tried to take a whole meal right from under my nose!”

Fritz chances a glance up at the man he might consider a building, a bit disbelieving someone who’s radiating respect and authority isn’t trying to shake him off. Maybe even chase him out of the inn himself. Anyone being told someone tried to steal would immediately side with the poor woman who hasn’t done anything to deserve it.

His gaze is caught, and nothing but a thoughtful look is given. Not even a hint of disdain.

The man, Mr. Harrison, removes his hand to straighten the tie adorning a suit he’s only seen royal merchants wear, and he should really start running...

“I’m assuming winter coming early meant you couldn’t stalk up properly.” A few coins are placed on top of the counter. “I’m also assuming halflings aren’t the most prepared of folk.”

More along the lines of a teenager never expecting to lose his mother the way he did.

“I’ll pay for the meal he stole, along with two more. I’ll also be renting a room for a week in which he’ll be staying.”

He, as in-

Fritz’s head snaps up from its tired hang as he processes what’s being discussed above him. He’s too close to the counter to see the woman’s expression, but the sound of money being accepted says his inexcusable actions have been forgiven. Not only that, but a room has been purchased. For Fritz.

“Come along.”

The halfling doesn’t hesitate to dart after the generous man striding away. “Th-Thank you, sir! And I wanted to apologize for running into you!”

“It’s appreciated,” Mr. Harrison grins. “You’re well under half my size, though. Nothing’s been torn, so no harm’s done.”

Fritz shakes his head, wincing when the action makes the world spin. “I feel like there has been. If I didn’t run into you, you wouldn’t have paid for my mistake. I-I want to repay you!”

His benefactor suddenly stops beside a door, making him skip passed on accident before racing back to stand beside the person he owes his life to. Keeping him safe. Giving him a warm and sheltered room to hide from the blizzard if only for a week.

“That’s the first time someone hasn’t waited to offer repayment,” Mr. Harrison muses. The door swings open and Fritz allows a yelp as he’s suddenly swept up in order to be set on the bed. “What’s your name?”

“Fritz Nobleroot!”

The man frowns, shaking his head. “Fritz I can work with. Your last name is far from professional, however.”

Fritz is only half listening. He understands he’s being given a chance to redeem himself, but his mind can only think about how soft the bed is. How long it’s been since he’s slept. How it’s been over a month since he’s really felt safe. Wanted.

“Go to sleep,” has him obediently flopping against the pillow as soft as down. “I have business to attend to. Just follow the instructions.”

Instructions. He can follow instructions...

He’s asleep, unaware of two plates of warm food being set on the table for when he wakes up. Nothing but an unknown force subconsciously pulling him to the clothes and letter left beside it for him to protect with his life.

David strides out of the room without bothering to lock it again, smiling at the thought of how perfect everything’s come together. The inn keeper he’s been trying to make a deal with is finally willing, and it’s all thanks to the creature slumbering away. Who knew acting protective over something would finally break her resolve.

A smile appears at the thought of how much he can do with such an innocent thing in his pocket. A halfling, of all things, despite dealing with thousands of humans, elves, and dwarves.

Maybe he should stop ignoring the smallest of races...

[rreyie]

Fight for Us

Chapter ii- A Field

summary- after getting a rather ominous statement from reiner, you figure out exactly what it means.

warnings- major triggers- attempted suicide, guilt, mentions of figurative violence, dark thoughts. read with caution if you are sensitive to those issues.

a/n- this chapter was definitely a hard one to write, but i mean i don’t think it came out terrible? i promise all this angst is temporary and i’ll make it get fluffier :( 

Reiner and you sat on the curb of the street, looking up into the midnight sky that hung over the two of you. The moon was at half tonight, and you could see the craters on it even though it was millions of miles away.

A cool breeze came along through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. Reiner could see you shaking out of the corner of his golden eyes, shimmering bright in the pale moonlight.

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” He asked. “You should get home before you catch a cold.”

“I-is that okay?” You ask, body trembling in a weak attempt to stay warm. “I don’t w-wanna leave you here.”

Reiner chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll catch up in the morning if that’s okay with you.”

You nod, and get yourself up off of the cold pavement. Reiner stays there looking up at the moon, a content expression on his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Reiner”, you say, and wave. Turning the opposite direction, you head home to go to sleep for the night.

Before you head too far off, Reiner clears his throat loud enough to make you hear him and turn your attention back to him, a puzzled expression on your face.

“Y/n?” He asks, still not turning away from you.

“What?”

“...I’m sorry.”

You arch a brow at this, not knowing exactly what he meant by this. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything. What are you apologizing to me for, anyway?”

Reiner sighed, one that was barely audible. “You’ll know in the morning.”

———

After heading home confused and partly concerned, you tucked yourself into bed after reading a part of a romance novel you borrowed off your parents bookshelf.

At one point, the two main lovers in the story were frolicking in a field after running away from their disapproving parents. When trying to visualize this, you swore you might have accidentally saw you and Reiner instead of those two lovers.

If only the world was as complicated as that field of flowers.

When you woke up the next morning, it took you a moment to remember your conversation that you and Reiner had last night. His last words before you

left echoed through your head.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what could that mean? You ask yourself, pondering on this question while slipping out of your nightgown and into your normal day clothes. You shrugged off the question for now, it couldn’t mean anything too deep.

Today you had plans to go into town just for the hell of it. Perhaps a nice shopping day in downtown Marley would be nice, maybe stopping for some coffee or tea afterwards. And of course, you had to pop into the warriors dorms to say hello to Reiner again. He did say he wanted to finish catching up with you.

After getting the rest of your clothing on, you headed out the door to the busy streets of Marley, already crowded with people and merchants. It was like everyone in this country had collectively decided to come out and buy groceries this very hour.

The walk to the headquarters wasn’t long, perhaps fifteen minutes or so from your apartment. Once you got there, you saw two men with blonde hair and a woman with black hair that was rather messy. You could recognize them easily, since they still flaunted some of the features they had when they were children. One was Porco Galliard, another Zeke Yeager, the woman was Pieck Finger.

The first one to notice your presence from across the cobblestone street was Porco. His head instantly turned, and a wide smile formed on his lips.

“Hey, y/n!” He shouted, throwing a hand up in the air and waving it.

You smile, and cross the street to meet the other warriors. Eventually Zeke notices you after lighting a cigarette, followed by Pieck.

“How are you?” Pieck asks, wrapping you in a warm hug. Her demeanor was always soft and comforting, making you feel safe every time you were around her. “You got tall, it feels like the last time I saw you, you were only this high!” She gestures her hand to somewhere around her chest.

“Yeah”, you giggle. “Puberty does wonders I guess. I heard about your victory in Fort Slava, that was pretty cool if I do say so myself.”

“It was, but it was a little terrifying to see a canon being pointed at me every five minutes. But nonetheless it was still cool.” Porco chuckled, and you saw the faintest shade of pink spread across his cheeks. He reached a hand to smooth back his blonde hair, even though he must’ve had a gallon of hair gel on him.

“So um, have you seen Reiner?” You asked them. Porcos face instantly dropped upon hearing his name. “I figured he would be here, since the whole titan shifter thing.”

“He uh, hasn’t showed up to the meeting this morning”, Zeke added, breathing out a puff of grey smoke. You coughed as your nose picked up the scent of ash. “You could probably find him in the dormitories.”

“Thank you Zeke”, you say. “I’d better go find him. He said we would catch up today since we didn’t have the time yesterday. I’ll see you guys later!”

You wave goodbye to them, Zeke and Pieck waving back while Porco just stood there.

Porco didn’t want to admit it, but hearing Reiners name come out of your mouth like that made his blood boil. He saw yesterday the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him, how you hugged him so tightly. And the worst part was that you liked to hang around that asshole, the one who had the chance to make things better, but didn’t. He swore he could do better than him in every way possible.

You walked down the halls to where all the dorms were, all the doors open except one. You assumed Reiner was probably in the occupied room, so you made your way down the hall to that closed door.

Your footsteps echoed in the near empty hallway, boots clacking on the polished floor. Once you came to the door, you gulped down your nervousness and placed three knocks on the wooden door.

There was no reply. You waited patiently for another thirty seconds or so, but soon grew impatient and decided to just open the door.

“Reiner, I was wondering where you wer-“

Your breath was practically stolen from you because of the sight laid out in front of you. Reiner sat on his desk chair, a locked and loaded rifle sitting in his throat. His eyes were dull, hair a mess and skin pale.

You were frozen. You couldn’t comprehend why that rifle was in his mouth. He was always so lively, what the hell was he doing?

Then it clicked.

“...I’m sorry. You’ll understand in the morning.”

He was going to shoot himself.

You ran to his side, trying to hold back an outburst of tears from streaming down your cheeks, you could feel them building up in your eyes. Reiner swiftly pulled out the rifle, a gob of spit coating the head. He let out a few strained coughs, letting you know exactly how deep that rifle was inside his mouth.

“Reiner, what the hell are you doing?” You ask, voice cracking. “Don’t tell me...”

“It’s what it looks like y/n, i know. I just don’t- I can’t- fuck, this is hard to explain...”

Before he could let out another word, you found your arms enveloping his cold body, wrapping around both of his broad shoulders and around his upper back.

“Don’t say anything”, you whisper in his ear. “Just... just sit with me.”

Reiner could feel his tears start to come up too, clumping up at his lashline and threatening to come down.

“I’m s-sorry I’m useless”, he hiccuped. “I-I’m so tired...”

His grip tightened around your back, and he soon found himself clinging to you, the tears rolling down his puffy cheeks. He sniffled, and let out a broken sob. His tears began to soak through your shirt, creating a temporarily stained spot on your shirt. But that was the least of your concern right now.

“You’re- you’re not useless, Reiner”, you say. “You’re everything that this country needs.”

“I’m just holding them back, y-y/n...” he said, almost whispering in a voice you’ve never heard come out from him. “I’m the reason t-that we lost Bertholdt and the others. I would be better with my brains blown out right now.”

You slightly gasp at his statement, but don’t dare to pull away in the state he’s in right now. “Don’t you say that ever again, Reiner. You were chosen for a reason-“

Reiner pulled away from you, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “R-remember what I told you last night? Marcel swayed the decisions to protect Porco. It wasn’t supposed to be me. It shouldn’t have been me, ever.”

“Look at me”, you say, taking ahold of his face, holding his head between your two palms. “You’ve done everything you could- in fact, you’ve done more than I ever could! You’re brilliant, Reiner, you hear me?”

Reiner was trembling at this point, shaking like a nervous puppy at the vet. His eyes were wide with panic, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. You didn’t know what else to say.

Your mind wanders to a darker place for a moment, if you had shown up a minute too late to see his cold body on the floor. What would you have done? How would you have forgiven yourself? You were going to pray tonight for getting the chance to talk him out of it.

His eyes clenched shut, and he buried his head in your shoulder. You could physically feel your heart shatter for Reiner, being in a condition like this. You couldn’t help but cry along with him, not knowing what else to say. Muffled groans and sobs escaped his mouth, quieted by your shirt you were wearing. Each cry felt like somebody was stabbing you repeatedly, the vibrations from his wails shaking you to your core.

“Im sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He wailed. “I’m just so fucking tired of this planet!”

“S-stop apologizing, R-Reiner...” you say, a knot forming in your throat. “L-let’s just go over here, okay? R-Relax.”

You take his hand and guide him up a few steps to lead him to his bed, where he quickly sits down, unable to stand because of the intense emotions. You sit down with him, in fear of what he would do if you left. You reached out a hand, which he quickly started to hold, squeezing your palm.

Reiners cries start to calm, not entirely, but the volume has certainly gone down. He hiccuped twice before speaking clearly.

“Y-you shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“I’ll take this over your blood all over the floor any day”, you reply, wiping a tear from your cheek. You notice a few staining his, so you quickly reach out a thumb to his cheek and wipe away a salty tear or two.

“Thanks”, he said.

You could hear some yelling outside, the distant chatter of children audible through the wall. You guessed the warrior candidates were out to play during one of the rare breaks they had.

“If Gabi saw me like that”, Reiner began. “I would be screwed. And my mother? Dear god...”

“I’ll keep this a secret if you want to”, you quickly say. “Just make sure you put that rifle somewhere else. It makes me uneasy thinking that you could... you know.”

“I’ll do that”, he adds.

“Good”, you say. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. It’s out of protection.”

Reiner nods. “I get it.”

After sitting in comfortable silence for a moment, Reiners mouth opens, as if he was going to say something. But nothing came out.

You turn to him, confused about what he was trying to do. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing”, he said. “I’ve just been thinking about... about how you’ve been here all this time. When we were kids you cleaned me up after Porco beat the shit out of me. You even brought me stuff to eat when we couldn’t afford much. And now you’re here... after all of this. Why? Why are you here?”

Now that you thought about it, why were you here? What had compelled you to stick with him? Was there something more than platonic feelings towards him, No, no. That couldn’t be right, you thought. You’re only feeling these things because you missed him.

“Because... you’re my friend”, you quickly answer. “This is what friends do.”

A minuscule smile curved on Reiners pale lips, indicating he was content with your answer. “Huh.”

After sitting in a few more seconds of utter quietness, Reiner looks at the clock and quickly gets up, smoothing out the folds on his uniform. “Fuck. I told the others we would go out for drinks tonight. Plus the festival is tomorrow. Uh, wanna come with us? I’m positive the others won’t mind.”

“I don’t see why not”, you reply.

“Alright”, he says. “I’ll go shower. We’re going to the pub at 7.”

“So it’s a date?” You ask.

Reiners brow arches. “What?”

You cover your mouth, shocked at what you just said. “I-it’s a saying. Like i’ll be there. Not an actual date, of course not-“

“Oh. That’s okay”, he cuts you off. “I’ll um, see you at eight then?”

“Perfect”, you say, heading to the door, heat rising to your cheeks. “See you then!”

As you close the door, you immediately face palm yourself and sigh. Why the hell did that come out of you? Now Reiner was totally going to suspect that you felt something that is definitely not platonic, and he might leave you!

After realizing how much overthinking you were doing, that finally tore it. You felt something different for Reiner Braun. But you were going to have to hide it for a while now.

[niennavalier]

AC: Rogue - Second Chances

Summary: He's not an Assassin anymore - Shay has no doubts about that. He's less sure where that leaves him in the world, or in the context of this centuries-long war between Assassins and Templars. But when he's presented with a second chance - from a Templar, no less - he has to question all that he's done in the past. And all that he'll do in the future.

Character study set during AC: Rogue Sequence 3-1 "The Color of Right".

(Also posted on AO3)

*****

Shay isn’t sure what he’d been expecting. There’s little he remembers of the moment after being shot, aside from perhaps accepting his fate, knowing that, at the very least, he’d stopped the Assassins from leveling more cities. But he hadn’t expected to wake up at all, much less in a comfortable home and cared for by a kindly couple.

He’d not thought that he could be surprised by much else, but then Mrs. Finnegan - Cassidy - had handed him some clothing, and now, dressing himself, he can’t help but think.

They were our son's . Those words - they keep circling through his head as he readjusts the coat, finishes tightening his belt. Because he can't keep the thought from his mind.

The Finnegans' son - he'd been a Templar.

He'd not wanted to believe it at first, seeing the crosses at his shoulders, telling himself it was something else, something he'd seen elsewhere. It wasn't the Templar cross, and the couple who'd taken him in and cared for him as their own - they weren't Templars. They weren’t the same people he’d spent years fighting.

But pulling the strap for his rifle over his shoulder, the other cross settling on top of his heart, it’s not something he can deny. Somehow, he’s certain of it; whether the Finnegans are Templars themselves, their son had been.

And now he’s wearing the lad’s clothes. It’s something that makes him all the more aware of the hidden blades at his wrists - nothing feels quite right about any of this. Not that he can do much about it.

Sighing and shaking the thoughts from his head for now, he takes the time to tie his hair away from his face and happens to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Looking as he does, he has no doubt his younger self would've thought him a Templar himself, some fanatic obsessed with order. With his weapons returned, he looks every bit a man ready to fight for all that he’d once fought against . Though it's not like he has much choice; he doubts his old clothes had survived the ordeal.

He's not mourning their loss, though. It's a sudden realization, and one he wasn’t expecting to have, but he hadn't been eager to don the hood again. And he still isn't, perhaps would never be. Stranger still, it's not a thought he can bring himself to regret.

Wearing the uniform of the people he’d called enemies is unsettling, but as his last memories of the Homestead flash through his mind - all those he’d called friends, called family , suddenly turned against him - he’s certain that wearing his own robes would’ve been worse.

As he steps back into the main room, though, it’s like none of that even matters. The way Cassidy’s eyes light up - “Oh, well don’t you look a right gentleman!” - it fills him with something warm that he can’t remember when he last felt. Warmth. Family. Feeling like he doesn’t have to work to earn affection, the way he suspects it feels to have parents, despite never properly knowing his own.

Perhaps it shouldn’t feel as novel as it does, but he can’t help freezing on the spot. How is he meant to respond to that?

So he doesn't respond, at least, not directly. He asks about the Manuscript - lost, apparently, and some mix of relief and anger flares in his chest. Good, better that no one can get their hands on the damned thing. Good-hearted folk like these - they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire ever again. He'd see to that.

***

He's not expecting it when a man approaches him from behind, the cross on his sash - a Templar cross, it must be - the first and only thing Shay sees. His hand is reaching back for his pistols before he even realizes it - trust isn't something he's keen on having in spades for now.

"Be at ease, Master Cormac, we are friends.” Doubtful. But the man does know his name, somehow, even if Shay can’t guess why. Does he also know -? He must. This dance they’re doing - it’s too familiar. Both of them know what the other is (or rather, was , Shay supposes). He’d have to tread carefully; he has no idea what this Templar wants with him. “The Finnegans were worried you might take matters into your own hands. I am Colonel George Monro.”

Shay nods, the safest thing he can think to do. “Colonel.” The Finnegans, he’s willing to trust, and the Colonel knowing them might have meant something had their son not also been a Templar. As it stands, the connection means little.

“I came to help, but it seems I am late. Thank you for dealing with these foul criminals.” He eyes the gang leader (the Assassin-trained gang leader) Shay had killed just minutes earlier. “They were a blight on New York.”

The words are quick to rub him wrong. “What do you care?” For all Shay might agree about the gangs, he’d yet to meet a British officer who gave a damn about the colonists. Much less one who was a Templar, besides. “You Redcoats are nothing but landlords. The townsfolk here are grinding away, trying to make a living.” And for what, really?

“I cannot blame you for having that impression.” Of course he can’t. It’s true, and Shay had seen it himself. The restrictions keeping merchants from trading as they pleased, the dangers and hardships braved by the colonists only for their earnings to line the pockets of the Crown. It’s the truth, not just an impression. “Some of my comrades have been less than helpful. But I take a different approach.”

“And what is that?” The words are bitter on his tongue.

“I care. I want to see these colonists safe and prosperous.” Years of training are screaming in his head not to trust this man. That he's just another Templar snake who's willing to say anything if it gets him his way. There's no way for Shay to know if he means any of the things coming out of his mouth.

"Noble words." But were any of them true? He’d naively thought others as righteous as the Colonel made himself out to be, and they’d all proven otherwise.

"Perhaps actions will convince you otherwise, Master Cormac." The Colonel gestures for him to lead the way, and he hesitates for a moment - it's a trick, it has to be - before thinking deeper on it. Betrayal still lingers in his mind, learning that the people he’d called his family cared more about ancient artifacts than they did him, or the thousands of innocent lives on the line. He knows now that they must have lied to him all along, and, really, were they all that different from the Templars? Now, he’s not an Assassin anymore, and that’s not enough to change any of what he believes about the Templars, but it’s enough to make him think.

Perhaps he could hear the Colonel out, if nothing else. At worst, his beliefs would be confirmed yet again. At best…

He's not ready yet to think there can be a better outcome.

***

“You can do great things for this city and its citizens. After all, a man needs purpose.” Those are the last words he hears from the Colonel before the man takes his leave, and they cut into him deeper than he'd like to admit. Though it's not for a bad reason of any sort. The way he explains himself - Shay can't help but feel like he can trust him. Perhaps because it sounds like the Colonel trusts him in return, despite having never met, and the two of them having stood on opposite sides. There's more than a chance that it should worry him, but instead it makes him think of something else - the orders and harsh reprimands from the Assassins. He'd known none of them (save maybe Liam) had ever really trusted him or his skills, but he'd not thought that much of it at the time. Assumed it was normal, being that he'd been the newest one there, but now, the way the Colonel was talking to him, he's starting to rethink that. Perhaps starting to resent that, too, whether he likes it or not.

It’s a selfish reason to make any kind of decision, and he knows as much, refreshing as all of it might feel. It’s not something he’d act on alone - he’s already seen what blind faith and desperation can do, and who can pay the price of death and destruction as a result. Lisbon flashes through his mind, as clear as if it’d happened yesterday. Screams of pain and terror still ring in his ears as smoke and sulfur make his eyes and nose sting, heat from the flames burning his cheeks. His rib smarts, and for a moment, he thinks it’s from tumbling through a crumbling building, crashing against walls and floors and furniture, not from falling off a cliff at the Homestead.

He forces himself to breathe and shakes the memories from his mind. That’s what he can’t let happen again. That’s what he has to make right, no matter what it takes.

And so he can't help but feel drawn in by all the things Colonel Monro said, about just doing right by the people. Making their lives better, not through freedom or control - not through the Assassins or Templars - but just by helping where they can.

As badly as he wants to remain skeptical, he can’t find a problem in that, at least.

But he still stands and watches for some time after that, wanting to see for himself. He stays along the sidelines as the citizens of New York wander by, their eyes turning bright as they hear that the old building is to be restored. From their conversations, he learns that the place had once been a church, left to disrepair now with the threat of war hanging over them. And seeing it ready to be restored - it visibly fills them with hope, and that lights something warm in his chest. Something that he's not sure when he felt last.

It reminds him of the way he’d felt when he’d first joined the Assassins, hopeful, and like he was finally sure of what he was doing. But he’d been a fool, then - he knows that, now - and hadn’t known that he’d hurt far more people than he’d help.

He can't say where he stands when it comes to the Assassins and Templars, to the endless war he'd fought in without ever really understanding it, but he's always trusted himself to know what's right. And this - seeing the lives of normal, everyday folk made easier - he can feel is right.

And for now, perhaps that would be enough.

He can accept that much, and knows he should head back to the Finnegans - all else aside, he trusts them. But as he winds through the familiar streets of his home, he can't help but think on the Colonel's offer. The man may be a Templar, but what he's offering - this way to just help people - it feels like a second chance. Like a way to start atoning for all the lives lost in Lisbon. Exactly what the Assassins wouldn't allow him to do.

Perhaps… perhaps this is the way forward. He may not be fully ready to trust the man yet, for all that he seems honorable, but doing some good for the people of the city, protecting them against those who would do them harm - that much, he would do.

[oohnoniall]

The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter One (Anastasia)

WARNINGS: cursing.

       The Grisha were puppets. She could tell that from the way her father had them paraded before him. No one should be treated the way they were and yet, it was the safest they had ever been. She had not grown up in a time before the Darkling. She had only ever known him to reside over the Little Palace. He kept the Grisha safe.

       That didn't stop them from having to perform great feats at the winter fete every year. She had been in attendance every year since she was six.

       She still remembered that first one clearly. It had been the first time she had been presented to the court. Her mother had actually come to her room, getting her ready to be shown off like a prized horse. It was the first time she had been allowed to wear a tiara.

       Nikolai had teased her for it the entire night. He still teased her for it.

       "Annie," a voice hissed to her right. Her eldest brother looked proud in his jacket, his medals pinned to his chest. They showed that he had claimed something in his year of service. Even if she was certain that it was not a brain. "Get your head out of the clouds."

       Vasily had never exactly been close to Anastasia. He had always been more focused on learning how to run Ravka, how to be the king that their country deserved. He had never paid much attention to her as Nikolai had. He hadn't paid Nikolai much attention either. Vasily was less their brother and more an acquaintance.

       Yet he was all that she had.

       Nikolai had left three years before to study and to serve in the military. Anastasia had written him daily letters for the first year, weekly the second. Now, she was lucky if she wrote him monthly. He didn't answer the letters. Too busy with his studies, with forgetting all about the life he had lived back home.

       Forgetting Anastasia.

       "My head is never in the clouds, Vasie," she huffed as she straightened her spine. She found it somewhat hard to breathe in her gown. Her corset was too tight, her mother had said her waist needed to be smaller and her maids had apparently agreed. Despite the lack of oxygen, there was no denying that the gown was beautiful. It was a shade of cream that matched Vasily's jacket perfectly with sky blue lace detailing on the bodice and matching blue flowers embroidered along the hemline.

       It was not the prettiest gown she owned, but it was one of her favorites. If only because she liked that she stood out just a bit from her family. Her mother's gown would be plain, letting everyone focus instead on the Lantsov emerald that would rest on her left hand. Her father and brother would both be sporting their military jackets, the pins and medals gleaming in the light. If Nikolai had been there, he would have at least been the one to escort Anastasia.

       Instead, her arm was linked with Vasily's. A bored smile crossed her features, taking away the seventeen-year-old's normal vibrancy. She despised the winter fete. The past three years had all been more disappointing than the last.

       It had nothing to do with the Grisha. But it had everything to do with the fact that she had no one to speak with. No one to confide in or giggle with when the night grew boring. Life without her brother had become stale, boring even.

       She sighed softly, trying to push out all those negative feelings as Vasily began to gently pull her out of the small antechamber. Her heart pounded in her chest. A four-eighths rhythm that seemed to skip the second beat. She wondered what it would sound like as an aria.

       "Presenting His Highness Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov and Her Highness Princess Anastasia Lantsov," a booming voice announced to the waiting crowd of nobles and rich merchants that surrounded Os Alta.

       A small smattering of applause greeted them, as it did every year. They were not the show though. They were merely just important guests, visitors to the show of something amazing. Something that none of them were entirely prepared for. At least, not yet.

       "Mingle," Vasily murmured in her ear, not bothering to bend. The two were only mere inches apart. A fact that Vasily hated and Nikolai had found humorous. "Just don't wander far from my sight."

       "And if I don't?" She did not move to raise a brow or do anything that might cause alarm. She barely moved her lips as she spoke. Speaking with Vasily just meant keeping it quiet and not allowing anyone to hear.

       "Then you'll never make a friend that isn't Nikolai." Despite their lack of a relationship, he did care for his younger sister. He cared for his brother as well. Although that relationship was far more strained. Not even Vasily could ignore the rumors surrounding his siblings. Anastasia, however, would never be a threat to him getting the throne upon their father's death.

       She gave a very slight nod of her head. If one happened to see it, they would merely assume she had just shifted her stance or something of that nature. They'd never realize that she had agreed to do something for him. Even if it was as simple as mingle with those who gathered with them in celebration of the second army.

       Her brother released her arm, allowing her to slip free from him and into the crowd. She would not leave the room. She knew better than to cause Vasily a heart attack. Had Nikolai been there, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of it. She would have been able to do as pleased. He'd just follow after her, his charisma hiding the fact that he was threatening people or watching over the sister he'd never asked for.

       Soft laughter, low tenors mixed with high sopranos, filled the air with a gentle melody. One that Anastasia could feel tingling in her bones and in her heart. The melodies of life in Ravka had always seemed to flow through the princess. She just hadn't said a word about it to anyone. Her mother had only ever been told she excelled in music lessons.

       She had strived to excel in everything though. Anything to avoid being sent off like her brother.

       "Princess," a tall young man stepped in front of her, blocking her from moving forward. He bowed at the waist to her, his left arm going behind his back in a sign of respect. His dark, blue-black hair fell into his face in the softest of waves. Briefly, she thought about reaching out to run her fingers through them. "I was certain we wouldn't be graced with your presence this evening."

       "And why exactly is that?" Her tone was soft, lilting and pretty. If she added a bit more breath it would sound more like a song.

       "There's a rumor that your parents sent you to Fjerda a week ago," he admitted as he straightened his spine. His eyes were bright, only a few shades darker than the Lantsov emerald. She wondered how many women he had enchanted with his eyes alone.

       Anastasia forced a gentle laugh to leave her lips as she looked at the man. "I'm afraid I will not see Fjerda for a few more years. Although, my departure date is not to be common knowledge." Her eyes glinted in the light, matching the sky blue detailing on her dress.

       "Of course, your highness," the man nodded his hand once. "Might I have this dance with you?"

       She considered it for a moment. A dance didn't mean they'd be courting. Nor did it mean she would be respected. Everything was so political nowadays. If she did not do the right thing, she would create a scandal. However, most of the time it felt as though if she breathed wrong she would cause a scandal or trouble of some sort. It was all quite exhausting if she were being honest.

       Slowly, Anastasia took the man's outstretched hand. "Of course."

       He led her towards the small dance floor. The winter fete was not a place for dancing. But her mother had thought that it would be nice to have a bit of a dance. She was certain that it had only been in case Nikolai or Vasily had caught sight of a woman that might one day become a queen. Or at the very least it made for a good chessboard.

       "What is your name?" She asked as he placed on hand on her waist. She could feel eyes on them. She was certain his family was watching closely, certain that her brother was preparing to protect her honor.

  ��    "Dima Antonov," he said as the music began to swell. He led her through an intricate waltz. One that she had danced a million times. It was practically drilled into her feet.

       The music spoke to her in a way that nothing ever had before. She loved the way it made her feel as though she were floating on air. Every rest was like holding her breath, the crescendo was the beating of her heart as Dima twirled her across the floor. Her gown floating around them as though there was nothing holding her onto this plane of existence. She could fly away, farther than any bird.

       "You're an incredible dancer," his voice brought her back down to the earth. Gravity pulling against her limbs and her hopes.

       "Oh?" An amused smile crossed her features. "You're not so bad yourself."

       A glint of something was in his eyes. She could not tell if it was amusement or something darker. She prayed to the Saints that she would not have to deal with a pining lordling with dreams of becoming king. It wasn't as though the throne would ever fall to her. Yet, some of these lordlings seemed to believe that they would inherit the throne upon marrying her. Her betrothal didn't seem to matter to any of them either.

       Why would she marry a backward Fjerdan when she could have a good, honest Ravakan? Honestly, the whole thing was rather dull.

       There was nothing that could be done about her marriage. Contracts had been signed long ago. Although, the Fjerdans were not holding up their end of the bargain particularly well. It seemed as if they assumed they could do whatever they wanted to the Grisha and get away with it. It seemed as though all they cared about was getting another country to trade with them. Something that her parents also wanted.

       "Thank you, your highness," Dima broke her out of her thoughts as he dipped her in time with the music. Her long flowing hair nearly touched the floor as strands began to fall from the mess of braids that her maids had put it up in. Her heart skipped another beat as she stared up into his eyes.

       Love was such a trivial matter to her and yet, she found it hard to not be wooed by bright eyes and a dazzling smile. She was just a girl after all. A girl with hopes, dreams, ambitions.

       Dima's dazzling smile just happened to be distracting enough to keep her mind off of her ambitions.

       "I've heard that the Princess of Ravka was a sight to behold, but I didn't expect the rumors to be true." He admitted as he gently pulled her back up. She found that she was pressed rather closely to the young man.

       "I take it that this is your first winter fete?" One of her eyebrows rose just a fraction of a centimeter, barely enough for anyone but the man standing in front of her to notice.

       "I've been spending my time with the First Army. My father is a general," he admitted as he stepped back enough to make their dance proper once more. "I've finally been allowed leave and thought I would spend my time is Os Alta."

       "And this has nothing to do with our new Sun Summoner, does it?"

       "Nothing at all," Dima's lips quirked in a handsome smirk. One that sent heat racing to Anastasia's cheeks. She fought down her blush, not wanting a soul to know her feelings.

       Her mother had once told her that she was an open book. Her emotions were easy to read and easy to figure out. Her mother had made sure that she knew it was not a good thing. Beauty was what mattered. At least, until she had done what she needed to. Then she could worry about falling in love and being in love. Until then, she had to focus on the Fjerdan prince and providing an heir when the time came.

       Anastasia's life was nothing more than a game of chess. She just didn't know if she was the pawn or the queen.

       The music slowed to a stop, her heart still kept the steady beat of the waltz. If only to keep it inside of her for a few hours more. Dima stepped away from her, bowing his head politely.

       "Thank you for the dance, your highness," he took her hand in his and raised it to his knuckles. He brushed his lips against it once, before he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and out of her life.

       She knew better than anyone that it was easier to dance with royalty than actually spend time with them. It was one of the reasons why Nikolai had been her only friend for so long.

       Anastasia did not allow for this to keep her sedated for long. Instead, she slipped away into the crowd. Her eyes searched out Vasily, who was drinking something that was not water while flirting with a lord's daughter. One that he had been speaking with for nearly a year now. She was expecting a courting announcement any day now.

       Vasily being preoccupied was a blessing to her. She could escape from his supposedly watchful gaze and find something to do that was not fawn over the Grisha and what they could do. It wasn't like she hated the Grisha. She just thought that they didn't need to be put on parade. There was no reason for them to be a sort of sideshow.

       Anastasia slipped out of the throne room of the little palace. The noise of the music and the endless chatter allowed for her to be silent, despite the harsh clicking noise of her heels on the tiled floors.

       She could not lose herself completely in the crowd. Others moved out of the way for her, occasional bows were thrown her way while others tried to speak with her about some piece of political jargon that she didn't particularly care about. She was certain that they were only speaking to her because they thought she had her father's ear. It would be quite a shock to them when they realized that she didn't. She had no say in anything political. She was not allowed in council meetings.

       All she was was the pretty princess. The one they could trade for marriage and gain political allies through. It was quite aggravating if anyone were to ask for her opinion. Which they more than likely wouldn't. No one ever did.

       She kept her head held high, her chin pointed just slightly to show she knew who she was and what power she held, as she walked down the hallways and through the crowds. She rounded a corner, her brow furrowing as she noticed something out of the ordinary.

       A man in a guard's uniform. A man that she did not recognize.

       Anastasia knew every guard in the palaces. She had trained with much of them under Nikolai's orders. They had treated her with respect and constantly allowed her to win while also ignoring her horrid aim. Seeing someone new at the winter fete? That was quite unlikely.

       "Excuse me," her voice was soft, barely carrying above the noise of the music and idle chatter. Yet, anyone who knew the royal family would have stopped at her voice. The man kept walking for two steps before realizing his mistake.

       Something was very wrong in the Little Palace. None of the guards should have continued walking. Not even the freshest of faces would have made that mistake.

       She could tell that the man was cursing his mistake as he turned on his heel. There was a look in his eye. A glint of rage, of anxiety even. She would never wish to be the one that rage was directed against. His blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul, drowning her as though it were the depths of the sea or the Fold. His cheekbones were high, sharp enough that they might cut her if she were to touch them.

       She ignored the thundering in her chest, her four-eighths time had become a sixteenth. Fast, quick, ready to jump into her throat.

       The fact that his rage soon melted into the look of one of a new recruit did not help. His features still made him deadly, despite the innocence that he had schooled into his features. Anastasia was someone who wore a mask every day of her life. She had gotten rather good at figuring out who was faking things. She had found different ways to discern who wore a mask and who wore their true face. It was normally in the eyes, in the quirk of their lips, the slightest motion of the eyebrows. There was always a tell.

       It didn't matter who wore the mask.

       "Your Highness," he bowed somewhat awkwardly. It was almost as though there was something wrong with him. Like he had been hurt before or like he found it difficult to bow before anyone. Perhaps he thought himself a king in his own right. "May I help you?"

       His Ravakan was somewhat harsh, the syllables not coming out as easily as they would for a native speaker. She didn't think that was a warning sign. If they had needed more guards, they would have looked to recent immigrants. They'd be too happy to work for the palace and send money back to their families. She just wondered where exactly he was from. The accent didn't seem to be anywhere she could place.

       It was too prim for Kerch and too gentle for Fjerda. Maybe he was from Novi Zem, but he didn't have the air. She figured she would find out later. Now was not the time to question anything as simple as where his accent stemmed from. That would be a conversation for later.

       "You're new," she said as she stepped forward. She did not step close enough to be within his personal bubble, just enough so that he could hear her without straining himself. "I haven't seen you on the grounds before." She had not sparred with him before. It was just improper for her to say so with the entirety of the court present.

       He cleared his throat once, as though he was unsure how to approach her. Or maybe just the topic at hand.

       ”They’ve had me preparing for tonight for the last few weeks,” he said it casually, as though it were nothing but the truth. It should have been. No one would have been fool enough to break into the palaces on the one night when everyone was on high alert.

       At least, that’s what they had all been led to believe.  There was no telling if this was the truth or not. No telling if they were actually safe or if they were all just pawns in someone’s chess game.

       Anastasia was prone to believing one over the other.

       ”I see,” her eyes blazed as she looked at him, not daring to back down from his soulful gaze. “Well, in any case, I like to be well acquainted with my guards, Mr?”

       ”Vanzin,” he said quickly. He no longer looked nervous, the name fell smoothly from his lips. “Nikolai Vanzin.”

       ”Nikolai?”

       ”My mother thought it would be lucky to name me after a prince,” his cheeks heated slightly, enough to make her believe the excuse.

       ”Very well then, Mr. Vanzin. I will see you later then.”

       “I’ll be here all night, Your Highness.”

       A small smile crossed Anastasia’s lips at that, a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with mischief and everything to do with the new handsome guard. “I expect to see you on the training field tomorrow.” She did not wait for his answer as she turned away.

       Anastasia did not notice the scowl that crossed Vanzin’s face, nor did she notice as he slipped unnoticed into the crowd. Vanzin soon becoming nothing more than a ghost.

       A ghost who went by the name of Kaz Brekker.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 3/?: Focalize

It is a tranquil spring evening by the time Sakura appears within view behind the hospital's glass entryway, a blur of carnation and sage and ivory. It is just a few minutes past seven; it seems she is waving goodbye to what he assumes is the receptionist further into the building, out of sight. Then she’s pushing one of the doors open with her shoulder and coming into focus, pastel colors subdued in dusk.

Sasuke notices she’s carrying a plain tote bag, and that there are also two large books and what looks like something reminiscent of a magazine in her hands, neatly stacked and held to her chest. She is wearing a sweater that is slightly oversized, a desaturated green.

Her face lights up when she sees him standing there, leaning against one of the blue columns situated a few steps away, closer to the road; her expression belays something like a mixture of ardor and avidity, and as she approaches, he also observes her cheeks match her hair.

His heart swells pleasantly in his chest; any shred of loneliness he felt in the past few hours dissolves.

“Sasuke-kun,” she chimes in affectionate greeting as she ambles over to him, all lenity and upturned lips.

“Sakura.” Her eyes flash lighter, more vibrant, as she gets closer; they are reflecting glow from a nearby streetlight that flipped on promptly at seven, an electrified yellow-green.

There is a short moment in time where they just gaze at each other, scant amount of steps between them, an oblivion of chartreuse and charcoal in spring twilight.

“How was your first day back?” She finally asks, smiling up at him.

He thinks it over for a second as he studies her, a gentle breeze of springtide. “...Fine. I saw Kakashi and the dobe.”

Her smile shifts into a knowing one. “I’m going to guess paperwork and Ichiraku’s.”

He pulls the health screening forms out of his pocket in answer, and her dimple makes an appearance.

“You can come by tomorrow just after eight in the morning, if that works for you; I’ll be here.” Different hours than today, then, he presumes.

He feels he should clarify that she’s not coming in early just for his sake. “...Shouldn’t I make an appointment?”

Sakura shakes her head. “Thursdays and Fridays I don’t have appointments or surgeries until a little later in the day. The majority of those mornings are set aside for medical research and correspondence with some of the clinics. As long as it’s before eleven, I can step away from things for a bit.”

Research. Interesting. She hadn't mentioned much about that in her letters; he hadn't realized it was something she did regularly. “What kind of research?”

She blinks in surprise, and he thinks she looks a little sheepish. “...It depends. Right now we’re doing some longitudinal studies on mice; behavioral assessment in accordance with certain stimuli, neurobiological response, brain scans, that sort of thing... I’ve also got some poisons I’m looking at for antidote development, but they’re pretty rare, so it’s not super pressing.”

His eyes flick to the books in her arms, a silent question. Her lips quirk upwards even more, then; he tries not to focus on them for too long, because she’s shifting the texts so he can read the titles. The thin magazine-like one is labeled Progress in Neuro-Psychopharmacology and Biological Psychiatry; it must be a research journal. The top book reads Neuroanatomy Through Clinical Cases, and the other reads Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release.

“...Some light reading,” he comments dryly, his version of a joke, and he revels in her soft exhale of breath, a shy version of a laugh. He has missed it.

“I suppose. I actually need to return these; they’re almost due. I meant to do it yesterday, but...” She’s blushing again. Vivid eyes meet his hesitantly before sweeping away. “...I forgot.”

Heat edges up his neck.

“I… wasn’t sure what you wanted to do this evening,” she continues, pursing her lips a little as her fingers clutch the books closer to her again. “I thought maybe we could swing by the library? I’d like to take a quick look to see if they have some new things in yet; it shouldn’t take very long.”

Sasuke muses that Sakura absolutely is the type to visit the library regularly. He used to go often, when he was younger. He wasn’t checking out books of that caliber, though; he wonders how long she’s had them. He also ponders momentarily if rogue ninja status is enough for the powers that be to revoke your library card from the system. Probably.

He hasn’t been able to read regularly for awhile, being away; books have been unnecessary weight, something extra to carry, and also a distraction from what he was trying to accomplish. Though he would accompany her wherever regardless, he realizes he would like to start reading again. It would be something to occupy his free time, when she is busy.

He nods his assent.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking a little relieved and meeting his eyes again, luminescent jade. "They close at eight today, so we should probably get going."

He nods again, glancing down at the books still in her arms. He considers for a second, then holds his hand out. Sakura blinks in confusion, long lashes skimming her cheekbones.

“...I’ll carry them,” he offers, neck heating up again as she stares. “...If you’d like.”

Her skin blooms with color, darker than earlier. “Oh. Thank you.” She hands them to him carefully, soft fingers brushing his. Her touch is delicate, incredibly distracting; her glowing cheeks, even moreso.

She adjusts her bag over her shoulder and then turns; he falls into step next to her as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

They walk just east of the hospital, which tells him the library is likely still in the same location, despite Konoha’s changing landscape. Some of the buildings they pass along the way are under construction. That seems to be a recurring theme in the village right now; much of what he saw earlier today passing through with Naruto was the same. Sasuke wonders if the library will have expanded, too. He doesn’t think he’s passed by it, yet.

There are a few people milling about, but not nearly as many as earlier. He supposes the majority of residents must be retired for the evening, inside their homes with family. There are a few restaurants they pass that smell fairly appetizing, but Sakura doesn’t say anything, so he concludes he was right in thinking that she has eaten already.

“So, how were things with Kakashi-sensei and Naruto?” Sakura asks conversationally, peering up at him from his right. “Anything other than paperwork?”

Sasuke contemplates before responding. “...Naruto and I went apartment hunting.”

Pink brows furrow a little bit as she grins. “Did you invite him?” She asks, though he suspects by her expression she already knows the answer.

He shakes his head. “Kakashi mentioned it as I was leaving and he invited himself.”

She laughs, then, glancing in the direction of the mountain of faces at their old sensei. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He probably appreciated a morning with Naruto out of his hair. He’s been helping there a lot, when he’s not on missions.” She pauses, then adds, “I imagine apartment hunting with Naruto would be pretty draining, though. He’s gotten a little better at cooling it with the nonstop chatter since Hinata, but not by a ton.” She stops again, thinking, before inquiring, “Did you end up finding a place?”

Sasuke nods. “It’s north of here.”

She smiles again, then purses her lips as if she’s considering whether to say something more or not. Finally she adds, green eyes darting to his and then looking away shyly, “...Not too far away, then.”

His gaze softens. “...Not too far.”

They amble by a few street vendors selling gardening supplies, closing up carts for the evening; they must be doing fairly well, as all that’s left over from the day's plantable wares are saplings here and there, and a few starters, small labels detailing their required care poking up from the dirt containers they’re sitting in. There are several taller displays interspersed between carts, stocked with watering cans, spades, gloves, and the like. Sasuke thinks it is quite trusting of the merchants to leave their goods out overnight, evidently without fear that they will be stolen or damaged; many of them are walking away holding only money boxes. It speaks to the relative security of Konoha, in comparison to most of the places he's been.

“Did you get everything you needed for your apartment today?” Sakura asks him after they meander a few more steps.

He blinks. “...Mostly."

“Was there something in particular you wanted to do, after the library? We could stop by a store, if they’re open, and get what you're missing.”

He shakes his head, then admits, “I… didn’t have anything planned.” He worries, then, that maybe he was supposed to plan something. They’re together now, or at least he hopes they are; he'd kissed her, and he would like to, again, if they're alone. Maybe this should have been more formal. He then thinks he should answer the second part of her inquiry: a box and a drying rack would probably be easy to find at a general store, but the majority of places in Konoha that are open past seven only sell food. “...I think the store I went to closed at seven,” he adds.

Sakura looks as if she’s deliberating again. “What are you missing, still?” He notices she doesn’t seem upset that he didn’t plan anything; maybe it’s okay.

It takes him a moment to respond, carefully. “...A small storage box, and a laundry rack.”

She brightens. “I actually have a spare drying rack that I'm not using, if you want it. The washing machine in my unit broke in February, and when my landlady replaced it, she got a washer/dryer combo.” She thinks, then adds, “...And I think I have an empty shoebox in my closet; would that be big enough?”

Something like serendipity unfolds in Sasuke’s chest and begins to vine between his ribs. He thinks unbidden of the blooming cherry blossom tree he can see from his window, just within reach, if he only goes beyond the glass.

He nods. “...Thank you.”

Multifaceted eyes peer up at him warmly. “No problem.” Her cheeks darken again. “We could… walk for a while, and then swing by there at the end. If you want.” Her fingers are gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter. “I wouldn’t mind walking by your building at some point before that, so I… so I know where it is.”

Sasuke nods again, heart skipping a little. He had hoped she would show him where her apartment is tonight, too; he would like to walk her home. He also hopes ‘walk for a while’ means he gets to spend more time with her between the library and going by his building, before they go to hers.

He thinks maybe he should voice that. It comes out as a question. “...We could walk around a bit after the library?”

She’s gazing up at him with red cheeks and smiling with a gentle light in her eyes. “...I’d like that,” she murmurs.

His ears feel warm again.

They turn a corner, and then they are at the library. There is a small expanded portion of the building on the south side now, and it is painted a slightly different mauve-leaning gray than it used to be, but otherwise it appears the same. When they near the entrance, Sakura pulls open the door for him, since his hand is occupied.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, before they head inside, bell on the door jingling.

The librarian working at the front desk nods at Sakura in recognition as they enter, a fairly young woman with chestnut hair. The librarian Sasuke remembers was quite a bit older, elderly now that he’s thinking about it. He briefly wonders if she passed away in his absence. The thought makes him morose; he hopes she just retired. She had always been kind to him.

“Finished with those already, Sakura?” The woman asks, friendly and motioning to the books in Sasuke’s arm as he makes his way to the desk to set them down, Sakura beside him. She must know her well.

“Yes; the journal was interesting, this time. Very relevant to the experiments we're running, and much more substantial than the last edition.” There is something somewhat critical in her voice regarding the referenced last edition, as if something in it wasn’t up to her academic standards. She’s well within reason to be captious; she has become an expert in her field in a rapid amount of time, and if she’s doing research regularly, he’s sure she has the data to back up her assessment. He wonders just what kind of experiments she’s running that have to do with neuro-psychopharmacology; whatever they are, he imagines they must be complex.

The woman is wearing a name tag that reads Ichika, Sasuke can see now that they’re closer. Sakura pulls out what must be her library card from her tote bag; it’s connected to a lanyard with several keys and what he presumes is an ID badge for the hospital.

“Thank you," the librarian says as Sakura hands her card over. As she does so, the woman glances at Sasuke with brown eyes, and then back to Sakura, as if waiting for an introduction. “And this is?”

“This is Sasuke,” she answers, smiling, then adds, “Uchiha.”

“Welcome,” the woman named Ichika greets him, without any malice. Sasuke wonders if she just doesn’t know who he is, or if she’s being friendly because of Sakura’s presence. Maybe it’s because she’s a civilian.

“...Thank you,” he offers sincerely after a moment.

“It was nice of you to carry those books. I know from experience they’re quite heavy. My name’s Ichika.” She gestures to her name tag. “I don’t suppose you like to read as much as Sakura does?” Ichika laughs as she hands Sakura’s card back and starts scanning the books as returned. “I think by now there are more books in the library that she’s read than ones she hasn’t.”

Sasuke glances at Sakura knowingly, and she looks downwards bashfully for a second.

“...I like to, but I don't think I’d understand half of what’s in these,” Sasuke answers honestly, turning his gaze back to the librarian. He sees Sakura flush out of the corner of his eye.

Ichika laughs. Sasuke thinks then that she really must not know of his prior rogue ninja status. “I usually have her write down the titles of the books she’d like us to add, because I don’t know that I can even spell some of the words.” She squints at the last book. “ Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release. I haven’t the faintest idea what a neurotransmitter is, or what it would be releasing.”

Sakura smiles. “Neurotransmitters are the body’s chemical messengers. A release is when the neurotransmitter causes a response in the receiving neuron; they can be disrupted in diseases and biological toxins. Tetanus is a good example; it goes up synaptic terminals of interneurons where it blocks the release of inhibitory neurotransmitters. The result of the block is that motorneurons become overactive, and then cause muscle contractions and spastic paralysis, like lockjaw.”

Ichika blinks blankly. “I don’t know where you keep that information in your head, Sakura, because it certainly wouldn’t fit in mine. Guess I’ll try not to step on any nails in the meantime.” She’s shaking her head, but her tone is amicable. “Well, they’re all checked in, with a few days to spare. I left out the new journals and that other book you asked about in the usual spot, back in the Medicine section.”

Sakura nods, and the librarian’s gaze turns back to him.

"Would you like a library card?”

Sasuke is glad he won’t have to ask. “...I used to have one. I’m not sure if it’s still on file.”

“I can check our records, if you want to browse in the meantime. If it’s not still on file, we can set you up with a new one; you can take books today either way, if you find some you’re interested in.”

Sasuke nods; that was easier than he thought it would be. “...Thank you.” Ichika turns to approach a row of filing cabinets a bit further back behind the main desk area, he assumes to check for his name in their database; he turns to Sakura.

She’s smiling at him as if she wants to ask him a question, but she doesn’t say anything. When she turns to journey further back into the library, he follows. They pass through two interior rooms, organized by genre and alphabet just the same as they had been years ago. The shelves are a little fuller than they used to be; with the population expanding, it makes sense that they now have a wider selection available.

They turn a corner to another interior room, and suddenly he sees a familiar face. His replacement is hunched over in a corner, nose buried in a book that appears from its cover to be about painting. When Sasuke inspects the rest of the room, he sees that the majority of the books in this section have titles related to art.

“Oh, hey, Sai,” Sakura greets casually, heading over to him. Dark eyes glance up at her from his book. Seeing him here must be a regular occurrence, given her lack of surprise.

"Hello, Ugly,” he responds, somehow both cheerful and monotone all at once. Sasuke frowns. He’d been around Sai a few times following the war, before he left for his travels. He never liked his nickname for Sakura.

Sai then looks to him, still standing at the threshold of the room, keeping his distance. He knows him, but not well.

“Welcome back, Traitor," he adds, tone friendly enough. Sasuke supposes that one’s fair. He inclines his head minutely, hand in his pocket.

Sai twists his gaze back to Sakura. "Have you recovered from your birthday extravaganza?"

Sakura blanches and stiffens a little in surprise as Sasuke eyes her with great interest; clearly this was not something she’d expected to be asked about. "Uh… Yeah. It doesn't take long; I eat during and can heal my headache the morning after."

Sai nods. “Yes, Beautiful said you didn’t get nearly as plastered as she wanted you to.” The way he says it is with way too positive of an inflection, as if he’s talking about it being great weather outside instead of crude wording for getting drunk.

Sakura rolls her eyes, then. “She would think that.” She pauses, then looks at Sai carefully. "Ino should be back tonight, right?"

"Yes. I am excited. I'm feeling quite amorous."

Sasuke twitches and his frown sinks deeper, but Sakura rolls her eyes as if she is used to this lack of filter, and gently pushes his book into his face, firmly but carefully so as not to damage it.

"Too much information. Just say you miss her."

Sai smiles as he moves the book away. "It is less information than Beautiful gives."

"That's because she's not normal," Sakura replies, sighing. Sai nods almost mechanically, as if he is cataloging this tidbit on human social interaction away in a filing cabinet for future reference.

There is a pause that is just a bit too long, before Sai offers, “I am researching for an upcoming painting.” Sasuke doesn’t know Sai well enough to understand, but Sakura does; apparently this is his way of telling her that he is busy with his book.

"I won’t keep you, then. Don't let her forget about our plans, though, and tell her I missed our spar this week."

Sai smiles. "She was preparing a new playlist prior to her mission." This also interests Sasuke, but not as much as Ino trying to get her ‘plastered’. He is for some reason having great difficulty imagining Sakura even a little drunk.

Sakura sighs deeply through her nose this time, and says flatly, with no enthusiasm, "Great.” After a beat, she adds, “Well anyways, tell her I say hi. See you. Good luck with your painting.”

Sai nods, and Sakura then turns to go a different direction, Sasuke following close behind. They pass through four more interior rooms before they finally make it to the Medicine section towards the back of the building, where one book and two more medical journals are sectioned neatly away in an empty portion of shelf. The book is just as thick as the one she’d just returned.

“I didn’t know you liked to read, still,” Sakura mentions as she carefully picks up the stack. She’s smiling at him again; that must be what she wanted to say earlier. Maybe she’d expected Sai would be there, that they would pass through the room he was sitting in, and that’s why she’d held off.

Sasuke nods. “...I haven’t read much in a while.”

Jade eyes are soft on his. “Well, if you want to look for a bit, I could look, too.”

He nods again.

XXX

Roughly twenty minutes later, Sasuke leaves the library with Sakura, comparing what they’ve checked out underneath the streetlight just outside; the light has faded enough that it is a bit difficult to read without it.

They still had his information on file after all, though the woman, Ichika, had him fill out a renewal slip and updated his contact information to his new address before giving him a new card. It is a strangely comforting and nostalgic feeling, to know that he was still present in the archives of Konoha in ways he had been unaware of.

He had picked out two books: one about the history of kenjutsu in Fire Country, and another historical text documenting the overthrow of the daimyo in the Land of Silence. He has never been there, given it is beyond the reach of Shinobi authority; he figured it would be interesting to read about. With it being a samurai-led country, it made sense to read at the same time as the book on kenjutsu.

“These sound like you,” Sakura says after scanning the titles of what he’s picked, glancing up at him kindly as she rotates so he can read the information of her own. Cradled in her arms are the Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience, the other scholarly journal, Human Brain Mapping, the book from the Medicine section titled Translational Research in Traumatic Brain Injury, and what appears to be a fiction book, an addition to the others, titled Spoiled Suitopi.

“You read fiction, too,” he observes as he reads the title of the last one, and she takes this as her cue to shift them back together neatly into one stack, largest to smallest.

She laughs a little. “I try to. It’s a good mental reset after reading medical texts; everything starts to blur together after a while. This was actually a recommendation from Ino; she’s into the dramatic stuff, clearly. Sometimes they’re decent.”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to ask. “...A birthday extravaganza?”

She smiles timidly, expression shifting to something a little embarrassed. “I wouldn’t call it that; she showed up at my apartment last weekend with ingredients for drinks, and then we watched terrible movies in my living room.”

Sasuke is learning all kinds of things about Sakura this evening. “No Sai?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s a me and Ino thing; he doesn’t really pick up on the nuance of them being terrible, and we figure we don’t want to give him poor examples to follow… he’s got enough of those already, dating her.” She grins a little, then. “Also, he can’t really handle his liquor.”

Sasuke thinks Sakura must be able to hold hers fairly well; she had seemed pretty confident earlier, regarding the morning after. He knows her mentor Tsunade has quite a reputation. He himself has never drank much.

“He’s... interesting.”

Sakura shrugs nonchalantly. "He's better than he used to be, regarding the oversharing. Ino is worse, honestly.”

He considers her words, then decides to drop the subject, because he doesn’t want to think about that. Sakura had said in her letters that Ino and Sai were together; he can only imagine what she knows about them, likely most of it against her will and learned in the manner he's just witnessed.

He shifts his attention upwards; a few stars are starting to peek their way into the night sky. He follows their path north, to the barest hints of lavender sinking below the horizon. It has become even more silent outside, fewer people and slightly cooler temperatures. There is still a breeze. They spent longer in the library than he'd anticipated.

He’s not sure what time she usually goes to sleep; if she works at eight, it’s probably early. He wonders if he should ask.

“Thank you for going with me. I’m sorry it took a little longer than I thought,” she says, before the question comes to him. He shifts his eyes back towards her; he’s about to tell her not to apologize because he clearly spent time browsing, too, but she’s already speaking again. “You said your apartment is on the north side, right?”

He inclines his head in an affirmative.

“We could walk that direction, if you want; there are a few newer things on that side of town I could point out that are kind of interesting. If…” She pauses, as if considering her wording. “If you haven’t seen them already, I mean.” She gestures to his selection from the library, gripped in his hand. “We could drop off your books, too. Not as much to carry back, then, with the box and the laundry rack.”

“...I’d like that.”

She smiles up at him again, tender effervescence. He realizes as they start making their way north that they both have been talking in more hushed voices, as if the blanket of nighttime shifting atop the village has quieted them in addition to their surroundings.

There is something soothing about treading around at nightfall with her. The village is well-lit enough that it’s fairly easy wandering, and lights emanating from windows cast everything softer, more inviting phosphorescence sifting onto the pathway beneath their feet. Earlier today, trekking back and forth between businesses and his apartment, it had felt more unfamiliar, like there was a disconnect and he was just passing through, despite the knowledge that he was transporting things to a permanent living space. It feels decidedly less transient next to Sakura, a hint of sweetness in tart recollections. He watches their shadows for a fleeting moment, cast close together to the right of them, near touching, and occasionally faded by windowpane glow.

There is a casino she points out a few blocks down where Tsunade apparently used to lose money fairly regularly. She explains it was her mentor’s favorite because it was somewhat close to the residence typically taken up by the Hokage; she used to call it lucky, even though she never won. Sasuke finds out through this story that the Hokage residence is still sitting empty; Kakashi has apparently still not moved there, preferring instead to stay where he has been residing for years. Sakura mentions in a softer tone that she thinks it’s because of his apartment’s proximity to the graveyard where his old teammate, the Nohara girl, is buried.

There is a long stretch of silence in which Sasuke considers just how Kakashi has always seemed able to see straight through him. He’s fairly certain the girl had been a medic, too.

“...Naruto’s house isn’t far from the Hokage’s office, either,” Sasuke observes finally, changing the subject. He’s with her right now; he doesn’t want to ruminate too long. He thinks that's improvement.

Jade eyes sparkle up at him. “No, it’s not. I’m pretty sure that was on purpose; I don’t think they intend to move again. I’m sure he’ll give you the tour eventually - he’s pretty proud of their place; Hinata keeps it pretty nice - but it has some extra rooms.”

He tries not to think about the implications of that for too long. Naruto being in charge of a tiny human is not a very reassuring thought, even with his apparent strides in social awareness.

They pass a yakitori place she mentions is good, a few more blocks down. It seems pretty calm for such a restaurant, not as busy as Ichiraku’s usually is, though it’s later now and they’re likely getting ready to close. “I’ve been there with Naruto and Hinata a few times,” she tells him. “At least, when we can convince him to go eat something other than ramen.”

Sasuke hadn’t realized Sakura was that close with Naruto’s wife, though it makes sense instantaneously; she has known her for years. He thinks for a second before questioning, “Is she still as quiet?”

Sakura purses her lips in thought. “She talks more, now, for sure, but she’s still pretty shy around people she doesn’t know well.” She smiles, then. “I think Naruto has been really good for her, actually. Her for him, too; they balance each other out well.”

He supposes that’s true; perhaps Hinata is the reason for Naruto’s continued emotional growth. He ponders momentarily whether he and Sakura will balance each other out well.

She’s looking at him as if he should say something, so he does. “...He had vegetables in his ramen today.”

Sakura laughs. “Yes, she does force vegetables into his food every once in a while, now, so he's more used to them. I think she might have slipped Teuchi some money to start throwing them in his orders, to be honest."

Sasuke snorts, because of course that would be how that came about.

"It’s for the best," Sakura continues, lips quirking upwards still. He tears his eyes away from her mouth after a second. "He was eating pretty much all noodles and junk for so long. Hopefully it’ll start to cancel out with a few more years.”

As they walk farther, he starts to recognize things from earlier today; a bed of alabaster azaleas surrounding a residential building painted green, and a rather large street sign on a corner, right next to an ornate bench. They are getting fairly close to his apartment building. He holds off on saying something for a little longer, though, because he wants to spend more time with her. He hopes that's not too selfish; he has missed her. A lot.

“There’s an interesting place over there,” Sakura notes, pointing out a clearly aged building that he thinks he walked by on his return trip from the market earlier in the afternoon. “They’re only open two or three days a week, but it’s antiques now. I don’t usually buy anything other than books, but it’s fun to look through; they get rare ones in, from time to time. The owner is really nice.”

He nods. That would be a good way to spend an afternoon. He suspects she must have a collection of books at her apartment, then. He wonders how many.

She is mute for a moment, as if in thought, as they pass through another intersection. He wonders if he should be adding more to the conversation, but it doesn’t feel like an awkward silence; just an easy one.

He spies another familiar sign, this one advertising the market hours. “...My building is a few blocks this way,” he mentions quietly, loath as he is for this evening spent with her to come to an end. She looks up at him for a moment, then nods, and he subtly starts leading her in the general direction of his apartment complex.

His building comes into view a short time later. He points it out right before they pass beneath the cherry blossom tree, and Sakura nods in recognition. “Sai used to live somewhere over in this area, before he moved in with Ino. I’m not sure where, exactly. I know he liked how quiet it was, though.”

Sasuke nods as he pulls his key from his pocket, and they cross the street. He had been right about the light pollution; there is little enough of it that one can see the stars rather clearly, more so than one could from the library.

He wonders if he should perhaps invite her in. He thinks of the letters, still sitting on the small end table in the living room.

She saves him from making the decision. “I’ll wait here,” she tells him politely, leaning up against the old brick. He nods.

He goes up the stairway, down to the last door on the right. Once he unlocks his door, he places the two books on the kitchen table inside, and locks the door again behind him. It only takes him a minute before he is coming down the stairs again.

She smiles at him, then blinks when he holds out his hand. She colors, he thinks, when she realizes he’s offering to carry her books for her again; it’s harder to tell with the lack of light.

As she hands them to him carefully, she says, voice soft, “My place is a little south of the library; not by too much.” Her eyes flit to his, then dart away; there is a careful smile on her lips. “Maybe a little over ten minutes from here.”

They wander together in an easy silence, her leading the way more now. There are a few crickets chirping. It was fairly warm out today, so it makes sense that insects are starting to make their return. A gentle breeze continues to waft through from time to time.

He walks close enough to her that he can faintly smell raspberries, each time the wind blows just right. There are even fewer people out and about now, it being closer to nine in the evening; the road is fairly deserted. They go by the library again, lights turned off, and more closed businesses. It soon transitions into older construction that he assumes must be residential.

She was right; it doesn’t take long, around twelve minutes at a leisurely pace, before she points out a building further down the street. “That’s the one.”

As they get closer, he notes that hers is also an older building, built out of cream brick; there is something nice about that realization, that she also apparently chose something older with a bit of history over something brand new. There are few enough street lights that one can see the stars overhead well at night here, too.

“There’s a patio or balcony attached to each unit,” Sakura remarks once they’re closer, pointing at one on the northernmost part of the second story that is brimming with potted plants, much more than any of her neighbors’. “That one’s mine.”

As they round the corner of the building, he assumes to reach the front entrance, she tells him it was one of the reasons she selected this apartment, aside from its proximity to the hospital and her family's residence. "My parents' house has balconies for both bedrooms. It was strange to imagine not having one. This one’s attached to the bedroom, too; it’s nice to sit out there, if the weather’s not too extreme."

It’s a smaller complex, only two stories high. He thinks there must be six units, given its size and the trio of balconies they passed beneath, three small patios in their shadows on the ground level. It is somewhat close to the hospital, as she’d said, but far enough away that it's not necessarily an area that would bustle with activity, even during the day’s busiest hours; it is very still right now, peaceful. They pass through a glass door that is not locked, leading into a common area with six doors, three on the main level, and then three on the second level, with a metal stairway leading upwards. A huge, two-story high bay window sprawls by the main door, overlaid in a diamond pattern, which must allow light to stream in the majority of the day.

Each of the doors to individual units has at least one or two plants framing it, but he knows which one is hers right away. An array of thriving potted plants surround the upper northernmost side door, spilling out to surround the entire right side of the banister that frames the edges of the building. Hers is also the unit furthest on the upper right, like his; another nice realization. A few of her plants are flowering, but for the most part they are varying shades of green, with accents of paler colors. Desaturated and calming, just as he’d guessed she would like, rather than intensities of marigold and cobalt and fuchsia. It's hard to tell in the dim lighting, but as they get closer, he thinks that the few blooms are pistachio and lavender and blush in color, like her hair.

Or her cheeks. Jade eyes are on him again as he finishes walking up the stairway behind her.

He follows her to her door and leans a little against the railing behind him while she grabs her keys from her bag; he doesn’t think she’d mind if he came in for a few minutes, but she didn’t explicitly invite him, and he wants to be polite.

Once she’s unlocked it, she turns back to him to take her books. Her hand brushes his, and it’s incredibly distracting, again. “I’ll be right back.” She smiles at him before disappearing inside her apartment.

She leaves the door slightly ajar behind her, and he tries not to look. He busies himself with observing what appears by her neighbors’ doorways instead. No light emanates from beneath the doors of any of them; he wonders, this being older construction, if more of the tenants here are older, and are perhaps in bed already. The upper units probably aren’t occupied by extremely elderly people, given the stairs, but the ground level units’ decorations appear more classic and refined, less youthful. He notes the pots surrounding the other doors are very matchy, but Sakura’s are less so; hers are various shades of neutral terracotta colors, soft and inviting, some with unique shapes.

She’s back quickly, foldable drying rack and shoebox in tow, closing her door mostly behind her. She also must have set her tote bag aside; it's no longer situated on her shoulder.

He realizes all at once as she meets his eyes, handing him the items she’s gifting him, that he does not want this evening to end.

“Thank you,” he says, voice husky.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs, just as hushed.

Sasuke studies her eyes for a long moment, trying to commit the life in them to memory, though he already has, he thinks.

“...May I see you tomorrow after you work?” He finally asks quietly, trying to keep the hope out of his tone. He knows he’ll see her for his medical clearance in the morning, but he would still like to spend time with her outside of that, if she doesn't have plans already.

She looks crestfallen, smile slipping a little before coming back. “I would love to see you, but I have dinner with my parents every other Thursday, since I get off at four. They stopped by for a visit on my actual birthday, but they wanted to do cake and a gift tomorrow night after our usual supper time.” She pauses, searches his expression for a moment. “Maybe the day after tomorrow, if you’re not busy? I get off around four on Fridays, too.”

He nods, committing this part of her schedule to memory. “...I’ll meet you at the hospital, then.”

Her smile gets wider. “Okay. I can show you around the other newer parts of the village, if you’d like. The southwest side has really expanded.”

He nods his head in agreement, thinking. He would like to ask for more time with her, before he starts taking mission assignments again, but he also doesn’t want to monopolize all of it; she has years worth of life here, roots other than him that need tending. He hopes she’s saying yes because she actually wants to, and not simply for his sake.

He takes a deep breath, forcing down nervous vulnerability at his next question. “...And Saturday?”

She blinks, then blushes darker, smile growing wider still. She casts her glance downwards to her feet out of shyness, shifting a bit. “Saturdays I work seven to three; I’m going to stop by the market after for some gardening supplies with Ino, but other than that, I didn’t have anything set in stone.” But then jade eyes flick back up at him, and they are slightly apologetic.

His heart sinks for a second, rejection stinging a little behind his eyes. She doesn’t want to see me that often. He’s been absent for too long. She's probably tired of him already, though she hasn’t said anything. He has enjoyed tonight, but he's aware he doesn't make the best company.

“Naruto sent a clone by this afternoon that was going on about an original Team Seven reunion dinner, though. He mentioned Saturday night as a possibility,” she reveals, and his world comes back into focus, heart reversing upwards back into his chest cavity.

Sasuke huffs amusedly, then, relieved. “...Of course he did.”

She sighs wistfully, shaking her head. “Ichiraku’s, I’m sure. I’m pretty sure I’ve tried everything on the menu in triplicate, at this point.”

He eyes her carefully, trying to dry swallow his fear of rejection like a pill. Corrosion, he thinks. “...After dinner?”

Shimmering seafoam again. Happy, transparently pleased, and he’s glad he asked, shoved away the nerves; he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if it’s going to make her eyes look like that. “Of course. We could… hang out here, if you want. Or was there something you had in mind?”

His gaze softens. “Here is fine,” he answers. It is more than fine, actually. He’d go anywhere, if it meant he could soak in her presence longer, but he’s more than a little curious about what her apartment looks like on the inside. His own is pretty sterile, even now mostly put together after the afternoon, devoid of most anything other than necessities. He has an inkling that Sakura is the type to truly make wherever she's living feel like a home, though, given the pleasant spread of life he’s seen spilling out here on her doorstep.

“Okay,” she confirms, dimple reappearing. “I’ll look forward to it.”

There is something in her eyes after a second, gears turning, a question she must want to ask him.

"Would you…" She's talking even more softly, now, hushed as if she's going to scare him away. Her eyes meet his apprehensively as she shifts her weight from one side to the other. "Would you want to maybe... have tea tomorrow morning? I'm… not sure if you have plans or not, but I have a little time, before I work. There's a good place near the hospital, and then after we could get your exam done at eight like we planned."

The vines between his ribs twist pleasurably. She does want to see him, after all. She's not too busy. She's looking at him nervously, as if he would say no, as if he hasn’t spent the last twenty-four hours longing for her company again.

"...I'll look forward to it," he answers quietly, because he will; he likes tea, occasionally. He thinks he will like it better with her.

Her entire countenance brightens somehow, even as she flushes darker. "Oh. Good." She sounds relieved.

"...I can meet you here," he finds himself saying, and her eyes are sparkling at him, now, at what's implied - longer with her, another walk together. "What time?"

She purses her lips now, apparently still nervous. "Would… seven be too early?" Her voice trails off a little, as if in hesitance, as she finishes the question.

He chooses his next words carefully, meaningfully, so there is no uncertainty. "Not at all."

She regards him then like he has done something wholly wonderful, cheeks a rich red in dim light and expression heart-wrenchingly elated.

There is an expectant pause as the oblivion happens again, dimmer now but just as powerful. He really wants to kiss her; he’s been thinking about it the entire evening. He wonders if she has, too, and if maybe she wants him to. There’s no one around, in this little entry area of her small complex, in front of her door and her plants in faded hues.

He decides to go with his gut.

It’s somehow even better, this time, anticipation and lips meeting and a barely audible exhale of breath through the nose on her part, almost like she’s suddenly at ease; he thinks, pleased, that she must have wanted him to. Her hands gently meet his chest, tentatively pressing against him. He would like to do something with his, but it's still occupied, holding what she's supplied him with. He settles for pressing his lips to hers with a little more confidence than yesterday. It’s tender and over much too quickly, much like the evening they have spent together; all soft light settling, lambent and beguiling.

She is crimson when they part for a breath, before shyly directing her gaze away and shifting back down; he realizes that she must have been standing on the tips of her toes to reach him.

Her hands linger on his chest, and then her gaze comes back up to his, almost determinedly.

“I’m… really happy you’re back.” Her face is still flushed, but she doesn’t look away. Her pupils are dilated, bottomless black dwarfing green.

Heat creeps up his neck. His pulse pounds just below her fingertips, as if she’s tugging at his heartstrings with them.

“...I am, too,” he whispers, before he leans down again.

He thinks that he could stay here forever, clutching all that she’s given him, enveloped in a sweet ambrosia of tart berry and newly unfurling plants and soft lips that he’s thought of all day, now against his again.

She gently drops her hands from his chest when they finally part. She’s smiling; she is so pretty.

“Good night, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice is near a whisper. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“...Good night, Sakura,” he murmurs in response.

XXX

The journey from her place to his really is quite quick; he doesn’t see anyone on his way back. Stars are visible almost the entire way, Leo and Ursa Major and Cassiopeia. The moon is a thin sliver amongst them, raised high in the sky.

Once he's inside, he carefully folds out the drying rack she’s given him in the small laundry closet and lays out damp clothes to allow the air to finish the job. He's glad he didn't need to make another trip to the store. A trip with her was better, and she somehow had just what he needed. He thinks perhaps she always has, and his vision has simply been too blurry, obscured by smudged glass, to see it.

Sasuke retrieves the stack of her letters and places them in the box gingerly so as not to further bend them. He stares at the picture for a long time before also stowing it away, sliding the container onto the shelf in the closet for safekeeping.

He doesn’t feel tired yet, and it's not too cold, so he goes to visit the memorial stone, after, as he’d planned. He feels it is the right thing to do, after having been gone so long.

He confronts many things as he sits there, the bevy of crickets and soft swishing of grass the only sounds on this quiet spring evening, a long list of engravings barely legible in the shadows.

Melancholy is one of them, seeping in slowly, as he’d known it would. Grief and acrimony and betrayal, too. A little bit of anger, still. He also experiences sillage, the aroma of his mother’s flower garden and the scent of his aunt and uncle’s baked goods and the smell of an empty house, all blending together in his olfactory senses like it was yesterday, a bitter incense of nostalgia that is hard on the inhale.

This time, though, semisweet berry and antiseptic are also among them, memory fresh in his nostrils, and he experiences a little bit of comfort, too.

Sasuke doesn’t sleep well, after, but when the nightmare comes, gruesome, and he’s awake for the remainder of the night, he has some books to help steady him until seven comes.

[starlight-starwrites]

Trust

Part two

Pero Tovar x reader

note: the follow up to this ask by my friend @yespolkadotkitty! this is straight up smut, with a side of feelings, coming in at a surprising 5.6k words. also i was very pleased with how many people liked pero staring at reader’s legs so...enjoy a little more.

Though originally you had thought hiding the gold under your skirts was a genius idea, you now viciously regretted it. It was only the second day of riding, and despite the comfort of having Pero at your back, his arms settling around your waist, it hurt. You felt like lead, constantly weighed down, and that was without mentioning the pain of being in the saddle for so long.

The two of you had stopped last night for a few hours to get some rest, collapsing almost immediately after dismounting. Pero had tucked you into him, wrapping you both in the one blanket you thought to bring. It was cold and uncomfortable until you promptly passed out. As you rode now, tavern in sight, you had a feeling that your companion had not gotten nearly as much time as you. He slumped forward on you, normally which you would be pleased with had the sun not been beating down on you all day.

You turned to look at his face. He was gazing at the wagons and merchants already standing around outside, looking uncertain. When he caught you staring, he turned back to you, lips quirking.

“Are you okay?” you ask him.

He smiles with his eyes. You notice that about him. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you once thought he did; he expresses them differently. You know it is a side-effect of his profession, but the more you see him allow himself to feel, to look at you the way he does, you feel a swell of pride.

Pero looks at you like he doesn’t believe you could exist. His hand moves from where it rested on your thigh to press his palm to your abdomen, fingers reaching and feeling as if to make sure you were really here. “Never better, querida.” His face is close to yours, and his nose bumps the shell of your ear. “Hold on tight for me, hmm?”

You’re about to ask why, when suddenly he kicks the horse, and she leaps into a canter. A couple of people shout in protest, and Pero expertly maneuvers around them, cutting around the path to ride directly to the stables.

“I am not waiting any longer.” His voice is deep in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

The tavern is not a tavern at all, but an inn. It’s the largest you’ve ever seen outside the city. As a waystation for travelers of all walks and frequent business stop for merchants, the place is bustling. The two of you are not likely to be noticed, just two more travelers--here and gone before anyone is wiser.

Pero dismounts with ease, turning back to you as soon as his feet are on the ground. His hands reach for your waist, and you brace yourself on his shoulders as he swings you down. You’re heavier now with the hidden loot, and you take a moment to balance, shifting your legs after straddling a horse for so long. You share a smile with Pero, and he tilts your head up by your chin.

“I will just be a moment.”

He speaks with the stable boy for a moment and you catch something about “rooms available” before the boy is saying yessir and leading the mare away. Pero has your bags slung over his shoulder, and before you know it, his hand is at your back and he’s already pushing you inside the inn. The place is nicer than the tavern you worked in, but the patrons appear to be about the same. It is not without drunks and sellswords, but the number of fat men in fine clothes does appear to be higher.

You follow Pero to the counter where the owner writes something down in a ledger. You begin to worry about the cost of staying here when the man greets you with a neutral face. But as soon as Pero asks for a room and drops two gold coins on the counter, the widening of the man’s eyes tells you all you need to know. At your tavern, it was common to see copper pieces, silver if someone’s tab ran high enough. You weren’t sure you’d ever handled gold coin before Pero had come to you rambling about a job and keeping the bag secret.

You had almost forgotten that the weight tied to your legs wasn’t just a burden. It meant you were rich.

The man hands over a key, telling you which room is yours. “The evening meal has already been prepared, so you may eat here, or we can have dinner brought to your room for you and your wife, if you would prefer.”

The sound of a hot meal almost made you miss the man’s words. Pero, however, seems to be struck dumb. You take hold of his arm to catch his attention, but even then he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“I think we would prefer to eat in our room, if it’s not too much trouble,” you say. You fear he may hesitate too long and cause suspicion, but you can’t fight the grin that spreads across your face. Someone just assumed you were married, and Pero was flustered because of it.

His hand comes around your back and squeezes your side. After everything is in order, you walk to your room together, his arm heavy around your waist. Thoughts of what you could finally be doing with him chase away any remnants of exhaustion. And with how close Pero walks to you, you have a feeling he is thinking the same.

The room is clean, comfortable. The bed is just large enough for the two of you to fit side-by-side, and a chest of drawers rests against the opposite wall. Besides that, there is a short bedside table, and another in the corner with a basin of water. You don’t particularly care to inspect any of it, and instead dump your satchel on the chest and then collapse on the bed and kick off your shoes. Your legs are exhausted and now was as good a time as any to let Pero know it.

He stands across the room from you, already having set down the bags, and is now unbuckling straps to remove his long sword. His eyes never leave yours as he pulls it off and sets it down against the wall. His hands go to his belt next, unbuckling to remove the short sword and few knives that hang from it. He puts them off to the side, now quickly taking off the armor he wears on his arms.

You take off your traveling jacket before moving your hands to your skirts, still watching Pero intently. You creep the edge of the skirt up, yet his eyes never stray from your face. His chest plate falls with the rest of the armor, leaving him in just his tunic, pants, and boots. You had never seen him in such a state of undress before, and you think he should walk around like this more often. You can see the shape of him more clearly, and you know that there are fewer layers between you. He looks softer like this, a Pero Tovar that only you get to see.

“Pero,” you breathe. You don’t know why you call his name, but it seemed like the only thing you could say.

He steps toward you slowly, a teasing look on his face. “Yes?” He towers over you from where you sit on the bed before placing his hands on either side of you as he leans closer. You can feel his breath on your face, and your heart stutters.

Your hands grip the fabric of your skirts tighter, and suddenly you remember the reason why you are seated in the first place. You gather them up, pulling them to your hips to expose your legs once again. Pero’s eyes dart down despite the cool façade he has tried to keep, and you see a flush to his skin.

“I could use some help removing these,” you whisper, lifting a foot to place against his thigh. He can’t look at you anymore, his attention stolen by your legs, and just as important, the gold strapped to your legs.

He groans, pulling away from you to sink to his knees between your legs. Your breath catches, watching his every move. His hands move along your legs, touching you reverently, wrapping around your ankles as he puts a foot in his lap. He looks up at you now, admiring the way you look. Your mouth is open, chest heaving. With your jacket removed, he can admire the top of your breasts with every breath you take.

He finally meets your eyes, and you can see the want in his gaze. You wiggle your foot, brushing against his thigh and closer to his groin. He knows you’re trying to rile him up. And he knows that you know you’re succeeding. He gives a yank, making you fall back to your elbows, then places your ankle on his shoulder. He places a kiss on the inside of your leg, keeping eye contact, before untying one of the pouches and letting it drop to the floor. He places a second kiss on the side of your knee, hands sliding past your stockings onto the skin of your thigh where the garter secured two more pouches.

His fingers slip under, pulling the material away, letting the bagged coins fall to the ground with a clink. His mouth comes to the exposed flesh, kissing closer to your center. He stops short of where you want him and sinks his teeth in. You moan.

It comes without warning, and Pero feels himself harden when he looks at you. Hearing the sounds you make draws him closer to you, pushing you back against the bed while still holding your leg to his side, and he attaches his lips to yours. The kiss is hungry, much like the first one you shared, and he groans into your mouth. He has a hand on your jaw keeping your face turned to his as he devours you, and your hands slip into his hair again, bringing him close but wanting him closer still.

He bites at your lip, trying to pull away only to press another kiss underneath your chin. “Temptress,” he murmurs against your throat, and you pull tighter on his hair. He lifts his head to look at you, and you see the smile on his face. “You wanted these removed, no?” His hand grabs at you other leg, shaking the bags still strapped to you.

You grin up at him, reluctantly letting go. “Hurry up then,” your hand brushes over his hair as he sinks back down your body, “there is so much I want to do to you.”

He sighs deeply, pressing his mouth to your thigh again to suck a mark into your skin, hands roughly pulling down the stocking to completely bare your leg. He hardly even looks before his attention is turning to the other one. He rips the bags from where you tied them, both hands coming to rip the fabric of your garter, nearly throwing the bags behind him. One opens, spilling coins across the floor. Neither of you notice, too involved in the touches of the other. Pero’s kisses become hotter and rougher as he attacks the skin of your thighs.

He pushes you back from the edge, centers you on the bed so he can crawl over you, hands gripping behind each of your knees, allowing him to move your legs as he pleases. He keeps his face between your legs, kissing and marking and tasting, and you lose yourself in the feeling. Your gasping underneath him, and Pero thinks he has never been anywhere better than here, surrounded by you. His face comes to brush against the cloth still covering your core, and he is moments from ripping it from you when his hands get lost in your skirts. He tugs at them, attempting to find how to get them off before growling in frustration. Your hands fall from his head when he pulls back.

“Get these off,” he snaps, tugging at your outer skirts.

You sit up quickly hands flying to the buttons at your side, not caring if you ripped them off yourself. His hands are still palming the flesh of your thighs, a hand cupping your center, making you roll your hips into him, desperate for more. The first layer unbuttoned, you moved to the second as he tried to pull the fabric away from you. “Fuck. Fuck,” you repeat yourself as his hands leave you, pulling the skirts from your legs, nearly getting tangled in them.

“Damned skirts,” Pero curses when he finally gets a layer away from you, throwing it across the room. “Don’t want you to wear these again.”

Finally your legs are bared to him, and takes your underclothes off with a smooth movement. You giggle at the thought when he stares. You take your legs around his waist to pull him closer, making him bring his arms down to brace himself above you. “Yeah?” you tease, “shall I just walk around like this?” You wear nothing but your blouse and corset now, and you might have felt silly if not for the way he looks at you.

“I am beginning to consider it,” he growls into your chest, teeth skimming over the tops of your breast. “I will buy you a house, and there will be no one but us.” His hand comes to cup you again, his fingers now running over your folds. “And you will wear nothing.” He growls the words into your ear, and when his fingers run over you again, you moan.

Your hands grip his back, pulling up on the tunic he still wears. There is too much between you still, and you want to see more of him. He obliges, sitting up for a moment to pull his shirt over his head and throwing it among the other strewn items of clothing. He doesn’t give you a moment to appreciate his body before his hands are moving to your own blouse and pulling it up. You let him help you remove it, pulling it over your head and mussing your hair. As soon as it is gone, he runs his hand over your face, smoothing back your hair to kiss you. The force of the kiss has you falling back to the bed, and you wrap your arms around his back. Despite wanting him to kiss you like he is, to consume you and press you down how he is doing now, you want your chance to watch him, to make him as weak as he makes you.

You turn your head in an attempt to break the kiss, but instead he brings his attention to your neck. You let him get distracted and maneuver yourself to find a position of leverage. Pushing off from the bed, you use your legs to turn him, pushing him onto his back and taking your place straddling his hips. He moans at the change, and you can’t help but grind yourself over his growing bulge. He begins to sit up to get back at you, but you push him back, grinding against him again. He grits his teeth and his hands come to squeeze your hips, allowing you the moment, but warning you that he won’t allow teasing.

Your hands make a trail from his shoulders to his abdomen, feeling skin and scar and muscle, appreciating the way he looks without the armor. “Oh God, Pero,” you say back to him, “I don’t think I’ll let you wear anything either.”

He groans and makes to grab for you, but you slide off his hips to his lap, bringing your hands to pull at the ties at the front of his breeches. You get them undone swiftly, pulling down on them when he lifts his hips to help. You only get them to his knees when you encounter a problem. His tall boots still on prevent you from getting much further, and Pero nearly pushes you off him to pull them from his feet, tossing them aside. He stands up at the edge of the bed to remove the pants and you reach forward to help.

As soon as he kicks them off, he’s pushing you back to the bed, lips on yours. His kisses are passionate, making you melt to the mattress, surrendering to him again. You feel his skin against yours, and you swear it’s better than any feeling you’ve ever experienced. His hands grope at your body, pulling your breasts from the corset. It’s the only thing you still wear, not bothering you nearly as much as the fact that Pero still wears his smallclothes. You can feel the hard length of him against your leg, and you lift it to rub against him. When you look up at him, he’s a mess. His hair is mussed, standing up in places where you pulled, and four red lines cut across his chest showing where you must have scratched him. His mouth drops open at the contact, and he moans, looking at you with a dark gaze.

His hand comes to wrap around your throat, gently holding you in place as he grips the joint between your hip and thigh to rub himself against your leg again. His own thigh comes up between yours, and motions for you to move on him. You feel the skin of his thigh, grind yourself on the hard muscle there. You’re already wet, and Pero groans at the slick feeling as you rub against him.

Your fingers reach to his waist band, tugging on it. “Please, Pero, I need you,” you whine. You grind on him again, relieved at the friction on your clit. “I need you.”

“You make me crazy, hermosa.” He bends to kiss you again, biting down on your lip. He’s moments away from removing the shorts, hand squeezing at your ass before moving to his own waist when there is a knock on the door.

He releases your lip, surprised at the sound. You try to sit up even with him on top of you, worry at who could be there. Without thinking, Pero shouts “Go away!”

He turns from the door to you again, indenting to go back right where he left off when the knock sounds again.

He growls and pulls himself away from you to stride to the door, unsheathing a sword as he does. You gasp, scrambling to pull the edge of the quilt to cover yourself while you hiss out Pero’s name in warning. He ignores it, ripping open the door.

“What in the living hell are you here for?”

You’re impressed by the wrath in his voice, and you think if you had been on the receiving end of his question, you would fear for your life.

The poor young thing on the other side of door squeaks out “Your, your d-dinner, sir!”

Pero doesn’t say a word, only snatches the tray before slamming the door shut again and locking it. The food is placed aside on the table, sword returned to the dresser, and then he’s turning on you again. Your hand is clasped to your mouth, taking a moment to feel relief that it was nothing but the dinner you had ordered be sent up. You let your hand drop and whisper “Holy shit,” before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Pero shakes his head at you, partially amused by your reaction. He comes back to bed, crawling up your body, and you readily place your hands on his shoulders to welcome him back. You put your forehead to his chest, let the last of your laughter fade. “Oh, you are terrifying. Being greeted by an angry, mostly naked man wielding a sword.” You laugh again, pulling him closer. “I might have just died.”

Perhaps he would have found the situation funny at another time. But now when you say that, he is reminded how he greeted you the day before, in fear of another betrayal. He had unjustly assumed that you, who had always kept him company, cared for him better than any normal hostess should, who laughed with him and treated him like he was worth more than just his sword and his skill, would take the trust he gave you and destroy him with it.

You notice the scowl he wears, finally rub your fingers over the creases in his brow. “Is everything alright?”

He takes hold of your hand, resting it on his chest. “No. I must apologize, amor.” He hesitates, trying to find the right words. How could he act as though the gold was worth more to him than you?

He hears you whisper his name, bringing him back to you. “I should never have even thought to blame you.” He sees confusion in your eyes. “Yesterday. I reacted mindlessly. I dishonored you to ever think that you would do such a thing.”

You shake your head, finally understanding. “Pero, you don’t have to…”

He places his fingers over your lips in a gentle touch, moving to cup your chin when you stop.

“I must say this,” he says earnestly, and your heart thunders at what he may confess. It takes him a breath; he stares at you intently as though he is memorizing something. “I trust you. I do. I need you to know that.”

Somehow that means more to you than any other confession he could have made. Your face softens. This is important to him and now important to you.

“I do, my love. I know.” You hope he knows just how much you do. His hand squeezes your thigh reassuringly, reminding you of your intimate position. Running your hands down his body, you pull him closer, shooting him a teasing smile. “But I wouldn’t mind if you showed me.”

He lets out a strained grunt, pressing more of his weight on to you. “I cannot wait any longer,” he rasps into your mouth, before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

You move your lips languidly, tasting him for your pleasure, but pouring in your care for his. He deserves softness, to know that someone cares, that someone supports him. You want to tell him he isn’t alone anymore, that you mean every word you ever say to him with this kiss. Your hands smooth over the planes of his back as he moves with you, gripping the only fabric left on him and pulling it down his legs.

He shifts above you, breaking the kiss for a moment to toss away the shorts, then hands come back to your legs, pulling them up around him. His mouth is soft on yours, one hand rubs along your cheekbone, while the other makes a path up your inner thigh, not stopping as fingers trace along your folds. You had been too long without this feeling, and you buck your hips to press further into his hand.

He takes the hint, middle finger brushing over your clit before moving down, parting you and slipping inside. You sigh at the feeling, wanting to move under him, but force yourself to stay still.

“More, Pero,” you say against his lips, growing more impatient. “Please don’t tease.”

Then he’s moving inside you, running his finger against your walls, and you can’t help but squirm. You were wet before, and now you were nearly dripping. Before you can say anything, he moves faster, slipping in a second finger. It’s not what you were going to ask for, but he knows to prepare you. You appreciate that he tempers his own impatience for you, but if judging by the sound as he fingers you, you think you are more than ready for him.

Your back arches when he reaches a spot inside you, and you tighten your legs around him, attempting to draw his attention from where his fingers move in and out of you.

“Pero, Pero please,” you whine. “I want you. I want to come with you inside me.”

You feel the pressure build in you as you watch him. He keeps a steady pace, coaxing sounds from where he touches you and from your throat. Your moan brings him to look at you, and he realizes.

“You are close, are you?” he asks, voice taking on a tone you don’t like. He brings his thumb to you, coating it with your slick before bringing it to rub at your bundle of nerves. He doesn’t stop pumping in and out of you, the small circles now joining the sensation. “Spread your legs for me, hermosa. I want to see you.”

You writhe underneath his touch but obey him anyway. You are close, feeling the rising heat, the twisting in your abdomen. He works steadily, as if he knew to drive you crazy. It builds, making you quiver with each brush of his thumb, pulsing around the fingers inside you. His other hand comes around your throat, and your eyes meet his.

“I am inside you,” he says, curling his fingers again as if to make the point. “Now come.”

His predatory gaze and demanding words send you over the edge. Your moan turns into a cry as his fingers do not stop their pace, drawing the heat and wetness from your core, making you shake around him, under him. You call his name, not sure if you want him to stop or to never stop.

Before you can make up your mind, he pulls his fingers from you, keeping you in place only by your neck. Despite the incredible high you feel, the solidness of his body between your quivering legs, it leaves you unsatisfied. You squirm, wishing he would touch you again, to draw out your climax. You’re still whining his name, and he looks down at you with a devilish smile.

He leans forward to press his lips to yours. It’s a gracious kiss, but still teasing. “What is it?” he asks, smiling down at you. “I let you come.”

“No, you didn’t!” You don’t know where the anger comes from, and you reach up a hand to hit his chest. “I needed more.”

He snatches your hands away. “Needed?”

“Need!” Your hands are pinned above your head with one of his.

You start to hate that his grin only gets wider. “You need more from me?” His other hand pushes your leg aside, reaches to take hold of himself, stroking slowly as he looks at you spread for him. “You will have more, hermosa.”

He takes the tip of his cock and drags it through your folds, spreading the wetness from his hand over himself before entering you fully. You both let out loud moans, taking a brief moment to breathe in the change. He’s big, the stretch pulling you, making you grateful for the time he spent spreading you with his fingers. You want to enjoy the feeling, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He pulls out of you, before sliding in again with more force. The pace he sets is brutal, entering you faster than his fingers ever did. You feel your ruined orgasm building even faster, and you say more curses than you ever have in your life. Pero’s grunts spur you even closer, the sound of him and the sound of skin hitting skin, the wet squelching as he drives his hips into yours. You start to shake under him already, twisting your wrists where he keeps them pinned to the mattress.

“Pero, fuck. I—” you break off, not even sure what you intended to say. His thrusts come harder, making your body bounce on his cock. You take a shuddering breath, legs wrapped tight around his waist so he can still move inside you. His one hand has never left your throat, but now he takes his other to grip the headboard, using it as leverage to keep pounding into you, bringing you even closer.

“What is it, hermosa? You still need more?”

Pero can see the way you look, eyes glazed, hands grasping for any inch of his skin, leaving scratch marks anywhere you can reach, unable to form any words. You’re tight around him, and with the pace he’s keeping, he fears he cannot last much longer. You’re close again, he can tell. Perhaps his teasing was unfair, but with the disheveled look you have, the way you arch your body and moan for him, he cannot find it in himself to feel any remorse. You are beautiful, much too good for him, but time and time again you prove to him that you want to be here. And how could he deny you?

His pace stutters for a moment, before his hand on your throat comes to your calf, pulling your leg from around him and lifting it in the air. The stretch, the angle has you teetering on the edge, and you arch again.

“Pero!” you cry out his thrusts into you get faster, and suddenly you’re coming. You feel nothing but his cock as your walls tighten around him. Not the hands holding you, or the mattress at your back, or his breath on your neck as he leans down. You begin to shake again, thinking the feeling is too much as his pace continues, working you through your high. You nearly hated him for stopping too soon before, but now you begin to think it was to save you from this, the feeling of losing yourself in your own body, being at the mercy of this man.

You can’t stop the moan that rips from your throat, a primal sound that Pero doesn’t expect. The feeling of you coming around him, the sound of you moaning in his ear drives him over the edge. He had been too careless, getting lost in the feeling of you, that not a moment after pulling out of your heat he’s coming, painting your inner thigh and hip with his seed. He strokes himself slowly has he does, and he is surprised when your hand joins his.

You are pleased to feel how wet he is, knowing it is your come on him, just as his now is on you. You stroke him, taking his length into your hand with a tight grip, not letting up as he moans and twitches above you. He thrusts his hips into your hand, and it only takes a moment before another spurt of come paints you again. He shudders, his large palm coming to cup the side of your face as you rub your fingers over the tip of him, wiping away what drips from him.

He groans, twitching under your touch, eyes locked on yours, and you become overwhelmed with curiosity. You pull your hand from him and take your two fingers into your mouth, tasting the mix of both of you. Pero moans in protest at the sight, quickly pulling your hand from your mouth and replacing it with his tongue. His lips press to yours as he swipes into your mouth, searching the taste.

His body is heavy and he is exhausted, but he has no desire to part from you. His hands slip underneath your body and he rolls to his back, keeping you on top of him so his lips never leave yours. He continues to kiss you like this, without the concern of crushing you. As he runs his hands over your back, he feels the laces of your corset, pulled down to allow your bare breasts to press to the skin of his chest.

In this moment, he feels nothing but gratitude for you, that you exist, that you are here, that you want him as much as he wants you. Your kiss turns to light pecks as you take over, smattering his face in little kisses, only pulling away to look down at him when you realize he is smiling.

“What is it?” you whisper, taking hold of his face and returning his smile.

He takes one of your hands to move it to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your palm. “I meant what I said, mi amor. I cannot give you what—”

“Pero.��

“—you deserve, but I swear that—”

“Pero.” Oh, he’s doing it again. You can’t believe how hard it is for him to an idea through his thick skull.

“—when I said that I—”

You kiss him. You can see what he is doing, and you do not want to hear it. He hasn’t had people so close to him, that you knew. It had taken time to learn the inner workings of Pero Tovar, but you’ve done it, and that’s how you know what to say.

“I trust you, too.” You brush the hair from his forehead and caress his cheek, feeling the scruff along his jaw. “I trust you, Pero.”

You whisper the words onto his lips, and his throat tightens. It feels right having you here in his arms; there’s a security to the feeling that despite the danger that awaits you out the door, despite the matters of money and work and employers, you stand out from it all. The gold on the floor below your tangled bodies would mean nothing to him if you were not in his arms. Maybe one day he will find the courage to tell you everything, to tell you what you really mean to him. But for now, it is enough for him to give his trust and receive yours in return.

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 24: Huntress

Happy @felinettenovember! This was a last minute decision to do a little rewrite of a version of Snow White, at least to a certain point. Hopefully I will have enough motivation to finish the partially written ones tonight so you lovely readers can have four tonight!

Around 1700 words

When Felix found himself running through the woods, he regretted letting his father talk him into staying at home with his mother. His father had gone to the neighboring kingdom to discuss the terms of a trade agreement. Rather than bringing his wife, he allowed her to stay and watch over the castle and their children. His older sisters were betrothed to princes from other kingdoms, meant to be wed in the upcoming months, while his fate was not yet determined. He thought it was unreasonable for their mother to hold this against him when he was not yet of age, however during his father’s absences, she would find every reason to torment him. While he wanted to study quietly in his room or practice with his sword, she would find every reason for him to accompany her or his sisters on distasteful errands, clean whatever room or item was most disgusting (often the horse stables, despite their having a groom to care for them), or act as the practice dummy for his sisters’ self-defense lessons. There also seemed to be a disproportionate amount of “accidents” resulting in his being injured. It was not uncommon for him to have bruises just out of sight when his father returned from these trips.

On this day, he was sent out with his sisters to collect some flower that he had never heard of. As the girls rode their horses, he was forced to walk because their mother claimed his horse “needed to be rested for tomorrow’s task” and it would be too much for it. When they reached the river, he suggested they move up the river where it would be shallower. The girls insisted that they would be fine to cross and immediately started across. The horses managed it, though the water reached the girls’ legs. Felix tried to yell across that he was finding a shallower area, but the girls simply rode on without him.

He ran further up the river, finding a spot that he could sort of swim across without being pushed too far downstream, however it didn’t matter, as his sisters were long gone. He listened for a moment, noting how quiet the forest seemed to be. He determined that the beating from coming back without the flower or his sisters would still be a better alternative to being stuck out in the forest overnight. Instead he turned back in the direction he expected to be home.

Felix didn’t notice the pair of eyes following him, bow drawn. The huntress hesitated, despite having been paid to get rid of the prince. The entire afternoon thus far he had followed those girls without verbal complaint and only protested the situation when crossing the rivers. It seemed a shame that a young man like him was meant to be killed. She knew she needed to dispose of him, she wouldn’t be paid the bounty, two hundred gold coins, unless she brought back evidence of his demise. Additionally the queen was oddly specific about what she wanted as proof, some of the boy’s hair, a vial of his blood, and his heart. It made her skin crawl but those coins would make it possible for her family to move out of this kingdom, to one that actually could treat her father’s illness. They could afford a small house and be able to pay for food for at least a year, at least at the rates one of the traveling merchants had described to her. Those coins were the difference between their family dying, now that their land had been seized to pay for their recent debt. She took a deep breath and made her decision.

An arrow sunk into a tree near Felix’s head. He jumped, whirling around in a panic, before turning and running. It no longer mattered if he was running towards the castle, he simply needed to escape his attacker. Unfortunately the rush of adrenaline did not help his coordination and he tripped on a tree root. He stumbled to get up, hearing swiftly approaching footsteps, and tried to move quickly but more cautiously. As he ran, the trees grew thicker and he had to slow down more to maneuver. He gasped for air, trying to figure out if he could hide somewhere in the trees, before spotting an area of woods with thick bushes. He quickly dropped to his hands and knees to crawl into the bushes. The blood rushing in his ears disguised the footsteps following him. He was almost entirely under the bush when he felt something tug his ankle back.

Felix fell on his face when his other ankle was tugged as well. He tried to claw forward and attempted to get his knees back under himself with each successive yank. Finally he found himself being scratched up by the bush and unable to move forward from the stranger.

“Stop struggling! This will be much easier if you cooperate!” a girl’s voice demanded angrily. He froze, confused by the high voice. She tugged his legs again and he was pulled slightly closer.

“Wait! I’ll crawl out. Please don’t do that again. Just let me get on my hands and knees again,” he pleaded with a wince at the scrapes he was accumulating. She released her grip and he quickly pulled his legs under himself to back out. His legs were still shaking from the run and he turned to sit facing her when he got out from under the bush.

The girl in front of him had dark hair and intense blue eyes, as well as a bow at her back. He guessed she was near his age, though it was difficult to tell with how tired she looked. His mouth opened to say something but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. She spoke first.

“Just listen. The queen wants you dead. She’s got a bounty on your head. You need to disappear. Before you go though, I’m going to cut off some of your hair so she might be satisfied.” She stepped towards him and Felix tried to scramble back, only to feel his back press into the sharp branches of the bushes. She grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the base of a tree.

“Don’t worry. I just need the hair, not your head. You have to disappear once I’m done though. There’s a clearing that way,” she gestured with her hand and a nod, “where a family lives. They are rather generous and often house travelers for a few nights. If you ask politely, they may even help you get to a nearby town and you can start over. Now stay still while I cut your hair.”

Felix took deep breaths, trying to stay still and calm at the information she was giving him. She retrieved a knife from a bag at her hip and reached a hand out towards him. He flinched but let her touch his head. She gently pulled a chunk of hair away from his face before running the blade across the strands.

“It’s a shame that this needs to be done. You have lovely hair,” she mumbled as she cut chunks from his hair. She worked quickly without tugging on his hair painfully. Soon she had him turn so she could cut near the back. 

He stayed silent as she worked.

“There! I tried to straighten it out a little, so at least you won’t look like too much of a ruffian. As long as you follow my directions and head directly that way towards the clearing, you should be able to get help. Remember, you are not the prince anymore. You don’t know anything. Come up with a new name and start over. If you could get to a different kingdom, you’d be safest. I’m leaving now.” She scooped up a bunch of his hair, put it in a smaller pouch of her bag, then turned and started to walk through the forest. Felix felt fear grip him and let out a strangled noise before he could speak.

“Why would you help me?” he called after her. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

“It doesn’t seem fair to cut your life short. I’ve never heard a bad word about you from the servants.” She continued on her way. He stood and watched her until the trees obscured his view. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t as smooth as when he had it cut by his barber but it was at least sort of smooth. He decided it was in his best interest to listen to the mysterious girl. He also felt somewhat glad that the clothes he had chosen to wear for this errand were not as decadent as most of his. With the dirt and fresh tears, he thought it could be feasible that he was simply a traveler. He thought of what the girl had said as he trudged on, hoping he would reach this family before nightfall.

Meanwhile the huntress headed towards an area she had left wild pig traps earlier in the week, before this job came up. An idea had hatched but it depended heavily on whether or not she had a pig to kill. As she approached her closest trap, she heard the sounds of exhausted struggling and knew they were in luck. She put the animal out of its misery and set about getting the necessary parts for the queen.

The queen waited for a message from the huntress late that night. Her daughters had returned, saying that they had lost Felix when crossing the river. He hadn’t returned and the servants assumed it was with worry for her youngest child. Close to midnight, the signal was given and she slipped out into the royal groves. The girl gave her two pouches and a vial, which the queen checked the contents of in the moonlight before passing a pouch with the agreed on price. The two separated and the queen retreated to a hidden room of the castle, rather than her bedchambers.

As the queen set out the ingredients necessary for her spell, she couldn’t help but think about what a fair deal she was getting to remove an illegitimate son from their home, saving the purity of the throne. All that was left of her plan was to make the potion necessary for her to conceive a son in place of this boy. She had to stop herself from humming as she worked.

[maysbanks]

hold out. (jj maybank)

here it is, the second part to hypersonic missiles ! the response to the first part was absolutely amazing, the support & love in this fandom is incredible & i just wanna say a huge thank you to all of you that take the time to like, reblog & comment, every single one means so much !! gotta admit im not loving this as in it's not my best work and kinda all over the place & half way through writing this i almost scrapped the whole thing to rewrite the full series with an oc bc writing as the reader was starting to get to me lol. but alas here it is & as always i hope u enjoy x

warning: swearing, drug use, underage drinking, violence etc 

summary: after accidentally inserting herself into a treasure hunt with four teenagers, one of which could be considered her 'friend with benefits', y/n grubbs is left to deal with the complications and misfortunes that come along with it - including her ever-growing feelings for said 'friend with benefits'. 

( gif isn't mine! please let me know if it's yours so i can credit you. )

If someone had told you a week before that you would lose your father, get your house raided by two men you had never seen before in your life, make friends with a group of teenagers, embark on a two hundred year old treasure hunt with said teenagers, and be hanging out with JJ Maybank every day and willingly, all in the space of one week; you'd have laughed in their face, asked them what drugs they were on and could you have some, and then laugh in their face again.

But alas, there you were. You still couldn't quite believe it, especially the JJ part. You'd had worries at first, like would the gang really want you involved, did they secretly hate having you around, were they just being nice and letting you in on this because your dad had died? All the doubts swirled in your mind, running around like clock-work, just ticking away constantly in the back of your head. Surprisingly, JJ had been the one you'd gone to about them.

"I just feel guilty," you'd said. It was after a day of riding around in John B's boat and using fancy hotels' WiFi, and 'borrowing' a drone from JJ's dads old workplace. His eyebrows furrowed when he looked at you, confused. "I mean, you guys have been friends for like, forever. And then I just show up and you conveniently find out about John B's dad and the treasure hunt on the same day when I'm there, and it's just like - I don't belong with you guys, it's your thing and I'm just kinda, here." 

"You're part of this just as much as we all are," he'd told you, matter of fact. His body was angled to face you as you sat outside John B's self-proclaimed Chateau, a freshly rolled blunt being passed back and forth between the pair of you. "You need to stop doubting yourself, man. You're apart of us now." 

The words had warmed your heart, an instant smile being spread on your lips as you looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. Underneath the setting sun, he looked almost angelic; his golden hair blowing in the slight breeze, tanned skin exposed due to the heat. You had pretended not to notice the tense of the muscles in his arms whenever your fingers brushed when you passed the juul between yourselves. 

"You're too kind to me, Maybank," you'd grinned, boot-clad foot nudging his knee gently. "If I didn't know you so well I'd have thought you'd have ulterior motives."

"Who says I haven't?" He'd smirked back. You'd just smiled, teeth biting down on the plump skin of your bottom lip before you'd looked away from his burning gaze and focused your attention on anything, anywhere but JJ fucking Maybank.

You got along with the gang amazingly, you couldn't doubt that. Pope was the smartest guy you'd met, sweet and funny and passionate and so certain of what he wanted to do in life. Kiara, or Kie, as you'd come to call her, was very environmentally involved, almost too cool for the guys, you thought. She cared so much about so many things, and she had a great taste in music too. John B was a bit like you, you supposed. Fatherless, on the hunt for answers, things like that - but other than that he was a great guy, the makeshift leader of the little group, a little lost in life, but that was to be understood.

And then there was JJ. You felt most comfortable around the blonde, but that was kinda a given too, due to the fact you'd seen each other in your most vulnerable states that came with having sex rather regularly, something the other members of the gang didn't share. He was a spit-fire, always ready to throw a punch and fire threats at those who deserved it, head-strong and stubborn. But he was more so caring, God he cared so much for his friends, you'd discovered. He would do just about anything for them, whatever position that put him in. JJ put the gang before himself, always. You'd noticed all different types of things about JJ especially, little things you had never taken the time to notice before.

These little discoveries probably came from watching him too much, you'd thought one night. It was a bit of a problem, though you never mentioned it. The unspoken rule amongst the group was No Pogue on Pogue Macking, which basically meant everyone was off limits to each other. You understood the rule, Kie having been the only girl before you'd arrived on the scene amongst three guys, and after becoming apart of the gang you had no choice but to respect it - which also meant that JJ was off limits. But was he technically off limits when you'd already been there, so far past the line on macking with each other?

There was some sort of agreement between the two of you, that in order to make this work; your friendship with the Pogues, the hunt for the Merchant's treasure, that nothing could happen. You'd spoken briefly about it that first day, outside the lighthouse beside the Twinkie (John B's van, you'd learned had a nickname), we're cool, right? Pretend we haven't seen each other naked, conversation. It had been cut short, but it still happened. And the pair of you never mentioned it after that, a few off-handed comments here and there from JJ, but nothing specific. So you assumed yours and JJ's hook ups were off the table, and you had no idea why that had come to bother you so damn much.

On the day following your talk with JJ on John B's porch, he'd invited you to come along with him and Pope as they delivered groceries for Pope's dad, Heyward. You had almost said no, because really, you could probably do with a break from the Maybank boy, all the time spent with him was doing no favours for your little situation of Fighting Attraction While Hunting For Gold. That's what you were putting it down to in your mind anyway, too much time spent with the person you're sleeping with can begin to mess with anyone's head, and hey, maybe it was the fact that you were grieving and JJ was familiar - but you couldn't be doing with all these thoughts anymore.

Despite the angel on your shoulder urging you to turn his offer down, you'd said yes. But that was little to do with JJ and more to do with your mom and your current home situation, which was unbearable, to say the least. Your mother was barely speaking to you, as if she was scared of letting something slip if she did. In return, you shut her out, too. Told her lame excuses and empty lies when you were heading out with the gang, lying through your teeth when she'd asked where you were or where you were going.

Lana Grubbs wasn't a stupid woman, though, and you knew she knew you were up to something. But she hadn't mentioned anything outright yet, and so you hadn't said anything either. The hole your father had left was huge and gaping, evident in both your lives. You hadn't spoken about it yet, and you weren't intending to until she could be completely honest with you. You didn't want to hear anymore lies, and you were already on the path to discovering the full truth. On your own.

Her words echoed in your mind every time you left the house, voice small and gentle as she never failed to say the same thing. "Just be careful." You'd always look over your shoulder, and she'd never look back at you. She hadn't looked at you much at all since your dad had died.

It was after a certain drop-off of groceries, you'd joined JJ in his delivery whilst Pope had docked the boat and gone off to deliver his own, yours and JJ's strides matching as you walked the seemingly never-ending drive of the abnormally large house that loomed over you. The Kook part of the island never ceased to intimidate you, no matter how much you didn't want it to. There was something about it, the people that lived amongst it, that unsettled you whenever you entered it. Figure Eight wasn't somewhere you usually visited other than an odd job you'd picked up, and you were reminded why of that fact as you walked alongside JJ.

"Just think," he breathed, all starry eyed and parted lips as he gazed around the pair of you. "This could all be ours soon."

You snorted, bumping his side with your own. "Don't be melodramatic, JJ,"

"I'm serious!" JJ protested. His sea blue eyes caught yours when he turned his head to look at you head-on. The intensity of his stare almost made you stop in your spot, but you managed to carry on, gulping when his eyes continued to hold yours. "I'm sticking to my earlier statement, right, we're going to move here, and out-rich all these fuckin' Kooks."

"Out-rich?" You raised an eyebrow, lips quirking. "Your grammar is so adequate, Maybank."

"It's a word," JJ insisted, nudging your side with the point of his elbow. "Who the fuck uses words like adequate these days, anyway? I don't even think Mrs. Humphrey knows what that word means."

You laughed at the mention of your shared English teacher, the grey-haired, short, spectacle wearing woman immediately entering your mind. JJ grinned when he heard your laugh, dimples winking in his cheeks.

"Mrs. Humphrey can't even spell Wednesday," you giggled, JJ chuckling along with you as he nodded. "It's a wonder how that woman has been working there for like, eighteen years or something."

Your steps faltered as you neared the door to the house, pace slowing as you both basked in the time spent with each other, though neither of you would admit it. "She was probably a good teacher at first," JJ said thoughtfully, shuffling the groceries in his hands. (You tried not to notice the way his arms looked when he did that, muscles clenching and on full show with his cut-off tank.) "I bet each year another brain cell of hers just like, dies."

"Wouldn't surprise me," you nodded. "Mine would attempting to teach classes full of teenagers," rather dramatically, you shuddered. "Especially if one of those teenagers was JJ Maybank."

"Hey!" JJ shouted, though his grin proved that he found your jab amusing. You laughed along with him, bumping his side once more as you finally landed at the door, watching as he turned to you, expression trying to be serious and failing, rather horribly. "You better watch yourself, Grubbs. I'm serious here, I can be a pretty scary guy if need be, y'know."

You didn't doubt that, of course. You'd seen JJ in action with your own two eyes, you knew what he was capable of. But somehow, stood with you there, on the doorstep of some filthy rich Kook's mansion, groceries in hand, blonde hair shining golden in the sun, sun-kissed skin exposed to your wandering eyes, grin on pink lips; you couldn't imagine JJ Maybank hurting a fly.

"Trust me, I know." You'd said just as he knocked on the door, shooting you one last toothy grin before the door was opened and he was pulled into a conversation with the woman who'd answered it, talking about all things from the weather to the next semester at school. You watched him all the while, smile growing on your lips without your knowledge as you took him in, seemingly in his element as he sweet-talked the middle-aged woman inside the house. When he turned to you suddenly, you startled, broken from your thoughts and caught red-handed staring at him like some freak. He grinned, tongue wetting his pink lips at the same time you internally groaned.

"I was just saying, the groceries," he trailed off as he pointed to the bags in your hands in which you'd forgotten were even there. You let out an 'oh' as you quickly passed the groceries over to the waiting woman, shooting her an apologetic smile as she looked at you knowingly. JJ nodded his head in your direction, speaking once more to the woman, "New guys, huh?"

You glared at him as the woman laughed, perfectly manicured hand reaching beside her and grabbing hold of her purse, pulling a note out with her slender fingers. She held the note out to JJ, who immediately tried to turn it down, insisting there was no need, but the woman was unrelenting - sending a pointed look your way as she told him, "For your troubles, sweetie."

JJ picked the note from her hands, a gracious smile being sent to her as he nodded. "It's been a long day," he sighed heavily and your jaw almost dropped as you resisted the urge to reach out and slap his arm. What a fucker. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Ramirez. I really appreciate it."

The woman, Mrs. Ramirez, as you learned, nodded and waved a hand. "No bother, sweetie," she told him before turning her eyes back to you. You forced a smile as she simply eyed you up and down, before sending an obviously forced one of her own. "And thank you." She said curtly, and you were ready to give her a piece of your mind before JJ was grabbing your arm and dragging you in the direction of where you'd come from, shouting one last thank you over his shoulder as he walked you back towards the boat.

It was when you were a safe distance away that you shook your arm from his hold only to slap him gently on his own as you glowered, glare smouldering as he laughed, throwing his head back as he stumbled beside you.

"You're such an ass," you huffed as you tried to ignore his chuckling, speeding your steps. "I mean, she literally just tipped you a hundred dollars for showing up and smiling, I'm sure if I had a third leg down there I would have got the same treatment too."

"Are you jealous?" JJ asked, having to jog slightly to keep up your hurried pace. His smile was huge and infectious, and you made a point not to meet his stare when he landed next to you in fear of breaking your fake annoyed stance. "Maybe if you weren't too busy checking me out then you could have talked to her, and y'know, make a small fortune yourself."

You scoffed, whirling around and halting him in place. He almost stumbled into you, and you stepped back when his hands landed on your arms to steady himself, shaking his grip off almost immediately. "I wasn't checking you out," you told him, matter of fact.

JJ grinned and ran a hand through his hair as he replied, "Sure you were," he shrugged. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared, biting down on your tongue as you resisted your own smile as he motioned to his body from head to toe. "Not that I can blame you, I mean look at me."

"I've looked, JJ," your voice was low when you said it, a knowing tone to your words. "I've looked, and I've seen it all, in case you forgot."

A low chuckle slipped past his lips. "How could I ever forget?" He asked rhetorically, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as you tried not to follow the action with your eyes, and failed, miserably. "Trust me, that image is forever dented in my brain. I think of it, sometimes. Just randomly."

You rolled your eyes. And he's back, _you thought. _He never left, a voice at the back of your head piped up. You ignored them both. "C'mon," you said, already turning on your heel and starting off in the direction of where Pope had docked the boat. "Let's go get these deliveries finished."

The pair of you said nothing more for the rest of the duration of the short walk back, and when the boat was in your sights JJ was off running, more than likely eager to show off his one hundred dollar tip to Pope, as you idled, watching his back as he ran. When you finally landed in the boat, it was silent. You immediately picked up on the tension, heavy in the small space, and shot JJ a confused glance when he looked back at you.

Slowly, you made your way towards where the two boys were up at the front of the boat, Pope situated at the wheel. The dark skinned boy was staring straight ahead, refusing to meet either yours or JJ's eyes. When you looked to the latter, he subtly shrugged a shoulder, letting you know that he had no clue himself what was going on with his best friend.

"Pope?" You questioned softly. "What's wrong?" When there was no answer, you shared another glance with JJ, his concern shining in his blue eyes. You tilted your head as you went to ask him again, but when you did, your eyes caught on to the colour crimson that was slowly streaming down the side of his face. You gasped and JJ startled, chest bumping your shoulder as he tugged the cap from Pope's head, revealing the injury near the top of his head.

"Jesus!" JJ exclaimed when he caught sight of the wound, Pope swatting at his hands that held his hat, pulling it back down once JJ had let go. "What happened?"

"Rafe and Topper jumped me," Pope's voice was slightly wobbly as he informed you both, a tear sliding down his cheek as he recounted, "They said no Pogues on their side of the island."

Your blood began to boil just as JJ demanded, "What are you gonna do?" His own jaw clenched in anger as he looked at his best friend, beaten and bruised in front of him from the hands of some entitled selfish pricks that thought they were better than everyone because they had more money in their pockets. Rafe Cameron was a name that never failed to make you queasy at just the mention of it, and his little gang of followers including Topper Thorton were just as unbearable.

"I have something in mind." Pope spoke, voice and stance determined. And something he did, as he drove to Topper's new boat - and promptly swam over and removed the plug from it, causing the new model to sink into the water as you and JJ watched from Heyward's boat, keeping an eye out for anyone that may have spotted your trio.

And though it was bad, and you knew you probably shouldn't have taken part in such an activity, nor prompted Pope to either; you couldn't deny the rush it gave you as you watched Topper Thorton's boat begin to sink, and maybe it was the fact that you knew that Topper was a Grade A Asshole and deserved it, or maybe it was Pope's own unsure but excitable adrenaline that mixed with your own, or maybe it was just the fact that JJ wrapped his arm around your shoulder without a care in the world as he shouted his support to his friend, squeezing you to his side almost unknowingly, like it was some kind of instinct.

You thought, yeah, it probably was, as you immediately felt the loss of it when he moved to grab Pope in a hug. And then you thought, well shit.

There was a mutual share of disappointment when the gang had found just about absolutely nothing when you'd taken Pope's fathers boat out the next morning, drone ready and in hand to go hunt for the gold, where John B Routledge had marked down on the map it having been.

Granted, the Royal Merchant was there. It was just missing the one thing they were after - the gold was nowhere in sight, and the journey had been a complete waste of time. You thought it to be too good to be true, of course it had to be. Four hundred million in gold and you were expected to find it? There was no way, you thought bitterly as JJ steered the gang back to land, not one of you daring to speak as the disappointment crashed over you all in huge waves.

You'd departed with the guys not long after that, after promising Kie that you would accompany her to the annual summer movie night, making your way towards home. The bitter frustration ate away at your insides, you were mad, angry - fucking infuriated, each step the gang got closer to finding the gold, it was as if someone was stood in your path and shoving you all back another ten.

Had your dad really died for this? This seemingly never-ending hunt for promised gold that, for all you knew, could be complete and utter bullshit. You didn't understand it at first, when the pieces began to slot together, but it was like every time the chase got harder it made you want it even more; and then you understood your fathers fascination and Big John Routledge's obsession. This gold meant everything to you and the gang, and you knew, John B especially, would never give up on this chase.

"Hey, sweetheart," your mother called when you entered the house. The front door was still broken, only the screen in place, and was leaning against the wall as you maneuvered past it. Lana was sat at the couch, and when you walked in she'd shoved a box away from her, the lid laying haphazardly over the top. "I wasn't expecting you home so early."

You shot her a small and forced smile, shuffling your bag from your shoulder and onto the floor, landing with a soft thud. "Hey mom," you greeted back, noting her teary eyes and flushed cheeks. "What're you doing?"

When you arrived at the back of the couch, looking over her shoulder, you immediately recognised the box - Family Photos! _written atop _the cardboard.

"I was just looking through some old pictures," she told you, sniffling as she attempted to smile at you. "Just wanted to see his face again."

You nodded, your throat tightening at the mention of your dad. Reaching a hand up and wiping away her tears, she looked at you questioning, "Where have you been?"

"Just out," you said, bluntly and unconvincing. "Doing a few jobs here and there, y'know. Nothing exciting."

Lana hummed, quirking an eyebrow at you. "Mr. Phelps told me that he seen you with that Maybank kid the other day," she informed, your face falling for a millisecond as her words sunk in. She looked at you, tear-stained face and serious gaze, lips pulled to a thin line. "I told you to stay from those guys, Y/N."

"I was helping him deliver groceries, mom," you deadpanned - which wasn't exactly a lie, if that's when Mr. Phelps had spotted you. Most of your time spent with the gang was mainly off the land and away from prying eyes, whether that be on a boat or the Chateau, so you knew that was the safest bet of when you'd been spotted. "For Heyward's. It's not like I'm hanging out with him on purpose."

Lie, lie, lie. It was becoming alarmingly easy to lie straight through your teeth, and to your mother nonetheless, but you couldn't dare tell her anything, and why should you, when she hadn't told you anything? It took two to Tango, you thought.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," your mother reminded, and you let out a sigh as you nodded, faked closed-mouth smile on your lips. "I'm serious, Y/N, please just be careful out there."

"Always am," you promised (bull-fucking-shit). You turned on your heel, heading towards your room as you called over your shoulder, "I got invited out tonight, by the way. To the movie thing on the North Side. Is it alright if I go, please?"

You waited at your door, hearing your mother sigh from the couch. "Yes, you can go." You smiled, this one more real than all the rest, and thanked her gently. She didn't look back at you though, and the familiar unspoken tension was back with vengeance. You couldn't wait to get out of it.

The movie night was a welcome distraction from your frustrations with the treasure hunt, the haunting memories of your dad, and the tension with your mom. It was only you, Kie, Pope and JJ that attended - John B having seemingly disappeared for the day, none of the gang having heard from him. You'd managed to leave the house with relatively no questioning from your mom, and met JJ a little way down the block.

("Woah, keep two feet away from me please," you'd joked, halting in your tracks as you spotted him standing there. He'd furrowed his brows at you, frown etched on his face. "My cover's been blown, everyone knows about us!

He just looked even more confused, eyes squinting down at you as you raised a hand and layed it across your forehead dramatically. "What'd you mean?" He questioned, eyes darting around, seemingly searching for answers in the air around you both. "What, do people know we sleep together or something?"

You'd rolled your eyes, shoving him gently when you were close enough, beginning to walk away. "No, you doof," you chuckled. "Mr. Phelps ratted me out to my mom, told her that he saw us together the other day. I had to tell her that we were just delivering groceries for Pope's dad."

"Ah," JJ nodded, shooting you a mischievous grin. "We better go into hiding then, I'm thinking... log cabin in the mountains, all fur sheets and deer heads on the walls, ooh a hot tub too."

You laughed, "Trying to whisk me away there, Maybank?"

You were joking, but his eyes were surprisingly serious as he looked at you. "Always, Grubbs.")

The field was already packed full of people by the time the four of you arrived, groups of people scattered around, idle chatter filling the air. It was being held on the Kook side of the island, and your eyes swooped over the people, most of them being Kook's themselves, expensive clothing and an aura that just screamed, I'm better than you. It made you feel uneasy, but you tried not to think about it as Kiara led you through the crowds.

"I'm so glad they're still doing this," she tells you all, sighing happily. The faces of the guys revealed they were not nearly as happy to be there as she was, while you were simply just glad to be out of your house once again. "Keep calm, carry on. Back to normal, OBX life, y'know?" She stopped once she found a decent spot, turning to the three of you. "Aren't you guys glad I made you come?"

"Ecstatic." Pope deadpanned, sarcastic lull to his tone.

"My couch was pretty comfy." JJ piped up.

"I'm just happy to be out the house, I guess." You said.

You were aware why the guys were so uncertain about being there; it wasn't so long ago that Pope was sinking Topper Thorton's boat, you and JJ accompanying, and now you were all on his side of the island. Not only that, but you knew that if Topper was to discover that it was Pope who'd done his boat in, it wouldn't just be Topper that confronted him - it would be the full Happy Days Gang. Nothing was ever a fair game when it came to Kooks.

Kiara excused herself to go buy soda's from the conession stand, and you shifted as you seated yourself on the blanket you'd bought, having opted out of bringing a chair. You sat in front of JJ, his legs touching your back.

"What's wrong with you guys?" You turned your head when Pope and JJ began to whisper, the former's panicked eyes landing on you as you frowned at the pair.

"Topper and Rafe are on my ass," Pope revealed. "They know I sunk Topper's boat."

You sighed heavily, muttering a shit as JJ grabbed his friend by the arm, focusing his attention towards him. "They can't prove it, okay. Just deny, deny, deny."

Pope nodded along, muttering along with him as you watched the pair, before your eyes moved to Kie that arrived back, her eyes narrowing as she seated herself beside Pope. "Just saw Rafe," she informed, your blood running cold. You could practically feel JJ tense from behind you. "He said, and I quote, 'Tell your boy we know what he did'. What is that?"

"Um, where is he?" JJ questioned, his tone of voice revealing his hidden anxiety.

"Right there." Kiara nodded her head, right in the direction of where Rafe Cameron and his goons sat, as you, Pope and JJ whipped around, Pope practically turning his full body in their direction. You groaned as JJ desperately urged him to turn back round, and away from their taunting eyes.

"The whole death squad!" Pope exclaimed, anxiety riding off of him in waves.

"Don't stare, bro," JJ urged, hand wrapping around Pope's shoulders. You tuned out the rest of the blonde's words as he informed you all that he'd be coming out swinging if they were to corner him, and you felt dread build as you heard his last words. "If that doesn't work, I got this right here." He patted his bag.

"JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here," Kie practically begged. "JJ, there are kids!"

You focused your attention straight ahead of you as the guys continued to argue; Pope simply telling Kie that it might go down to her line of questioning, her brown eyes darting back and forth between you all. You refused to meet her eyes, however, and were glad when the large screen ahead of you suddenly lit up. "Oh, look," you exclaimed, laughing nervously. "The movie's starting."

And it was left at that - JJ whispering deny, deny, deny to Pope once more before you all turned your attention to the screen, trying to block out the intruding thoughts of having the knowledge that the gang of Kooks were staring you down, awaiting your next move like a predator would its pray.

All was going fine - the movie was good, everyone's attention on the black and white screen. You tried not to think about Rafe and Topper, or the gold or your dad, and definitely not the feel of JJ's legs either side of you, trapping you into his hold. You let yourself believe that everything would be okay, and then Pope had revealed he needed a piss, and everything had gone to shit.

JJ had accompanied him, and the two had set off behind the screen, hidden away from Rafe's watchful eyes. They hadn't done a good enough job to be discreet though, and you immediately took notice of Rafe, Topper and Kelce making their way towards the opposite side of the screen. You swore, catching Kie's attention as she questioned, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Looks like that piss break just got a lot more complicated," you said, and realisation dawned on her face. It didn't take the pair of you long to locate the guys, all in various forms of fighting, as you and Kie screamed at them to stop. You grabbed Rafe's arm mid-swing, his fist raised and ready to send a hit to JJ's face from where Kelce had hold of him. "Stop it, you dick!"

You let out a scream as you were sent flying back from his shove, Rafe's blue eyes wild and crazed as he glared down at you. "Stay out of this, Grubbs!" He barked, and without a moments hesitation sent a fist hurling towards JJ's cheek.

Kiara had jumped on Topper's back from the small distance away from you, and you took a moment to ready yourself before hurtling towards Rafe from your crouched position, tackling him to the ground from his knees, effectively stopping his blows. He seemed stunned for a second, staring dazed up at you before he promptly threw you off of him, shoving you to the ground without a care. "Don't fucking touch me," he growled down at you, and you groaned slightly as the wind was knocked from you.

You heard JJ from somewhere above you, shouting insults at Rafe and repeating your name over and over. You lifted yourself from the ground just as Topper puts Pope in a headlock, his tight grip causing the dark skinned boys breath to leave him in choked gasps. You shoved at Rafe's back once more, sending him stumbling forward before he whipped around, hand reaching out and grabbing you by the face, tugging you so you stood nose-to-nose with him.

"I said," he ground out darkly, eyes boring into yours. "Don't fucking touch me."

You were beginning to fear what would come next before a sudden glow caught your eye from the side, the movie screen lighting up in harsh flames. Rafe dropped you, your hands moving to rub over the imprint he'd left, as you looked towards where Kie stood, JJ lighter in hand. Screams of terror echoed from the other side, as people began to flee, and it didn't take long for the three Kooks on your side to follow, sprinting quickly from the scene. Fucking cowards, you thought.

JJ's hands were on you before you could even blink, eyes earnest and worried as they looked over you, your cheeks red from the earlier grip Rafe had on you. "You good?" He asked you, slightly out of breath. You nodded, repeating the question to him. He smiled lightly. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good."

The night had ended promptly there, Kie dropping you off at your respected houses. You'd bid them all a good night, and as quietly as possible made your way into your home, not wanting your mother to see the marks imprinted on your face from Rafe's fingers. Luckily, she'd already been in bed, and it didn't take long for you to crawl into yours, thoughts of the day and a certain blonde running through your mind.

The next morning you'd met the gang (save for John B, who was still seemingly missing) at the Heyward's store; your morning had been spent desperately trying to hide the red marks that Rafe's fingers had left from your mom before she could notice and ground you in your room for the rest of your life. It had a been a success for the most part, and she asked no questions as you left the house, though you took note of her uncertain expression as you bid your goodbyes.

"Have you heard from John B?" You asked Kiara who was working closest to you. You had realised the brunette boy was missing from the group upon your arrival, and you couldn't help the worries in your mind at where he could be or what could have happened to him.

"No, nothing. Have you?" She returned the question, brown eyes meeting yours as you shook your head no, a short sigh falling from her lips. "Neither have the guys. What're you thinking?" Kiara eyed you, gaze suddenly sullen. "Do you think something's happened?"

"I don't know, Kie," you told her because honestly, you didn't. John B had a target on his back, that much was for sure. Son of Big John, once owner of the proclaimed death compass. Your mind thought back to the two men that had raised your home, and chased the guys on more than one occasion, and you couldn't help but think the worst. "I'm sure he's fine, though."

Kiara nodded, though she looked anything but sure. "Yeah, you're probably right." The pair of you continued on with your respected work, JJ's and Pope's voice trailing from somewhere in the store as they talked. "You're working Midsummers, right?"

You groaned, nodding. Kiara laughed at your sour expression. "Oh yeah, second year running. To be honest, I'm surprised they let me work it after last year, my customer service must be better than my right hand hook," you joked, chuckle escaping your lips as you thought back to the Midsummer's party the year before. Your dad had gotten you the gig, because he was a weasel like that - always talking people into getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was the gas bill to be paid, and his face just didn't fit the portfolio to be serving Kook's their drinks at their fancy party, and so it had left left to you to do just that.

The night had ended with Dean Kipp on his ass after his hand had fallen on your ass, and you'd been let off with a warning as the guy clutched his bloody nose and called you everything ranging from psycho bitch to slutty pogue. Your surprise was immense when you were offered a job again this year, and a large amount of the reason you'd said yes was just so you could see the look on his face when he saw you.

"He totally deserved that," Kiara remarked, grinning. You smiled back, the pair of you sharing a laugh as you returned to your work.

For a second, you let your worries wash away as you were pulled into a conversation with the gang, your spirts high for the first time in a while. You were happy, you realised. What had started off as being the worst period of your life was slowly turning into the best, the gang and treasure hunt a blessing in disguise. The four of you shared laughs and joked back and forth as you worked, and you found yourself to be perfectly content.

All that came crashing down when Pope's father entered the shop, police officer trailing behind him. "Hey, Pope! There's someone here to see you."

You stopped dead-on, the rest of the gang halting in their movements as you all stared towards the officer you recognised as Shoupe. "Evening, officer." Pope greeted, gulping.

"I have an arrear warrant for felony destruction of property," Deputy Shoupe approached your group, handing the said warrant to Pope's dad. From beside you, JJ tensed, and when you turned to look at him, his blue eyes glanced down at you, freshly beaten face pulled into an anxious grimace as his jaw clenched. Shoupe had gotten remarkably closer, hands reaching for the handcuffs placed on his belt. "Hands where I can see 'em."

Pope glanced desperately towards JJ, who shook his head quickly, his words, though unspoken, clear as day. Deny, deny, deny. But denying wasn't going to get Pope out of handcuffs, you decided as you stepped forward, tone pleading as you demanded, "Stop, you can't just do this!"

"Out of my way please, Miss Grubbs," Shoupe dismissed you, sounding almost bored as he shoved past you, beginning to handcuff Pope who can do nothing but allow it to happen, his anxious eyes focusing on one spot as reality began to sink in.

"What did he do, Shoupe?" Mr. Heyward questioned in disbelief, watching as his son was getting arrested in front of his very eyes.

"Take a look at the warrant," the cop said simply as he begun to tug Pope out of the store.

It was chaos. Everyone was shouting, demanding answers and hurling insults. JJ is screaming something about somebody paying him, Kiara is in your ear asking what the hell was going on, Mr. Heyward is hurtling questions towards both his son and Shoupe. Passbyers stared at the scene, whispering to each other as they walked by or stopped to watch. Everything blurred together, and you could do nothing but watch the scene unfold in front of you.

Those fucking assholes, you thought. Topper Thorton came to mind, tan skin and bleached ends, million dollar smile and designer clothes. You remembered his wild gaze as he held Pope in a headlock the night before, close to almost killing him. And yet he was off somewhere doing god knows what, probably shopping for a new boat to replace the one he'd lost, not that he probably cared all that much about it in the first place. Rafe Cameron's eyes entered your mind next, and you felt a shudder run through you as you remembered them boring into yours as he held your face frighteningly tight and close to his own.

JJ's voice was suddenly breaking through your stream of thoughts - "It wasn't him!" He was calling out, eyes directed on Shoupe who paused and turned toward him, Pope's face disbelieving from behind him. "It was me."

It sunk in then what JJ was trying to do, and you whirled around from his left, quickly shaking your head as you muttered, "JJ." He ignored you however, and stepped forward towards where the officer was standing, Pope still in his arms.

"He tried to talk me out of it," JJ continued. "But I was mad because he had just been beaten up, I was sick of those assholes from Figure Eight that I lost my shit." He was stood directly in front of Shoupe, almost boot-to-boot. You couldn't see his face from where you were, and you were almost thankful for the fact as you heard him direct his words to Pope, "I can't let you take the fall for what I did. You've got too much to lose."

"JJ, what are you doing?" Pope demanded. His face was confused, just as much in shock as the rest of you. For a second, his eyes leave JJ's and land on yours, a shaky breath leaving your lips as his eyes were practically pleading.

"I'm telling the truth, for once in my goddamn life, I'm gonna tell the truth," JJ announced loudly. "I took his old man's boat, too."

"What the hell?" Mr. Heyward questioned, though nobody paid him any mind. Your gaze was too focused on the unfolding scene of JJ Maybank taking the fall for something he most definitely do, and you could do nothing but watch it happen.

Your heart finally shattered when JJ's last words entered your ears, "He's a good kid. You know where I'm from."

He only looked back once as he was put into the handcuffs that previously held Pope, and that wasn't until he was shoved in the back of the police car and the door was slammed behind him. You walked closer towards it, hand on Pope's back as he watched his best friend get arrested for something he'd done, and you both knew it. When JJ glanced up and out of the window, bruised face clear behind the glass, his sea blue eyes caught yours and then he smiled.

The fucker.

You could only watch helplessly as the police car was driven away and out of sight, Pope throwing his cap down in a fit of anger as he stormed off, his dad calling after him, Kie landing to your right. The dark haired girl wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you to her side gently.

"JJ'll be alright," she told you, voice confident though her face read anything but as she glanced in the direction the car had been driven off. "He always is."

But what, a voice in the back in your head nagged at you, if this time he wasn't?

And then it dawned on you: you actually really, generally, sincerely and whole-heartedly cared about JJ Maybank.

(And the thought scared you more than you would ever like to admit.)

& to the lovely people that asked to be tagged in this, love you all x @ponyboys-sunsets @mysticsthinking @danicarosaline