#i can tell this is going to be a power fantasy
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i've been in the far orbit of this argument for a while and I'm really baffled why people can't be understanding of each other's perspectives and i'm sorry for what you're going through...
i want to have a little break-it-down for reblog's sakes if anyone wants to put this in their blog because there is MUCH to be said about the non-MC and you are the MC angles. spoiler alert: there is no wrong answer. it's about respect & understanding.
you are the main character
This perspective is all about inclusivity and self-insertion, which is honestly such a big draw for otome games in general. The idea is simple: you’re not just playing a game--you’re imagining yourself in the game. Your avatar is customizable, so you can tweak your appearance to reflect how you see yourself, or even how you want to see yourself. It’s like being dropped into an isekai where you’re not just some regular person--you’re someone special.
and HEY, who doesn’t want to imagine themselves as this badass, idealized version of themselves? In this game, you’re a cool hunter, you’ve got skills, you’re navigating this wild sci-fi/fantasy world with monsters and powers & oh yeah, you’ve got a literal aether core in your chest. That core isn’t just a plot device, it’s a metaphor for potential, for becoming something more. The game practically screams, “Hey, this could be you! Look how powerful and capable you could be!” It’s empowering in a way, and I totally get why people love this angle. It’s fun to imagine yourself as the one charming the LIs, holding your own in battle, and rising to the challenge of this world.
For people who vibe with this, it’s about escapism and self-expression. You don’t want to read about someone else being awesome, you want yourself to be awesome. It’s the ultimate power fantasy.
key word: power fantasy. which brings me to
you are NOT the main character
The argument here is that while the game tries to sell the MC as us, it just......... doesn’t land for a lot of players. Let’s start with the fact that this is a Chinese game, and the default character design is heavily rooted in East Asian beauty standards. Which is fine. It's their game, I'm not complaining I'm just telling it as it is. Yes, the skin tones are inclusive, and I’ll give them credit for that, but the body type? The facial features? The overall aesthetic? It’s not exactly universal. I mean, take a good look at my big fat ass and tell me how I’m supposed to feel immersed when the MC looks like a dainty stick figure who’d snap in half if she ever actually tried to fight (despite all the "abs" talk.) Like, she’s cute, sure, but she’s not me. And definitely not you. (Don't talk to me about "she has to look like that because she's a hunter, remember". all of us know that's not the case. it's about beauty standards.)
And then there’s the way she acts. Oh boy,,,,,,,, Sometimes it feels like she’s actively trying to make the worst decisions possible. It’s one thing to be flawed, flaws are human and relatable, but there are moments, especially in the Sylus arc, where I’m sitting there like, “Girl, what are you doing?!” She makes choices that I would never make, and it pulls me right out of the story because it’s not even a matter of imagining myself in her shoes anymore. It’s like watching a character in a TV show make a bad call, and you’re yelling at the screen, but it’s not like you can change what happens. That's okay, though, it's not a sin. She has her own personality, her own reactions, and her own story, and while that makes for a compelling narrative, it also makes it really clear that she’s not us.
For people who lean toward the “non-MC” argument, it’s frustrating because the game is selling this experience as one where we’re supposed to see ourselves in the MC, but she’s written in a way that feels so disconnected from how many of us would act or feel. It’s hard to immerse yourself in a story when the character representing you feels so far removed from who you are or who you want to be.
so what?
Honestly, I think this boils down to what you’re looking for in the game. If you’re someone who loves the “you are the MC” vibe, then you’re probably willing to overlook or even embrace the gaps between you and the character because the customization and the overarching narrative of personal growth are enough to make you feel seen. But if you’re in the “non-MC” camp, then every time the MC makes a cringe-worthy choice or the story reminds you that she’s more of a predefined character than a blank slate, it’s going to take you out of the experience. (This was me in "No Defense Zone", I had to put my phone down and do laps around in my room out of second hand embarrassment.)
Maybe the real issue here is that the game is trying to have it both ways. It wants to tell a story with a strong narrative and a compelling lead character, but it also wants to let players insert themselves into that story. And honestly? That’s a tough balance to strike. It works for some people, but for others, it ends up feeling like a half-measure that doesn’t fully satisfy either camp.
At the end of the day, I think it’s okay to feel a little jealous of the MC because, in a way, she isn’t us. She’s her own character, living her own life in this world, and we’re just along for the ride. And whether you see her as “you” or as “another character,” what really matters is how much you’re enjoying the story. So let’s keep discussing it, but maybe we can stop tearing each other apart and harrass people over it. It’s okay to love the game for what it is—or even for what it isn’t.
Guys I may be mentally insane but ... Why do I low-key feel jealous of MC when I see clips of the upcoming cards... Especially the Sylus one..
IK SHE'S MEANT TO BE US BUT 😭😭
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Reforged
Pairing: Shigadabi
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Commissioned by @moonlightcrazyphoenix (who you should all give a huge thank you to for letting me go wild and absolutely cook with this one). Dabi was the first born prince of his father’s kingdom, and then his magic failed. Now he is nothing but an unwanted specter who haunts the castle halls, with no hope of a future ahead of him, save maybe his youngest brother someday sitting on the throne instead of their father. But when a border skirmish brings refugees into their castle and a new practitioner so powerful he is knighted nearly on the spot into his life, that absence of hope begins to wane.
Contents: Royalty AU, Fantasy AU, minor character death, suicidal thoughts, BDSM, master/slave dynamic, impact play, intercrural sex, cumming untouched, grinding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink, degradation, humiliation, praise kink, genital piercings, non-human genitalia, double penetration, anal fingering, anal sex, blow jobs, cum swallowing, aftercare.
Word Count: 37,035
The only thing worse than being the former crown prince, is being the former crown prince that has to convince his own fucking guards to let him go to the throne room when he hears that there's been another attack.
"Your father said that you shouldn't concern yourself with matters of state," The harpy man tells him, his wings a red cloak along his back.
His father, the title makes him want to risk sparking up the barest embers of magic in his blood and try to destroy them both, doesn't think he should know about matters of state or any other kind of business in the kingdom because he won't have any part of it. He just wants him to learn how to melt into the background as his siblings are at least able to be used for a purpose. Fuyumi will be married off to some other kingdom to make certain that theirs grows. Natsuo will become the court medic once his schooling is finished, ensuring that there is no one that the royal family has to rely on for their health. And, of course, Shoto will be king some day, his magic outpacing all of theirs by miles. Dabi, now so named because his magic burned out when he was still just a child, is useless. He has no great magic to his name, his body cannot be trained to become a revered warrior, and his burns make him far too ugly for any noble of another kingdom to ever want to take him as a spouse. He has no value, so in his father's eyes, the least that he can do is pretend to not exist at all.
"I am still a member of the royal family and a citizen of this kingdom, Takami." He snarls, pushing past the knight. "If there was another attack, I want to know about it." He hears the shorter man sigh but he doesn't dare try to stop him again as Dabi enters the chamber and moves off to the side of the dais at the front of the room. Only his father, Shoto, and Fuyumi have chairs there, the latter two much smaller and further off to either side of his fathers, but both of them are sitting there. Natsuo is nowhere in sight, but he thinks that he can chalk that up to the fact that some of the villagers who have come to speak are already at least partially bandaged. If they came with more people to make their report and if those members of their traveling party are in worse condition, then his brother will be in his ward making sure that they are receiving care.
A man with wild brown hair is standing at the front of the group. His clothes are rumpled, frayed on the edges, creased, and there are smears of dirt clinging to them, but the cut of the outfit and the material of it tells Dabi that he must have been a merchant with a decent to moderate income. Clearly one who had enough standing in the village to be appointed the speaker for them as he addresses his father.
"--three dragons, one with scales of bronze, one as black as pitch, and one as green as the hills that they decimated. They arrived just as sunrise began, hiding in the long shadows that were cast across the land, and they destroyed every farm, every field. They tore up the roads and ate our livestock."
"Did the creatures speak? Were they sent by their master?"
"I do not know anyone among us who conversed with them."
"Did they retreat of their own accord?" His father presses.
"No, your majesty." He half turns and gestures someone forward. From the crowd comes what looks to be a farmhand with wild white hair that is barely being contained by a tie, broad shoulders, pale skin, ruby red eyes, and scars cut in over his eye and one lip. He is missing three fingers on one hand and has a rope of burn scars going down his other arm that discolor his skin to a deep reddish color unlike the purple hue that Dabi's show. "This young man," and yes, even with dirt on his face, he does look younger than himself. Maybe Natsuo's age if he had to guess, "Tapped into a wealth of magic as they came for his farm. His destructive talent was able to injure the silver dragon and they fled."
That has his father's eyes going sharper, interest piqued. "Where did you learn to hone your talents, boy?"
"I did not." The farmhand's voice is raspy, like he hasn't spoken in several days, but it does not waver and his spine does not bow in the wake of having all of the king's attention on him. "I was cornered and I wanted to protect my land. I would have done it with a pitchfork if necessary, and then I felt it well up inside of me. It withered everything I touched."
His father considers this. "As the damage to your village is being assessed and repaired by our druids, you will remain in an encampment inside of the palace grounds. You, young man, what is your name?"
"Tomura Shigaraki, your majesty."
"No member of my kingdom who can do such damage to a dragon will go unassessed. You will be accompanied by my knights to our scholars. Have you any family?"
"No, your Majesty. I was an orphan from Ylunburg. I turned eighteen last spring and made my way to Ontsall to make a life for myself."
Well, that guy is fucked. Or should be thrilled. Depends on how much he liked being a farmer because he definitely won't be one anymore. If his magic was really that strong, then he'll be part of the guard in a matter of days. If he can prove his magic can stay that strong consistently and it wasn't just it awakening for the first time that drew out such massive power, then he might even end up like Takami and the other guards that his father keeps closest to ensure that they always have their most dangerous resources close by. His father starts giving more orders about where he wants the encampment to be set up, the number of soldiers and druids that he wants taken to Ontsall to see to the rebuilding efforts, and Dabi is bored again. He doesn't have anything to do with this and this simply means that his father will be in a foul mood for the rest of the week and that both of his brothers will be painfully busy until this matter is seen to. Which means that he's better off going to his chambers and occupying his time pretending to be a scholar than it will be spent shadowing them where he might distract them from their duties and bring his father's ire down on himself.
Dabi turns and leaves as orders are still being doled out, and Takami, for all his protests before, doesn't even bother to shadow him. What assassin worth anything would try to kill the discarded prince that the king would pardon them for dispatching when the deed was done?
///
Dabi doesn't pay the refugees much attention for a few days. They are being integrated the best they can be on the castle grounds. Most of them are farmers, and they take wagons out to the nearest neighboring fields to help do the day's work there, before coming back to meals prepared by some of the additional refugees and their own kitchen staff to help ensure they are doing well. Natsuo and other healers make certain that no one is severely hurt, and Dabi is bored. He is almost always bored, but at least he's able to be bored without a shadow for a few days because Takami is apparently off assessing the farmhand. He would rather be bored alone than bored with that fucking bird following him around and talking his ear off. He was an orphan too, and he can't shut up about how happy he was to be taken in by the crown and given purpose. Dabi has set his wings on fire more than once just to shut him the hell up.
But apparently five days of a reprieve was all he was going to be able to get as the harpy barely knocks before entering his chambers. Dabi is just glad he's sitting at his desk reading instead of lounging around in bed so he can at least pretend to be busy with other things. "I will have you thrown in the stocks for two days if you enter my rooms without knocking again, Takami."
"My apologies, your highness." He says without an ounce of sincerity and far too much cheerfulness. "But you won't have to suffer my company much longer."
"Oh? Is my father finally having you tarred to match your garish feathers?"
"No, I'll be going out to help patrol the border after such a brazen attack. I'll be leaving immediately, but I wanted to take a moment to make sure that I introduced you to your new guard." Dabi finally looks up as Takami waves in the other person lingering in the doorway. The farmhand from before must have had more natural ability than Dabi even thought he might because he is cleaned up. His long hair is tied neatly into a pony at the base of his neck, and he is wearing the same gleaming armor as Takami, his spine straight, and his injured hand must have either been healed or new arcane prosthetic fingers must have been added to help his gloves fit correctly on both hands. He definitely looks more handsome like this and certainly looks to be Natuso's age now that he's closer to him. "This is Sir Tomura Shigaraki, the newest knight in your father's court."
Dabi snorts softly, but he's not expecting Shigaraki to address that.
"Is there something amusing about this, your highness?"
He does his best not to bristle. "You've spent at least five minutes with the pigeon. You can't tell me that it's not a joke after that."
"Ignore him," Takami says, turning to the new knight. "He's always saying nearly treasonous things. He's bitter, but his father considers him harmless. You only need to ensure he is either in his rooms or that you're accompanying him when he moves throughout the palace. Otherwise, you're free to go about whatever business you please within the castle walls."
"...I see."
Takami shrugs at the other's tone and then waves at Dabi over his shoulder. "See you around, matchstick!" Before he exits the room. Tomura Shigaraki closes the door behind him and the wards lock into place, sealing them off so that their voices will not carry past the door and so the small gem sat at his throat will glow if anyone tries to enter without his permission. Shigaraki stands with his hands behind his back in front of the door, at his post the way that no other guard has ever bothered to do for him once he woke from his coma. They had all known their lives were of more value than his, and their time could be better spent doing things besides watching after the worthless spare prince. Shigaraki will pick up on that soon enough and leave him alone for hours at a time, only coming in to follow the servants who bring his meals or when Dabi has to signal to him to open the wards that his magic is too weak now to do himself. He is more a prisoner in this castle than a prince. When this knight learns that he is nothing more than his jailor, he will stop being so attentive.
It's quiet for several hours as he goes back to his reading, but when he finishes his book and stands to return it to the shelf, Shigaraki speaks again. "It is a joke."
"Excuse me?" Dabi wasn't expecting him to speak, let alone respond to his barb from earlier.
"This position, your father's guard. It's a joke. He couldn't bring his own magic any higher so he finds those without anyone else and brings them into his circle and elevates their positions. All of his guards are orphans from the war with the Demon King and his dragons. They worship him because he offers them status and a brotherhood while he makes an orphan of his own firstborn son through his neglect. It is a joke, and you should be so lucky to have the last laugh." Red eyes on his, unwaveringly. Dabi may flirt with words that could be construed as treasonous, but no one in this kingdom considers him a threat. Someone powerful enough to be knighted in just five days since his magical abilities awakened would be taken much more seriously than him.
"Do not speak about my father or this kingdom in that way again, or he will have your head."
"But not you?" When Dabi doesn't retort immediately, Shigaraki keeps looking right through him with those too-sharp eyes. "Because your word doesn't mean as much to your father as one he hardly knows would? Because mine comes laden with magic?"
Dabi doesn't deign to reply to him, huffing softly before he turns to his bookshelf again. Why bother telling the man something he already knows to be true?
///
Tomura Shigaraki is infuriating in a way that none of his other guards have been before. For one, he actually comes to his room each morning when Dabi wakes to ensure his meal has been brought in and he's awake at a reasonable time. After two weeks he starts to come and wake Dabi earlier than he used to, well before his breakfast is brought and makes him come outside with him as he trains the forms that the other knights must have taught him.
"Your training is not my problem." Dabi snaps at him. He may not have a real position in the kingdom, but he is a prince. He gets to do what he wants, he doesn't have to follow the whims of his servant.
"You are going to rot away into nothing in that bedroom." Shigaraki tells him. He, Dabi has surmised, hates to wear his armor. It impedes his speed and he doesn't need to be slow when his magic works when he has contact with the thing he is looking to destroy. He has opted only for the uniform tunic and pants, some leather bracers, and a short sword on his hip if he has need of it. He will wear the armor when he is expected to attend court, not that he ever will be while he's assigned to his babysitting, but whatever.
"Then let me rot. At least the bed will be a comfortable tomb."
"You are pathetic."
Dabi's face burns at the man's insult. Everyone in his kingdom thinks that, if they bother to think of him at all, but that doesn't mean that he should be spoken to without even the barest bit of respect. "I am your prince--"
"You have been discarded and seek to make nothing of the station you were left with. You do grow your mind, but to no end. You have all of the wealth and ability to create a new life for yourself within the confines of the enormous shadow your father has left for you, but you do nothing. I will not pretend to guard someone who so blatantly tells the world that they believe their life is as worthless as all of their naysayers do. You will find something worthwhile to occupy your time, or I shall occupy it with my own activities." He continues to move through his forms, and Dabi can see the rippling of his muscles beneath his clothes. He is thin, weak, his training stopped when he was ten years old, and the training he did for himself stopped when he burned as his magic burst bright one final time before turning to only the smallest of embers. "When you were a child, they said that you were the jewel of the kingdom, did they not?"
"That jewel shattered a long time ago." He hisses.
"So?" Shigaraki turns to level him with that look again. The look in his eyes that Dabi doesn't know how he hides from his father. The look that tells him that he blames the crown for the war, for whatever battle took his parents from him, for them not having the people in Ontsall to protect the village that resulted in him being trapped here as a knight instead of carving out a life for himself as a farmer on the land he was so desperate to protect that he awoke magic in himself at nineteen. A look that tells Dabi that he hates him as much as he hates the rest of the royal family even though he is capable of doing nothing-- "Diamond dust can still return people to life."
He turns back to his exercises and those words sit with him for the rest of the long day.
///
Dabi has not had to consider what he would do with his life for a very long time. He thought that he would just be this, a prisoner in his father's castle, trying to make himself small and unnoticed until Shoto was old enough to be crowned. When he takes over, he's already told him that he'll be free to do what he pleases. If he'd like to go on to become a scholar, then he will be able to do so, if he'd rather just move to one of their country estates to live out his life in peace, start a business, master an artistry, marry, whatever he pleases. He's promised similar things to each of them. He doesn't want to use their lives as tools the way their father has. He wants them to be happy. It's to that end, that he has been trying to delay Fuyumi's potential marriage as long as possible. She doesn't want to be sent off to some other kingdom to push out babies like their mother was. She wants to be a scholar far more ardently than Dabi does. She would become a teacher if she were able to. The children of other nobles need to be taught. She could do so without seeming to lower her station. Natsuo does want to be a healer, but he wants to be a field medic. He wants to go out and make sure the soldiers that are actually fighting on their borders as the Demon King continues to try to spread his influence to this half of the continent are taken care of. He doesn't flinch at the potential danger. But Dabi is just... nothing. He isn't anything worthy of attention or consideration. He has no ambitions to pursue when his father no longer controls his life. He just wants to... be allowed to exist. He doesn't want to have the shame of being the broken prince forever hanging around his neck. But those thoughts are something soft and weak that he will not lay bare for anyone else to see lest he end up mocked for them again. So he keeps his mouth shut and goes to visit Fuyumi.
She often ends up locked in her room as well when she's not being paraded around to other visiting royalty and potential suitors. She studies and practices her embroidery. Her magic is the same as their mother's, as Natsuo's, imbued with a near unbreakable preference for ice than any other form. And since she is not to ever be a warrior, she is expected to use her magic as an artform rather than a weapon. She isn't a dressmaker, but she works with them closely as they design her elaborate wardrobe. She helps determine the style and cut of the dresses she will wear because before the bolts of fabric can be cut and stitched into clothing, they are brought to her, and she embellishes them with eternal, unmelting embroidery of frost that glitters like she's woven diamonds into the fabric whenever she moves.
Shigaraki, as he follows him everywhere, follows him to her room and stands at the door as he joins her at a small table. She keeps the fabric in her lap as she works. "What's wrong, Toya?" His siblings are the only ones who call him by that name, and only when they aren't in front of their father. He stopped being worthy of it the moment his magic failed him, according to Enji.
Dabi would prefer to have this conversation in private, and tells Shigaraki, "You're dismissed."
"I am not supposed to let you out of my sight when you are outside of your chambers." The knight says unwaveringly.
"That is the problem."
"He can't be worse than Takami?" It's only half a question.
"Takami worships our father, this one is a hypocrite who has about as much love for him as you or I, but is still following his every order to the letter."
"I am doing my duties."
"And he's always talking back to me!" Dabi snaps, half turning in his chair to glare at the other man.
Fuyumi, the bitch, decides that's at least a little funny as she tries to cover her mouth to pretend she's coughing instead of laughing. "Sir Shigaraki, surely you have started to be taught court etiquette?"
"I have, your highness. However, I was also explicitly told those courtesies are not to extend to your older brother as he is not a member of the court."
Dabi's ears would have been bright red with his humiliation if they weren't so badly burned. "You're a bastard and someday I'm going to see you drawn and quartered!"
"You're a moping sod who isn't worth the breath in his lungs." Shigaraki snaps right back. "Apologies for the outburst, your highness."
Fuyumi's mouth is hanging open. Takami is never professional with either of them but his informality is in a joking and arrogant way.
"You see!?" Dabi stresses. "He's probably going to slit my throat in my sleep!"
"That would be far too much effort for someone like you. I just have to wait for you to burn yourself out again." He hums, "Or hang yourself. I suppose that you couldn't get the job done with fire the first time anyway."
"Sir Shigaraki!" He's glad that Fuyumi is up out of her seat, her face also flushed with her indignance and rage. "Regardless of what instructions my father has given you, you will not ever speak that way to my brother in my presence! For your disrespect you will receive twenty lashes!"
Dabi hasn't ever heard his sister sentence someone to corporal punishment. She and Natsuo normally try to hide their own servants' fuck-ups so that their father doesn't give them those kinds of punishments. But, well, maybe she is more scared of him actually finally going through with the suicide that has been sitting at the edge of his mind for years. Maybe she is scared that their father ordered Shigaraki to demoralize him until he just took himself off the board so Enji wouldn't have to bother to do it himself.
"I'll see that he gets them." Dabi says firmly before she can rescind the order. He had wanted to talk to her more, but this takes precedence.
Fuyumi looks like she's already regretting the words, the color draining away from her face. They all wonder if being raised by a warrior king has permanently tarnished their very souls, but she usually tries to stay above it. Tries to keep herself as pure as snow. But even she can't be perfect all the time.
Shigaraki, for all of his backtalk, doesn't look particularly moved by the declaration, though he supposed if he grew up in one of the workhouses in Ylunburg, he's probably received so many lashes that the sting of them will be familiar. He still opens the door the way he's supposed to and shadows Dabi as he goes down to the dungeons. There are guards on duty, but they aren't holding anyone in the cells for now. He bypasses them and goes over to the instruments that are used on the enemy soldiers that are brought here; he doesn't know the name of all of the instruments that are used and he doesn't want to. Torturer's work is not something that he will let occupy his mind. But he does have the option between a flogger, whip, or switch. He chooses the switch because he knows that someone untrained with the former two is more likely to hurt themself when the leather recoils than they are to actually hurt their target.
Shigaraki looks around the dungeon as he gets the switch and then follows him up to his room silently and Dabi feels his heart starting to race. He's never actually done this before and when they're in the room with the door locked, he suddenly feels incredibly out of his depth when Shigaraki has to be the one who turns to him and catches the gem at his throat to actually seal up the wards around the room. The other man is shorter than him, by a couple of centimeters, but it doesn't feel like that matters at all when he has those red eyes so intense on him.
"Do you even know how to use that thing?" His voice is lower, rougher, and Dabi does his best to keep his spine straight.
"Remove your tunic and get on your knees." His voice isn't nearly as steady as he wants it to be.
Shigaraki lets go of the gem and moves to the center of the room, stripping away his bracers, outer tunic, and the long sleeved shirt he was wearing beneath it, letting Dabi see the layers of muscle he was certain were beneath the cloth, but also far more scars than he thought there would be. He must have been at one of the orphanages that also loaned children out for factory work. That's the only explanation for the scars that continue up his arm and over his shoulder, the gash that is taken on the other side closer to his collarbone, the pockmarks on his skin that must have been from hot rivets being sunk into him. It must have also been where he lost his fingers as well, though he keeps on the glove that holds the prosthetics in place as he bares his torso.
He turns away from Dabi and sinks to his knees, his hands against his thighs once he's swept his long hair off of his back, showing Dabi that he has two massive scars here as well, carved down from the tops of each shoulder blades to the small of his back in jagged, but parallel lines. There is not an inch of this man that has not been touched by some misfortune. Dabi's palms start to sweat as he feels the weight of the switch in his hand. The vindication that he received for finally getting to silence Shigaraki's backtalk is not as strong as his disgust for himself as he wonders what exactly he's trying to do now. His father is cruelty and violence. He and his siblings have tried to distance that from themselves so ardently. Even Shoto, a knight himself, avoids a fight if a conversation can be had instead. He shows mercy instead of cruelty. The world their father has made for them is cruel. So they choose to be kinder. Dabi has never had an ounce of power over anyone else since he was a child. Is this what he's going to do with it now just because he can?
"You are so very weak." Shigaraki says without raising his head.
And that sends him over the edge. He tightens his grip on the switch, stalks forward the few steps he needs to close the distance, and he brings the switch down across the other's back. The loud crack of the leather meeting skin doesn't do anything to make him feel stronger and he throws the instrument to the ground in nearly the same move as he stalks over to his bed. "Yes!" His voice is raw with his fury, with his emotion, and he hates himself for it. He hates the way it tears from his throat and makes his eyes burn even though he can no longer shed tears as freely as he did when he was a child. "I am weak!" He screams, turning to face the knight. "I was strong for so little of my life and told that I wasn't worthy of my breath for the other half! I'm nothing! No one! I will die more unremarkable than you would have if you'd stayed a farmer because at least you would have provided something to the kingdom! My sentence is to make myself smaller and smaller until I'm nothing so that my father can be free of my stain on his legacy!"
Shigaraki stares at him for a long moment and Dabi hates having his eyes on him.
"Get ou--"
"Pick the switch back up." The other's voice is hard and robs Dabi of his anger, his indignance, his sorrow. It hollows him out all over again. When Dabi doesn't move, Shigaraki keeps speaking. "Pick it up. You have nineteen more lashes to deliver. If you can make me bleed, then you will have proven that you have more strength in your body than you or your father believe you do. And if you cannot manage it, I will show you how you can forge it instead. If I am to stay in your company for the duration of my time here, then I will have you less pathetic company than you are right now."
"Y-You don't get to order me around! I'm the prince!" By all the stars in the sky, why is this man, "You are asking to be punished!"
"I am asking you to prove that you are capable of completing a single task that is not reading a book!" Shigaraki snarls back at him. "I am hoping that you have not been so completely and thoroughly broken by your father and your failures that you cannot even imagine a world in which you become something more than those things have made you believe you are. Pick. Up. The. Switch."
Dabi hesitates. For a long moment he wants to tell the other to leave, wants to go back to Fuyumi's room and have her switch guards with him until the end of however long this lasts. He never wants to have to look Shigaraki in the eye again because he knows that if he has to see those red eyes filled with any more disgust then they already are now, he just won't be able to survive it. He used to hate how his father never looked at him after his magic failed him. He used to try anything to get his eyes to turn to him. But the first time they had, two years after he awoke from his coma, there had been nothing in them. No disgust, no anger, no disappointment, he had simply looked through him and moved on. He thought that had killed something deep inside of him, but having Shigaraki looking at him now with so much barely-contained contempt has dragged out his corpse to be burned again. His fingers shake as he reaches back down and picks up the switch.
Shigaraki huffs and lowers his head again, hands fisted against his thighs. "Move it along. I don't have all night."
Dabi doesn't feel any more steady or sure than he did a moment before as he takes his position behind the other man again. He tightens his grip on the switch as he realizes that there's not even a mark from the first hit, and tries again. The impact makes the switch sting the seam running over his palm and once again Shigaraki doesn't flinch.
"You'll have to hit harder than that."
"Shut up!" He snarls and tries again. It shakes up his entire arm as he hits the other man. He doesn't let himself stop, he goes again, and again, and again, his eyes burning with his frustration, his helplessness, his arm getting weaker with every hit. Until Shigaraki is standing up, catching his wrist, and taking the switch from it. There's blood on the ground, but it's not from the knight's back, it's dripping off of Dabi's face as a sob slips from his throat because he really is as pathetic as the guard said.
"That was twenty-seven." Shigaraki says, "and I'm not bleeding."
He tries to pull his wrist from the other's grip, but he's too weak to manage that. "Let go of me." His voice is soft now, he doesn't have any of his anger left inside of him.
"No. You couldn't make me bleed, so now I get to reshape you. That's what you agreed to. Or are you a liar as well as a waste of space?"
Dabi didn't know he could feel worse than he already did, but his gut sours with shame at the idea of not even being able to keep his word. He's not sure that he has anything at all left to him but the voice that so few even fail to acknowledge when he does speak. He grits his teeth. "...'Reshape' me how?"
"You went seven over. Strip your clothes from the waist down."
Dabi pales sharply. "Absolutely not--!"
Shigaraki's other hand catches his chin, those eyes hot and dangerous on him as he forces him to meet his. "Your back is stapled together." He's seen him getting out of bed in the morning with only his undergarments on, there is very little mystery left of his body. "If I give you the hits there, you'll split open. Even if I avoid the seams, you're so thin that taking the hits over the bones will leave you unable to move. Your thighs are the only place with enough muscle and without any burns. I can give you your seven there, or I can give them to you over your back, and when you cannot move, you can explain to anyone who bothers to come check on you what happened."
"You'll--"
"Maybe receive a slap on the wrist if you lie about our wager. But your father will be more keen to believe my side of the story." He takes the switch from Dabi's hand and waits. He could refuse. He hasn't been in pain since he burned. He doesn't hurt. He's a ghost, not even worthy of being noticed by the gods of misfortune who are so keen to throw their blessings to all. He could refuse. Why does he need the respect of this man? How much more could he lose from his father? What does it matter if he lets one of his servants beat him black and blue? He's already a worthless, broken thing. It makes his humiliation burn hotter in his veins than it ever has before when he reaches to start to undo his belt.
Dabi strips his boots, his pants, thinks he might be able to stop at that, but one glance at the hard lines of the other's features tell him that he has to remove his undergarments as well. His own tunic, thankfully, is long enough that if he holds the hem, he can preserve a modicum of his modesty.
"Bend over the edge of your bed." Shigaraki orders him like he hasn't made this situation embarrassing enough. He wants to protest again, but it won't do him any good. He goes over to his bed, takes a breath and bends over. After a moment, he hears Shigaraki's boots against the floor, moving closer until they stop behind him. He will not cry out. He will not scream. It is seven hits. He will be able to take that. It cannot hurt more than the beatings his father gave him throughout his training or his burning. "Hold out for as many as you can. But if you need me to stop, tell me."
Dabi clenches his jaw shut tight and braces himself. He is already displaying so much weakness. He is not about to beg for mercy.
The first hit comes across the back of his thighs and instantaneously becomes a line of white-hot agony across his skin that has fresh, bloody tears trickling down his cheeks.
"One," Shigaraki counts in an even tone while the crack of the switch is still echoing around the room. Dabi barely has the chance to breathe before the second comes down, a little below the first, closer to the staples that curve around the middle of his thighs. This one hurts just as badly as the first, maybe a little worse, but it's hard to tell when the switch coming down against him is such a singular, blinding pain. "Two."
The next one comes down just below the curve of his ass, and so much higher makes his whole body flinch as that hit definitely hurts worse than the first one. "Three." Oh, by the gods, he's hitting him harder each time. Dabi presses his face into the bedding so that it will muffle any sound that might try to slip out of him. When the fourth overlaps the first hit he can't help his toes curling and the way his body squirms involuntarily as the pain radiates out from his skin, stinging at first, but blooming into a deep throb that he knows will put bruises on the pale parts of his flesh as dark as his scars. "Four." It hurts. It hurts so badly that his stomach feels tight and sick. He doesn't think that he's going to be able to last the final three. He thinks that if he does, he'll just fall apart right then.
And then Shigaraki's hand moves to the hem of his shirt. His ass had been at least partially covered by his tunic, but he pushes it up now, his hand cool and his skin rough as he runs it over the curve of him, up to press against his lower back, that touch so sharply different from the painful ones against his thighs that he's left gasping.
"There. You're doing better than I thought you would." The tone in his voice is different than Dabi has ever heard it before. "See? You must have some amount of pride left if you hold your word so sacred." He moves his thumb over the base of his spine and that soft touch, the words mingling with the pain coursing through his skin, puts a hazy confusion in his mind that fogs his focus. "Can you take more, little prince?"
He should back out now. He already is hurting so much. He should tell Shigaraki off for touching him with a hand that isn't trying to inflict violence. But that hand and the words before are like a balm. They insulate him from some of the thrumming agony in his skin and make it easier for him to just manage to nod his head, his hands fisting tightly in the sheets.
"These will be harder." The knight warns as he takes his hand away. Dabi doesn't bite his tongue only because he's scared he might bite it off. The fifth hit is so hard that Dabi swears that he is pushed forward on the bed slightly and he can't help the soft cry that he lets out. "Five, shhh," his voice is still much calmer than it was before. Soothing as his cool hand goes to the back of his thighs again and that feels horrible and wonderful all at the same time as the chill of his skin takes away the blood bright heat that is coming from the welts blooming from his hits. "Only two more. Show me that you have some resolve left in you."
He hates how much easier it is to brace his body for the pain when he knows that he's doing it to earn Shigaraki's approval. It feels different to earn this than it does to have his siblings’ that comes out of obligation and nostalgia. Shigaraki gives him another few seconds to tell him to stop, but when he doesn't speak, his hand draws back again. It takes three agonizing seconds before the switch comes back down against his skin and he howls this time with how hard it hits him.
"Six," but there's such satisfaction in Shigaraki's voice. "Just one more, little prince." He can't even find words to answer him, he only manages a soft whimper that makes him feel so incredibly small and pathetic. He hears the switch whistle through the air a split second before it cracks against his skin again and Dabi can't help the other pained cry that comes out of him. "Seven," the hand goes back to his lower back and Dabi lets out another miserable sob against the sheets. "There, you kept your word." He hears the switch hit the floor and can't help flinching slightly again. "Stay there." Shigaraki instructs like Dabi can move at all.
The other man moves around the room for a moment and Dabi tries to find his voice enough to tell him to go. He doesn't know how he can survive being any more humiliated and pathetic than he feels right now. He doesn't want to have to wait to find out. But before he can find his voice, the other man is back and murmuring.
"This is going to sting a little." He doesn't wait and the next second a cool, wet cloth is being gently pressed to his stinging thighs. He bites his lip hard to keep from squealing, but the pain of having the pressure on his skin is easy to ignore when the coolness of the cloth and the soft little circles that the other man starts to rub against him feel so good. Dabi just thinks that the knight might be cleaning up the blood off of his skin, absolutely certain that his thighs have to be torn to ribbons from how badly they hurt, but he refreshes the coolness of the towel with a spell after a minute or two and he realizes that the man is just trying to soothe the hurts.
That is working a little too well, he realizes vaguely as between the pain, the relief, and his body's exhaustion, there is a new feeling tingling through him.
It's not helped when the knight murmurs, "You did such a good job. I thought a little prince like you wouldn't be able to handle one, but you made it all the way to seven. You should be proud of yourself."
Dabi doesn't think that it's pride that is in him when all of the sensations against his body have his cock twitching against the soft sheets. Mortification goes through him and he doesn't know what to do with himself when that feeling only makes his cock harden faster instead of chasing the ill-gotten arousal away. He hopes that with his body pressed into the bed and his thighs pressed tightly together that the other won't be able to see it and he can find his voice quickly enough that he can get the other man to leave so he doesn't have to show any more weakness.
"Where I'm from, we have a code that we live by. 'Endure what you can, destroy the parts of you that fail, reforge what you need to move forward'." The words are spoken softly. The touches against his skin are soft. "You've endured for years. Now I've broken you. All you need now is to forge yourself into something stronger." Dabi is not expecting just how strong the other man is or how easily he's able to roll him onto his back before he can make him stop. He fumbles to try and hide himself, but it doesn't work, the other's eyes falling to his hard prick before he can tug his shirt down over it. But there's no contempt left in those eyes when they look at him now. Now there's a... heat in them that doesn't help the way his shameful body is feeling so needy. "Or perhaps you need a firm hand to help with that too. Tell me, little prince, has anyone ever touched you like this before?"
No. No one but his kin has ever struck him. No one has ever deigned let their hands linger on his body the way that Shigaraki's are as they run over the uninjured tops of his thighs before they curve back around to touch the welts that have formed on his skin. His fingers press in a little and Dabi makes himself so weak, surely loses the thinnest thread of respect he managed to gain by suffering through each hit, when he lets out a weak moan, the wound caught between agony and bliss as his cock curved up against his stomach from the sensation. He got a few stolen kisses, once. He was seventeen and attending a ball that was supposed to be full of suitors for his sister, but one noble's son had taken an interest in him, he brought him off to the side and had kissed him until Takami had tracked him down. He must have told his father what happened, because the noble's title and lands were stripped, Dabi ended up locked in his chambers for three months being served the same slop and moldy bread as their prisoners, and his room was spelled dark as the dungeons, so that when he was able to leave it, the world outside of his room hurt twice as badly. His father, without saying a word to him, had made it abundantly clear that he was absolutely not allowed to pursue any form of love. That would bring attention to him. He was supposed to disappear.
He manages to shake his head. Shigaraki is one of his father's knights. With his magic, he can get away with things that Dabi will never be able to contemplate.
"Do you want me to keep touching you, little one?" His voice is warm and drips over his skin like honey, even as his fingers press to remind him how much pain he just brought. "I think you've more than earned a reward for being such a good boy taking your first punishment."
He doesn't feel like he's being good, but being called that makes more of that sticky, needy heat, like the sticky blood that he thinks must be going tacky on his thighs, warm his insides further. He wants to be rewarded for everything that he's endured so far. His throat is still too tight to find his voice, but he manages a tiny nod and that has the knight climbing into his bed with him. He murmurs a spell, bringing oil over his fingers, as the other hand pushes his shirt up beneath his arms so his ruined skin and needy cock are on display. Just being looked at with those red eyes at the most intimate part of his body makes him tremble and shiver.
"Impressive someone so weak can also be so cute." Shigaraki murmurs as his wet fingers trail over his cock. Dabi has had his own hand there before, but it's very, very different to feel those sensations of pleasure spilling over his nerves when it's someone else touching him. He bites his lip harder because he's scared that he'll moan too loudly, that someone will somehow hear it past his wards and come in and stop this before he gets the other's hand completely fisted around his body. His hips jump up when the knight runs a single finger along his underside, from root to tip, flicking his head when he reaches it. Beyond humiliation when that has a bead of precum starting to form there. "So sensitive, little one. Not going to be able to last long when I have my hand on you." He hates how quickly and succinctly the other has assessed his need. But his hand doesn't fist around him to let him have that pleasure. Instead his hands go back around his aching thighs and Dabi humiliates himself further when he moans loudly as fingers press firmly into the forming welts and sends pain that goes sour-sweet over his nerves. "Wonderful," and the word sounds like it's been drenched in his sincerity, as he says it. "You're already becoming something new. Maybe you will be worth my time after all." He shifts on the bed, taking his hands away from Dabi's skin, and for one horrible moment, he thinks that the knight might have been playing him. He already got him to allow his body to be so debased, but maybe he wanted the further humiliation of knowing that Dabi was begging for more despite the pain that came before. Maybe he wanted to be able to go tell his father that he ordered him into his bed so that he would end up locked up in the dark again so he could pursue the interests that he would rather instead of having to deal with him all of the time.
But Shigaraki doesn't leave the bed, he just flicks open his belt and opens his trousers. Dabi's mouth goes dry as the other reaches inside and uses his oil-slicked hand to begin pumping his own cock, bringing himself to full hardness and showing Dabi that he is not only weaker than the knight when it comes to their muscles, but that his cock may be the more pathetic side of average or that Shigaraki's is simply far, far bigger than a cock has any right to be. Not only big, but pierced with a ring curving through his head that Dabi cannot imagine the pain that it must have taken to have it put there. He's only ever seen women in court with their ears pierced. He didn't even know that jewelry could be added to that part of the body. Shigaraki gets himself hard, and then his hands shift to Dabi's ankles. His nerves peak as he worries about something so big being forced inside of his body, but the knight doesn't spread him wide or hook his legs over his shoulders. Instead, he brings Dabi's ankles together and makes him bend his knees up towards his chest, forcing the aching skin of his thighs to be stretched as the lower half of his legs are then over-directed so that they are twisted to the side, allowing the other man to see his handiwork.
"There, just like that, little prince. Since you liked the sting of them so much, and since I want you to soak in this revelation, I'm going to bring you your first pleasure right here." Dabi has touched himself before. He knows what the kiss of an orgasm feels like, but he is not about to protest any of that out of fear it might get all of this taken away. He doesn't quite understand what the other man is saying, but he murmurs that word again and fresh oil is spilling down between his thighs, enough of it his skin feels slippery over his injuries and it's dripping over his sensitive balls. Shigaraki holds his legs as he moves forward, kneeling on the bed as he feeds his cock between Dabi's stinging thighs. He lets out a gasp, the movement bringing the pain back to the forefront of his mind, but it is unable to stop him from also whining with the pleasure that goes through him. He didn't know pain and pleasure could mingle like this. Didn't know that he could be so pathetic as to want both and the sweeter words that are coming from the man who inflicted the pain as well. But he doesn't protest at all as the other pushes between his legs and then pulls out nearly all the way before he pushes back in again slowly. The movements don't allow the pain under his skin let up in the slightest, but it doesn't matter. Each sting of pleasure races through him before it reaches his cock and turns to pleasure as it tingles up from his root.
By the second thrust, he's letting out a breathless gasp of arousal as it happens. It's all heightened by the fact that Shigaraki won't stop talking.
"Squeeze your thighs tight, little one. That's it. Let me feel how badly your muscles shake as I fuck you right here. You can cry, baby boy. You can moan and whine. I like those sounds that you're making. I'd ask if that feels good, but you're staining your shirt with how much your cute prick is leaking." He never stops moving as he's speaking, never relents in the pleasure-pain that he's soaking Dabi's whole body in, and he doesn't know if he's going to be able to survive this. He's felt an orgasm come on before, but never without his hand around his cock. He tries to fumble to reach for it. Shigaraki catches his wrist and pins it to the bed, all but growling, "No, little one. You're going to cum just like this. You've already shown me that you can find your resolve, now show me how pretty you are as you break."
Dabi wonders if he should be embarrassed by how immediately that makes his cock twitch and his balls draw tight before his orgasm is rushing through him. He doesn't know if the pleasure has ever burned brighter than it does when he's coming apart as Shigaraki keeps fucking his swollen thighs harder. He moves and moves, every thrust pushing his pleasure higher and higher-- he didn't know that the pleasure of his orgasm could ricochet all through his body again and again even after his balls are empty and his cock can't spill anything else. But he feels so, so good as the ache keeps building between his thighs as it takes so much longer for Shigaraki to get his fill, the tops of his thighs slapping the injured bottoms of his own so hard he nearly squeals again as he fucks into the press of them that he tightens manually by squeezing them together in his rough grip as the head of his cock peaks out from between them, the ring cool against his skin, before his cum is splashing over Dabi's skin.
He's trembling on the bed, still gasping for breath as the other man lowers his legs to the bed again. His fingers go to Dabi's soft cock and he starts to tease and stroke him, making his nerves sting fresh and him choke out a sob as he shakes his head weakly.
Red eyes are so soft on him as he falls apart. "Okay, little one. Let me clean you up." And he does. He brings back the towel and Dabi takes note of the pitcher of water he brought to the nightstand. He uses the cloth to clean the cum from their skin and to make sure that his thighs are a little more soothed. Then he reaches into Dabi's bedside drawer for the medicine Natsuo makes to help keep his seams healthy and unswollen from how the staples can irritate his skin. He takes some of that on his fingers and rubs it into the welts across the backs of his thighs. The medicine soothes some of the ache and Dabi is so confused when, as the pain lessens, he feels like crying even more than he did before.
It takes a few minutes before Shigaraki is done with that and then he's reaching for Dabi's soiled shirt. "Alright, let's get you out of--"
Dabi shakes his head weakly. He just wants Shigaraki to go before he falls apart completely. The knight praised him for finding his resolve before and he wants to hold onto it but the tears feel like they're so big and heavy in his chest. He needs to let them out or he might combust again. He was always a crybaby. His siblings used to make fun of him for that until his life became so terrible that they couldn't deny that he had so much sorrow that it was unfair the gods took away the ability for him to shed it without also shedding blood. "... you can go." His voice is so small and shaky as he tries to make himself sit up. He can't manage though, everything from his waist down feeling like it's being lost in the ache of his thighs.
"No."
"I don't need your pity! I don't need you to baby me! You got what you wanted, you humiliated me! Just leave me alone and go tell my father that you've finally turned the unwanted son into nothing but a--" He can't fight the sob back. 'Whore' had crossed his mind. But the fact he had gone to bed with Shigaraki, that he had enjoyed it, reminds him too sharply of his mother and how their father treated her until her mind shattered apart. Oh gods, is that what is going to happen to him? Will he be sent away somewhere just like she was? He brings a shaky hand to his mouth to try and cover it because he might not be able to fight the sobs that are coming out of him, but he can do his best to muffle them.
He's not expecting for the knight to shush him gently and shift on the bed. He sits with his back against the headboard and pulls Dabi into his lap, hand gentle as he makes Dabi tuck his face into the crook of his neck even though he's smearing blood all over his skin. "Little one, you have never had my pity, only my contempt. You do not even have that now." He presses his face to the top of Dabi's head, and he wonders if he is entirely delusional when he thinks that he feels the other man give him a kiss there. "You have endured half a life of disgrace at the hands of your father and his kingdom. Now I have brought you down to the lowest point you could reach and raised you back up to the brightest pleasure you've ever had, have I not?"
Dabi feels his face heat and he hides it more against the other's skin. He didn't even touch his cock as he fucked his thighs. But it... had felt better than he'd ever managed to make himself feel with his hand tight on his length.
"We can keep finding those highs and lows when we're alone, little prince. But afterwards, I'm going to help you find a way to live in between them without letting you believe the way you are treated outside of these walls has been earned. You may have lost your magic and your standing in your father's court, but you are still alive, princeling. You still have time to become something greater than those things could have ever made you." His hand is gentle as it strokes along his back. "You can cry, sweet one. It's natural to mourn for the ways we've suffered."
Dabi doesn't want to fall apart, but the sobs come anyway, wracking and deep. He sobs and sobs and Shigaraki doesn't mock him. He doesn't leave. He holds him close, kisses his skin, and looks at him like he might be seeing something... precious for the first time when he considers him. Perhaps what's more astounding is that when the seams under his eyes are swollen and the bed is stained with blood, the knight still doesn't leave him. He wipes up his face, spells the bedding clean, and applies medicine to his face as the tub is filled with steaming water. He makes sure that Dabi is clean, that the medicine is applied fresh to his thighs again, and then he strips his own clothes and climbs back into the bed with him. He presses kisses to his face, across his shoulders, and gives him more soft, sweet words before he draws Dabi back into his chest and lets him sink deeply into the most restful sleep that he thinks he's had in over a decade.
///
Things are so very different after that. Shigaraki's contempt for him in their day-to-day conversations is no longer so strong. It only increases when he sees his spine begin to bow under the weight of the disinterest that the rest of the world gives him. When he falters and starts to sag, the knight brings him back to the room. He shuts the wards around them, and he has Dabi strip naked for him. He had protested at first and Shigaraki had simply turned and left the room. He came back the next morning as his duties required, but he had not spoken a kind word to him. Dabi had held out for a day more before he'd been stripped and waiting for the other on the morning of the third day. Shigaraki didn't hit him. He made him kneel on the floor and let the other rest a boot on his back until his knees were aching and all of his limbs were trembling from trying to hold the position for so long. It wasn't until the sun started to wane through the windows that Shigaraki had him look up from the floor and had taken the boot from his back. He had Dabi open his mouth as he undid his pants and took out his cock. He wasn't even hard at the time, but he slipped it inside of his mouth anyway. His knees were still hurting very badly, but he was able to stay like that for a long time until the pain became distant and there was a... foreign pleasure that started to press in along his body. He hadn't ever known that pain could become pleasure so intense, but as he felt his jaw stretch and go numb as spit started to dribble past his lips, his cock had hardened more rapidly than Shigaraki's. The other man had put his boot on his crotch. He hadn't applied any pressure to make it hurt, and after he was leaking against the sole of his shoe, he let him start to hump into the press like he was nothing but a desperate dog that was misbehaving.
Shigaraki assured him afterwards that he wasn't though. He let him cum, had taken himself from Dabi's mouth and had cum across his face, letting him taste someone else's cum for the first time. Dabi had been so embarrassed by the mess he'd made, by how ready he was to debase himself further, but the knight had easily picked him up when his limbs were too weak to carry himself, and had brought him over to the bed. He cleaned him up again and when Dabi had been trembling, terrified that he was going to leave him alone in the shame that was saturating his whole body, he had crawled back into the bed and gathered him close.
"You don't need to be scared, little one." He told him, his breath soft and sweet as he all but sighed the words against his skin. "After all of the more subtle cruelties you face each day, craving these ones, like this? Where you know that you're safe and when you know that you won't be pushed beyond what you can take-- that's alright. You can have this and enjoy it, princeling." His hand cupped his cheek and he made him look up at him, meet those red eyes that had a flicker of something in them that was softer and more... worried than he'd ever seen in the other's expression before. "You are still the prince. One word, and I will stop anything we may be doing. One word and I won't ever touch you again. You know that, don't you?"
He wasn't sure at the time, but he had nodded anyway, unable to trust his voice.
Shigaraki had drawn him tighter to his breast and had kissed the top of his head again. "You can stay like this a while, Dabi." He'd told him. "But not forever. You will have to find a way of existing outside of these moments. I won't be able to find you forever if you turn into a ghost each time my attention is elsewhere."
A ghost. That's what he thought of himself for so long. Ever since he burned. He died with the loss of his magic, he thought. And since then, he has only been a specter haunting the halls of the palace. He wasn't wanted, but no one could figure out how to exorcise him yet.
It took another few days of nothing sexual happening between them before Shigaraki had come and woken him before the crack of dawn. He'd brought him a page's vestments, and had urged him out of bed. He'd half expected the man was going to make him polish his armor before he violated him in the stables or something, but instead he had asked to see what he had learned before his coma. The forms felt horrible. He remembered how his body used to move through them, how he used to be able to train, but he didn't have the same muscles, the same flexibility, the same stamina that he'd needed to do so without embarrassing himself.
But Shigaraki had only nodded to himself and then brought him back up to his room to bathe and prepare himself for the rest of the day before the servants would bring his meal.
Dabi wasn't sure what the other man was planning, but he was already prepared to go back to bed by the time he'd finished his breakfast. For once, the knight did not complain about the laziness of his schedule because he said he wanted to go to the refugee camp that afternoon anyway. He left and Dabi slept.
///
It's a week later that Shigaraki comes into his room before dawn again, and he pulls the sheets tighter over his head, trying to hide in the blankets.
"I am not going back out to embarrass myself again! I'm sleeping!"
"You are not embarrassing yourself by resuming your training, you are embarrassing yourself," Shigaraki is so much stronger than him that he is easily able to rip the blankets from his hands and pull them back to expose his body to the chill of the air. "By allowing yourself to waste away in this room. Your father will not allow you to partake in political meetings, let you pursue a knighthood, or grant you permission to study any school of artistry in any official capacity. But you are the one who has chosen to instead do as he wants and let yourself become nothing but a memory of potential. Just because your magic is gone does not mean that you have no worth. Warriors without magic make a difference on the battlefield everyday. Artists without it are able to create masterpieces that hang in your family's gallery for centuries. And even the common man can bring concerns to the court and make a difference."
"Why do you care so much what I choose to do with my life? You don't even like me unless I'm degrading myself and letting you cum across my skin."
Shigaraki's expression does fill with a lighter contempt than it had when he'd first been assigned to him, but that still makes Dabi feel unbearably small. "I care," he says, "because a member of the royal family should not be squandering the opportunities that he was given by his very birth, even if they are not the ones he was promised then. I certainly enjoy the moments you let yourself submit to me, but even if you hadn't been so worked up after your first punishment, I would still be pursuing this goal. You are pathetic as you are now, but you have the potential to be more. I am not someone who can let such potential go wasted."
Dabi tries to wrap his head around that, annoyed as he can't tell if he's starting to blush because he was just insulted again or if it's because the... reassurance that Shigaraki really does want him in their encounters helps to soothe a deep ache in him that he didn't have a name for. He manages to not embarrass himself by addressing any of that and instead asking, "What goal?"
"The goal of turning a discarded ingot into a sword. Get up, get dressed. You will be decisive and sure by the time I am finished with you."
"And when exactly will that be?"
"If you manage to prove yourself to be worth my efforts? Perhaps never."
Dabi isn't expecting the way that makes warmth take root in his chest, but it does. Takami was his guard because he was a lazy piece of shit that wanted to stay in the castle as much as possible so he could flash his feathers at his father like he was hoping to take a mate. No other guard had ever chosen to stay on as his. Being assigned watching him was considered insulting since he was the thing in this castle that was worth so little it really didn't warrant being protected. They wanted to move onto bigger and better things. But Shigaraki just implied that he would stay. That things could be... Dabi isn't sure if the things that he's doing with the guard can be considered 'good', but they certainly are different, and Dabi... likes that difference. Things could be different like this for a while.
"You're insufferable and I should have you thrown in the stocks." He says as he gets out of bed and takes the page's clothes he's handed again.
"You would miss me if you left me there. Dress."
"Can I at least eat--"
"No. No sense in wasting the food in case you throw up."
"What the fuck am I going to be doing that could make me puke?"
///
Shigaraki didn't deign to answer him and instead brings him down to the training grounds as the sky begins to lighten from pitch to the deepest blue. But Dabi is surprised when they are not alone on the training grounds despite the early hour. A man is standing there. He is blond with a strong build, a livid scar splitting his forehead, and a shock of short blond hair, wearing peasant's clothes. Dabi bristles. No one but the castle staff and their knights should be here so early, and for one sickening moment he wonders if he's about to be killed. But Shigaraki catches his arm when he draws to a stop and pulls him forward.
The blond man hears their footsteps, Dabi's dragging as his panic builds, before he turns and smiles. "Yo, Tomura, what's up?"
"I hope that you didn't have any trouble getting over here?" Shigaraki asks when they are no more than a meter from the stranger. A stranger to him, but clearly someone that Shigaraki invited.
"No problem for me, man." He eyes Dabi. "This the prince?"
"One of them. Dabi, this is my friend, Jin Bubaigawara. Jin, this is your new trainee."
"'Trainee'?" Dabi bristles, turning his attention completely to Shigaraki. "I'm not going to be trained by a--" the word catches on his tongue as he realizes the rudeness of it and is leveled with a dry look from his guard. "Person who does not have formal training himself."
"You're in luck then. Jin does has formal training. He was a soldier since he was your youngest brother's age. His injury has kept him off of the battlefield for a few years, but he's still able to use his unique abilities to help train others."
"Oh," he feels his face flush slightly. "My apologies, thank you for your service, Sir Bubaigawara."
The blond man laughs uproariously and Dabi's embarrassment only grows at his complete rudeness. "'Sir' never had that before. You can just call me 'Jin'."
Shigaraki lets go of Dabi's arm and takes a step back, letting the other man start to speak. He asks Dabi how much training he received as a child, how often he exercises now, what he remembers of his sword forms, and then he nods. He gives Dabi one of the training swords and casts a spell. It's beyond strange when he sees the other man's shadow separate itself from his body and stand across from him, the shape of it morphing from Jin's mirror to one of his own. He hesitates, glancing at Shigaraki, but the knight is just watching with those assessing red eyes.
"Go ahead and run through your practice maneuvers like you would against one of the dummies." Jin instructs him.
Dabi does his best, but he feels slow and uncoordinated as he brings his sword against the body made of darkness that is shaped like him. It feels as solid as his own body each time he strikes it and there is a brewing discomfort in his chest as he lands the weak blows against it. When he finishes the set he takes a step back.
"Good, now, this guy," Jin pats the shade's shoulder, "is going to do that exact same sequence against you and you're going to try to defend. While you do, you'll be able to see exactly how you were moving before. Try to pay attention to that too while you avoid getting your shit kicked in."
Dabi doesn't feel all that confident about that, but he's glad he was at least given a warning before the other spurs the conjuration to life. The first blow he blocks is already testing his strength. His arms are so weak after the first round of his maneuvers that he doesn't think that he'll be able to block the blows throughout the whole set. He's slow, but so is the shade. The power that it strikes him with makes his arms shake, but it doesn't knock the training sword out of his hands the way that his father used to. He knows the moves that are coming, he sees the way that the shadow trembles between moves, how long it takes between each form to move again like it's already exhausted. He sees how he looks to others as he tries so hard to do what they were asking him to, and he doesn't know if he'll manage it. But he gets through the shade's set without letting a single swipe go under his guard.
"Perfect, now we're going to switch again. Look for the weaknesses in your defenses, and see if you can exploit them."
And on this goes. Jin has him try until his arms are so heavy that he can't even lift them and then he spends an additional hour showing him how to improve his footwork so that his attacks aren't so easily and blatantly choreographed. But he gives Shigaraki a thumbs up and the knight looks vaguely pleased himself before he turns to take him off to the castle as the sun rises high overhead. Dabi is exhausted and sweaty as they get back to their room, and Shigaraki rewards him for his hard work by letting him bathe before he feeds him some of the food that his servants bring. When he wants to get back into bed, he allows that too, having him spread his legs so he can move between them and dip his head down to his skin.
Dabi is a whole new kind of humiliated when he kisses his hole well before the knight has ever deigned to put his mouth against his lips, but he can't deny himself the pleasure that goes through him as he licks inside of his aching body.
///
The training sessions with Jin continue, first every other day, but as Dabi starts to actually be able to move after each, they turn to each day. And every day he learns a little more. His muscles get a little stronger, his steps more sure, his speed better. It takes months of training, but he improves. He even gets to the point where Jin or Shigaraki themselves will spar with him. Jin always goes easy on him, always just barely tapping him with the sword when he slips and isn't able to block. Shigaraki always makes sure to strike him just short of breaking skin. But the pain reminds him sharply to do better next time, while the soft touches as Shigaraki rubs the medicine into his skin in the privacy of his chambers remind him that the knight is never doing this for cruelty's sake. He can make this stop at any second with just one word. But he never does. He wants to less and less as he has to order new clothing because his shoulders are widening, has to have larger meals sent to his room because his stomach is no longer concave as he wastes away beneath his scars. He is growing. He is... getting stronger again. It becomes easier for him to hold his spine straighter. He wonders if he should be ashamed that it is also so easy to let himself bend it whenever Shigaraki demands, but the pleasure that comes in the moments he lets the other control him completely banishes that thought from his mind.
///
He didn't mean to go three months without seeing his siblings, but Shoto is extremely busy with matters of the war and court. Natsuo has been constantly making potions and healing any soldiers who are brought to the castle as the skirmish that started in Ontsall continues to rage. Fuyumi is the only one he can see, and that's only because the worsening skirmish had gotten to the point that potential suitors are being brought to her instead of her being sent off to distant kingdoms to court favor. He may not have meant for the last time he saw her to be when she sentenced Shigaraki to twenty lashes and sent everything that has happened between him and his guard into motion, but when he enters her chambers and her cheeks immediately pink when she sees Shigaraki following behind him, he realizes that she must not be over her reaction to his cruel words even if Dabi has had more than enough time to get over them.
"Don't worry about that, Fu," he says as he crosses the room to sit at the table they always sit at when he comes for a visit. "He didn't even feel them. Damn bastard didn't even bruise."
He doesn't think his sister looks all that relieved about that, her eyes moving away from Shigaraki and locking on him, widening with her surprise. "Oh-- Toya, you look... good."
Healthy. Solid. Less like a ghost than he did before. His body may always be disfigured with the evidence of his magic leaving him, but he is not the specter that used to come and haunt her rooms when she was free of her own duties. He looks real again. He feels real again. "I've been entertaining myself since our father has no need of me."
"I'm glad," she sounds it, but her eyes do flick to Shigaraki again and she makes herself straighten her spine. It would be improper for her to apologize for doling out the punishment that she did, but her nature and guilt are making it difficult for her to hold her tongue, clearly.
"Sir Shigaraki," he calls to the guard who is maintaining his post at the door. "I believe you owe my sister an apology. The last time we were here you were extremely disrespectful using that language in front of her."
"Toya, no--!"
"You're right, my prince." Shigaraki's voice is measured, but warmer than it normally is in front of others. Respectful, but so falsely that Dabi is certain that he is going to be punished severely when they find a moment alone again. He bows to his sister, and Dabi is a little jealous that the other man hasn't ever done so for him, before he speaks again. "You have my sincerest apologies, Princess Fuyumi. My behavior the last time we saw each other was unwarranted and extremely disrespectful. If someone had spoken to my sister the way I spoke to your brother, I would have demanded a far worse punishment. Your grace and decorum are truly something to behold and I hope that I may be worthy of what I have been shown of them some day."
Dabi would have immediately bitched at him over the massive amount of horseshit that apology was when he knows that Shigaraki probably would have been more impressed if his sister had given him a worse punishment after his backtalk last time. But instead he is gaping at the other man as his sister raises a hand to try and cover the tiny gasp that comes from her throat.
"Sister? What sister?" Dabi demands, finding his voice first as Shigaraki straightens back up to maintain his position at the door.
"You told the king that you were an orphan. That you had no family." Her voice is more terrified than indignant like his own. "If he discovers you lied to him in front of the entire court--"
"My apologies, I've told neither you nor the king a lie about my family. She is not my sister by blood, which is the only way the laws of this kingdom recognize kin. But we were raised together. I dried her tears, I bandaged her skinned knees, I watched her grow until I was not allowed to be at her side anymore. I got work and tried to protect my farm so that I might be able to bring her back to my side one day." He stops speaking for a moment, his teeth clenching and a muscle twitching in the side of his jaw as he swallows the words that they all know he wants to say, but that he cannot without letting his tongue slip and potentially showing their father the same disrespect he so casually showed Dabi the first time they were all together in this room. Knights in the king's circle are not allowed relationships outside of it unless directly condoned by their father. Those relationships, historically, have only been to sire children along with another of the kingdom's strong magical bloodline. A foster sister that cannot bring the kingdom more power is not someone he will ever be allowed to try to find again. "She is not blood, but she is kin." Is all he says instead.
Three months of letting the man train him, debase him, pamper him, and he still knows nearly nothing about him.
"How old is she?" Fuyumi asks.
"She would be fifteen now. She was always working for one of the textile factories in the city, so even once I had my farm, I wasn't able to purchase her contract to get her away from there."
"Textiles?" Dabi sees the gears turning in his sister's head faster than his own and he hesitates. But yes, that could work. "That's fascinating. You know, Shoto's sixteenth birthday is fast approaching. The ball that will be thrown will be quite a spectacle with people visiting from far and wide. I've been granted permission to gather some extra hands to assist me while I work on crafting my dress. Does your sister have any skill with embroidery?"
Oh they are all going to be in so much trouble if Enji finds out about this and Fuyumi is definitely letting her guilt drive her generosity. But, well, Tomura's eyes are bright and glimmer in a way that makes Dabi's stomach swoop a bit. He can't quite name the look there, but it seems to be a good one, because when they are alone again in his chambers, the punishment he doles out for his insolence in public is very light before he's letting Dabi grind himself into his pillows while the other watches him, actually letting him reach his satisfaction this time as he does.
///
It takes another week, but the day that Shigaraki's foster sister is supposed to arrive, they go down to the gates near the refugee camp. Jin and Atsuhiro, the merchant who spoke for the rest of the village, are also there, waiting. Jin, apparently, met Shigaraki and his sister when he was stationed near their orphanage, and is equally as excited to see the young woman again. And with the castle preparing itself to be stuffed to the brim with the foreign dignitaries and their own servants, Atsuhiro offered to let her stay in the tent that Shigaraki had assigned to him before he ended up in the kingdom's service. Dabi feels strange waiting at the gates for this with Shigaraki and the people he calls friends. He and Jin get along well enough during his training, but he is supposed to be the prince, even disgraced, he shouldn't be down in the refugee camp waiting to see a servant into the palace. He'd even told Shigaraki that he could stay in his room while he reunited with his sister so he could see her without having to worry about shirking his other duties, but the other had promised him five lashes if he wouldn't get dressed and come down with him.
Five lashes are hardly an issue now, more of a tease than anything, but Shigaraki's eyes had gone hot on him when he'd been so defiant about that and he had climbed into his bed with him, his hand reaching down into his sleep clothes to stroke along his thighs, murmuring that if he could take the hits there so easily, that perhaps he would have to put them against something more sensitive. He had fondled him for long enough that Dabi was starting to go breathless and squirm, before delivering a firm tap against his sac that left him gasping in a whole different way. He'd gotten out of bed then, but he had a feeling that was not just an idle threat. He's not sure how much he's going to enjoy that punishment when he eventually earns it, but each punishment comes with a sweeter reward. Hands petting over the hurts, lips kissing his skin until it's humming instead of screaming with his pain, and maybe, someday, Shigaraki will deign him worthy of bedding him properly. He has access to plenty of tomes, he knows how men tend to join themselves when they wish to. He wants to know what it will feel like when Shigaraki finally decides he's worthy of having his massive cock inside of him. It's a thought that has him hard when he's alone in his room at night, desperately trying not to touch himself because he has a feeling that he'll be punished for that if Shigaraki finds out that he's done it.
Shigaraki's posture is already perfect, but he seems to try to straighten more beside him, and that tells Dabi that he is slouching. He used to have good posture, but after nearly a decade of being told to make himself smaller and less regal, his spine began to bow. He is having to learn to hold his head high again. So he straightens and waits. The gates are open today, they open most days, to allow people to come and go, attending to their various businesses around the grounds and in the city beyond. That means it's impossible to tell when the young woman is going to come through, and they end up waiting, the three other men chatting and trying to involve him in their conversation for well over an hour before they hear a loud,
"Shiggy," in a feminine voice ringing out around the grounds.
Dabi has never seen Shigaraki slip in public. Even in their private moments, he is always so in control. But in this one, he sees the emotions flood across the other man's face. He sees the way the smile lights up his eyes first, sees how it splits his features, and he moves. He breaks his post to rush, in step with Jin, over to the young woman who is throwing her hood off of her head. Her hair is a little past her shoulders and yellow as wheat, bright topaz eyes matching with thick, dark lashes framing them, and a smile of her own that is so bright that the sun may be hidden behind the clouds today because it knew its radiance would not be able to eclipse her joy. She all but leaps into Shigaraki's arms and holds onto him so tightly as the knight clings to her as well, lifting her from the ground as he hugs her. They're too far away now for Dabi to hear what they are saying, but as Jin reaches them too, the woman reaches to bring him into the hug as well. There is a sinking in Dabi's gut as he watches this all happen. Joy like this is so rare in his world, in the kingdom. The war has been raging for nearly a century and a half, fought by his father's father before him. So many die or are separated from the people they want to be with in the pursuit of a victory that will help to bring all of this suffering to an end. But there is no end in sight. It was something that he'd had to start thinking about when he was next in line for the throne, but now that responsibility lies with Shoto. He doesn't know how his youngest brother could possibly find a way to bring peace to the kingdom, so he supposes he'll just have to hope that when he becomes king, he can at least bring a bit more of this kind of joy here instead.
The three have to move out from the middle of the road to stop impeding traffic, but that spurs them to move back over to him and the merchant. Shigaraki's eyes are still bright when he approaches him. "Toga, this is Prince Dabi, my charge, and Dabi, this is Himiko Toga, my adoptive sister."
"Hello!" She curtsies to him but pops back up very quickly. "It's nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you too, your... brother has been so excited to bring you home."
Toga grins, one of her arms around Shigaraki's waist and her body pressed into his side as her eyes move from him to take in the rest of the palace grounds. "This looks like it will be a great home." She tells Shigaraki.
Shigaraki's eyes are on his when he tells her, "It is certainly better than I first thought it would be."
///
Their days change again now that Toga is in the castle. She often sneaks out of the camp early in the morning and waits with Jin for them at the training grounds, wearing trousers and a tunic, her hair tied up into two uneven buns. She trains with a dagger more than a sword against the shade he conjures for her. Her dress is already scandalous but apparently even the two strange men he's come to know are aware that she would never be able to get away with carrying around a sword. But Dabi can't help his confusion as they pause for a break on the third day after her arrival.
"Why are you learning to fight? Now that you are in my sister's employ, you will have all of the protections of the castle and guards-- as soon as the ball has ended."
Toga gives him a strange look and the expression is at least partially mirrored on the faces of the other two as well. "Everyone should know how to fight." She says.
"No, they shouldn't," Dabi tells her carefully. "That is why my father has such strict laws and recruiting practices for the armies of the kingdom. He may not always do good, but he is always trying to do right by the people of his kingdom. He wants to ensure that the violence of the war does not seep into every aspect of our citizens' lives."
"And what happens if your armies fail?" Shigaraki says his tone harder than it has been in a long time and his eyes flat and cold. "If your guards cannot hold the borders, the way they so often fail to? Then enemy forces will flood those villages. They can pillage, plunder, devour, rape, and inflict other violences and horrors on your citizens that have no way of protecting themselves. When the dragons come to the borders, those people are lucky if they are eaten before the demonic soldiers swell through the streets. They know it too. The amount of times people are found hanging in their own homes because they couldn't bear to endure or fight to live or flee is disgusting." Shigaraki's voice is cold and furious when he speaks and Dabi is left staring at him. "Everyone should know how to defend themselves. A soldier's training should be imparted to everyone alongside their basic education so that even if the crown fails, the people will not be so easily trounced and subjugated by whoever comes to take their place."
Dabi struggles to find words. Shigaraki is always spouting off things that are near treason when they are alone, but this kind of challenge against the crown and the way their military is run is actually treacherous. If anyone heard him speaking like this, he would be lucky if he only had his tongue cut out. It feels unnatural, and the other man doesn't even flinch, but he brings his hand across his face anyway. "Do not ever speak of the crown being overtaken again. Words like that breed misfortune and the darkness in the hearts of our enemies."
There's not even a mark on Shigaraki's cheek, and his eyes are cold when they meet his again. "Yes, your highness."
"If your sister wants to learn to fight, that is her prerogative." She shouldn't be doing it and it could get her ostracized and potentially fired from her position if her unladylike decorum is brought to the attention of anyone else, but it is her choice, so long as she can keep it hidden. "But do not make the mistake of thinking that your knighthood allows you to speak so freely about matters of state."
"Yes, your highness." He turns his attention back to his sister who looks like she'd very much like to gut him with the dagger in her hand for his treatment of her brother. But Shigaraki makes her shift her attention back to her forms and Dabi resumes his own training. His hand feels wrong for the rest of the day, but he had to do it. Has to show Shigaraki that he cannot be so blatant in his disrespect. If he becomes too comfortable making his criticisms with him, then he could say something inappropriate in front of the wrong person, and he wouldn't even have a chance to try to save him, his father's wrath would be so immediate and complete. The thought of the knight being lost to him is something too heavy in his chest for him to endure. So he has to learn. He has to stay safe.
Though the rest of their training is tense, when he returns to his rooms with Shigaraki, the other man doesn't turn the punishment back on him. He just catches his wrist before he lets Dabi go to bathe. He holds him and looks at the palm that came across his cheek and then he brings it to his face again, this time to press a kiss to his skin. But he says nothing and he lets go of him almost immediately after, moving to take up his position at the door again. Dabi hopes that means that he understands why he did it.
But after his bath, he's allowed to eat and study for a while, until Shigaraki urges him to visit his sister so he can see his own again as well. Toga, when she's not practicing with a blade, is working hard. The young woman doesn't have the wealth of magic that Shigaraki has, but she does have her own unique ability. She is able to mimic any spell cast in front of her if she has a drop of the caster's blood. Apparently trying to mimic something beyond her abilities can leave her unconscious for days and may even kill her if the spell manages to work at all, but taking a drop of Fuyumi's blood on her tongue allows her to cut his sister's work in half as she can go bolt by bolt with her over the many layers of fabric her gown all needs embroidered. She is more than happy to prick her finger each day to be able to get her work done more quickly, as it will give her dressmakers breathing room to ensure that the final piece is everything that will be expected of all of them.
And while she and Toga work, the young woman talks and talks. She seems to have so many things to say, so many questions about what it's like to be a princess and prince, what their life in the castle is like when they're not attending court, what their court is like. While Shigaraki seems to have nothing but contempt for the entire world that he has found himself in since his abilities awakened, Toga is all bright curiosity.
"You don't have meals together?" She asks as she sits on the floor with the bolt laid out in front of her. His sister currently only has one worktable in the room, but he believes she's having another made if Toga is going to stick around to continue to help her with her craft. For now, the polished floor is the only other place in this room that is large enough for her to get a meter of the fabric in front of her to create the repeating pattern reliably.
"No. The king takes his meals either alone or occasionally with his advisors. When I am not entertaining, I take my meals in my room, as does Toya."
"We always take all of our meals together." Toga tells them. "In the main hall, everyone gathers to eat and talk. It's almost like a festival every night." Which is higher praise of an orphanage than Dabi had really expected, but he supposes, given her and Shigaraki's close bond, that even if the people running it weren't kind or warm, the children stuck there forged their own bonds. "Since Prince Shoto's birthday is coming up, will that be a big festival?"
"It will be a celebration." Fuyumi says with a tentative smile. "There will be a formal dinner and some dancing and mingling, but it won't be a festival. Our brother is spending most of his time embroiled in his military studies and our father wants to put the border skirmish to an end swiftly. Unless that manages to be settled before Shoto's birthday, he will only allow an evening of revelry before they both resume their work."
"Oh, that's boring. You all barely get to see each other, right? It sucks that you're not going to get to spend more time with your other siblings even on a special occasion."
Fuyumi's smile is a little fractured when she looks at Toga. He doesn't know when the desire to have a family that is whole and healthy crystalized in her, but it is something she longs for, and he can see how much it's weighing on her to not have it now. "The four of us spend time together whenever we can. And Toya still comes to visit me, so what else can I really ask for? We're at war."
"You could ask for better company," Shigaraki says, speaking for the first time in hours. "From what I hear, Prince Shoto has a far fairer temperament than Dabi."
"I am more than fair enough for you, you pompous dragon slayer!" He snaps automatically, but there is further relief in him at just hearing the other's voice again since he reprimanded him this morning.
"I haven't killed any of the dragons I've fought so far." He says pointedly.
"Shoto certainly has a kinder temperament than Toya." Fuyumi, the traitor, agrees. "Do you two have any other... siblings?"
"Oh yeah," Toga tells her happily. "We've got big sis Magne, she's a few years younger than Jin, and Spinner, he's Tomu's age and left a few months after him. He got to stay close by though, so I could still see him when neither of us were working. He promised that he'd come visit soon too." She says, looking back at Shigaraki.
"He should come around for the party. Magne too if she's not too busy with her own responsibilities. The knights are supposed to have time afterward on their own for their hard work. We can spend time together and catch up."
"Okay!" Toga beams at him. "I'll make sure to send them a message."
It's still months off, for his and his brother's birthdays, but if she wants to send mail that far south then it's probably good to send that information out sooner rather than later. Half of the knights on the guard, the older ones who have been here for longer, will be off duty during the festivities, encouraged to try and find suitable potential partners who will be able to bring more magic and status to the kingdom, while the younger ones like Shigaraki should be free of their duties for three days two days after the festivities themselves once the foreign guests have left. If they want to see their other friends from the orphanage, then that's something that Toga has every right to request, even if Shigaraki might get a talking to from his father if he doesn't determine Shigaraki's friends to have any exploitable power.
"Are you liking it here?" He asks Toga. "Your asshole of a brother has been glowering since he arrived."
"Shiggy gets really serious about work." Toga says automatically. "But he's a lot more fun when he's off the clock! He and Spinner love to play games at festivals and bars. He usually puts people off by smiling and laughing too much."
"Am I not allowed to enjoy myself?" Shigaraki sounds a bit amused by her declaration.
Dabi suddenly wonders if he's ever even seen him happy before. He thought that... Shigaraki was enjoying himself when he's made him degrade himself. But maybe the satisfaction he takes from his body isn't real the way that he thought it was. Maybe it was just... nothing. Maybe it was just a way to pass the time and find physical satisfaction that he couldn't get as easily as he could before he was trapped in this castle.
"When you're cackling like a demon? No. It's off-putting." Toga tells him. She is very personable and cheerful, so she keeps the conversation going for as long as Fuyumi can let their visit go on before she has other things to see to for the day.
///
"You're getting good at that," Shigaraki tells him, his hand petting through his hair as Dabi kneels on the stone floor of his bedchambers, the guard's cock sunk as deep into his throat as he can take it. It still makes his eyes burn like they want to prickle with tears on the edges, but the weight of the other in his mouth and the taste of his skin is something that Dabi is scared he's going to start to crave. Oh, if anyone ever found out how much he likes to be on his knees for Shigaraki, he thinks that he might die. Shigaraki calls him a whore sometimes and his skin gets so hot, but if the kingdom knew what he was doing, then even death wouldn't be able to restore his lost honor in their eyes. But he likes having his mouth full, likes how Shigaraki's hand cards through his hair and moves around to cradle the back of his head, not forcing himself any deeper, but just... holding him. Dabi can't help looking up at the other through his lashes, his body and chest so full of warmth as he sucks and swallows around him the way that he was taught. Shigaraki's eyes meet his and he sees... something flicker through them. He doesn't know what it is, but he doesn't want to think about it. Not when he feels so heavy and so very light at the same time. He just wants the evidence of the other's enjoyment coating his throat and tongue. Dabi continues to work his mouth over his length, letting himself sink into the movements more deeply each time, his own arousal the only thing that keeps him from sinking into deep satisfaction as his mouth moves.
Shigaraki spills down his throat, not warning him before he does, just keeping him in place when he's deep inside so that Dabi will swallow away the salty, bitter stream of his cum as it splashes down his throat. It wasn't a flavor he liked at first, but now, he savors it, moving his tongue against his skin for a while longer after he's finished spilling to ensure that he has every drop of the other's release in his mouth. The knight makes him pull off once he's softened again and Dabi whines quietly when he's allowed to rest his cheek against his thigh as his hand continues to pet through his hair. The softness that comes after he's finished being disciplined makes his need so much higher and he doesn't know if he'll be allowed to cum today. He slipped during his training today and pulled some of his staples from his seams. They are bandaged over right now to keep him from bleeding, but new soldiers came in needing treatment. Shigaraki sent word to the healers, but no one has arrived yet, and Dabi would prefer it if they didn't until after they've seen to the wounded. His injury is from his own inability to get his training right, they deserve the attention more than him. He doesn't know if he deserves to feel good either when he wasn't able to perform the way Shigaraki expects him to even though he's getting stronger, and he doesn't dare ask. He still feels good now, even without an orgasm, he doesn't want to risk ruining that by getting more beratement for his uselessness if he begs for more.
Shigaraki keeps stroking his hair as he murmurs, "Such a pretty blush on your cheeks, little prince. Lift your shirt for me."
Dabi bites his lip to keep from whining. He's only wearing his shirt right now and when he's kneeling like this, it's only just long enough to cover himself up. But he reaches for the hem anyway with one hand and pulls it up, fisting the fabric against his stomach as his cock is chilled by the air of the room.
"So cute how hard you get just having your filthy mouth used." His voice is still soft and the hand is gentle, but Dabi turns his face more into his leg so he doesn't have to look up at him and see whatever that flicker was in his eyes again. Maybe he's tired of this game. Maybe the contempt will turn to disinterest, pity, or, worst of all, indifference the way that everyone else's eyes have always turned when they look at him. He doesn't want to invite those looks because he thinks, after having these past few months of Shigaraki looking at him, he will shatter apart completely if it does happen. "Show me how cute your face is when you cum, baby boy."
He wants to immediately put his hand on his cock, but he knows better, "Thank you, sir." He wants it, but he has to prove that he's good. He knows what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to act when Shigaraki is the only person who has ever deigned to give him this.
"You're being such a good boy today, sweetheart." His hand is so soft in his hair and his voice is so warm. "I think you've earned a reward. Do you want to sit in my lap, precious? Or do you want to stroke yourself?"
That has him peeking up at the other man. His eyes are still bright on him, for now. "...I'm not... in trouble?"
Shigaraki frowns at him, fingers stopping at the nape of his neck. "Why would you be in trouble, beautiful?"
"... We had to stop."
That has his brows furrowing too and then the other hooks a hand under his arm and pulls him up, pulls him into his lap. "Princeling, people get hurt training. I'm sure that you had your fair share of pulled muscles and broken blisters even back when you were little. You're not in trouble." Both of his hands come to cup his cheeks and keep him looking at him. "I always tell you why you're being punished, don't I?"
Dabi manages a small nod.
"You're not being punished, little one." His thumbs are soft when they move over the lines of staples in his cheeks. "I just wanted to enjoy you being so cute."
Dabi feels his face warm, but the words don't fully remove the tightness in his chest. Knights aren't forbidden from finding other company as long as they can do it discreetly, but Shigaraki has been taking his duties so seriously that he's barely ever away from Dabi's side for longer than to rest at night. He could have other partners. Ones who are actually cute instead of ruined the way he is. Ones that he doesn't need to punish at all because they can be good for him all the time. Shigaraki must see the flicker of those thoughts behind his eyes, because his are even softer on him when he carefully moves his hand down to his cock, stroking him so that he stays hard even as the mess in his head makes it difficult for him to focus. He very rarely has Shigaraki's hands on his body like this and the sharper spike of pleasure has him squirming slightly and whimpering.
"You could have anyone." The words are weak and miserable. He could. Like Fuyumi, like Shoto. His magic is so strong, his father will want Shigaraki to have children, lots of them probably. He might even let him have a male lover if he agrees to sire those children with a female one. But he doesn't need to have him. The broken, useless prince who he has to train to be as good for him as he wants him to be. Someone who, if anyone discovered their entanglement, he would be reprimanded and Dabi might... he thinks that his siblings would at least argue for exile rather than execution. His father would never want him distracting one of his knights. They would never see each other again if anyone discovered them, and his... heart breaks at the thought of not having Shigaraki in his life anymore. He's only had Shigaraki for a few months, but if he had to go without him, he doesn't know if he would survive it. He needs the other man. He wants him to be in his life because his life, for the first time in years, feels worth holding onto. Losing that would break him in a way that he couldn't bear to experience.
Shigaraki's other hand moves to catch his chin and make sure that he is looking at him even though he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and close out all that is happening to and around him. He doesn't want to look the other in the eyes and be told that he is only warming his cock until he can get a new assignment. That he exists like this because the other man was simply bored. And then Shigaraki speaks, "I chose you," and makes Dabi's heart swell so full that it takes away all of the echoes of grief that he was trying to claim before they'd even come for him. "You're mine, little prince." Shigaraki's voice is not as steady as it was before, there's a growl to it, a possessiveness that has his grip tightening against his skin and sending sharper pleasure spilling out over Dabi's nerves, the words and touch making him twitch against the knight's palm.
He feels how much Dabi likes those words and the hunger in his expression goes ravenous. He lets go of Dabi's length and moves his hands to his hips, letting him rock forward against his thigh. Shigaraki's thighs are thick and muscled, and the texture of his trousers adds another intoxicating sensation when he's allowed to grind into his lap. Dabi's whole head feels dizzy with heat. This is a reward because Shigaraki knows how much he likes to be allowed to cum, but also how much he likes to be made helpless and small in his lap, so needy for his pleasure that he'd debase himself by humping his leg like a dog.
Shigaraki lets him move, lips ghosting over the smooth skin of his cheek to kiss the blush there before he's murmuring, "That's it, little one. Why would I ever want anyone else? My pretty little princeling who was so lost, but who has shown me every step of the way how badly he wants to be more than what he was forced to be. My sweet boy who always takes his punishments and learns to be better. My darling lo-- my darling," he corrects the word, moving his thigh up against Dabi to distract him from the slip, "who won't ever be the jewel of the kingdom again because I am going to selfishly keep you all to myself. I am going to tear down this world to make a place perfect enough for you to sit, my precious prince. How could you ever doubt how deeply my affection goes, little one?" He asks, face nuzzling into his neck. "Perhaps you do need to be punished. I know that those lovely eyes are sharper than that when they are open and attentive."
"No, no, no," he can't be punished now. Not when the words are putting pleasure under his skin as sharply as the frantic movements of his hips, getting easier with each one because he's starting to leak all over the other's pants with his desperation to cum.
"'No', you don't want to be mine? Or 'no', you're such a desperate little whore that you don't want to stop?"
"Don't stop," he whines, his voice breathless and thin.
Shigaraki presses a kiss to his neck like he isn't disgusted by his scars. "Oh, my precious one, it is a miracle that you were not born a commoner or you would have ended up a harlot. A miracle that you were born a prince and made to wait all of these years so that I could be the first one to get to experience your pleasure. A gift to get to train your needy body to adore my touches instead of letting you be tainted by less worthy hands."
Dabi has wanted a lot of things in his life. He wanted to be a dragon slayer. He wanted to grow his magic beyond his father's expectations. He wanted to recover from his injuries. He wanted to even just be acknowledged by the court afterwards. He has wanted so much and so ardently that Dabi thought that would be all he was for the rest of this life. But none of those aches can compare to how much he wants Shigaraki. His touches, the words, the idea of... of belonging to someone if he can't even belong in his own kingdom. He wants someone as devoted to him as the other man says he will be. He would kneel at his feet and take any punishment that he's earned for the rest of his life if he could have this.
But he's selfish, and he asks for a little more as he tries to turn his face to Shigaraki's, his mouth panting and desperate, and seeking out his skin. He's never been allowed to put his lips on his body save for along his cock. He hasn't been allowed so many things during their entanglements even though he wants them so badly, and when he turns his face to try and get a kiss, he is not given it this time either, putting a stone back in his guts.
When Shigaraki pulls back to look at him though, all of the heat is still there. "Not yet, precious. Not until you've chosen me too."
"I want you." He tells the other, his fingers digging into the muscle of his chest as he tries to cling to him.
"I know, little one. But you can't choose me yet. Not until you know every inch of who I am." He presses a kiss to the edge of his lips and moves his thigh again. "For now, all you have to do is choose to let yourself have your pleasure."
"Please," Let him cum, let him in, he just wants it all. Tomura holds him closer as he dips his head again to his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his throat as his hands move over Dabi's skin. One hand up to his chest, fingers teasing at his nipples, the other helping him keep the rhythm that brings his pleasure higher and higher. When he manages to cum, it's when his body is trembling and tight, his need an ache inside of him as Tomura strokes his skin.
They lay together in his bed and that sends a heavier, sweeter pleasure through his veins as he lets himself cling to the other man, their chests pressed together, his nose against the other's collarbone. Tomura's hands move along his back and his hair, petting him as Dabi's breathing goes steady again.
"...You never talk about yourself. Jin and Toga tell me more about you than you do." His voice is so small as he clings to the other, his fingers touching the deep scars that are carved into Tomura's back that he still doesn't know how they got there.
Tomura's hands tighten on him too. "You will know everything about me when it's time, then you can decide if you want to be with me afterward."
"When?" He doesn't want to keep waiting. The skirmish on the border will end eventually. Takami might take his post back and Dabi won't be able to see Tomura anymore.
Tomura shifts so he can take one of Dabi's hands in his own, fingertips running up his before he threads them together. "When someone new sits on your father's throne. When this kingdom is not rotted from that poisoned root. When you can stand tall and choose who you want to kneel to and what your future will bring."
Dabi holds onto him tighter. "I want a future with you."
"Then we will walk the halls together. Everyone will know that you are mine and that all of my devotion belongs to you. Our future will stretch out into an unending line of possibilities." Red eyes on him, no flicker of hesitation or insincerity in them.
"It's so far away," his throat is tight. Years until Shoto takes the throne, more before his father dies. How can the other be so certain that he will still want him after all of that time? "He could send you away at any moment."
"I would tear down this entire world before I let anyone take me from your side, my prince."
Tomura kisses his knuckles and Dabi believes him, but he's about to beg for a real kiss. One against his lips, but he manages to change the direction his tongue wags. "How did your back get hurt?"
The other man rubs his thumb along his knuckles for a moment, and then he lets out a shaky breath. "It never did. Those aren't scars, precious, they're something I was born with."
They're so deep and the texture of them makes the muscles beneath feel strange under his other hand. "Does it hurt?"
"No, but it could be more comfortable."
Dabi touches the mark and feels a strange shifting beneath his shoulder blade. He's about to ask what he means by that when a sharp knock against his door has both of them tensing on the bed.
"Toya?" Natsuo's voice comes from the other side and Dabi's entire body flushes even as his stomach swoops with his fear. They can't be seen so disheveled together. Shigaraki takes his hand from his own and taps easily into his magic to clean their skin and his pants as they both sit up. They both move swiftly, not daring to pause to exchange any further words. The knight pulls his shirt, tunic, and bracers back on as Dabi pulls on his pants, leaving his bandaged side exposed as if he'd just left the shirt off after being bandaged. Shigaraki looks so put together that Dabi could believe that nothing had been happening between them just a moment before, but he aches with the need for it back. The future they were imagining, the honesty the other man was giving him, it made something inside him ache so keenly that he doesn't know how he could have lived without it before now.
When he's sitting on the bed, not looking like he was just being debauched by his guard, Shigaraki lowers the wards around the room and goes to open the door. It's been at least two months since he's gotten to see Natsuo in anything but passing, and though his brother looks tired already from a long morning with the soldiers, he still has a smile for him as he moves past Shigaraki and greets him.
He only seems to notice that Shigaraki is not Takami, but he doesn't pay the knight any other attention as he helps to close the wound on his side. Dabi is happy to see his brother, but he can't deny that he's mourning the loss of closeness that was between he and Tomura when, by the time Natsuo leaves, it feels like it would be unnatural and jarring to try and find it again. He will get it, get to know every inch of the other man, when Tomura has decided he's earned it. He can work for that and wait patiently when there is nothing he can do to speed it along.
It's only as he's going to sleep that night after Shigaraki has left that Dabi realizes that this is the first time in nearly a decade that he is looking forward to the future.
///
Dabi is not a morning person, but getting up early to train each day has at least become routine enough that he isn't as aggressively unhappy about it. It's better now, anyway, because Tomura will wake him with kisses to his brow and cheeks, affection to get him to start the day in a less cranky manner than before. However, even if he's gotten used to being up early, that does not mean that he is prepared for Toga bounding over to them as soon as they step foot onto the training grounds, beaming and immediately catching Tomura's hands so that she can bounce around as squeal.
"Big sis and Spinner are coming to the party!" Her voice is too loud and joyous for this time of the morning and even his knight seems to think the same as he pulls his hands from hers so that he can level a flick that makes a loud thump against her forehead. "Ow!"
"We already knew they were coming to the party. I wouldn't have had you send the invitation if I didn't expect them to attend." He informs her with a dryness that is usually reserved for when Dabi is having one of his low days and he wants to get him moving again.
"Yeah, but they're already on their way!" Toga tells him, pulling a letter from the pocket of her vest.
That piques Shigaraki's interest more than her outburst did and he takes the letter from her hand so that he can flick it open. His eyes scan the contents quickly, "That is good news. They should be able to get a room at one of the local inns and rest there from their trip. I'll bring you some of my coin tomorrow. I won't be able to greet them until I'm no longer on duty, so when they arrive, make sure that you give them the gold for me."
"Okay!" She's still practically dancing through her forms as they get back to their sparring, but at least she's not talking at a mile a minute while their blades cross.
Jin and Shigaraki step off to the side to talk, watching as they spar. Probably discussing what they'll need to work on next. Dabi isn't about to say that he has anywhere near the knight or former soldier's prowess with a sword, but he is getting better. If someone pulled a sword on him now, he would be able to defend himself now instead of having no recourse but begging for his life. But Shigaraki and Jin stay talking for a while as he and Toga finish their set, both having moved a little further away from them in a clear sign that they don't want to be bothered. When Toga sees that, she pulls him down into the sand pit so they can lay on the soft ground, her finger tracing patterns into the earth. He tries not to shiver. It's getting colder as winter proper sets in. Their kingdom is blessed with more mild ones than those up north, the first of usually barely half a dozen snows often coming around his and Shoto's birthdays, but it is cool enough now that, as the sweat dries on his skin, that he is starting to feel that chill more acutely.
"I can't wait for you to meet them!" She tells him. "Big sis is so cool and strong and Spinner likes to read too when he's not playing cards or dice with Shiggy. They're going to love to meet you!"
"I'm sure that your friends will just be excited to see Shigaraki again. How long has it been for the three of them?"
Toga hums. "They got to see each other in passing a few months ago, but they didn't get to talk. And they're going to want to meet you too! He's been saying forever that he wasn't ever going to get involved with someone until after the war was over, but just a few months with you and he changed his tune." She snickers and Dabi's whole body goes cold from something other than the chill.
The blood drains from his face as he sits up. His stomach swoops. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lies. "Shigaraki is just my guard." That's all the rest of the world can know about him if he doesn't want the other man to be taken away from him. He wouldn't ever be allowed to hold onto him if anyone else knew.
"What? Wait," Toga pushes herself up from the ground as well. "You aren't dating? But he's so in love with you--!" She slaps both hands over her mouth with a distressed squeak as Dabi's head whips around to look at her. The flurry of emotions that go through him feel like they're impossible to distinguish from one another.
But all he manages to croak out is, "What?" In the wake of her declaration.
"Oh no, don't tell him I told you!" She says in a hushed voice, even though it could have been a scream with her desperation in it.
"Did he say that?" Hope is the one that swells big enough in his chest that he's able to name it.
"I'm not supposed to tell you if you don't know."
He thinks that might mean 'yes'. Love? His eyes turn to find Tomura speaking with Jin across the training grounds. His expression is grim and determined, a far cry from the softness that he gets now whenever the other comes into his bed. They still haven't kissed. The other man hasn't ever sunk inside his body. He has never said those words to him. But it warms him to the place where the embers of his magic burned out years ago when he thinks that the other could mean those words. When he can really believe that the future that Tomura pictured with him when they were tangled in his sheets is really, truly, something that he wants to. He never thought that he would be allowed to have love bloom in his chest, not until after his father was dead at the very least, but this is something precious and wonderful that he wants to cradle deep inside, secret it away into a small soft part of his heart so that no other hardship or cruel hand in the world will be able to reach for it and shatter it apart.
He sees Tomura and Jin break off their conversation and come over to the two of them, and Dabi hopes he can keep the aching emotion off of his face as he looks up at the knight.
"Get out of there. If that sand gives you an infection, your brother will have my head." His tone is cool and unimpressed. So easy for him to pretend to still have the contempt, even tempered, that he held for him at the very beginning of their entanglement. A ruse for the rest of the world to keep them far from the truth that he wants to believe is really living in both of their hearts.
"If anyone ever gets to take your head," he says with a haughtiness that doesn't feel nearly as natural as it once might have, "it's going to be me."
Shigaraki's eyes flicker. That shadow and then the big inconceivable emotions that Dabi hopes that he'll someday always be able to name in his lover's eyes. "I'll hold you to that." But then Jin starts talking about the next set of exercises that he wants to teach them and he pushes himself into the training even harder than before. Tomura's love is not based on this. He wanted him to be alive, didn't want him to waste away, readying himself to die at any moment the way that he had been before they'd met. He believes everyone should know how to fight so that the strong enemies that they fight won't be able to hurt them the way that he must have seen so many hurt before. But he thinks that the other man would love him still even if he decided not to continue his training. So long as he dedicated himself to something else. This is as good a thing as any though, as he waits for that wonderful future that they envisioned together to come about.
///
The last three weeks before Shoto's birthday finally actually sees his brother return from his post. He is taller than he was the last Dabi saw him, his height now, which does leave him pouting because that probably means that he's going to grow to Natsuo and their father's height. He doesn't have the responsibilities as the oldest, and now he's going to be the second shortest in their family like he needed another slight against his pride.
"I'm going to cut off your feet." He tells Shoto when his younger brother catches him in the hallway as he's coming back from his training with Shigaraki.
"My bones will keep growing," Shoto replies evenly without a pause. It is improper and his father would certainly have something to say about it, but Shoto doesn't hesitate to move into his space and give him a hug. His magic leaves half of his body unnaturally cold, and the other half sweltering with heat, the sensation so unique and strange that he can never forget it, and that makes his chest ache. It's been four years since he was able to give his brother a hug, but neither of them dare linger long out of fear of one of his father's more loyal knights spotting them. Shoto won't be reprimanded for speaking to him, but Dabi could end up punished again for distracting his attention, no matter how briefly. "What are you wearing, Toya?" He asks as he sees his training clothes. He hasn't dressed like this in front of his brother since he was barely five.
"I've been training again," he stands up straighter as he says it. He might not ever be a warrior like him, but he can be something. He can learn how to stand upright and not embarrass their family name any more than he already has. "How has your training gone? You haven't only been fighting at the border, have you?" He is supposed to be training with the other younger soldiers. He could have been knighted immediately, like Shigaraki had been, but Shoto had insisted on entering the school for this nation's warrior mages and going through all of the years of training from a page onwards. He didn't want to use his family name to advance through the rankings without being able to see what exactly the soldiers he would someday be commanding had to go through as well. It's something that their grandfather had forced Enji to do when he was a boy, so this ended up being something that Shoto had been able to argue for when he turned twelve. He's only two years away from his graduation now, and when he does, he will be able to be crowned if his father chooses to step down then, else, Shoto will be able to command their soldiers himself as he takes up a more prominent position in the war room.
There is a tightness around his brother's eyes when he speaks again. "Not the whole time, no." He doesn't offer him more than that at first, and Dabi worries that he'll get nothing more. That the time away from each other and with Enji dripping poison in his little brother's ears has made him believe that Dabi is not worthy of knowing the truth of what is happening in their kingdom beyond these walls. "We've lost ten miles and the line is still wavering." He says after a moment and sinks Dabi's stomach like lead. "I'll only be here for a day or two after the party. My school is being asked to offer more support to make up for the knights that we lost."
"How many-- Who?" His father's knights number, he thinks, around fifty now. A dozen are always kept close to the capital to ensure that no one ever manages to get close to the castle and do damage when they might be unguarded. The others are scattered across the country using their heightened arcane abilities to support their foot soldiers and keep the tides of battle in their favor.
"Eleven, so far." Shoto tells him, his face pinching further with his unhappiness. "Takami was lost in the last battle."
Dabi stares, convinced for a moment that he's heard his brother wrong. That damned, lazy, irritating bird was the fastest soldier in their army. Nothing in the world has ever been able to touch him. He always used to say that his great speed was to make up for the fact that as soon as he was off duty, he would do nothing else but laze about. He always used to complain that the war needed to end soon so that he could have a long life of doing nothing afterward. Dabi will not pretend that he was fond of the knight and his attitude. How he belittled him with a smile and worshipped the ground that his father walked on, but he won't pretend either, that he didn't in some way think that the harpy would outlive him. That his arrogance and the ability to back it up with the incredible feats of magic he could weave through his feathers wouldn't keep him alive until long after Dabi was finally thrown away when his father figured out a way of doing so.
Shoto seems to know that the news isn't something that he will have an easy time grappling with, and he squeezes his shoulder with his cool palm. "He protected my classmate when he did. Another harpy. He'll carry on the hard work while Keigo gets to rest forever now. I'm sure that he's still having the last laugh now."
Dabi still doesn't know if he believes that, or if he even wants the comfort that Shoto is trying to extend to him. He didn't even like Takami. He hated him more than he even hated Shigaraki at the start of their association. Maybe he doesn't have to like someone to be shaken by their death however. "Maybe. Will you be going back to the fighting when you leave then?"
"Maybe. Right now we're mostly focusing on helping to execute evacuation orders and provide healing where we can." If they are already losing so many knights, the chances of them having to go into the frontlines again, if not the older students who are a bit closer to graduation, isn't out of the question. The war is something that happens far away and that has been going on for so long that Dabi forgets sometimes the brutal, ugly shape of it. He forgets that Shoto might not get to become king if he does not survive what it throws at him and the thought of losing his brother, of losing the chance at the kingdom having a future without his father at the throne, sickens him more than whatever flicker of grief went through him at the loss of the other knights.
He reaches for his brother's shoulder in turn and squeezes too. "Stay alive."
"I'll do what I can." He says just as evenly, mismatched eyes steady on him. They hear other footsteps coming from down the hall and they release each other, Shoto straightening again.
"Happy birthday." It's still a few days off, but he isn't sure he'll even be able to speak to Shoto the day of when his father will surely be hovering over his heir and trying to keep Dabi sinking into the shadows of the party.
"You too." No one remembers his birthday comes so near to Shoto's. No one has celebrated it in years. Dabi is sure that their father deliberately keeps his siblings far away from him on that day so they do not imply that they are happy that he is still seeing the years pass by when he could have stopped embarrassing his father and their kingdom by dying ages ago. His brother breaks away from he and Shigaraki, moving swiftly down the hall so that he has turned the corner before the people approaching can see he was even in the same area as him.
He and Tomura make their way back to his chambers and when the door is shut and sealed with the knight's magic, Dabi simply begins to strip away his clothes so he can clean the sweat and dirt from his body as he does every day after his training. He's not expecting for the silence coming from the other end of the room to be so stark and complete. Usually Tomura talks to him when they get back to his room. He tells him if he did well or if he has any particular area for him to focus on improving. He asks if he wants his meal sent up, or if he is going to study for the day, or he... tells him if he's going to give him a reward or punishment that he might not have been able to have otherwise. But today he's very quiet and Dabi has only stripped his shirt before he's turning to find the other maintaining his post at his door, looking across the room at the large windows. The sky is covered in thick clouds that rolled in a few days ago and have not broken since and they are as deep and inscrutable as the expression on his face.
"Tomura?"
His lover's eyes turn to him, but there is still a pause before he speaks again. "Your kingdom is losing the battle."
"We've lost territory before." They've won it back too. The Demon King's armies are tenacious, but they are not absolute. Decades of this war and they have held the line. The lives lost, the battles fought are something to mourn, of course. He just knows that the thing that is tightening his throat is a different fear. "... Has my father said that he is going to send more knights?" Because if Tomura goes, if he loses him, then Dabi doesn't know if he'll still believe that there's any reason to keep fighting at all.
"... He's mentioned it." He holds Dabi's gaze and then they are so much closer as his feet eat up the stones between them as Dabi rushes into his space, fingers tangling into his shirt and holding onto him tightly. Tomura's hands come up immediately, wrapping around his waist and back, pulling him close and pressing their foreheads together.
"Don't--" He can't tell him that he isn't allowed to leave. He doesn't have that kind of power. His father will move his soldiers as he pleases, and no matter how much Dabi feels he belongs to Tomura, the other man does not belong to him.
Tomura hugs him closer and Dabi clings to him. "You are the only one who will ever be able to make me leave." It's a lie, but it's a kind one, a beautiful one, as they hold each other so tightly that Dabi lets himself believe that nothing will be able to tear them apart.
///
The night of Shoto's party is a bit bigger than he and Fuyumi had originally told Toga and Shigaraki. The formal dinner and mingling in the great hall is what was expected, but there are even more dignitaries present than he thought there would be, though now he understands why. If they are fighting at a loss right now, then it will be all the more important to sure up supply chains and to try and get Fuyumi a beneficial engagement. She looks stunning, of course, the work that she and Toga did on her dress is awe-inspiring. Every movement or flicker of torchlight sends the frost glittering across the layers of the pale grey fabric. Shoto is wearing his ceremonial armor and looking so much more grown up in it, like he's finally used to the weight of it, like he might not notice it as much because he knows how to wear his real armor into battle now. Natsuo is dressed similarly to Dabi, both of them in smart, respectable clothes that suit royalty, but Natsuo wears a broach on his breast of a skeletal hand, the hand and the forearm cast in pewter with the radius mended with a sliver of gold going through the center, the mark of a healer that he shows off well. Dabi has no armor or sigil to show that he has an artform he's studied to mastery, but he does, only for occasions like this, get to wear a simple gold circlet on his head. He's changed out his staples for gold today as well, and Tomura's hands had been so gentle and sweet against his skin as he helped him replace the ones he wears each day with these. He pressed kisses to his seams and cupped his face in his hands and stared at him like he was worried that might be the last moment they would ever spend together. There is a fear settling in his gut that Shigaraki has been ordered to leave with Shoto after the party, but he didn't want to tell him until after they spend time with his friends tomorrow, and that does keep him from really tasting his food at all during dinner. It fills his ears with cotton as people speak and soft music drifts around the room.
Tomura stays by his side. He is his guard after all, even if he's certain, from the number of attractive women who come wearing necklaces with prisms, marking them as skilled practitioners of magic, that his father told him to mingle. If he's planning to send Shigaraki off to die, then he might want him to pick a partner, or a dozen, to try and ensure his strong magical bloodline remains. Shigaraki is polite to the women who approach, but he sends each of them off very easily by saying that he is on duty and unable to entertain. When they ask for when he will be available next, he simply tells them that he is unable to make plans for any time after the party. Easier than saying that he will have time off for the next few days and that he would rather see his friends instead of spending time with any of them.
Dabi is already painfully bored two hours after dinner. He isn't being spoken to, everyone present more than knowing not to associate with the spare prince. There is dancing going on at the center of the room and his chest warms as he sees his brother approach one of his classmates, a blond boy who doesn't seem to have any qualms about baring his teeth in a snarl and snapping at the crown prince when he asks him to dance. Even then, the blond does accept the invitation even if he's still complaining about it as he's taken to the floor. He's certain that his father will have a lecture for Shoto after the fact, but it is his birthday, he should be allowed to do whatever he likes today.
"My prince?" He glances over at Tomura, wondering if someone has finally caught his eye, only to find the guard moving in front of him and offering his hand. Dabi immediately feels heat flood to his face. This is beyond improper. He cannot dance with his knight. He isn't even supposed to dance at all, not when that will draw attention to himself. Tomura's look does not waver as he holds his hand out. "Indulge me."
And when has he ever been able to resist doing whatever his lover has asked of him? That sinking in his gut, the thing that tells him that Tomura is preparing for the worst, makes him even more desperate to hold onto what he can right now. He has been absolutely desperate to soak up as much of his lover's time and attention as he could for months now, and he knows the second he has to go without, none of those memories will ever be able to hold him together. He can't stand to let something like this slip through his fingers. He gives the other his hand and lets him take him to the center of the room as the music changes.
Dabi knows this dance, he knows every dance. He has always enjoyed dancing. He taught Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shoto, but he hasn't been allowed to do so in public for eight years. This is a very structured one, only allowing partners to touch their fingertips together throughout most of the song, until the end when the leading partner pulls the following partner close and dips them to the floor, their foreheads allowed to touch, a kiss allowed to pass between them if appropriate. It's a dance of restraint and desire, a dance that often is done at the start of a courtship, at weddings, and when one wants to show off their devotion to their partner. Dabi is certain that this song was only set to be played because his father had hoped Fuyumi would select a suitor to dance with tonight. He's certain he did not want his oldest and youngest sons to be standing on the floor with a male partner preparing to show the entire kingdom that their hearts do not beat in the rhythm that he tried to force beneath his boot. He's certain that they will all be punished severely for it, but as his eyes meet Tomura's when their fingers touch, he knows that any punishment he receives will be worth it for the few minutes that they have like this.
The music starts and the room slips to his periphery. Tomura leads. It's beyond impropriety. Even disgraced and discarded, he is a prince. He should never be openly subservient to his knight. He doesn't care. He wants everyone to know how wonderful his lover is at keeping him close, at showing him where to step next, at how to move forward when he spent so very long standing still and letting the world bury him in that spot. Tomura has made him something new, made him a person again instead of a ghost. He made 'Dabi' as real as Toya was. Love, that's what Toga had said. Love. It's living in his chest, aching to escape him, and every movement of their bodies to the song as their eyes stay locked over their joined hands, makes him desperate to let it out. He is in love with Tomura. He hasn't dared to tell him that even after all of these months, but he cannot keep them inside anymore.
When the song comes to an end and Tomura pulls him in close, when gravity shifts as the other's hair falls around them in a curtain that blocks them off from the rest of the world, when their foreheads touch, Dabi breathes, "I love you."
And red eyes go so stricken, haunted, as they gaze into his own. "Dabi--"
The warning bells begin to ring before he can say anything else.
Panic surges through his chest. Those bells are only rung if a dragon has been spotted flying towards their home. The last time they rang was thirty years ago, when his father stood on the highest parapet of the castle and brought out a fire so brilliant and complete that people believed that somehow there was a sun setting in the east and west at the same time as he turned a beast made of flames to ash. People around the hall start to panic, but as he wants to straighten up, Tomura holds him tighter, his other hand going to the floor. Dabi isn't expecting the loud crack that fills the air. The symphony of them as the floor all around them starts to crumble and people begin to scream as they fall into it. Some only lose their footing as they try to flee, others are sunk into the earth and stone to their knees. He shifts, pulling himself from the other's arms so he can see what is happening more clearly, but when Dabi is out of his arms, Tomura puts both hands against the stone floor and that cracking sound comes again. The floor contracts, the people who were trapped inside of it are screaming all the more loudly as bones crunch and blood blooms across suits and dresses.
"Tomura," his name is croaked as he realizes that this is his doing. His magic leaching out to hurt the guests. His magic which has swallowed up Natsuo to his waist, Shoto and his date as well. His head reels to try and find Fuyumi and he does spot her-- with one of Toga's familiar dagger's to her throat as she uses his sister as a shield from his father who is trying to melt the stone he has been trapped in.
"Traitor!" His father snarls through the din of panic all around. Traitor. Dabi's chest feels like it's full of glass shards. Traitor. He always made his hatred of the kingdom so plain, but he-- His eyes burn. How could he have ever been so stupid? The weak, pathetic, discarded prince. He must have been such an easy target. Why kill him when he could use him to bring more insurgents into the castle. Why not just use him for everything that he could? Shigaraki's hands are still on the stone as his eyes turn to look at his father before the stone crunches again. It moves again. This time dragging people to the side of the throne room so that there is an open aisle between the throne and the doors.
"I am not a traitor, Enji Todoroki." No one has addressed his father by name without title in decades, and hearing it almost makes his ears sting like the first time he heard the rough, common language of swears after years of careful tutoring. Shigaraki straightens up and brings a hand to the collar of his breastplate. His magic passes over it, withering the metal to nothing but rust, before he curves his fingers into it and pulls it from his body. It clangs loudly against the floor as the other straps and bits of metal fall as well. Until he is standing wearing entirely unfamiliar clothes. Black leathers in a cut that leaves the entirety of his back exposed, that leave his arms open to the air and without protection, thicker plates of black armor curving over his sternum and along his pecs and over his stomach, wrapped around his thighs and padding his knees. And then his hair begins to grow, lengthening to the middle of his back and being pushed aside as his shoulders roll and the sound of tearing flesh fills the room. Dabi stares at him as deep red scales start to inch across his cheeks and forehead, black horns of bone jutting jaggedly from his head, his pupils growing slitted and large fangs filling his mouth, a tail and wings blooming from his skin, the tail lizard-like and bladed at the end, and the wings massive and the deepest red as they flare out behind him.
A dragon. One powerful enough that his magic could disguise his true nature. There are more screams coming from inside of the room and Dabi's eyes search frantically. Why have none of the soldiers broken free of the shattered floor? Why are the alarms still ringing but nothing is being done? He finds his answer as his eyes catch on familiar black shades that have moved up behind every soldier that is in the hall, blood pouring crimson across their armor as Jin slits their throats as he slips in from the secret entrance behind the throne. The entrance that only the royal family and their knights know about. The only soldiers spared are the young ones– the ones from his brother's school who are being restrained by them.
Shigaraki turns his attention to the king, moving over to him. His father throws out his hands, trying to incinerate him, but the massive wall of flame that Dabi knows will swallow him up as well, is caught against his palm, his own magic bursting over every inch of the flames and extinguishing them into nothing but a cloud of ash that coats the entire room and his skin. Dabi and most of the other people who are trapped in this room are left coughing as it fills their lungs. "I am not part of your kingdom. I told you when you first tried to knight me that I only wanted to return to the border. You bright me into your home. You demanded each inch of my life in service of your kingdom even after I had already done the grace of sparing a village. My father always said you were a mortal so hungry for power that you could not see reason or extend mercy. I came to your court hoping that you would prove me wrong and instead what do I find?" He raises his voice as the warning bells are suddenly and completely silenced.
"A kingdom ruled by a tyrant! A king that forces his subjects to their knees, who searches for the powerful and ensures that they have so little that any scrap that the crown offers them convinces them of the kingdom's benevolence instead of its cruelty! A monster who forces his children to be pawns until he decides that they are not worthy of life! How many times did you offer me your daughter's hand if I used my own to slit your first born son's throat?" Shigaraki snarls, looking so monstrous and inhuman for a moment that Dabi is only staring at him and doesn't hear the words that he's spoken as he wraps that deadly, destructive hand, fingers tipped with long black talons, around his father's face.
"What?" There is a coldness. A numbness inside of him that is spreading throughout his whole body.
Shigaraki's tail flicks, his wings pull in tighter against his back. "Seven. Offered to me each month I stayed in his service. Tonight was the last night the offer would stand. After tonight, he would send me to the frontlines, select your sister's suitor, and reassign a new guard who would not be given the option. I trained you so that no one would be able to slip a dagger between your ribs so easily, little prince."
Dabi wants to say that he's lying. He wants to cry out that he betrayed him, he wants to pick up a sword and try to kill a dragon the way he always thought he was meant to when he was a child. But he is silent. His siblings are silent. The whole room is deafening with it. None of them can argue because that is precisely the kind of thing that his father would do.
The doors to the main hall burst open, sending fresh screams through the room as they do. He gets a glimpse of the hall behind and sees red smeared across the floor, more guards laying limp against the stones as a dragon woman with scales of deepest black across her wings, tail, and in patches across her skin, with vibrantly red hair, a warhammer slung over her shoulder, and with crimson splashed across her skin steps into the room alongside another dragon, his hair lavender and pulled back, scales green and covering all of his exposed body, giving him a far more extreme resemblance to the dragons in their true forms than he's ever seen on humanoid features, carrying a sword that is nearly as wide as he is and just as long. They are barely across the threshold before Toga is squealing,
"Magne! Spinner!" As she breaks away from Fuyumi, leaving his sister unguarded and, seemingly, unharmed. He moves immediately to her, half scared, as he runs past some of Jin's shades and Shigaraki himself, that one of them will stop him. Neither of them doo and he and Fuyumi cling to each other as Toga runs right over to get hugs from both of the dragons who entered the hall.
"Hey, hatchling," Magne says, ruffling her hair as she gets her hug before Toga bounces over to Spinner to give him his hug as well. Fuyumi is shaking in his arms, her breath coming out in bursts of frost. The dragon-woman lets out a low whistle as she pokes at some of the cracked stones as they step deeper into the room. "Geez Shig, you know you've gotta live here after we're done, right?"
"That remains to be seen." Shigaraki tells her, though his voice is a little warmer, his composure more settled than it was a moment ago. "The city?"
"We secured the defenses with Atsuhiro's explosives. He's keeping an eye on the grounds in case anyone decides to try and cause trouble.
"Good. Bring him to the dais."
Magne moves up to his father, taking thick iron cuffs that are etched with runes that Dabi knows will take away his magic. His father tries to move, tries to set a spark, but Shigaraki lets out a burst of his own magic against his skin, creaks opening across his temples and forehead, sending streams of blood slipping over his skin, but not taking his head from his shoulders the way he makes it so clear that he could if he wanted to end this right now. Oh god. They're going to kill him. They're going to take the kingdom. His eyes search frantically for something. The doors are still wide open, but Toga is standing there with Spinner, beaming and talking at a mile a minute, asking him how he is and telling him about her time in the castle. Either of them could tear them to pieces before they could slip out, and the entire room is filled with Jin's shades, all of them taking on his appearance. Two, he said he could make up to two other people at a time. Can all of his shadows make more and more of themselves the same way? Is he the army of demonic soldiers that their warriors have spoken about for so many years? It's a horrifying realization that comes for him as he understands that his father might have forced Shigaraki to stay here, but Dabi brought Toga here. He didn't speak up about Jin. He encouraged the other man to reach out to his friends. He brought about his own kingdom's destruction and he did it between Shigaraki's kind and cruel touches. Did it while he was on his knees for him, the other knowing that this would end with him bending a knee or dead even if he didn't accept his father's invitation to do it himself.
Shigaraki reaches out a hand towards the throne as Magne locks his father's arms in place behind his back. "Iguchi, come help her. Do not grow complacent now."
Spinner breaks off from Toga, the young woman pouting as she's left to push the doors shut behind her. They grab his father and Dabi's stomach sinks as the dragon turns to face him. He tries to push Fuyumi behind him, but she doesn't want to move. Even though she's shaking badly, even though her magic is not nearly as powerful as their father or Shoto's, at least she has magic and clearly she seems to think that means she needs to protect him. Dabi didn't have a sword with his formal attire. He isn't worth having even a ceremonial one in his father's eyes, but there are dead knights scattered across the floor and he all but dives down to get one, moving back up in front of his sister just after she has sent a flurry of icicles at Shigaraki. He doesn't even bother to destroy them like he did their father's flames, just bringing his wings around the front of his body and letting them patter against them, shattering against the scales and leathery membranes harmlessly. But as he pulls them back, Dabi puts the tip of the sword against his chest, to a place where the strange armor he's wearing has a seam he hopes he can sink the blade past. Tomura wraps his hand around the blade, not seeming to care as it cuts into his palm, his strength enough to hold it still no matter how Dabi tries to drive it deep.
"Dabi," He hates the way his eyes burn when the other man says his name, soft and careful the way he does when he's checking to make sure that a punishment hasn't gone too far.
"You used me."
"I did not. Nothing I needed to take your father's kingdom came from you alone. Your father opened the grounds to Atsuhiro. He gave me access to the palace to sneak Jin past the walls. Your sister's guilt and good nature allowed me to bring Toga to work here, and your kingdom's customs around celebrations made it easy for me to bring the rest of my friends here to do our work. I used my connections to you for none of it." His voice is still so gentle. "I know that does not lessen the betrayal of my actions. I am going to give you an opportunity to set this right. Come to the dais. Bring the sword." He lets go of the blade and turns his back on him as he moves towards the other end of the hall.
Dabi looks around the room desperately for a way out of this. For something that he can do that will allow him to get he and his siblings out of this mess unscathed. But all around him he sees his panic echoed in the faces of the other trapped nobles, the bodies of everyone who was meant to protect them scattered across the floor. Toga catches his eye from the door and she beams at him, her teeth a little too big and too sharp, as she waves him forward. He feels as trapped as he would if he were rooted to the shattered floor as he has to step away from Fuyumi's side and move across the ground towards the throne.
Shigaraki moves up the steps, but he doesn't take a seat in his father's chair. He stands in front of it instead and then brings his hand to the floor again. The stones crack and reshape themselves, forming two one foot wide two feet long stone pillars that come up to his waist when he stands between them. He gestures at one of them and Dabi's stomach sinks as his father is brought to it. He sees now that Shigaraki's touch must have destroyed his father's tongue, his lips soaked in blood and deep cracks moving across his lips the way they are his other skin. That is the only reason he has remained so quiet throughout this so far. The two other dragons pull his father forward and make him kneel, forcing his head down against the stone and Magne keeping him there as she weaves a spell that makes his flesh be pulled down until, even with all of his father's physical strength, he cannot move from the floor.
When he is secure, Shigaraki turns to him and his eyes are different. Those slitted pupils, the scales that creep along his cheeks. They are foreign and strange, but the... emotion in them is so achingly familiar that Dabi's entire chest feels like it might collapse in on itself. "I told you that when someone else sat on your father's throne that we could have a future together. I told you that I would give you everything once you knew me, once you could choose me with no secrets laid out between us anymore. I am Tomura Shigaraki, dragon, ward and heir to the Demon King. If I get to choose anything that could come in my future, I would choose to share it with you." He holds his gaze as he speaks. Holds it as he moves to the other pillar he'd made. "But you have to choose me." He kneels down, sweeping his long hair over his shoulder and flattening his wings to the floor so that his neck is exposed as he begins to lower his head to the stone. "You can take that sword and kill me. If you do, my people will retreat, harming no one else as they go."
"What?" Magne's voice is loud and unhappy.
"Uh, Tomura--" Spinner sounds decidedly more wary.
"Are you out of your mind?" Jin snaps in their direction.
It's only Toga who coos, "Oh, that's so romantic!"
Shigaraki ignores all of them, looking up at him from where he is kneeling. "Or you can put an end to your father's tyranny and the war. Let me ascend to the throne and we can have the future together that we both were dreaming of. I will spare your siblings. I have seen their kindness, I know that they will not become him and I would not break your heart by doing them harm." Endure, break, reforge, that’s what he has told him before. Tomura holds Dabi's gaze for another few agonizing seconds and then he sighs softly and lowers his forehead to the stone, his eyes slipping shut. "Choose, little prince."
Dabi is left standing, stock still, between the two pillars. Shigaraki's friends are eyeing him, eyeing their leader, but he sees in their pinched expressions that they didn't know that this was part of their leader's plans. He doesn't know if they'll listen to him if he does bring the sword down across his neck. But when he steps between the pillars and tightens his grip on the sword with both hands to hide how badly he's shaking, none of them actually move to stop him, even if their eyes do flick to their leader fearfully. One swing and he can slay a dragon. He isn't sure that he'll really be a hero to the kingdom, not like this. But his siblings, he looks out across the room and finds that their eyes are on him, their expressions worried, drawn, and fearful as well. But not angry. His sister still immediately tried to help protect him when Shigaraki approached them. They won't turn on him. If his father is kept in those cuffs, if his tongue is gone-- Shoto could take the throne tonight. They could have a coup of their own and make certain that Enji Todoroki could never hurt any of them ever again. They could kill the heir to the demon king's throne. They could--
He is standing beside Shigaraki, his hands shaking around the sword, wondering if all of the training he's done over the past few months is even enough to give him the strength to cut through flesh, when he glances at his father. He has not had that man's eyes on him in nearly five years. Hasn't had to see that bright blue that looks back at him from the mirror set into a face that hates him. that is screaming his loathing even as he is on his knees, bound, bleeding, and powerless and still thinking that Dabi should not be standing here. That if he had killed him himself, strangled him to death in his coma, slipped a dagger into his ribs any night as he slept, poisoned his food and dealt with the investigation Natsuo would have demanded, then he could have avoided this situation. He sees the hatred in his father's eyes that is bred from his belief that someone like him should never have been forced to put his fate in someone like Dabi's hands. He sees the hatred on his face and all of the hurt, the fury, the helplessness that he has been drowning in for so many years swells inside of him again. That used to be so thick that it choked out the air in his lungs and left him drowning for years and years as he waited to just finally die. It was Tomura's eyes looking at him, breaking him down, dragging him out of those dark waters, that forced him to build himself back up.
He tightens his grip on the sword so much that his staples pop free of his seam when he brings it down, the force of it splitting skin and clanging against the stone making his arms shake.
There is a long moment, his heart pounding in his ears as he watches and waits. His father's body goes limp and blood pours over the stone and down the pillar as his head drops to the floor and rolls down to the bottom of the dais. He is staring at his father's corpse, uncertain what he should feel as he looks, until Shigaraki's hand, tipped with sharp claws, but still as gentle on his skin as they are when they run through his hair, catches one of his wrists while the other hand takes the sword carefully from his grip.
"Your fight is over, my love." He says softly. "And you've ended the war. Now you only need to keep moving forward. Do not let him bring you low ever again."
The words don't fully sink in past the haze that is filling his mind, but the kiss that Tomura presses to his forehead he can feel.
///
Despite what Tomura said, Dabi can't manage to do much for... a while after he kills his father. He remembers what happened afterward in fits and starts. He remembers Tomura taking up his position in front of the thone and doling out orders to his people. Many of the nobles who were uninjured were brought back to their rooms to be held until he subdued any rebellions that would surely spark across the country as their people discovered that the castle had been taken and the king killed. His siblings were also brought back to their rooms, save Natsuo who was escorted to help heal the life-threatening injuries of the nobles who had been caught in the collapsing floor. Over the course of the next month, things had been tense and horrible. But by the end of it, the castle hung the flags of the Demon King, of Tomura Shigaraki as he was allowed to ascend to both thrones and unite their empires once he proved to his own father he had successfully taken the kingdom. Dabi's gut had been sour with fear that Shigaraki would have he and his siblings executed after that, the way his ancestors always killed all of the former monarchy's families when their territories had been claimed. But that wasn't what happened. Shoto had been brought into meetings about the matter of the state, his siblings had been allowed to visit him so long as they were escorted by at least one of Shigaraki's soldiers. They didn't blame him. The kingdom as they knew it was lost, none of them were royalty anymore, but they were not being mistreated. He still couldn't bear to look any of them in the eyes when they came to see him though.
Shigaraki sometimes comes and knocks on his door. "Princeling," he still calls him. 'Precious', 'little one', 'my love', he calls to him from the other side of the door, asking if he can come in, if he can see him. Dabi cannot raise the wards on his room to keep him out, but he never enters without permission and when he can't do anything but greet his voice with choked-off, muffled sobs, the new king retreats. He doesn't force him out of his room like he did as his guard, doesn't ask him through the door about the future that he promised him, and Dabi waits for the knocks to stop coming, both eager and dreading the day that might come. The knocks don't stop though. Toga comes to his door too.
"Come ooon," She whines, leaning her bodyweight against the wood. "Even Fuyumi will hang out with me again. Shoto's fun too! We can go train together." But when he won't answer her either, she huffs and leaves the door behind.
It takes him a long time of wallowing, of stress, of his siblings coming and him seeing the changes in them. How his sister stops wearing such elaborate dresses that she has slaved over making and instead starts to wear the more severe, simple cut of a scholar's robes. How Natsuo comes with a backpack and tells him that he is going out to the former frontlines to heal soldiers who are being sent home instead of tending mostly to stuffy noses and rich nobles who are worried about the lines that crease their foreheads. How Shoto tells him, "We're going to be okay," and see in his mis-matched eyes that he believes it as he talks about the different ways that Shigaraki is trying to restructure the kingdom now that they won't be under the constant strain of this centuries-long war. Takes him seeing how the three of them are starting to hold themselves up straighter the way he saw in himself when Shigaraki had been encouraging him to grow for him to understand that he is trying to do the same thing to the kingdom. That he meant it when he said that they could have... unending possibilities stretching out in front of them.
It takes him time before he's ready to dress himself well and to hold his spine straight. For him to go to his door and reach for the handle himself, convinced for a moment that he will find the door locked and will realize that this was all a sick game. But the handle turns and he's able to step out into the hall. Jin is sitting on the floor playing cards with Spinner, but they both stop and look up at him as he steps out of the room.
"Dabi," Jin sounds almost relieved as he pushes himself up from the floor. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
"Am I... not allowed to leave my room?"
Jin blinks at him. "What, no, of course you can. Uh, you just... haven't in a while. I thought you might need something."
"Can I still go where I want?"
The other man looks more uncomfortable now. "Uh, yeah, man. You can go wherever you want. You're not a prisoner here."
"Okay." He starts to walk down the hall, half expecting the other two to follow him. But he just hears hushed whispers behind him, not any footsteps. He keeps walking. He has a good idea of where he needs to go to find what he wants.
When he pushes open the door of the throne room, he finds that Shoto, Magne, Atsuhiro, and a handful of other dignitaries are present and discussing matters of state. Shigaraki is sitting on his father's throne, wearing his leathers and a new crown, one made in a style that does not seem like it was fashioned the way that his or his siblings' were made, this one weaving around the horns that stick out from his hair that is free and wild around his face and down his back. He only means to slip inside, and at first, only the people closest to the door seem to take notice of him as they glance his way. He can take up a position at the edge of the room and wait until they've finished their conversation before he says anything. But then Shigaraki's eyes find his and Dabi is breathless again. He didn't know that he could starve for a look like that. Didn't know that his heart could break and come back together at the same time.
Shigaraki's wings flare and that stops the person speaking mid-sentence. "Your majesty?"
"Clear the room." Shigaraki's voice is as clear and self-assured as it always has been and before Dabi can even think about it, he's moving. Not to the edge of the room, he's pushing his way past the other people in the hall. The floor has been repaired, there's not a trace of blood anywhere, no smell of that and ash clogging his nose like the last time it did when he was standing in this room.
He passes his brother who catches his arm and that is the only reason he's able to tear his eyes from Shigaraki's face. Shoto searches his face but then lets go of him before he looks back at Shigaraki, giving him a glare that is black with his unspoken threat. The dragon sits unmoved on the throne. Shoto moves with everyone else towards the exit, and by the time the doors are shutting and Shigaraki is waving a hand through the air to seal the room, Dabi is right in front of him and the fog in his mind is so absolute that he can't make sense of anything anymore. All he knows is that desperate, searching look on Tomura's face that he's suddenly certain that he must have seen on his own face a hundred times before.
It's so easy for him to sink to his knees. To kneel in the place where he beheaded his own father so he can look up at the lover he didn't truly know but still found a way to fall for anyway. He lets his head bow, his neck bared the way Shigaraki's had been. The man? Dragon? King? Doesn't say anything for a long moment and Dabi finds his voice shakily instead. "I haven't done anything for months. I haven't trained. I've barely eaten. Some days I don't get out of bed until the day has become night again." His voice is hoarser, croaked out each one the longer that he speaks. "I've let myself be nothing again. I can't be something without you." His eyes burn. "I need you to make me good. I need to be punished--"
"Princeling," Tomura's hands reach for him as he shifts forward on the throne, his hands tipped with sharp, wicked claws and filled with a magic that could shatter him apart in an instant. But his voice is so warm and desperate. "You are not nothing. You have always been something, and I'm so sorry that I ever made you think that you had to be mine to be worthy of existing. You are everything, my love. You are a gem no matter who may behold you or not." He makes him tilt his head up so that he can see him again. "You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed your anger, hatred, all of the emotions that you have felt in this time. I will not punish you for that. Not when I only want to hold you close if that is something I am still allowed?" His thumb strokes over Dabi's cheek and he doesn't know how it's taken him so long to understand that he couldn't possibly want anything else.
When Tomura pulls him up into his lap this time, it's so he can bring their lips together in a kiss and all of the heaviness around Dabi's heart falls away. Tomura helped him heal when he first arrived in the kingdom. Now he's cut out the root of the disease. Now all of their land will heal too. He doesn't have to feel so much pain for being the one who helped to administer that medicine.
Tomura kisses him hard, deep, and doesn't let him go. His mouth is rough against his lips, desperate to taste him, and Dabi is doing his best to follow his lead. He has never been kissed with so much desire before, and certainly never by anyone who has teeth as sharp as Tomura's, but he doesn't care. All that matters to him now is that he is being given the kiss that he wanted so much. It comes to him with the vaguest flicker of recognition that the other man knew the betrayal was coming from the moment they met. From the second he brought their relationship into something more than guard and prince, he knew that Dabi would find out about his betrayal. But he didn't want him to think he'd used their relationship, his love to manipulate him. So he had made him wait. Until he would know that the first kiss they shared would not be tainted by the betrayal. That this could be real and perfect as their mouths move against one another and Tomura's hands pull him so close to his skin as Dabi tries to figure out where he can touch him when his body is so different from what Dabi would have expected.
Tomura's hand moves to the back of his neck, cupping his head in his palm the way he always does, as if no time has passed since the last time they shared his bed. "I love you. My darling, my princeling, my precious sapphire. How I have longed to have you right here on this throne. You were always meant to sit here, my love."
His face heats, the softer words stoking the embers of his desire as well as the meaner ones do when he's being punished. "Can we still... be what we were before?" Not when they were in public. Tomura isn't his servant anymore and he doesn't ever want him to be. But in private. The way they would lay together, the way the other looked at him like he was everything. The love that bloomed out between them like a tangled mass of vines. Could they hold onto that even though Tomura has two entire kingdoms and could have whatever he wants from either?
"Of course we can, precious." He tells him, resting their foreheads together. "I told you, there is not a force in this world that could make me leave your side but you."
And tells him with that sentence he meant every other one he'd spoken before that. Dabi is even more desperate when he tangles his hands in the other's thick, wild hair and pulls him in for another kiss, not caring if he splits his lips on the other's fangs. Tomura doesn't begrudge him his passion. He gives it freely and easily, his hands moving over Dabi's body, finding all of the places that he always has before that he knows bring the heights of Dabi's pleasure even higher.
"Mine," he says, the words almost a plea between their lips. "I chose you?"
"Yes, love." Tomura promises. "Yours. No one will ever take us from each other."
Dabi keens with his need. It's been months. Months of loneliness, of guilt, sorrow, anger, and fear. And in a matter of minutes it all drains away. He is left with nothing in his chest but the love that he has been carrying for the other man for so many months now and the desperation to finally, finally be able to have every inch of the other's love in turn. It's been months, but he still knows how to spread his thighs around Tomura's and let himself rock against them. His body still sends a spark of pleasure through him as he does that has him moaning as his lover, his king, slips his tongue into his mouth. Tomura doesn't reprimand him for being so needy that he would put a harlot to shame, he rocks up into him, letting him feel that he needs him just as much, though there's a flicker of confusion in his mind because his lover feels bigger than he was the last time he had him. Was hiding in his human visage making him smaller? By the gods, will his body even be able to take him if he's any bigger?
He doesn't have a chance to think about that when Tomura's sharp talons move to so deftly and carefully start to unbutton his tunic and Dabi realizes that the other wants to give him the other part of the intimacy that he promised right here. On his father's-- on Tomura's throne. In the throne room. His face burns as he pulls away far enough to speak. "Tomura, here?"
"Where else? Oh, my darling, I am going to have you over every inch of this castle if you'll let me. Until your body is always aching so sweetly for my touch you'll need to be trained again to remember how to be more than my pretty little consort."
The words, the knowledge that the other wants him so much, makes Dabi's entire body hotter and has him biting his lip to hide the whimper that wants to slip out of him. He lets the other undo the buttons on his tunic and slips it from his shoulders, before his hands are reaching for Dabi's shirt. Sharp claws tease against his skin as he brings that fabric up over his head, red eyes taking in every inch of him that is exposed as if he's seeing Dabi's body for the very first time and can't help the hunger that the sight of him is stoking. His hands move over Tomura's chest, over the dark leathers that cling to his body and look so different from the clothes he used to wear before. He's lovely. Has always been lovely, always been so confident and held himself like he could never forget his own importance no matter the position he held. Dabi knows now why that was, but seeing him in his own clothes, self-assured and in the position that he belongs in in a way that Dabi doesn't think he ever could, somehow makes him even more attractive.
As the cool air of the room bites at his naked chest, he can't help rolling his hips again, trying to put more pressure against his cock that is hardening so rapidly, desperate for pleasure after months of nothing but the aching void that swelled through him. Feeling his need aching between his legs already has Tomura huffing with his amusement, his hands going to the edge of Dabi's pants before he courses a bit of his magic through the seams to send the panels of cloth fluttering away from his skin. Even with the doors sealed and the room cleared, Dabi's face burns as he's left completely naked in the throne room.
"Don't be embarrassed, little one," Tomura purrs. "Anyone who sees you would be lucky to do so-- until I pluck their eyes from their skull for daring to take the sight of you for themselves."
"Monster," that's what he was always told about dragons. That they crave violence and destruction down to their very souls, that they and the monsters at their command must be destroyed so that the mortal races could live in peace. But the way that Tomura's claws are prickling his skin, the way he offers up his devotion to him so completely and with such a violence is doing something unholy to his mind. It has him shivering with his want, his cock hard and flushed already, curved up against his stomach and trapped between their bodies. The leather that Tomura is wearing already feels so soft and well-made, but against the over-sensitive head of his prick, it is making him even more desperate as he sees the obscene droplet of pearly white get smeared against it as his hips move to try and get more faster. It's been months and months of wanting. He isn't sure that he can wait any longer without losing his mind.
"For you, my love? The worst of them." He agrees without hesitation, letting Dabi's fingers fumble over his shirt, looking for where it must close, for some way of getting it off when the other man has such massive wings in this form. He doesn't find that place, but the other man only leaves him fumbling for a moment, desire and amusement shining in equal measures in those eyes that he has grown so used to having on him, but are still a little strange an foreign now that his pupils are different. But he reaches back and unclasps the closings around his neck and at his lower back, then letting Dabi's greedy hands take away the leather from over his chest. His body is familiar and foreign too. The thick muscle cut over his chest and stomach, the scars he has grown so familiar with are the same, but there are scales now, crawling over his shoulders and down his back, creeping over his sides and curing along swells of muscle, though his center is left exposed and the same color as his skin has always been before. Dabi's fingers hesitate, but his lover does not rush him as he brings his fingers to the edge of those scales for the first time. They are cool under his touch, cooler than the rest of Tomura's body, and so smooth. He can feel the toughness of them beneath his fingertips, the intricacies between them through the places where they overlap. They glitter in the low light of the room, almost as if lit with a fire from within each.
They're beautiful. Tomura was always so beautiful, but seeing him how he was truly meant to be shows Dabi how little he understood of what could be beautiful before this. Tomura's hands are solid and grounding as they curl around his hips and pull him in closer, rolling his own up to meet his body. "You're so needy, little one. So excited to be rewarded after so long?" A question that doesn't require an answer, but Dabi's whole body aches from how much he missed this kind of play that the other taught him.
"Yes, please," his face burns even hotter. "I want you, your majesty."
He is not expecting the way that the words make Tomura's eyes flash and his wings flare. Not expecting how they have him crashing their mouths back together as his hands move over his skin, one going down to his cock and stroking him once dry before he's murmuring his arcane word between their lips so that the next movement comes slick with oil, letting him squeeze Dabi so roughly his mouth is opening on a loud, wanton moan that gives the dragon more room to press his tongue inside of his mouth and lick out every sound of his arousal that is gasped against his lips.
"Oh, my pretty little whore. Going to have you made my consort officially," he strokes him quickly, roughly, the way that he would when Dabi earned a reward for his good behavior at times when he knew a meal might be coming soon or when he had plans to be elsewhere in the palace and knew that he didn't have time to break Dabi into pieces slowly. "Going to have the entire kingdom know that you are mine and that you will always be at my throne, either right here, spread on top of it with my cocks buried into your tight, desperate body, or with you between my knees, showing everyone how comfortable the former prince is doing nothing but stretching his jaw and swallowing my cum."
The filthy words are bringing his pleasure higher, his body shivering with it as his nipples pebble and his hips move desperately up into his hand again and again. He would never survive the humiliation of that, but Tomura's filthy words always make him so needy. There are gut-punched sounds of his pleasure slipping out from between his lips that are certainly not becoming of former royalty, but he can't quell them as he begs, "Tomura, please, please, please, feels so good, please!" Because he hasn't been given permission to cum yet, but he is beyond desperate for it. He might need it more than his next breath.
"Such a good boy for me. Finally coming to see me, finally letting me touch your pretty skin again. Oh, my darling, I am going to have you right here, so many times that I will have to carry you from this room, so completely disheveled that anyone who passes us in the hall won't even be able to recognize you from the look of bliss that will be carved into your features. You can cum, my love, and you can do so knowing it is the first of many you'll receive at my hands today."
It's the words more than any friction, no matter how wonderful that is too, that makes him go over the edge almost immediately. His balls tighten and all of the stress and pent-up frustration that has been sitting at the edge of his mind is released in a perfect splatter of white that covers their stomachs as stars dance behind his eyes. His moan echoes around the room, chasing away every awful memory that lingers in this place from a lifetime of his suffering. Tomura kisses his slack, panting lips, his cheek, down along his jaw, and over his neck. But his hands don't stop. He said that he wouldn't and Dabi knows how to ask for him to if he really, truly desires that. But he doesn't. Even though his cock is softening now, and the pleasure on the edge of his nerves is starting to sting because his body is being asked to accept more, he doesn't care. He would take every inch of this sweet agony if it means that he can have every inch of Tomura joined with him as well. He's wanted this for so long. He can't bear to stop now and have it slip through his fingers again.
"Beautiful, baby boy. I missed seeing how lovely you are with your face twisted with pleasure. I can't wait to see how your mouth falls open when I'm filling you up." He murmurs the words against his shoulder as his tail, long, lined with spikes along the top of it, wraps itself carefully around one of his thighs. It feels like a serpent, corded with such thick muscle that make it feel so solid in a way that he'd not expected. But he can't protest the sensation when Tomura is careful not to let any of the sharp parts of his skin scrape over Dabi's. He brings his legs wider and coaxes him up in his lap even more so he can kiss his collarbones and the hand that is soaked with his cum and the oil can move further between his legs.
He has had Tomura's fingers in his hole before, his tongue too, but there's a sharp prickle of fear as he remembers that the times before the other man did not have wicked black talons curving from his nail beds. But when his fingers circle his rim, he doesn't feel those against his skin. The pads of his fingers are only rough with the callouses that he is so familiar with. He's moaning again as the other man sinks the first finger in without hesitation. His nails curve into his shoulders as that fresh pleasure sparks his nerves hot and aching and he feels the way the muscles ripple as the dragon's wings flare out again. He tries his best to loosen his grip, scared that he's caused the other some kind of discomfort.
"Here, sapphire." His other hand is still tipped with claws as he wraps his fingers around Dabi's wrist and pulls him until their chests are pressed together and they are sharing every breath, bringing his touch over his shoulders and back along the place where he used to be able to feel the scars-- not scars. The place where his wings emerge from his back. The texture of the scales there is somehow even tougher than it was on his front, but the membrane that stretches to connect those scales to the first joint of his wings is leathery and soft. Tomura shivers again, letting out a low, rumbling purr through the air as he lets him touch a part of his body that feels so delicate, but that he saw could not be damaged so easily. Dabi moves his hands over this place gently, carefully, reverently, amazed that he can have this closeness from a creature that he thought for all of his life only could find pleasure in destroying.
Tomura presses another finger into his body and crooks them. He strokes his walls and makes Dabi rock his hips into the touch, makes him settle into a slower rhythm than before, but still keeps him moving like that as he is so desperate to get more. He makes him want it. Makes him need it even though he's still aching from his first orgasm as his cock starts to fill again. He's biting his lip hard enough he's surprised it hasn't split under the abuse from how roughly his teeth meet it. His whimpers join Tomura's purrs as more kisses are peppered over his skin because he fills him with a third finger, a fourth, and makes sure to spread them wide inside of him. So wide, stretching him more than he ever has been before and murmuring his spell to bring more oil to his skin twice more. Until it's dripping out of him and he can feel it soaking into the other's lap.
"Tomura, please," he whines. He knows the other is larger than his fingers, but this stretch is so obscene and his cock is aching so sharply from how hard he is again. If he isn't given what he's wanted for so many months now, he isn't certain that he'll get it at all before he's as disheveled as his lover has already promised to make him.
"So eager for me, my love?" He teases, his fingers pushing in deep and crooking all of them hard against that special spot inside that the dragon showed him. The spot where, with enough attention, he can make Dabi's orgasm crash through him even if he doesn't ever touch his prick. He rocks against him again, another shattered sound of his pleasure breaking apart in his throat as his eyes burn. Tomura has brought him to tears in bed before. He doesn't know if he should be surprised that when he's preparing to have every inch of him so completely for the first time, that he might do so again. "I should have known you would be. Your cute little hole always was so hungry for more. So desperate to be made full that it never even crossed your mind that a prince might demand to put his cock inside of his servant's body instead." Dabi's face flushes at the suggestion. No, he hadn't ever thought of that. He had been surprised the first time Tomura had deigned to wrap his lips around his cock the way Dabi was always so eager to do for him. It was a different desire, a shame that would hang around his neck if anyone had found out about it then, but he hadn't ever wanted Tomura beneath him like this. Not when it always felt so good to have him touching him in these ways.
"Just want what you give me, your majesty," his voice is so thin when he says it, but he can't find any other words to help express his need. He just needs and knows Tomura has to be the one who decides when he's earned having it.
The words seem to push that over the edge, getting a growl out of the dragon as his fingers push against his prostate again, nearly pushing Dabi over the edge for the second time, only managing to hold off because the fingers are withdrawing just as quickly. Dabi's hands fly down to the other's clasp so that he can open them and free his cock, swollen beneath the leather, in the hopes of having it replace the hollowness left behind by his digits. Tomura lets him open his pants, but he reaches inside. Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat as he takes himself out.
Like the rest of his body, Tomura is changed in his true form. The thick, long cock that he had grown so familiar with is now two. Two cocks that are so big that his head feels dizzy as he looks at him. The top one has the familiar ring through his head, and the bottom one has a strange ridged texture like snake scales running along the underside of it, both of them emerging from the dragon's pelvis, from an open slit, slick fluid dripping over them from pressing out of his body. Dabi has wanted him so badly, but just seeing him has a fresh whimper slipping out of his throat.
"Shh, little one," Tomura raises a hand to cup his cheek sweetly again, the filthy one instead going to his cocks as he makes a show of stroking them, showing Dabi how he can't close his fingers around both at the same time when they're against his palm, thumb teasing along that strange texture that sits along the underside of the bottom one. "I know that this is a lot, but you can handle one, I know you can. My pretty boy has been begging for it for so long, I know that he has the resolve to take what he's been asking for."
Just one? Dabi swallows down his nerves and manages a small nod. He can try for one. Tomura presses a kiss to his temple before he uses a hand and his tail to get Dabi shifted higher up on his lap, steadying his upper cock so he can lower his body down onto himself. Dabi feels the metal of the ring that has been pierced through his head, warmed from his skin, rubbing around the sensitive rim of his hole. Every nerve ending tingles as he does his best to stay relaxed. He has wanted this for so long. He never thought he would get it like this, the other's anatomy so much stranger than what he's grown accustomed to, or here on the throne, but he will not complain about it if it means that he can finally have all of the creature he has tied his future to.
Tomura's eyes meet his and he rests their foreheads together again, eyes hungry and searching his face for every flicker of emotion that passes it as he sinks Dabi's body down onto his cock. He is so happy that the other took such care in prepping him because Dabi thinks the rigidness of that metal and the thickness of his lover's cock might have torn him apart if he hadn't. He still feels like he might split in two as he's slowly slid further and further along his length until he feels the second one wet and hard, pressing up against him, nestled between his cheeks. Tomura fills him up and then smiles so sweetly at him.
"So perfect for me, darling." He murmurs, his hands rubbing over his skin soothingly. "So tight and warm. Perhaps it was good you gave me time to get this country's affairs in order, because I don't think I'm going to be able to slip from your body for weeks if I can have you so warm and tight like this in my nest." He rocks his hips up, just a bit, into Dabi's but he might as well have sent an earthquake off beneath his skin. The moan that he lets out is so loud that he's certain that the wards won't stop the sound from passing through the stone. His fingers are scrabbling over scales and skin to try and get a tighter hold of the other man as he starts to babble,
"Tomura, ah, ah, Tomura!" Because he asked for it, begged for it, but he couldn't have ever imagined how it would feel with him inside. He sees fresh stars when the other man chuckles softly and brings his hands to his hips. The muscles in his arms tighten as he lifts Dabi up, until only his head is just inside of his hole, the hard metal of his piercing so different and solid in its texture that he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop noticing it, before he lets the force of gravity and just the slightest coaxing of his muscles, bring Dabi back down onto his length. Dabi would be humiliated that just the first real thrust has him spilling his pleasure between their bodies again, but he can't be bothered to care when his orgasm makes his insides squeeze even more tightly around his length, prolonging that pleasure.
The dragon laughs, but the sound is bright, not mocking. It doesn't sour the ecstasy that is still in his veins as he continues to be moved. "Gorgeous. You're going to scream my name when I fill you with my cum, aren't you, precious? Won't be able to help it. How many times was I so tempted to let the wards drop so that everyone in the entire castle would hear how loudly you moaned whenever I let you taste my cum or when I had my fingers sunk into your tight," he moves him down harder on the word and makes Dabi's toes curl, "eager hole? Too many, sapphire. I would have stayed in your bed until every guard in the castle came to tear me away from you just so I could hear you sing so sweetly for as long as possible."
Dabi didn't think that one could die from pleasure, but his seems unending as his muscles soften again, but are still so sharply oversensitive and aching as they are moved over his lover's cock. He isn't sure that anyone could survive this, dragon or not, but oh, how this would be a wonderful way to go. If Tomura could have killed him like this, then he almost wants to go back in time and reprimand him for not doing so sooner. He can feel the other's talons starting to poke against his skin again, his movements growing faster and more certain as Dabi doesn't protest being bounced in his lap like a toy. Perhaps other royalty demand that of those who serve them, he could never even imagine it when Tomura was his. It probably says something unflattering about him that he is so excited to become that for the other man in turn. He would give up making himself anything else if he could always be the one warming Tomura's bed and being an eager home for his thick, perfect... cocks.
Nerves flutter in his stomach through the breathless haze of pleasure that is living inside of him. But he wants to bring Tomura's as high as his own body is going. Wants to make sure that this is just as good for his lover as it has been for him. If he is going to be the king's consort, then he's going to be the best one that he can be. He's going to have every inch of him the way that he was promised.
"Tomura," The movements slow and his kisses sweeten when he says his name.
"What is it, little one? Too much?"
He manages to shake his head and steady himself against the other's chest as he reaches back to touch the second cock. He is heavy, the same heaviness that he has always been against his palm before, but the scales along his underside are new. They're rigid, but there aren't any sharp gaps between where they meet, the skin as velvet and soft as the rest of his length, though there's a distinct chill to this part of him than the top of his length. "I want all of you, your majesty," he begs, uncertain if his body can even take all of him. He already feels so stretched and so good with one of his lover's cocks inside of him, but he wants to make sure their pleasure is matched, beat for beat. He has already cum twice, he can bring the other off with them inside to bring them to even ground again.
"Are you sure, princeling," he nuzzles against his cheek. "This is your first, is it not?"
His face flushes, but he hasn't ever really hid his inexperience from the other man. "Show me what I have to look forward to getting used to, Tomura."
"You really are perfect for me, precious." The words are cooed as softly as the sweetest 'I love you' as the other shifts his body up again, until only his head is stretching his hole, and then he forces himself to retract his claws again so he can reach down. Dabi lets some of his nerves be washed away as his lover makes more oil slick his skin. He has taken such great care to never hurt him and he doesn't believe that he would give him this now if he thought that he might. Tomura slips two fingers inside alongside his first cock and stretches his rim further, but this isn't too much yet, isn't making him doubt what he wanted so badly before. Tomura's eyes are on his face again, watching him for any flicker of discomfort that might pass his features. He doesn't want to stop, will take anything that he can get, and somehow feels more embarrassed when he leans in and gives the dragon a sweet, closed kiss against his lips as he gently rocks his hips back so he can feel his other cock rub against his skin.
Tomura's eyes are heavy with his own affection as he slips the fingers from Dabi's body and reaches to steady his cocks again. He presses the second head to his hole now and tells him, "Breathe for me, my love," waiting for the stream of his breath to start slipping from his lips before he pushes up. Dabi feels a slight ache at his rim as the blunt head presses against him. For a split second, he doesn't think that the other man is going to fit. That he will have to stop and Dabi will learn that no matter how much his lover has encouraged him and helped him not think of his body as completely useless, that it will fail him here too, always failing him when he wants something so keenly. But then his head pushes inside with a pop and stars explode across his vision.
He had thought he felt full with one of his lover's cocks inside, but as his rim is made to stretch so wide, each ridge of the other's scaled cock creating a unique and stunning pressure as it goes inside of him and can still be felt against his walls there, he loses space inside of him that his lungs used to breathe. When he sinks down, when Tomura pulls him down with his hands and tail, he ends up so deep inside his guts that there isn't room for his lungs to expand anymore. He is drowning, pulled under from how completely the joining of their bodies has allowed Tomura's to possess his own. There is no escaping his fullness. No way that he could ever let himself think past this moment that they are brought together in their entirety, nothing separating them anymore.
Everything. This is everything. He could never ask for more. He won't ever need to. Tomura will give this to him forever. He'll train his body to be good for this, to be his perfect consort, and Dabi will show him his devotion each day. He brought him love, warmth, light into his life no matter their rocky start, no matter that they were not supposed to be this to one another. He will bring that light into the kingdom. He won't ever make Dabi regret choosing him over the life he was born into and that had been filled with so many years of cruelty before him.
"You're so pretty when you fall apart for me, baby boy." Tomura's words are sweet when they brush over his cheek before his tongue is moving across his skin. Catching the blood that is dripping over his cheeks because he is so overwhelmed by the fullness inside and how every inch of him is being given fresh pleasure as he begins to move slowly again. "So brave taking so much your first time. Is it good, sweetheart?"
Dabi can't give him an answer in words, he just chokes out a sob as he feels that ring rubbing against his prostate and making his cock, already so oversensitive from his previous two orgasms, swell to half hardness again.
"You have to answer me, baby, or I'll have to stop."
"Don't stop," he's never heard his voice so weak before, but managing the words at all has the other moving him over his cocks more surely.
"There. That wasn't so hard was it? I know that you're going to remember how to behave so well for me, but if you slip again," they're both breathless with their arousal when Tomura promises against his skin, "I'll have to punish you, little prince."
He'll take any that he gets when he starts to move his hips down in time with the other's thrusts. He's so blindingly full, his body so tight with pleasure that he didn't even know he could experience, that he has to bring his lover to this same place as him. Tomura sees his eagerness and lets out another growl, his wings flaring, his tail tightening around his thigh, as he meets the movements with harder thrusts of his own. Seeing his wings flare like that has Dabi's fingers curving back into the place where they connect to his back and whatever restraint that the dragon was holding onto is gone.
Their movements are frantic, each one never letting Dabi's body completely adjust to the feeling of his cocks sinking deep inside of him. He still feels so small and so tight. He can't get to full hardness, not when his pleasure is so complete and centered inside of his hole as his thighs get slicker with each thrust that sends more oil dripping out and mingling with the slick from Tomura's roots and his precum as it starts to fill him. His throat is raw from the litany of sounds he is letting bounce against the stones, only drowned out when Tomura's lips are on his and his tongue is devouring every inch of his mouth, letting Dabi taste his own blood because the dragon can't seem to help himself and keeps licking it away from his skin.
"My sapphire, my princeling, my consort, mine," he snarls against his lips, the movements growing even rougher. "You are worth more than any treasure that will ever enter my horde. More perfect than any kingdom I will ever rule. Mine, until you banish me from your side."
Dabi clings to him even tighter. "Never." He won't ever give him up, won't ever make him leave. Tomura is his future, the only one that he has ever been able to look at and want so fiercely that Dabi would take up a sword and fight through any army that might ever think to come and take it away. "Mine, forever."
"Forever, love." Tomura agrees.
Neither of them can speak more after that as their movements devolve into something so frantic and needy that Dabi doesn't doubt that he will have bruises on his skin from how hard their hips are meeting and their fingers are clenching onto each other's skin and scales. But it's beyond worth it when Tomura lets out a snarl as he slams Dabi onto his lap and sinks his cocks inside as deeply as possible. He didn't realize that the dragon's release would make him feel even fuller, but he is blinded by the amount of pressure that builds inside of him as he is soaked with his cum, the fluid spilling out of his hole even when he's being plugged by his cocks. Dabi doesn't have any cum of his own left, his cock twitching and stinging with pain as bright as his pleasure as his third orgasm crashes over his nerves and leaves him limp and panting against his lover's chest.
It takes a long time for their breathing to steady and for the dragon's cocks to soften and slip out, his cum spilling from Dabi's body because it can't close up fast enough to even try to keep it inside. Their cum all over the throne, the smell of their sex permeating the air. Scandalous. Blissful. Tomura presses another sweet kiss to his temple and gathers him in his arms, his wings curling around their bodies to block him from sight.
"Come now," he murmurs. "It has been months now that I've longed to have you sleeping soundly in my bed, for you to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes each morning. I will have that now, and when you wake this evening, hungry for more, I will have you again."
Dabi doesn't know if his body will be able to handle having Tomura again, but the other man has always been able to find the right ways to push him, how to make him better. He trusts him to know this too, hiding his head against his collarbone and clinging to him as he's carried to the secret door behind the throne. No one should be in these halls, so no one will be able to stop them from going to Tomura's chambers so his lover can make good on his words the way he always has before.
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, consider shooting me an ask or leaving a comment!
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Re:Monster... I don't know how to feel about it.
I'd say it's got me curious - but that whole first episode, outside of its basic premise of "I've been reborn with the memories of my previous life intact, gotta Get Good if I want to survive", just had me suspending my disbelief pretty much throughout. You mean to tell me the goblin leader, who's twenty years of age is considered elderly by goblin standards, has lived with what I guess is his tribe in that cave the whole time - and didn't bother to at least teach them how to sustain themselves before going out into the world? You mean to tell me they didn't do anything at all in the cave before Gobrou incarnated into their world and did it for him? How the hell did they survive up to that point? No one else in the tribe knows about the Level Up system that dictates their evolutionary status.
There's also the fact that Gobrou outright states he came from a world where ESP is a thing and that his Consumption ability was rare. Like, I get this is (what appears to be) an isekai power fantasy and he had to reincarnate from his sci-fi setting to Earn A Level in Kindness and put his Order skill to use, but that's a whole ass story being teased that we could've been told right there. I would've liked to have known more about Gobrou's previous life (even if that, too, was just him being OP).
#it also does this thing that isekai anime do#where the moment the MC is reborn they immediately have full faculty of their thought processes#it wigged me out back then and it still wigs me out now#everything else is basically the MC learning the ropes faster than everyone else#and then taking the ropes and teaching them how to hunt and fight#which again i think the elder should be doing#but apparently it's a Might Makes Right Trial By Fire philosophy goblin society follows#i guess. idk lmao#i can tell this is going to be a power fantasy#and idk if it's going to be for me#at least i'll have something to watch in the meantime until/unless it gets stupid#anime#armi watches anime
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Why do we still have in 2024 stupid takes like Rhea created and enforces the crest system?
Bcs Rhea BaD anon.
More seriously,
FE Fodlan is one of one of the most divorced FE verses from its fantasy elements (see : Nabateans being as important as Ignatz's leather shoes) : Tellius has the Laguz existing, Archanea/Ylisse has manaketes hanging around and being a core point in FE Archanea, Elibe has its entire history involving dragons and the best ending finally be about acceptance between the two races, Magvel has zombies, Valentia has terrors and in SoV we have dragons and magic dragon blood, Fates has dragons (and laguz-like!) and even Jugdral have people with magic dragon blood.
(i ranted and ranted and ranted under the cut, so it's a bit long)
Unlike Fodlan, Jugdral's "people with magic dragon blood" are a key element to the story told at large, and it bleeds through the mechanics used to tell that story. FE4 wise, toddler!Seliph has a S rank in swords when Beowulf, even if he trains his entire life, will never achieve A rank in swords. Base!Julia with her holy weapon can smack Loptyr, when max!invested (at least lore wise) Forseti!Ced will never be able to kill him.
It's unfair for Beo and Ced, but that is how the verse works because, in that verse, some people are mc guffins or "the only ones" who are able to do something, or even, straight out, stronger/have more talent than others.
In traditional fantasy settings we have the "same" sort of rules, you have elves who do X and Y, humans won't can't, dwarves who can't either but they can do W, orc who can do J, etc etc.
Even for all of the "deconstruction of the genre!" gimmick ASOIAF has, according to some people, Dany is fire-proof and Jon most likely survives after being assassinated because he is a Stark and can use his doggo as a back up save, both things Edmure Tully will never be able to achieve.
Tolkien has Numenoreans being straight up blessed by the Valar/stronger/longer lived/etc etc than middle-earth humans, on top of also having elves, dwarves and ents.
Ergo : power inbalance is baked in the fantasy genre.
And yet, the writers often manage to tell some version of "the ones who have less power are no less important", like with Tolkien, it's a bunch of hobbits who manage to take down the greatest "evil" of their era, or some message like "having more power/being more important means you are bound to help the ones who have none" thingie.
In Fodlan, the "beings who have more power" than humans are the Nabateans (+ Sothis herself!). Sothis can create life, her daughter - through unknown means - can create artifical beings, one her children can control weather (the one who was turned in a milkshake for Charon!), one of them has monstruous strength (the one turned in a milkshake for Blaiddyd), one of them could communicate with animals (Timotheos iirc - if we assume he was a Nabatean or got his powers from his crest), her granddaughter can set up an AOE to heal what would otherwise be fatal wounds (it's heavily implied this is what Flayn did when she overused her power and went comatose) etc etc.
This is the original power inbalance in Fodlan.
Then some humans "stole" this power from Nabateans, and got a share of it themselves, which is what is later called "crest" : aka, some humans got a part of the super/magic powers that Nabateans originally had and thus, because, for all intents and purposes, "super-humans".
Now, Fodlan discourse started with FE16 being released in 2019, not that long after GoT's ending - which was trash - and in an era where fandom turned from "harmless fun" to "something that looks like activism and earns you point if you manage to use it to express your real life opinions".
In 2019, after Dumb and Dumber tanked GoT and removed most of ASOIAF fantasy parts to deliver "sex that sells" with a moldy plot, some part of the fandom started to conflate and harass people over what they like, and how it, apparently, reflected on their real life opinions ("if you hate this female character it means you hate women!"/"if you think X becoming king is a good ending, you don't value democracy!").
So, we have this fantasy setting with its inherent power inbalance... that quickly became something that is/was unacceptable, because IRL, power inbalance is based on bullshit and something everyone decries - so if your beloved media reflects on what you like IRL, you can't like a setting with an objective power inbalance, even if is justified by magic which doesn't exist irl like shooting eyebeams or some people being more "special than others" who can live up to 1500 years old.
Fodlan's power inbalance, for some parts of the fandom 2019, cannot be justified by traditional fantasy settings so, those settings/fantasy elements are straight out ignored.
Thus the "crests"' magic effects/powers are ignored, and dumbed down to, roughly, what a middle school student would think "nobility" is/was in the Middle Ages/Renaissance.
Jean-François Marie Pierre de Bourbon isn't inherently better at smashing things with a sword than Bob, or at healing than Roger, any "advantage" Jean-François Marie Pierre de Bourbon has over them is, maybe, that he started training earlier.
In Fodlan?
If Jean-François Marie Pierre de Charon has a major Charon crest, he can dance and clap in his hands to summon rain. Bob and Roger, no matter how hard they train, will never be able to do that. Jean-François Marie Pierre de Charon will thus be seen as having higher "value" or being straight up "better" than Bob or Roger, because as long as he is here, your crops will never suffer from drought.
But... we can't have that, because if you confuse fandom and real life opinions and aspirations, you cannot admit that some people in Fodlan are inherently "better" at something, only because of their blood, otherwise, what would it translate to IRL?
This is why, imo, part of the fandom (and the game sure doesn't help! Fodlan is no Jugdral and its gameplay lacks coherence regarding the in-game lore! Remember how Raphael can use a relic and only loses 10HP, when Miklan, plot wise, was turned in a demonic beast?) that loves this take, arguably, reduces crests to a title and family name.
Why should the Bourbon family rule over us, when they're no better than Roger or Bob? Isn't it unfair the Bourbons are still valued nowadays when the only thing to their fame is their name, and not what they are actually doing?
The game plays coy about crests - we know each of them has a specific power - but it never reveals what are those powers (lore wise!) save for 2 of them. So are crests superpowers, or just a family name with a particle, or both? Is the "system" (a friend made a post debunking any idea of "systemic" application of this notion in the three countries) based on bullshit, or on, objective superpowers?
Dimitri tries to tackle the issue, but only around relic usage : the Gautiers are valued if they have a crest because they can use their superweapon to protect the border. But what about valuing House Charon's ability to bring rain and guarantee good harvests? What is the other superpower tied to the crest of Gautier that isn't "use a femur and wreck havoc with it"?
If Marianne's ability to talk to animals is tied to her crest, why isn't it more developed? Instead of having useless shit like talking and befriending horses like a Disney princess, we could have Maurice-blooded people be masters of counter-intelligence, imagine if they can talk to birds/rodents and ask them to scout various areas or spy/ask them what they saw ! Hell, we could have had a situation where in a fog of war map, where Marianne, if, idk, through Billy fed enough animals in the monastery, would have a better field of vision than anyone else, with some blurb/one-line about her relying on the animals around to know and see what is going on! Alas, it wasn't meant to be.
FE16 eludes the question, because the character who "questions" a world centered around "crests" is the marketable asset of the game, and cannot be challenged in any meaningful capacity v- she feels it's unfair that her crest seemingly dictate her life, and only in the gacha game with ery serious writing like the Heavy Plate Corps or Sniddies, does she get a modicum of self-reflection - or at least someone challenging her - where she is told that she could use the superpowers she has to help people instead of blaming the world for getting one.
In a traditional FE setting, where some Lords question why they were born with power/or are in powerful positions, the answer is always that no matter what they were born with (or without in Leif's case!) what is more important is what they decide to do with that power. Elincia never wanted to become Queen? She will still fight and protect Crimea and its people. Marth is the last hope of Altea, even if it means leaving Elice behind. Seliph doesn't want to fight in Thracia anymore or feels like he's a fraud? He can turn tail and return home, while the world around him falls apart. Leif also feels like a fraud because he doesn't have superpowers like his cousin? Does that mean he should turn his thumbs and watch as his people are being caught/enslaved/sacrificed?
In Fodlan you have no reflection like this : Linhardt is, imo, the best example.
Dude hates blood and has a crest (aka magic powers) geared towards healing, you could make a case that for someone who has hematophobia, being a healer is difficult and this would be the reason why he refuses to heal/use his powers to help people around him... but no. Lin's laziness is played for laughs, and his refusal to do anything not related to his topic of interest is never questioned/analysed under the angle of, say, a head nurse who has no crest and laments that she couldn't save everyone who was hurt during an assault, who snaps at him for having the "gift" he has and not using it for the sake of people around him.
"What Lin decides to do with his power?" : Well, nothing.
Instead we have a reflection on his bright mind going to waste if he lazes all day long, culminating in his Supreme support where an Imperial facility is created specifically to cater to his tastes, that will enable him to research crests as much as he wants...
But still, nothing about his innate "healing" power!
In the end, it's no surprise that part of the fandom latched on that "crest = nobility title" because the Fodlan verse refuses to develop anything about its fantasy elements (hell, iirc Nopes swaps "crests" for "blood" and "titles" in its Supreme route ?).
"Sure, but where does Rhea fit in this nonsense?"
Rhea is, in this vision, the ultimate target !
For all of the "I ignore fantasy elements", Rhea is always (in FE16 at least!) turning into a dragon : no matter how hard you want to ignore fantasy, she's here to remind you tht, in this verse, dragons exist.
But most importantly, as Fodlan must be analysed through an IRL lens otherwise modern fandom cannot engage with it, Rhea, by virtue of being the lady in charge of a religious organisation called "Church", is also seen through a lens : Rhea BaD bcs Religion BaD and Catholic Church BaD.
FWIW, thanks to the five years of discourse we had, I learnt more about cultural values and differences existings between, here and the rest of the world - especially a place that is overepresented on fandom spaces - on organised religions especially the catholic church. Of course this bled on fandom takes and analysis, which projected some users' irl bias against the Catholic Church on the fandom organisation and entity that is the Church of Seiros. Combine this with secularism being now weaponised and used to ridicule people in spaces like r/atheism and you have a perfect recipe for "Religion BaD = Catholic Church BaD = fictional organised religion with a catholic flair BaD".
Granted, given how a certain loLcalisation team also originates from this place, it's no surprise that some "creative liberties" they took tried to hammer even more, let it be in the script or the fucking "what is this game about?" page on their website, how this fictional organisation is basically a squenix trope of "evil cult manipulating everything in the shadows and sekritly controlling the world".
Besides, the main heroine of the game (even if that comes with a twist!) opposes this faction (CoS and especially its leader!) and, by the way those games are built, as seen earlier, they cannot disavow her too much, else the entire gut-punch the devs were gunning for (you are betrayed by your beloved character! But unlike what happens in Baten Kaitos, you only are attached to her because she is your avatar's simp) will fall apart. So she must be, somehow, right and not motivated by more personal and heinous reasons, like not accepting "non-humans" to have powers over humans, or thinking the world is not a place for them (this was carefully scrubbed out in Nopes, btw!).
If Supreme Leader, who we are supposed to root for and whom the game ultimately rewards because "reforms" happen in the endings, says that the CoS is the reason why humans value superpowers, she must be right, or at least, not completely wrong???
Which raises the final point on this topic : FE16 came in 2019, which was election year in the US, and we all know that election time in the US means the rest of the world is also affected, even if the rest of the world, well, isn't the US. As I mentionned, the US is over-represented in fandom spaces, and fandom is far from being a safehaven from all the mayhem and passion that always boil during election time and its immediate following.
Coupled with the "my fandom faves define my real life opinions" thingie I already wrote about, and we had an explosive cocktail for bad takes, needless aggressivity, ridiculing people with dissident opinions because they are seen as "wrong", etc etc. And let it be something trendy or not, especially when (young?) people are arguing about "politics" in online spaces, but it always boils down to gross simplification of various complex issues and/or using catchphrases or "shock-value" words to win over whoever is reading/listening.
(et je ne dis pas ça parce que certains de nos politiques font des "immigrés clandestins ou pas" la source de tous les maux, ou le fait que nos députés font la même chose en ce moment, Jonluk et Marine main dans la main, pour paralyser l'Etat afin de pousser Manu à la démission et éviter la case prison pour Marine)
I always thought the "CEO of racism" was a meme, but through Fodlan discourse, I started to wonder if it was something started seriously by someone who really thought that "racism" is caused by one person.
And we finally get to the point : somehow, somewhat, Rhea is supposed to be responsible for people/humans valuing superpowers.
Forget that the same "quest to obtain those superpowers" led to the extermination of her kin, or how the devs themselves explained that people - at least in their setting - always want more power :
As a result, what would happen to humans who gained power... they would want even more power, and find a dragon much stronger to beat in order to collect materials forcefully, in order to make even more powerful weapons... and so that was the cycle that was born. And that was the birth of Fodlan's Ten Elites
Wait, kill that, those superpowers don't exist since the game and the characters (bar Catherine, but I agree with @9thwither here, Cat is one of the most overlooked characters in this fandom!) never talk about them, so they don't exist...
Rhea is thus the reason why people value bloodlines - especially since those bloodlines don't come out with superpowers.
It sounds better and closer to what you could "hear" irl, from someone who's discoursing on the internet to explain "why" some people are more valued than other, it's because of religion and the Pope! It cannot be because of, well, human greed or just the need to have more power (for good or wrong reasons), no.
"But random, the Church most likely promotes a "divine right to rule" doctrine and let the 10 Elites' families rule over their clans in Faerghus thus gain nobility!"
Sure, but everything is moot if you consider this : to make this take viable, we ignore the game and consider that crests are just bloodlines, and not, objective sources of superpowers.
So why are we, discussing about this hypothesis/theory, even arguing about what the game says and/or does?
Bob Blaiddyd can kill a giant lion/wolf with his fists at base level, is it because of a supposed doctrine that people rally and want to be in Bob's graces, or because Bob has the power to protect them all? Karen Charon can summon rain, are people siding with her because Rhea told them to, or because Karen can make crops grow?
In conclusion : why people are still, in 2024, sprouting those takes?
1- Because they refuse to engage with the game and realise that it is a fantasy game belonging to a very specific genre
2- Because fandom opinions reflect on your real life opinions and likes : so they must find a reason to oppose what their perceive as an unacceptable power inbalance otherwise it means that they support the various inequalities that exist IRL
3- Because Religion BaD and bar the "projected takes from transposing feelings about an IRL church on a fantasy one" more and more people tend to prefer an "easy to proceed" solution than think about multi-causal issues and find solutions that might not.
Of course, I can already guess that some people might argue that they don't "refuse to engage with the game" since this take is more a less a condensed version of the Supreme spiel, and as developed above, the game does - willingly - a shit job at demonstrating that her spiel is nonsense (they had to add the "greed" part in an interview released after the game and its only and final DLC!), just like her sockpuppet who supposedly learns how misguided he was in certain routes... only to end with the same ice cream, albeit with a different topping.
However, Dimitri and Sylvain mention how crestless children are disowned in Faerghus... when Dimitri's own uncle is ruling over a domain himself, Ingrid's brothers exist in the background and Gustave is still Baron Dominic's brother, on top of having been the royal master at arms for at least, depending on the route, 3 generations of Faerghan kings.
In a game where Dorothea can blame the Goddess for fighting in a war her bestie started - without anyone pointing this out - it's obvious this verse has unreliable narrators, but after 5 years and having played all routes in both games + a DLC + a dev interview explaining how and why some humans acquired crests...
Tl;Dr :
Reason 1- is most likely the most prevalent why this take exists anon, "because some people refuse to engage with the game" with the added topping of "save for what Supreme Leader and her sockpuppet say that I can use to demonise the characters I don't like".
#anon#replies#fandom woes#trying to sum up the reasons of why the 5 years of discourse happened is... complex lol#this takes encompasses everything#Fodlan and some parts of the fandom's refusal to engage with Nabateans aka the fantasy part of the game#treating crests like a glorified family name or worse a hereditry proof#takes only being meant as gotchas against fellow fans and deriding them for being 'wrong' to the point of harassment#sure the game is as consistent as a marshmallow#but the refusal over 5 long years to engage with what you can chew out from this marshmallow is just#what is even the point of any discussion?#sure lolcalisers lolcalised a lot making some muddled messages even more muddled but#explaining that people value super-powers because someone told them to? Instead of just#people loving Superman because he can protect them and do nifty things?#never underestimate the influence of Church BaD in this fandom anon or in online spaces#not saying we don't have our own edgy r/atheist people here but this is basically taking it to another level#and let's not forget the “my fave is better than yours because he can solve poverty in 2 easy steps” nonsense#and it's fightening how sometimes this can apply to both fandom or real life#'you can cure greed racism and xenophobia by killing this one person'#remember the “CoS is BaD because it instaured a CASTE system????”#top ten of the takes in those fives years lol it wins the “i'm using words i don't know” trophy#Imagine a situation where we could have had Lin refusing to go to the warfront because of his hematophobia#and his superior either Supreme Leader or maybe Billy themselves telling them it's okay to stay behind if they don't want to participate#as long as he doesn't have any regrets if some of his allies who don't return might have been saved by his powers#sure it's assholish but it looks like what F!Lewyn told Seliph#Much like Elincia who breaks down saying she never wanted to be queen#sure she never wanted but now she's there what is she going to do?#blame her father for having been the king ?#FE16
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Is this fanfic friendly? I feel like an outlier.
I guess this is my sign it's time to throw together a FAQ post to link to lol.
Yes, every event for this blog is fanfic friendly :D
Though as I mentioned on my Ominous October post, for events that include multiple short stories, I encourage everyone to flex their creativity and take one of their planned short story fanfics, and at least *attempt* to turn one of them into something entirely original; rebuilding a character and story from the ground up to stand on its own two legs is no easy feat, and that is what makes it so fun!
It really gets your creative gears turning, to make an "au of an existing material" to be something entirely original, and you can be pleasantly surprised about the things you come up with!
As a few people say, its not just a matter of "filing the serial numbers off" -- you have to add in just as much *or more* as what you take out when you are turning a fanfiction into something that is original and completely divorced from its original source material / inspiration, and that is a hard, but very rewarding challenge!
Obviously, this is not a requirement (there's no hard requirements for any of the challenges, other than no cheating, including no using AI),
but if you would like an extra challenge for the short story events and you're planning on doing entirely fan-fiction, I highly recommend trying it out at least once, and seeing where it leads you--
you may find yourself pleasantly surprised by what you find down that rabbit hole!
#replies#novella november#long rambly tags to follow lol#including anti royalist / anti billionaire shit#ominous october#this is what my novella november is going to be#something that WAS a huge earth-shattering fanfic AU#but before I even got past a WIP Oneshot I'd already realized that what I was planning was going to turn canon so far on its head it would#be unrecognizable and it would be much better off and more coherent if I made it entirely original#so now it is!#not only does this involve changing every single characters name#everyone is now a completely different species other than human because thats always fun#and of course we're also tackling all the issues that had annoyed me in omega verse fics since I was like 14 and liked the#creature aspects but hated the biological essentialism and misogny / caste systems#if your fantasy people have an enforced caste system you gotta actually treat that like the horror and systemic oppression it is#not just say 'biological = right' like dude what do you think people have been saying about real women this whole time????#people literally insist women are biologically inferior to men do you really think supporting that idea is going to make you sound#progressive just because your main character is a tomboy independant woman?#also like she lost all her independence as soon as she found a man to marry so uhhhhh#what happened to being ready and willing to hit the bricks if people kept talking down to you and condescending you for being a woman????#why did you go from independant badass tomboy to fainting damsel who spends all her time worrying about failing to produce an heir#so her husband can take power#instead of just straight up telling your husband#'hey I don't want to deal with the bullshit from your father how about we do the-#- socially acceptable thing and just go off to make our own independant settlement with some of the villagers who are on your side'#like your husband would literally be escstatic about this idea of finally getting out from under his dad's tyrannical thumb#and its more like way more than half the villagers would go with you not just a handful#theyve been sick of the kings shit for years and only your husband's potential rise to rule kept them in check#cus he actually cares about the villagers and goes among them#while still clearly having some biases to work through when it comes to class and gender equality
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Also when I make shitposty jokes like that I LOVE taking them Way Too Seriously. Like. Yeah that's funny, but what does it Mean actually, for Freyja to say all that to Moe? Is she propping herself up, rubbing salt in the wounds of someone who could not achieve "goodness" as presented to it, by explicitly stating she was raised as a lotus flower, already a pure and divine being from the start? Who, as you can plainly see, manages to embody that purity and divinity to this day, whereas Moe has failed to? By saying she smells nice like vanilla all the time, does that imply that Moe could stand to have better hygiene habits, or at least is self-conscious of the times it gets forgetful and/or neglectful in that regard? Or at very least is just extremely self-conscious that it sweats a lot when nervous (which is nearly all the damn time)? And when Freyja leaves the beetle for dead in such a specific way, is Moe thinking of and empathizing with the protagonist of Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis?
#moe tag#moe lore#there's an eviler option for the second example. btw. not telling you what.#i really did just make like. the world's most abandoned stray cat of a guy.#world's most pathetic sopping wet beast. who has so many problems. an ungodly amount of complexes.#maybe the ultimate power fantasy is being so outrageously sad and soggy and bitey on top of that for good measure#and having a lot of weird and embarrassing things going on but.#still being beloved. being safe to be all those things.#you have to work with the people who love you who you love of course. that's a constant lesson moe is learning#but you can be loved AND safe. you can be safe and loved.
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Does anyone else get the impression that the whole point of Episode Ardyn was to reveal that the real villain of ffxv was Bahamut all along or is it just me
#lets be real here#ardyn feels more like a victim than a villain and i love that take thank you#like yes he is an evil bastard of a man but god do i feel for him#questions i would like to ask bahamut (ffxv) include:#why allow ardyn to be infected to begin with#why force him to become the source of darkness#where did the starscourge come from#why give ardyn the power to heal it and not tell him he is slowly going to turn into a daemon#why can lunafreya cure the starscourge without turning into a daemon#why allow somnus to get away with doing a terrible thing that would eventually mean the whole world gets fucked#why does noctis literally have to die in order to permanently kill ardyn#why does ardyn have to be killed at all if lunafreya eventually cures him in the book#why does ardyn dying just undo everything if the starscourge did not initially come from him#how is eos supposed to deal with a future starscourge outbreak if the lucii bloodline has ended#why did any of this have to happen at all#ffxv#ff15#final fantasy 15#final fantasy xv#my post
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recent stories i have read or watched or vored sexily
1. so yesterday i was on page 139 of gideon the ninth and today i finished it. i did nothing until i finished it. i physically could not stop. i mean i should have known it from the moment it had the most epic characters page of all the houses and each house had cool as balls names like Hope Of The Emperor and Wisdom Of The Emperor and Rose Unblossomed or however that one goes but holy mother of god…………. they did not lie this book went hard as fuck. i was reminded of something and i’m going to reblog it shortly so you can read it but i saw a tumblr post that was talking about dungeon meshi’s character designs versus genshin impact’s and another where an author was like ok but where’s the gross part?? where’s the pathetic in the characters??? and gideon the ninth does this so well. god, gideon and harrow are trying to beat each other into the ground for the better part of the book but then you get this insane 180 flip and they’re in a POOL and mein gotte when harrow said i am undone without you my eyes cried Just A Little. i forget, i think, sometimes, that people are most beautiful when they are wretched and clumsy and honest. i think this particularly because i’ve been on a hetero chinese language dramas and movies binge lately and i turned off the part of my brain that revels in messy honest art and let the part that wants to stare at bailu for 30 hours stare at bailu for 30 hours. but maybe it is time to stop watching things only to look at beautiful women (who are, admittedly, very fucking beautiful). maybe it is time to GO TO THE FUCKASS FARAWAY LIBRARY TOMORROW TO BORROW HARROW THE NINTH. what da hell. the world building in this novel is motherfucking exquisite. you have to work so goddamn hard to make a line like Emperor the Necromancer Divine God Salvation The Resurrection with a bunch of little semicolons in between work but it works, it works because it’s cool, it’s cool because it’s grimey and gross and funny, i would do astounding things for all of these people (except silas, who can get fucked). and gideon is such a spectacular narrator, to be introduced to this world through her eyes is an honor and a gift, and harrow….. HARROWWWWWWW AOUUUUUUUU YAUUUUUUUUUUUU i’m obsessed. it’s over. i am officially down horrendous
2. now i’m gonna talk to you guys about amidst a snowstorm of love 在暴雪时分. my mom keeps being like so are you done with the helsinki drama yet and i have to keep being like no because There Is No Drama but anyway ok i started it because wulei…….. and now i am Bereft and Despaired fr that they put wulei in this when man has so much more to him. listen up my guys. i have never seen or read or heard or played a story that has so little….. story. it is remarkably, devastatingly substanceless. it is like watching a 3 hour chill lofi playlist. every once in a while the dog in the animated background runs around the armchair. the fire crackles through the same 5 frames. otherwise— nothing. i’m honestly amazed that they managed to do this, this, this is Not what slice of life is. this is also not what straight romance is??? i am a longtime purveyor of the hetero romance arts and this is hetero romance sans all of the misunderstandings and miscommunications that generate teary breakdowns and mismanaged fights. there is literally no conflict which can be fine except there isn’t even, like, admiration for the small things in life or familial love or friendship which Does Not A Story Make. now i don’t say this lightly as i am a strong believer that if the plot only advances because the cast is too fucking stupid to talk to each other then it’s a shit plot but for the first time in my life i wish there Would be a petty misunderstanding so we could at least see a fraction of the characters’ personalities. now see the Premise is that the protagonist goes to finland to participate in a 9-ball competition and pulls the brooding grad student she meets there back into the world of billiards or whatever but the 9-ball is just a vehicle in the purest sense for the romance. she will be like i practice now and then go practice and then wulei shows up with coffee and that’s it, the 9-ball table was there so wulei could lean on it and look hot in 4 shots. i’m genuinely astounded. nothing fucking HAPPENS in this drama. literally i will sit through an entire episode and it’s just like, zhao lusi wants coffee…., there is coffee…., romantic moments (6-7) insert song (2-3) close up slow mo gazing (399999). seriously i would commit unspeakable crimes for wulei but even i cannot watch this drama straight without falling asleep. it is the emptiest thing i have ever seen and it is so spectacularly committed to this absolutely void of writing. also wulei’s character is dirt poor but he spends all his money on taking zhao jinmai to expensive ass fuck restaurants and then gets sick from overwork and no one TALKS about it. it’s not even a decent straight romance because there is no communication or anything remotely interesting happening in the relationship. it’s not a drama, mein gott, it’s a medley of cute heartwarming moments between two very beautiful and very talented actors who have been kidnapped and locked in a snowy nightmare where all they can do is smile at each other shyly and sometimes hold hands. crazy…………….. wasted potential for my babygirls………. (bereft)
3. watched episode 2 of oh no here comes trouble不良执念清除师 i cannot get over the fact that pu yiyong draws digital art. it’s just so lovely a detail. the first time they showed his drawing tablet and the tablet pen i was like WOAA…. HES JUST LIKE ME FR i mean he’s just like me fr he has a goofy little mullet and he talks back like it’s his 9-5 it’s brilliant. this is excellent representation for brooding angsty teens who also like to draw with clip studio paint. Possibly watching this at 2 am was a mistake as i am prone to nightmares about godless things but it’s such a fun drama and it handles tonal shifts with a clarity that i rarely see in tv….. also pu yiyong’s actor is just great. i mean god, he has eyebrows and they’re mad at you. good for him. slay
4. we’re on episode, i dunno, 23 of the double墨雨云间 now i think and it’s great but it’s true, especially after binging 80% of gideon the ninth in one day that much like how genshin impact’s character designs are designed to be attractive to as many people as possible, the double’s characters are meant to be perfect and attentive to the maximum number of people. the catharsis of seeing the protagonist triumph over the evil conspiring antagonist is only cathartic so many times, and i think im running up against the ceiling of that catharsis. we know fangfei’s brilliant and we know xiaoheng won’t let anything happen to her so it just becomes 5d chess between the morally black and white chess players, it becomes watching schemes unfold and collapse like origami boats, over and over again. they don’t sink because there isn’t any water. they’re beautiful but they can’t bear weight. and after spending too much time in these homes, in the chinese dramas hole or the kpop gorilla groups hole or the mainstream shounen hole i have to punch myself in the dick and be like ok now you are re entering the world as a person amongst other people, because it gives you tunnel vision! they’re all conventionally attractive queens with snatched waists and perfectly managed profiles, variety show personalities but you see i remembered that I Want Harrowhark Nonagesimus. i want the grit and the dirt and the morning sunlight all at once. what i mean is i will be borrowing harrow the ninth from the public library tomorrow if it means i have to take a train 2 hours out to fuckass nowhere to get it. what i mean is i am going back into the game and i am going 2 Win
#gelmo#i think what these chinese period dramas are largely is fantasy right#you want to be powerful and beautiful and always win. and in a lot of these that is what happens#but as a result they have this kind of emptiness. a transparency to the writing that betrays the nick in the writing#there’s something missing. it’s the lameness. the pathetic. the embarrassing#a story that cannot acknowledge the humanity of its characters !! does not tell a story of people#it can be a story about deities or gods or angels but. not people. we are far messier and therefore more enchanting#but god i love bailu……..#but god and i keep coming back to dungeon meshi lately#a story like dungeon meshi wouldn’t ever be made into a chinese drama. they’d take one look at the body types and go no. cannot#and that makes me sad. that this claustrophobic worldview is what so many young folks inherit#same goes in kpop which is why i can only take week long sojourns into going seventeen#it’s just like. there are so many beautiful people in the world!!! god even i forget when i just look at wonyoung for 8 hours#and that’s not good. we must Rember. cathedrals everywhere for those with eyes to see or whatever
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Looking back, the way Garroth was acting in the last episodes of season one of diaries was ridiculous. Like, you're a grown ass man WHY are you, as the head guard, sulking in your room all day just because you saw the girl you've liked for literally 2 months kiss another guy when your village is on the brink of war???
#the pyre#in retrospect this is when the Garroth/Laurence character assassination really started#like the last 20 eps of mcd or atleast the eps after they get back from the wolf village quest#are my favorite in the entire series but I've never actually properly rewatched them#I usually get to ep 70 and then drop my rewatch bc something else came up#I haven't watched these eps since they first aired 9 years ago#and it's so crazy how much I'd changed bc middle school me probably felt bad for Garroth#but adult me is kinda resenting him and wondering how this manchild was ever my favorite character#like I used to hate Laurence and his fans and his ship with aphmau that until I rewatched diaries as an adult#I didn't fully appreciate his character#in retrospect he was prob the best option for aphmau or at least he was until he became weirdly possessive in season 2 lol#like I said charcater assassination bc now in ep 95 he's taken the role of head guard bc Garroth is throwing a tantrum#and he's not using his newfound power to make aphmau feel like she owes him or smth like that#which is a very low bar but this is str8 romance it was only ever going to have a very low bar#but this laurence is v different from season 2 laurence but tbh I never rewatch season 2 bc I hate it#so I can only think of it the same way that pessimistic middle school me who already knew that diaries would never be as charming as it was#in season one but I still watched anyway bc I wanted to see those small garroth moments#I was watching a ytube video about romantasy and honestly if jess wrote mcd as a book series#you couldn't tell me she wouldnt be popular#all this feels very melodramatic ya fantasy post twilight book to me
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my baldurs gate hyperfixation is getting bad enough that I’m thinking about bard!alex and rogue!jack on an illithid adventure
#dark urge Alex trying not to kill Regular Guy Jack#I’m emo and a nerd#I can’t ever be normal about my interests ever#would Rian be a fighter or a paladin#Zack is a Druid 100%#I like Rian as a paladin but only because that’s my main class rn#I think we have too many support characters on this party#no I think they’ll be okay#well bard spells aren’t too too damaging and depending the sub class rogues might not even HAVE spells#I feel like in this scenario Jack should be a bard and Alex should be a wizard#wizard Alex goes so hard#imagine being like#a nerd with magic powers#my fav bg3 character is Gale can you tell#I mean like it doesn’t even have to be baldurs gate au#dnd au would still slay#I just don’t know as much about dnd because as soon as we stop laying pretend and go into battle strategy simulator I’m like#Huh What Where Am I#I like the concept of medieval fantasy rpg#but like the puzzle solving part#not the managing spell slots and health points part#Rian Would be a fighter honestly#neon speeks#neon hyperfixates on a video game that has nothing to do with all time low#neon tried to make their special interest relate to their hyperfixation again
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I should get back on my demon time and write some smut
#i just feel like#after seeing gojo going mad-eyed and high in his fights#he rly enjoys leting go and just going berserk huh#imagine thinking oh yes that man is submisive I MEAN thats a whole other fantasy but#geto×gojo would def look like gojo going ham on geto bc geto would be the only one strong enough to take him on#also geto is constantly reprimanding gojo as if he's much more polite or orderly than gojo and that has to be a farce right#the usualy restrained geto must love giving it up and getting HURT by goji like... he's so used to it so proud that he can take anything#and it has to be so ego boosting for geto that he is the one who can take gojo in their powerplay#at most gojo would be a power bottom but like i can tell a sadistic dom crazy eyed RUSH gojo gets in his eyes when killing like...#he would love to maim#such intresting dynamic mby had they fucked geto would have channeled his frustrations in a healthier way...#geto is def a submisive person who peoplepleased his whole life and then snapped
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okay i might actually lose followers for this, but. uh. why is Iron Widow rated so high
#i'm about half way through & it just. isn't good#i really really wanted to like it. i did. but the writing is mediocre as best. the prose reads like an unedited fanfiction#it's not feminist. the characterization is just. all over the place. the author is CONSTANTLY telling when they should be showing#they spend paragraphs describing things that don't matter while leaving important things completely undescribed#this is 4 out of 5 stars?? dude...........#the thing is that i really want to enjoy it. i want to like this book. it's a neat concept & the author is cool#it's just so bad though. like from a writing standpoint it just is not good at all#i feel like i'm going insane. this is a book for people who don't read. that's what it feels like#it feels like something written by someone who hasn't read since middle school english class#i feel like i'm being too mean but also it's just true#not saying you can't like Iron Widow or books like it. people can enjoy a power fantasy. but that doesn't make the writing good#may write an actual review for this because my feelings on it keep growing & i'm not even half way through yet
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FANTASIZE❦
old!logan howlett x fem!reader
*mdni
cw: cursing, nsfw, age gap (reader is twenty-five)
wc: 1k+
a/n: i have no idea where this came from. i was supposed to be working on something completely different but apparently, this needed to be written first instead. yes it is inspired by the unreleased ariana grande song.
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
Logan couldn't read minds. He never longed for the ability or power; he was better off not knowing what others had going on in their heads. He only wanted to peek into someone's mind when he caught your twinkling eyes lingering in his direction. Luckily, he could still read your mind even without the mutation because your fantasies were written all over your face.
It was obvious to anyone caught in the same room as you and Logan, that there was tension. You burned holes all over his body with your intense gaze. If Logan was in the mood to entertain your little crush, he could compliment you in a way that was sure to make you blush.
"Good form today, kid."
"Lookin' pretty today, sweetheart."
"Lemme fix that lipstick, dollface." That one left you with an ache in between your thighs as his thumb brushed your lower lip. "Can't have you walkin' around here a mess, now can we?"
Logan wasn't sure if he would ever make it to heaven but seeing your lip tremble with need was close enough for him.
If he saw you in a dress with a pair of mary-jane's, he would try to catch a glimpse of your underwear in the reflection of your shoes. It didn't always work but it made him feel young again.
No one was brave enough to address it due to him being twice your age. Despite being twenty-five years old and already having graduated from the school, it was still considered taboo to some. If anyone asked Logan about it, he would brush it off as a schoolgirl crush that you would eventually grow out of.
It was truly harmless he thought. You got the attention you craved and Logan got to see a pretty young woman squirm in her seat because of him. It never went further than flirtatious comments and lingering stares.
❦
Today might be the worst day of your life. You and Logan were being sent out together on a mission to find a mutant that lived two hours away. It wasn't the mission that worried you; it was being stuck in a tiny car with only Logan for one hundred and twenty minutes.
"Why aren't 'cha talkin', dollface?" Logan asked, almost teasingly.
For almost twenty minutes, he was aware of your eyes watching his hand hold the wheel. Logan was also incredibly aware of the effect it had on you. A little broken sigh escapes you when his hand clenches tighter around the leather, making his veins pop even more.
"Too busy fantasizing 'bout me?"
No matter how much you tried to find someone your age to be with, your heart always went back to Logan. He treated you differently than anyone you've ever met. Sure, sometimes he made you feel like a kid but he also knew you could handle your own. Logan wouldn't let anyone underestimate you; that kept you crawling back to him.
"Maybe I am." You shrug, fed up with his games.
"Oh, yeah?" He says, taking a deep inhale of your sent. "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours, hm?"
You were used to Logan's overly confident personality that he tried to use to intimidate you; and make you stumble over your words. It wasn't gonna work this time. Logan wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but you needed him to admit it first.
"Us in the backseat of the car." You admit, biting the inside of your cheek nervous for his response.
"Really? And what are we doing back there?" He asked, cocking his head curiously as his eyes remained glued to the road.
"You're on top of me, makin' me feel good." Your words were coy but that was the point. Logan liked being the tease; having all the power.
"Keep talkin', dollface."
There it was. You had him right where you wanted him.
You pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking your head and telling him, "No, I shouldn't"
"Why not?"
"Because an old man like yourself can't keep up with me, right? At least that's what I heard you tell the Professor."
Logan couldn't believe you had heard their conversation earlier this week. The Professor was the only person who knew the truth of how Logan felt towards you. When Charles asked him what was stopping him from pursuing you, all Logan had to say was, "I'm too old for her; can't keep up with such a young thing like her".
Which was far from the truth.
"So obsessed with me that you're listenin' to my conversations now?" He growled, pulling the car over.
"Stop acting like you aren't obsessed with me too." You smile at him. "I know a few pairs of my underwear 'mysteriously' disappear from my hamper. I know that you can hear me through the walls late at night, panting your name."
With each sentence, you inch closer to him. Logan could only compare you to the snake in Eve's garden; encouraging him to give into his temptations.
"I also know that you want me." Your eyes were dark with desire, making his pants tighter. "So, if you can't get it up or claim that you don't want me then that's fine with-"
Logan fumed with irritation and lust. Not thinking twice before slamming your lips into yours. He tasted exactly like you imagine; tobacco and mint. You were addicted; no one could ever compare to him.
In a rush, his rough hands pulled you into his inviting lap before one cupped your jaw and his other made its way up your skirt, toying with your lacy underwear. He wasn't going to give it to you that easily.
"L-Logan, please," You moan against his mouth, trying to create some friction on his lap. "Need it."
God, he's waited a long time to hear that; to see you so desperate in his arms. When he pulled back to look at you, Logan couldn't be more pleased with the image in front of him. Your eyes shut tightly, face scrunched, trying to concentrate, and lips pouty with annoyance. Logan removes his hand under your skirt; causing the prettiest whine to escape you. He thought you might be what finally kills him.
"We aren't done, sweetheart." He groaned in your ear. "Get in the backseat because you are gonna tell me every single one of your fuckin' fantasies."
#james logan howlett#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#hugh jackman wolverine#logan howlett smut#deadpool and wolverine#logan x reader#wolverine angst#wolverine x reader#logan howlett angst#wolverine smut#wolverine#logan howlett imagine#wolverine fluff#wolverine x you#wolverine one shot#logan howlett fluff#logan wolverine#logan howlett x you#logan howlett fanfiction#logan james howlett#logan#x men#old man logan x reader#x men comics#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#old man!logan#mcu#marvel movies
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𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 | eddie munson x reader
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | based on a request from the lovely @ultraintrovertedgryffindor ; getting stuck in an elevator with his best friend (and secret crush) was absolutely not on eddie's morning agenda, but it leads to one of his most wild fantasies coming to life.
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 3.8k
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | SMUT (18+ only!! semi-public sex, oral m receiving, kinda pervy eddie but also slightly pervy reader with a balls fixation gee I wonder where that idea came from), best friends to lovers (but very very limited plot haha), pretty much exactly what it says on the tin y'all not sure what to say
Eddie laughed as he pressed his hands to the elevator doors, but it wasn't a laugh of amusement— it was exasperation, frustration, an is this really happening? laugh.
"Soonest we can get a crew out there is uhh... noon?" the voice on the emergency phone informed you.
"Noon?!" you yelped. "It's not even half past eight!"
"What did I tell ya?" Eddie recalled, hanging his head in defeat for a second. "Nothing good happens before ten."
"Just try to stay calm and we'll be there when we can," the operator suggested, like it was so simple.
You didn't even reply to that, just scoffed and hung up.
It wasn't like he'd been looking forward to his GED exam, in fact he'd almost been hoping for a way to put it off or get out of it... but this was definitely not what he was imagining. Of all the elevators to get stuck in, this generic government building where he was supposed to have his big test proctored was probably the most boring option.
He glanced over at you, and stopped himself from making a dirty joke: you heard that Aerosmith single, right? Love In An Elevator?
That probably wouldn't have gone over well. He used to say stuff like that when you were both a little younger, but he'd since given up hope of it ever actually... inspiring anything. You two were probably better off as friends anyways; or, that’s what he told himself to make it sting a little less.
“Looks like we’ll be stuck in here for a while…” he mumbled instead. “Did they say what the issue is?”
“Some kind of power failure?” you recalled with a shrug. “It’s gonna take a while to fix, that’s the important thing. Do you think they’ll call the fire department?”
“Who knows,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the wall as you sank onto the floor and dropped your head back against the wall. “I guess we should just try to get comfortable.”
Which was easier said than done, but at least he was stuck here with you— you were generally pretty fun to talk to. Of course, you weren’t exactly in your best mood due to the circumstances…
At 8:32, Eddie checked his watch. “I’m officially late for my exam,” he noticed.
At 9, you checked your own; “And I’m officially late for work. We'll see if I even still have a job when we get out of here," you groaned. "I was on pretty thin ice already."
By 9:14, the stuffiness of the elevator was becoming harder to ignore. Eddie slipped off his jacket and vest in response to the heat, but resisted the urge to take off his Ozzy shirt. You'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but he figured out would be weirder without the right context.
"Fuck, it's hot in here," you whined quietly.
"I guess the power issue affects the A/C, huh," Eddie noticed.
"You think?" you scoffed, reaching up to unbutton the top of your shirt.
For some reason, he kinda liked when you were condescending like that; of course he loved it when you were sweet like usual, but when you got frustrated and sarcastic and looked at him like he was crazy... for whatever reason, it worked for him. And it was definitely working like never before when combined with your hasty efforts to open your shirt.
He expected you to stop after a couple buttons, but you just kept going, exposing more and more of your chest glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to it, until you got low enough for him to see a glimpse of your bra, and he coughed as he turned his head quickly.
"Woah, hey, uh--" he stammered out awkwardly.
"Oh whatever, you've seen me in a bikini, it's the same thing," you rolled your eyes.
But it's not the same thing, because you were stripping, untucking the button-up from your tight skirt, fanning your flushed skin...
And he was tugging the crotch of his jeans down a bit when you weren't looking, trying to keep his oncoming boner from being too obvious.
Leaving your shirt open, you sighed and sat down on the floor, splaying your legs out on the ground. He could see how uncomfortable you were, and it made him press his lips together while he sighed through his nose. Though he was a little afraid you weren’t in the mood for any friendly behavior as your frustration and stir-craziness increased, he walked across the elevator and sat down next to you. “I was probably gonna flunk the test,” he decided.
“What? No you weren’t,” you scoffed. “You studied so hard! I’m really proud of you, you know.”
“Just ‘cause we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean you should get all sappy with me—” he started.
“No— ‘cause we’re stuck in here I’m not gonna put up with you trying to be down on yourself,” you decided sternly with a little glare at him. “You were gonna fucking ace it, I know you were. You worked your ass off. I know you wanted to act like you didn’t care, but you actually got your shit together and did it.”
“You… you helped me a lot,” he mumbled sheepishly.
“Please, I hardly did anything— mostly just kept you from getting too distracted,” you denied, blissfully unaware that he actually found you more distracting sometimes, but never minded it. “Can you stop being a pussy and just admit you’re actually smart, and dedicated, and more than capable of nailing this?”
He blinked quickly and looked down into his lap, feeling his face warm up— not just from the heat. How could you be so mean and nice at the same time?
“And now it’s gonna go to waste, ‘cause of this godforsaken elevator,” you sighed, dropping your head back; a pessimistic end to a pep talk, but he couldn’t blame you.
"Think of it this way: it couldn't get any worse!" Eddie offered with a faux-upbeat tone.
Right then, the lights in the elevator flickered and turned off, plunging you both into darkness. "I fucking hate you," you announced after a short silence.
He heard a whirring sound from somewhere else in the shaft, and a dimmer orange lighting came on inside the elevator; some kind of emergency back-up generator thing, probably. It was enough to see decently well, especially as his eyes started to adjust, but still made it feel like you were both in an even more perilous situation.
“I didn’t sleep enough last night,” you admitted, “I might try to catch up on that. Maybe if I can sleep this will go by faster…”
“I like that plan,” he decided, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn���t be able to do the same. Eddie had a hard time keeping still and quiet, but he managed to do it so you could get your rest.
He suspected you had fallen asleep when your breathing seemed to slow down a bit— but he knew you had when you limply slumped to the side, your head gently landing on his shoulder. This happened every once in a while, a sign of how comfortable you were with him. He supposed he should be thankful for it, but sometimes it just made him furious. Because what cruel punishment was this, to have you lay on him like this when he can't put his arm around you and kiss your head and tell you how perfect you are?
The half-boner he’d wound up with earlier when you unbuttoned your shirt had never really gone away, and it noticed your proximity with renewed interest. Maybe it was just because he was so bored with literally nothing to do but think about you, but his mind kept coming up with all these fucked up ideas based on the eyeful he’d gotten.
What if you’d taken off your bra as well and let him see the tits he’d been fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit? What if this had happened in winter instead and the elevator was brutally cold and you two had to hold your naked bodies together for warmth? What if that guy on the phone said this thing was airtight and two only had an hour to live and you decided you wanted to go out with a bang, literally?
He wondered if he’d be brave enough to tell you how he felt about you, if either or both of you only had an hour left. For better or for worse, this elevator shaft had airflow, so you were more likely to die of boredom than anything.
He shifted slightly, stuck in a somewhat awkward position, but it didn't help much— though thankfully it didn't wake you up, either. He just wished he could get some relief, somehow.
Obviously, he knew it was a bad idea. But the thing about his dick is it usually talked him into some pretty bad ideas…
He tested the waters with a whisper of your name, but you just kept breathing slowly— you were out cold. Maybe you were even more nervous for him than you'd let on, if you were that underslept.
Reaching up with his free hand, all he had to do was grip himself through his jeans to get some relief; he sighed through his nose, shutting his eyes.
His cock flexed impatiently as he unzipped the jeans as slowly as possible to avoid making too much sound. But god was it worth the wait— as soon as he slipped his hand into his boxers he had to bite his lip, it was so good just to get some attention for his poor, lonely dick.
This was far from the first time Eddie had jerked off to the thought of you. But he was sure he'd never done it while you were this close.
He did it once or twice in your bathroom while you were on the other side of the wall, that was probably the closest he'd come to this before. And that was chump change compared to this-- this was so risky it made his heart race and his hands shake with adrenaline, but it only made him more desperate for whatever reason.
He wouldn't have swiped his thumb through the precum at his slit if he had known how good it would feel— or maybe if he'd known how good it would feel, he would've been able to prepare himself for it. But the anxiety of getting caught had made him even more sensitive, so he hadn't really seen it coming, and when he did it he let out a little moan through his teeth that he couldn't stop.
You stirred again and he froze; when you lifted your head off of his shoulder, he hastily shoved himself back into his jeans, trying to cover up the open fly with the bottom of his shirt.
“Were you… jerking off?” you realized, and he felt sick with fear as his heart raced like never before.
“W-what?” he scoffed incredulously. “I— are you crazy?”
“Ed,” you warned firmly.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I— sorry—”
“Are you that bored?” you mocked with a snort, and he felt even more flushed; it made his cock flex under the mediocre covering of his shirt when you degraded him like that.
“N-no— well, yeah, I just— you put your head on me and I—”
“It was because of me?” you realized, and his mouth fell open. He hadn’t realized that you hadn’t actually put that together yet; of course he’d ended up just digging himself deeper.
“W-well, uh— I mean, no, no I— well. Kind of?”
“Kind of, as in…”
“Completely,” he blurted out.
You were quiet for a long time, and he couldn’t see your face well enough to even try to guess what you were thinking. Although you probably could’ve given him a thousand guesses and he never would’ve guessed what you ended up saying: “You want some help with that?” you offered.
But before he could even answer— not that he really could, he was too busy having a short circuit in his brain— you were reaching for his lap. And even if his mind was blown, his body knew to just lift his hands up and out of the way and let you do whatever you wanted to him.
You pulled up the bottom of his shirt and sighed a little when you saw his cock, still hard and leaking and curled up against his stomach. You carefully wrapped your hand around it, and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he was dreaming or something— you were so… soft.
“Like this?” you asked gently, making his hips twitch up into your hand for a second.
“Y-yeah,” he nodded, eyes glued to the way your hand looked wrapped around him. If only the lights weren’t out, he wanted to see it even better.
He looked at your face, moving your hair a little to make sure he could see you, but from what he could tell your eyes were trained on his lap.
“Fuuuck,” he whispered when you stroked him a bit more confidently. He wanted to shut his eyes from how good it felt, but he didn’t want to look away from a moment of this in case you, you know, came to your senses and stopped.
“S’really thick,” you said, under your breath, a little bit shyly. He groaned and ran his hand over your back, trying not to do too much in case it startled you but also totally helpless to how badly he needed you. “I wonder if I can…”
You trailed off, and before he could decide if he should ask what you were going to say, you
As soon as you leaned down and put your mouth around him, his back arched and his legs kicked a bit. “Fuck, baby,” he choked out, melting into the warm feeling of your lips, your tongue— god, he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him. He actually had to fight the urge to tell you so, to admit how much he’d imagined this; he settled for whining out your name and running a hand over your hair encouragingly. “S’fucking warm, oh my god—”
You hummed around him, sucking a bit harder, swirling your tongue around the tip; who the fuck taught you that? It made his chest burn with some targetless jealousy even while it made his cock flex proudly.
Your hand still gripping the base, you took him a little bit deeper, moaning a little bit once again while you did it. No way you actually enjoyed this, right?
You pulled your head up a bit— he took his hand away quickly, not trying to hold you down or anything— and just when he wondered if you might stop, you dropped down lower so you could run your tongue up from the very bottom all the way to his leaking slit—
“Jesus,” he laughed thinly, “what are you doing to me, baby?”
“Whatever I wanna do,” you replied— if he was a little braver, he would’ve asked what made you want this, how long you wanted this— but he was more than content to let you do whatever you wanted, so far you had some pretty fucking good ideas.
Your head sank even a little bit lower, and he pushed his jeans down just a bit in case they were getting in your way. Boy, was he glad he did. “Fuck,” he gasped, watching in shock as you looked up at him while your tongue ran over his balls. “Sorry, they’re, uh, kinda sweaty…”
“Even better,” you purred; what the fuck were you doing acting so dirty like that?
“Baby,” he laughed thinly, “is this some kind of claustrophobia-induced psychosis or something? Who are you and what have you done with my prude best friend?”
“Prude? That’s unfair,” you laughed. “Just ‘cause I don’t advertise every dirty thought that goes through my mind doesn’t mean I’m not as much of a freak as you…”
“Freak is an understatement,” he sighed, struggling to keep his voice even when he was literally watching you lick all over his balls like this. “You’re a proper fucking slut.”
You hummed proudly, eyes getting a little heavier— when you looked up at him like that, he was totally helpless. “It’s slutty to wanna taste your best friend’s balls?”
“F-fuck, of course it is,” he whined, cock flexing in your hand again when you licked a stripe up between then.
“Well then yeah, guess I’m a slut,” you agreed.
“G-god, I— I’m gonna—” he tried to warn you, but it happened so fast— it happened the second you started to gently suck on his balls, in fact. What was he supposed to do when you did that?! How could he not shoot cum all over his now-definitely-ruined shirt?
“Oh shit,” you giggled— his cock was still flexing and you were already mocking him.
“What— what the fuck,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “made you wanna do that?”
But you were already straddling his lap, pulling up your skirt to your waist.
“F-fuck, baby, I— are you seriously—?”
He cut himself off and whimpered when he got a good look at your panties, the cute lacy kind— and pretty fucking soaked already.
“I-I don’t have a condom,” he warned you, cursing himself inside for finally throwing out the one in his wallet thinking he would never end up needing it.
“Don’t care,” you sighed, pulling your panties aside and guiding his tip right up to your entrance.
“Fuck, that’s—”
He was gonna say it was insanely hot, but you hardly noticed; you were already sliding down onto him, taking him in one motion right to the base.
“Oh fuck!” he nearly shouted, gripping hard onto your thighs. “F-fuck, you’re so tight, fuck…”
You started moving right away, grinding on top of him for a second before lifting your hips and bouncing up and down. “Fuck,” you sighed, “so deep…”
Was it wrong that he loved the way you were basically just using him? You hadn’t even let him finish his sentence, you didn’t ask if he could handle it right after coming— you just started riding him, and far be it from him to complain about that.
“Take this off,” he pleaded, tugging at your unbuttoned shirt and trying to push it off your shoulders.
You helped him get it off, and before you’d even tossed it off to the side he was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. The gods of bra clasps smiled down upon him that day, because he was sure he’d never gotten one open so quickly, and if there was any time he really needed it, it was now.
“Fuck,” he groaned when he got a good look at them— not good enough in this dim orange lighting, but it would do— and instantly got a hold of your chest. You didn’t seem to mind the clammy hands, considering the way you whimpered a little and clenched inside around him. “God, baby, your tits…”
As much as he’d been waiting ages for a chance to see you naked, he couldn’t deny you looked way too good with the skirt, stockings, and heels still on. He could already tell this was going to give him a complex.
He ran a hand up your leg as you moved just to feel the silky nylon; god, he hoped you didn’t get fired for the unexplained extreme lateness, if not just for your sake then so that you would keep dressing like this every day. “So pretty,” he sighed, wondering if you could see in the dark how totally in awe he was of you.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, in that way he’d always imagined you would in a time like this. Your head fell back and he couldn’t help but reach up and grab your neck— not applying much pressure, just holding you there, just admiring how goddamn perfect his hand looked wrapped around you.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Eddie sighed, “fuck, look at you go.”
You smiled a little, he could see it even with your head tilted back like that, and it was just amazing seeing you so… free? So relaxed and totally shameless, giving in to your pleasure. But it wasn’t enough: he wanted to see you lose all your composure, he wanted to hear you scream his name, he wanted to make you shake and cry and beg— that was why he grabbed a tight hold of your hips and pulled you down onto him, bucking his hips up to meet you halfway. It forced his cock even deeper and you yelped a little.
“Not too big for you, is it?” he taunted.
“No, fuck, s’perfect,” you moaned, your voice deep and rough and so fucking beautiful like this. “Fuckin’ perfect, Ed, o-oh god—”
“Keep saying my name,” he ordered.
“Eddie,” you said, again, but this time all needy and cute; it just made him fuck you harder, biting down on his lip to muffle some of his own noises— he just wanted to hear you. He pulled you down and hugged you close, keeping you still so he could fuck up into you exactly how he wanted; you moaned right by his ear, fuck it was too precious.
“I’m already close again,” he admitted with a thin laugh. “Fuck, look what you do to me.”
You whined louder, clenching on his cock— he seriously did not know how much more of this he could take.
“Wanted you so bad,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself, “wanted this for so long. Wanted to fuck you— I wanna make you come, fuck, please, please come.”
He felt you nod against his shoulder as you gasped, and he shut his eyes tight, just focusing on his movements and trying his best not to speed up too much just to chase his own high. He needed you to come more than he needed his own pleasure, even if everything in his body was screaming for a chance to come inside you. “So close,” you panted, “fuck, Eddie, don’t stop— please don’t stop— yes!”
The lights turning back on suddenly startled you both, making him freeze and look around (and squint a little from the brightness), but that was nothing compared to the shock of the doors opening. Behind them was mostly just concrete, the space between floors, but up top was about two feet of the eighth level, where a crew of firefighters could be seen peering in.
“Are they alright?” someone from the building asked as Eddie scrambled to grab his jacket from the corner and cover you up with it.
“Yeah, looks like they’re doing just fine,” one of the men announced as they broke out in surprised laughter.
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬
Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k
c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”
You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks.
“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.”
“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out.
“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”
You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask.
“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says.
They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world.
There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.
Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation.
You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person.
Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about.
“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.”
Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.
“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him.
“He was nice,” you murmur.
“Yeah, he’s okay.”
“How come you fell out of touch?”
“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?”
“You’ll be alright?”
“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”
You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands.
You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare.
What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought.
The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.
Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage.
Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little.
“Darling.”
You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand.
“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says.
Me, you think.
“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.”
“You didn’t,” the woman says.
“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.”
Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense.
“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says.
Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.”
“Hardy-har.”
“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks.
“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”
“But?”
“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.”
“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”
“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.”
“Gentleman and the tramp.”
“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.”
You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape.
You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth.
You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water.
What the fuck?
You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down.
Your head races with hurt feelings.
You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman.
You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees.
What had they meant by usual woman?
Mismatched?
It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is.
“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.”
You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky.
He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“
You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in.
Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal.
Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing.
Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse.
She was unbelievable.
“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?”
“What?”
“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.”
You startle at his scolding. “I–”
“You should feel my heart.”
“I didn’t mean to come out here.”
“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks.
“Sorry.”
His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.”
“That’s romantic.”
He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?”
“Scavenging for food.”
That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.”
—
Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?
You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…”
After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones.
“I love you, too,” you say.
His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”
“Mm.”
“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…”
You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable.
You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it.
“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath.
You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands.
“These aren’t good tears,” he says.
He’d know. They’re not.
Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out.
“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not you.”
“But something does hurt?”
“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs.
“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.”
It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not.
He looks sick.
“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage.
For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring.
“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly.
“It’s so stupid.”
“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”
You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.”
You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin.
He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.”
He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.”
You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.
“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.”
You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh.
“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble.
“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.”
“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.”
“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says.
You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying.
“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.”
“Aaron.”
“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.”
You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.”
“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown.
You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.”
His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.”
“Aaron!” you laugh.
“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.”
“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased.
“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.”
“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.
“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips.
“I don’t know.”
“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.”
“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.”
You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask.
He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.”
“You said you weren’t getting any younger.”
“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze.
”You said it.”
“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.”
“I’m glad you asked me.”
You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now.
“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders.
He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress.
“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.”
“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.”
He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”
You shush him quickly.
He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.”
“And you can make me feel even better.”
His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear.
—
Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast.
The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast.
Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind.
“Are you eating that one?” you ask.
Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?”
“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”
“You could’ve made dad cook.”
“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?”
“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?”
“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.”
Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.”
“Did you eat?” you ask.
He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.”
“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says.
He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour.
“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.”
“I thought Miss Jareau went?”
“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.”
“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks.
You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.
“Hey,” Aaron says.
You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw.
“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe.
Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?”
“I didn’t take any, sorry.”
“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says.
“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.
“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.”
He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text.
Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal
Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding?
Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that
Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless.
Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette
Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right?
Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online.
Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D
The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️
also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#criminal minds
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paramour
Yandere!Cheating Duke X Duchess! Reader X Yandere!Lover Servant
I just want to write a reader who has the same/more power as/to the yandere(s).
The setting is still in the fantasy/manhwa world, medivial, any setting as long it's not modern.
CW: two yandere, rivals, cheating, consent smut, infidelity.
I'm making the darling a little more forward(?), daring, more power or that can go against a yandere. Atleast, that's what the darling thinks. Also, this is not polished like my other stories.[ Forgive me, I'm not good with smuts! I also love y'all comments and your ask/request(will answer them soon!). The Yandere Emperor and Yandere Crown Prince son really outnumbered the yandere Omega. Y'all are crazy for that!]
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
"Mistress." He murmured. His arms hadn't let go off your waist. It was the first thing your eyes landed on when the sunlight came in to greet a new day from the window balcony. You closed your eyes again to find your way back to sleep again.
Your hands went to trace his back full of scar last night from your nails. You hummed when he gave you a pepper kisses on your exposed skin.
"Morning." He gave you one last kiss on your lips before snuggling between your chest. His arms hadn't move around your waist since last night."Mmmh..morning..." You muttered looking away—eyes still close—from the sun when it kissed your face.
"Do you want me to call the maids to serve you breakfast?" His sweet voice lull to sleep more. You whispered no. Last night, this man gave you something akin to that of heaven, something your husband never gave you.
Last night, you made love with this man. The same man you rescued from the human trafficking, kidnapping commoner from the outskirts of the kingdom. Now, indebted by your kindness he devout himself to you with his life.
You groaned, feeling your body is aching all over. This goes not unnoticed by your lover."Did I hurt you to bad?" He asked. His earth orbs are gleaming with shine and now getting filled with tears. "I-I'm sorry, I was rough with you mistress." His voice full of regret and loathe on himself.
You opened your eyes, ruffling his curly brown hair before stroking it. Staring down at his eyes. "No. You did good." You smiled at him, cupping his face, before kissing him in the lips. He whimpered,deepening his into yours.
The intoxication of alcohol must have taken over you. Drowning yourself from the alcohol beverages after your husband didn't arrive on the scheduled date, you waited for him for a whole day to arrive. Alone in the gazebo, Everett was the one who went to your weeping figure. That was a month ago. Everett offered himself to shower you with his love. At first you feel reluctant about this, you will never be the type of person to use someone just so you can feel yourself happy. Everett didn't care about it whether you use him or not. He wanted to prove himself that you are worth to be love. This man made your heart flutter in a way that your husband once gave you before the marriage.
"I-I love what happened last night, my mistress." He whispered bashfully, his pretty swollen lower lip,you bitten hard last night, went to reach his eyes giving you a wide smile. The sun kissed his tan face adding a charming look. His neck has full of bites and bruises from you. His cheeks become a little darker shade from blushing, he must have reminisced something last night.
Now, you made him your lover. Though not completely in love with Everett. You also shower him with items or materials that most commoners would love to have but it doesn't seem like this man is materialistic. He just wants you.
You didn't hide Everett to your husband.
What's the use of hiding your fling to Theodore when he was the first one to cheat on this marriage?
Despite being loyal to that man you loved. He had the audacity to tell you that you shouldn't pry on his private his life after you confronted him with a newly hired maid going out. "Our marriage contract states that the two parties should not meddle one another's private life else this contract shall be annuled."
So all of his flexing his love for you was nothing but a hoax? A show? A lure for you to agree to marry him?
Though, your marriage with him was for the politcial marriage. You once fell in love with Theodore. The same man who gave you flowers everytime you two date, the same man who kissed in your cheeks after he walk you home, the same man who always writes poems about his devotion to you. Did he pursuade you to continue this marriage by making you love him so that the two duchy became one? It may seem like you wanted this marriage at first. You didn't, your family wanted it and they have asked you—no annoyingly, they plead you to marry him, because your parents and his parents signed a contract that their children will reunite the two duchy.
"Your ladyship, the duke asked for your audience to join him in the breakfast." Your butler from the other side of your room, outside the door, knocked and speaks after. You frown upon hearing it, looking at the closed door, what does he want?
You feel strange about your husband nowadays. He had been asking for your presence this past few days. Never once he called for you after your wedding with him.
You clicked your tongue and turn to look at your lover. You notice Everett's face was frowning too. "Tell the duke that I will be there in a moment." You announced to the butler outside the room expecting the old man to gear you through it. You look back at the man leaning his weight on you. You tap the curly haired lover to let you go from his hold yet he didn't budge after moving yourself to sit up instead you heard yourself going 'oomfh!' and finding your lips were on his again. You groaned while he moaned weakly. He pushed you down on the bed, his lips never leaving yours until you were out of breath. A string of saliva trailed between your mouths. Everett was smiling before diving his lips into your skin, to one of your chest, fondling the other. You feel a little ticklish and panting at his stimulation. "Eve—! Wait! Ah..." Your voices went unheard, The male's mewling, sucking on to your flesh like thirsty man who hadn't had a drink.
Your hand went to tug his hair as you moaned out his name. "Shi—Eve... Oh! S-stop... Ah.."
His other hand goes to put one of legs above his back and parted the other leg, accessing himself between you even more."m-mistress!"
You groaned when you felt him grind between you. He looked at you with a pleading eyes, he look like he will cry again, the tears filling up yo the side from his eyes. "M-mistress." He whined his mouth was already in another mound. You feel his hardness between. "p-please? I'll be good! Please... huff..I'll make y-you feel good!"
Your eyes are hazy from the pleasure. "You want.. hah... it?" His eyes getting filled again with tears. You tug him by the hair not enough to hurt him. You landed your lips on his ears. Panting and breathless when you felt his hands is still fondling your body. "You got..ngh... to earn it, pretty boy." You murmurs made him whimpered. "You have to be my good boy... Are you my good boy?"
He nod, a tear fell down to his cheeks, he leaned down to your lips, murmuring, i-am-your-good-boys, thank-yous and I-love-yous.
The room filled with noises that could make anyone flustered and uncomfortable. You didn't realize from your high you are feeling that the butler is coughing uncomfortably behind the door excusing himself as he will inform the duke what you told him earlier.
You went down the stairs with a difficulty, aching between your thighs. You can't find any dress to cover the one hickey on your neck, Everett apologize and helped you cover it with a foundation but it failed horribly from covering seeing that the foundation wasn't blend well and you do not want your maids do it for you. Not when you found out that almost all of them had already been with your husband. You were planning to replace them sooner.
You stopped at the closed door leading to the dinning room. The butler from earlier straightened his posture, clearing his throat after he saw you. He announced your presence behind the door opening the door for you."My lord, your ladyship is here."
You walked in after thanking one of the male servant for pushing the seat for you once you sit across the lord of the household, your husband, the Duke.
The breakfast before you was served cold. If you have arrived earlier you could have eaten warm. You glance at your husband, surprised that his plate has not been finished and it looked like he didn't touched it. You noticed his eyes is trained on to you since you came in, yet his eyes isn't on you but to your neck and the way you walk earlier.
His grey eyes seemed to be narrowing, he scoffed. "You're late."
You glance away, picking one of the utensil, stabbing the meat, landing it to your mouth chewing it. You gulped it down before taking another bite. The marinated pork seems to be delicious even if the breakfast a little no warm.
"It seems you are enjoying with your toy a little too much." He added, there was anger rising beneath his voice.
Oh, the egg is a little bland but it is still edible nonetheless.
"There are more new reports about your speculated infidelity to the public. Do you know that?"
You looked at him after eating the last piece of the sunny side egg, smiling: finally acknowledging his presence."Yeah, what about it? It's not like it will ruin our marriage. After all, you had a numerous of headlines about your 'rumored' infidelity too. Did our contractwas nulled after that? It didn't right?"
"(Y/n)."
"Yes, husband?"
His eyes widened a little before going back on giving you death gaze. "Kick that slave away. I don't like him." He demanded. Though he wasn't shouting. You frowned, how dare he?
"Why would I? It's my decision whether I choose to throw him out or not."
"I do not want him near my property." He complained, gritting his teeth at the last word.
"This is my property as well!" You sternly answered back. Not leaving another room for an argument.
There was silence between the room.
"... I... don't want him near you." You heard him. You blinked at the sudden word that blurted in his mouth.
You scoff standing up, "I think I should finish my meal somewhere..." You starts walking back to where you enter the room.
"(Y/n)." Theodore called you. You didn't observe the way his eyes longed for you. You were focus on the anger within you. "Are we forgetting something, Theodore?" You questioned.
He pondered, those orb you used to love held a confusion.
"Meddling into your partner's private life will annul this marriage... Wasn't that written in our contract?" You bitterly told him. "Sounds familiar right? Do not dare demand me to throw away Everett." You added.
Finally waiting for this moment for this to happen. Guess he will get to taste his own medicine.
"... As long as we do our part in this household we will act as husband and wife. Is not that what you told me?"
"..."
"Now then, I will excuse myself. I have no longer desire to finish my breakfast here." With that, you leave him there.
When you reach the door, opening it, you were surprise to see Everett waiting outside. "What are you doing here?" You asked him. Your frowned face was replaced with a confusion look before giving him a small smile. The man infront of you return your smile with a small grin, placing one of his arm on your waist."W-well, I feel bored and alone in my own room. So I found myself waiting here w-with the butler. Besides I saw you walking wobbly earlier and I-I am concerned that you might have even more difficulty walking... So f-forgive me for not staying put." The look concern on his face adding the pout from his lips made him look cute.
"What are you a puppy?"You poke his nose giggling as you walk away with him, your eyes went back to talk to the butler. Telling him you want to continue your breakfast at your garden, asking him to make it for a two people. The butler bowing to your order before going to the kitchen area to order the maid.
Your husband on the other hand, loath with rage and jealousy mixing under his eyes. His eyes narrowed especially when the slave you brought in leaned on top of your head kissing at the crown part of your head, leaning to your ear to whisper something akin to sweet talks. The arm around your waist went to rub your back.
If only you glance again on Everett's face. You would have caught him giving your husband a smug smirk.
#yandere#yandere lover#yandere male#yandere oc#yandere x darling#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere boyfriend#clingy yandere#yandere husband#yandere love#male yandere x reader#yandere boy#yandere male x reader#male yandere#yandere servant#yandere x reader#yandere duke#soft yandere#yandere cheater#should I make readers like this?#love yall comments and requests <3#updated my masterlist loll#yandere imagines#scara writes oc#scara writes
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