#i'm desperate for official news either way...

[cru5h-cascades]

Save me Jet Set Radio 3... SAVE ME...

[neferaskingdom]

is it casual part 7 whenn?

♡ Is This A Sick Joke? | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: As she turned and walked to the door, she heard him call her name, his voice laced with desperation, but she didn’t turn back. She couldn’t. Not this time. Because if she did, she knew she’d shatter completely.

A/N: This is my sign of life everyone. I promise I'll be back with the new season. I've just been a bit burnt out and have little inspiration without cars going vroom vroom every week. Also I'm sorry for what I'm about to do because man Charles is an asshole in this one.

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Warning: This chapter contains non-explicit sexual content and a bit of dubious consent (she says no but he keeps going)

The weeks had dragged on, except nothing changed except an unspoken understanding between them that neither seemed willing to define. Charles, with his endless affection, his sweet words, and his tender touches, continued to treat her like something more than a friend, but when it came to labeling it, it was always the same answer: "You're my friend."

It was maddening. Every kiss, every quiet moment spent tangled in his sheets, felt like a small piece of her heart was being shattered. But nothing was official. Nothing was concrete. She wasn’t his girlfriend, she wasn’t even a priority. She was just a “friend.”

But she couldn’t keep lying to herself. The constant back and forth, the teasing, the way he’d hold her a little too tightly when they were together, made it impossible to ignore how she felt anymore. Every time she tried to bring it up, to ask him, he’d change the subject, distract her, or kiss her until the words escaped her mind altogether.

It was becoming too much. The tension between them was thick. Every touch was electric, every glance loaded with meaning. But still, he kept her at arm’s length. She wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to admit it, or if he was just too scared to name what was already so obvious to her. Either way, she couldn’t take it anymore. The frustration had built up until it felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t talk to him about it.

They were in the car, driving back from dinner. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t comfortable. The hum of the engine and the occasional chirp of tires on the asphalt did nothing to soothe the tightening in her chest. She knew she had to say something. She couldn’t let another week go by like this.

“Charles…” she started, her voice strained.

He glanced at her, a soft smile playing on his lips, but his eyes—his eyes were unreadable. “Hmm?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended, but the words hung in the air, thick and heavy. “You keep calling me your friend. But that’s not how you act, Charles. It’s not how I act.”

He didn’t immediately respond. Instead, his fingers tightened around the wheel, his jaw clenching just slightly. She could tell he was trying to figure out what she was really saying.

“Isn’t it enough?” he finally asked, voice low but calm.

Her heart raced, but she forced herself to keep her cool. “No, it’s not enough. Because I don’t just want to be your friend. I need to know where we stand.” She met his gaze, her own eyes pleading, desperate for him to understand. “I’m not some side thing, Charles. I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you, but you make it feel like I’m just... here when you need me.”

The air in the car grew thick with tension. She could see the way his muscles tightened in his shoulders, the way his jaw set. She braced herself for the inevitable distraction, the change of subject, the excuse.

But he didn’t give her one. Instead, he pulled the car over, turning the steering wheel sharply as they rolled to a stop on the side of the road, the engine still idling. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact.

“Charles…” she started again, but he was already leaning across the center console, his lips capturing hers before she could say anything else. The kiss was urgent, almost desperate, as if he was trying to swallow her words, trying to stop them from spilling out.

She pulled away, her breath shaky. “No, this isn’t what I’m talking about.”

His gaze was intense as he looked at her, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. But there was something else there now, something softer, almost sad. He didn’t speak, just slowly unbuckled his seatbelt and slid from his side of the car to hers.

“Charles,” she whispered, trying to hold onto her resolve, but he was already moving, pushing her seat back with a gentle force that made her gasp. She felt the world tilt as he slid in between her legs, his hands on her hips, moving her with ease as though she weighed nothing. His face was inches from hers, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, “You’re thinking too much again.”

The words felt like a slap, but she couldn’t pull away. She couldn’t seem to move. His presence was overwhelming, and for a moment, the rational part of her—the part that had wanted to talk, to have answers—drowned in the heat of his touch.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands threading into her hair, pulling her closer, tilting her head back. She let out a soft moan before she could stop herself, her body betraying her as he gently nudged her legs apart, sliding closer.

"Charles, please, stop…" She gasped between kisses, her hands resting on his chest as she tried to push him away, but it was like he was glued to her. His lips were everywhere—her mouth, her neck, her jawline—and every time she tried to resist, every time she tried to form the words to pull away, he kissed her again, harder, as though he could erase all her doubts.

And then, without warning, he moved lower, his hands shifting between her thighs. The sudden pressure against her made her gasp, her breath coming faster as his lips brushed against her core. She shuddered, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away.

"Charles," she whispered again, her voice trembling, but he didn’t listen. He was focused, his mouth moving with purpose. Each touch felt deliberate, igniting a storm inside her. The sensation was electric, sending waves of warmth crashing through her.

Her body responded to him without her permission, her hands clutching at the seat, her legs instinctively parting further for him. She felt exposed, but at the same time, the way he touched her, the way he moved with such certainty, made her feel seen in a way she had never felt before.

His mouth was on her, his movements slow at first, taking his time, savoring the response he was drawing from her. Her chest tightened, every breath shallow and ragged as she could no longer hold back the growing urgency inside her. Her back arched slightly, pushing closer to him as he worked his way deeper. Every part of her seemed to pulse with need, and she could feel herself approaching the edge, a wave building inside her.

"Charles," she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair as she tried to steady herself. And then, without warning, the wave hit, flooding her senses. She cried out softly, her body trembling as the tension in her stomach exploded. It was a sensation so overwhelming she almost couldn’t breathe, the pleasure nearly too much to bear.

When she finally opened her eyes, her heart still racing, she saw him pull away, his face flushed, lips glistening. He wiped his mouth slowly, the action deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. That same playful smirk crept back onto his face, the same cocky grin that always made her heart race.

“See?” he murmured softly, brushing his thumb over her trembling cheek. “You’re overthinking things again.”

Her chest rose and fell with every breath, her body still reeling from what had just happened. She couldn’t think straight, could barely catch her breath, but the words she had tried so desperately to say, the conversation they needed to have, seemed further away than ever. He had effectively silenced her, leaving her in a haze of confusion, need, and longing.

“Relax,” he said, his voice almost gentle now. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Not even close. But she couldn’t find the words to argue. The words didn’t matter anymore. The only thing she could focus on now was the pulse of desire still thrumming through her veins.

As the car started up again, the night outside swallowed them whole. The conversation she had wanted to have slipped away with every mile, and she found herself wondering if they would ever be able to have it at all.

One night, as they lay tangled together, Charles’s fingers traced light patterns across her skin. He shifted beside her, and when she turned her head, she found him studying her with an unusual, nervous energy. His eyes softened, and then, almost shyly, he reached to his bedside table and pulled out a small, familiar blue Tiffany’s box.

"Here," he murmured, placing it in her hand with that boyish smile. “I got you something.”

She blinked down at the box in her hand, her heart giving an unexpected lurch. Gifts weren’t exactly their thing—at least, she didn’t think they were.

“Charles…” Her voice was barely a whisper, surprise and confusion flickering in her eyes as she lifted the lid to reveal a delicate bracelet, each link set with tiny, colorful gemstones. It sparkled in the low light, catching her breath. He gently slid it onto her wrist and watched her, something vulnerable lingering in his gaze.

“I was looking for something for Maman and saw this,” he explained quietly, reaching to take her wrist and turning it slightly to admire how it looked against her skin. “It’s… acrostic jewelry. I had it custom-made—each gemstone represents an initial. You, me, and Leo.”

For a moment, she just stared, her heart caught somewhere between wonder and dread, and when she looked back at him, a swell of emotions crashed through her. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she hardly noticed them at first. But he did.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Charles’s expression shifted from pride to worry, his hand reaching out to gently wipe a tear away.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was raw, almost a laugh, yet pained. “What’s wrong is you think this is okay, Charles! You think… this is normal? That we’re ‘friends’ who give each other things like this?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

She pulled her wrist from his hand, her emotions rushing to the surface, each word spilling out faster than she could control. “You keep saying this is casual, that we’re just something fun. But then you treat me like…” She trailed off, choking on the words, and shook her head. “Charles, do you think this is some kind of sick joke?”

His brow furrowed, confusion and a hint of defensiveness flickering across his face. “What? No! Why would you even—”

“Because you keep saying we’re nothing serious, but then you give me this,” she nearly shouted, holding up the bracelet. “You say one thing, then do everything else to make me think otherwise! Friends don’t… they don’t do things like this. They don’t cling to eachother like we do, they don’t call each other just to talk the way we do, or get dogs together and pretend to be parents. You’ve been treating me better than most people treat their girlfriends, Charles, and yet you want me to believe this is nothing?”

He was silent, as if trying to process her words, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I thought we understood each other,” he said, his voice strained.

“Maybe we did in the beginning,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “But that was before all of this. Before every weekend we spent together, before the way you’d look at me or pull me close at night. Before this.” She looked at the bracelet, feeling her throat tighten. “Do you even understand how much this hurts?”

He exhaled, his gaze dropping as he ran a hand through his hair. “I never wanted to complicate things. I thought… I thought we were just…”

“Just what?” she pressed, her voice cracking. “Something temporary? A distraction? Because that’s not how you’ve been acting.”

“Look, you’re twisting this into something I didn’t mean.” His voice was low, frustration evident, but he seemed unable to meet her eyes.

She scoffed, the bitter sound punctuating the silence. “Oh, I’m twisting this? Am I imagining how you’ve been treating me, Charles?” Her words came out softer now, heartbreak coloring every syllable. “Because you’re the one doing everything that says we’re more than… whatever you’re calling us.”

He opened his mouth, struggling for a response, and for a moment she thought he might say something—something that could make this all hurt less. But he simply shook his head, as though at a loss.

“I’m sorry if I—”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Her voice was low, filled with a raw vulnerability. “What I need isn’t an apology. I need to know if any of this is real to you. Or was it all just a game? Did you even think for a second what it might mean to me when you keep blurring the lines?”

Charles looked at her with a mix of frustration and sorrow, his face conflicted. “I don’t know what to tell you. We had an agreement. We wouldn’t turn this into something serious.”

“An agreement?” she echoed, her laugh hollow. “Charles, maybe that was true at the start, but people change. Feelings change. And you can’t expect me to just… pretend none of this matters, not when you treat me like…” She looked away, blinking back the tears. “Like I’m more than just a fling.”

He reached out, taking her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles with a tenderness that almost made her falter. “Please… you don’t have to leave. We’re good together, you know that.”

She yanked her hand away, hurt flashing in her eyes. “Are we? Good together? Then why can’t you even tell me how you feel? Why can’t you admit that you care?”

He stared at her, and she saw something like regret in his gaze, his mouth opening as if to say something—anything—but no words came.

The silence stretched, and with each second, her heart broke a little more.

“If you can’t tell me, right now, that you feel something more… then I’m walking out.” Her voice was thick with emotion, her resolve barely holding as she turned to reach for her clothes.

Charles’s face fell, and he reached out in a panic, grabbing her arm. “Wait—don’t do this. Please, just…” His voice cracked, desperation creeping in as he tried to pull her closer. “I need you to stay.”

She looked up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Stay for what, Charles? So you can keep stringing me along, pretending we’re something when it suits you and denying it when it doesn’t? I can’t keep doing this to myself. I deserve more than that.”

He swallowed hard, his hand loosening on her arm, yet he didn’t let go entirely. “I… I don’t know what you want me to say,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“I want you to tell me that you care, Charles. That I’m not just someone convenient. But if you can’t…” She took a deep breath, gathering every last ounce of courage she had. “Then I need to leave.”

For a moment, he held onto her, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. “Please don’t. You know you mean more than that,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

But he couldn’t give her what she needed, and she knew that as long as she stayed, he never would. With a final, trembling sigh, she pulled away, ignoring the way his hands lingered, as if he could somehow hold on to her just a little longer.

As she turned and walked to the door, she heard him call her name, his voice laced with desperation, but she didn’t turn back. She couldn’t. Not this time. Because if she did, she knew she’d shatter completely.

Taglist: @dullypully @sageskiesf1 @firefirevampire @eloriis @meadhbhcavanagh @raweceeks @amyelevenn @leclrcg @anunstablefangirl @chaoswithus @spngirl05 @bigdickdannyric1

@doofenshmirtzevil-inc @linneaguriii @gaslysainz @leclercdream @sltwins @freyathehuntress @weekendlusting @cmleitora @shitposterniti @slutforbammargera1

[toriaaniin]

The only real couple here is L and A. You should ship them, they are really in love.

Thanks for the recommendation Anon... but NO. I'm here to ship one couple, and one couple only.

If Nicola or Luke find love and happiness with someone else, wonderful! Will I ship them with other people? No. Will I be happy for them? Absolutely! The thing is, what I see between Luke and Nicola is unlike any connection I've ever seen and it's THAT connection - a soulmate connection - that I'm here for. When either one of them makes it clear that they're committed to another person (which they haven't done :: going on a "date" while being unwilling to post that "date" on your IG stories, or a friend walking you home after a pub night who then shields you because a photographer is papping you :: these aren't examples of committed, romantic relationships!), I will stop shipping Luke & Nicola. I will not, however and ever, stop believing in the divine love I witnessed through them.

And another Anon asked and suggested:

Anon: even though my blog is new-ish, my stats tell me that I'm not being laughed at. Because I'm posting your ridiculous messages, YOU on the other hand, ARE being laughed at. In fact my readers are going to laugh at you in the comments 😂🤣

Lukola friends - these aren't the only Anons to reach out to me these past days, but they'll be the only ones I'm going to respond to publicly. I decided to share evidence of their troll campaign so that you could rest easy in the knowledge that the Lutonia's (edited to add: and Jakolas [see P.S. below]) are panicked. They saw what we saw at the BOSS event and the pieces don't fit their "hot couple in love" narrative.

A situation that didn't make sense given the lack of contact between Antonia & Luke since the end of July,

A petrified Antonia who wasn't professionally styled, as though she wasn't a priority,

An angry and disgruntled Luke who cast Antonia's hand aside, then looked like he wasn't happy to be photographed with her,

Luke's eventual (3 days later) black screened IG story with a black heart (macabre!) and a link that required two navigation clicks to get to TT so that the viewer could watch a reel that listed Antonia as "guest".

To my way of thinking, the whole "date" was an orchestrated PR stunt aimed at deflecting gaze away from Nicola & their treasure during a time when the utmost privacy was desired by both her and Luke.

So the Lutonia/Jakola anon troll's strategy? Push us when they perceive us to be down in the hopes that we don't get up. Hit out with verbiage meant to feed doubts they think we have. They also (and I love this because it's so fucking hilarious!) work soooo hard to link obvious Nicola and Polin "Lady Whistledown" references to their sinking ships. Silly gooses. And of course they ignore that Luke has never claimed or clarified Antonia's status in his life... even now, after the BOSS event.

The trolling behaviour doesn't phase me in the least. I don't have doubts they can crush with their silliness. Nicola and Luke are soulmates. End of statement.

So troll anons: why not head back to your sinking USS Lutonia or USS Jakola and cast off for home before your ship sinks to the bottom of the ocean. From this point forward I'll be blocking those that send me messages like this. If you're inclined to message me similar bullshit, why not save yourself the trouble and stay in your own shipping lane.

Aaniin Xxx

P.S. I just discovered a kinda back-door way to see who these Anon posters are... and they're NOT officially Lutonia shippers. They're JAKOLAS!! What dickheads. To all the Jakeholes that are reading this post - fuck off to your own ship. You're worse than the Lutonias. Your desperation stinks like shit. I've also incorporated Jakolas into the original post above.

[yuanology]

I imagine spanking Satoru in my lap while whispering lewd things about him being a pervert while the only thing he can do is sob and bite my shoulder ,bby is so lost in pleasure he wishes to end up as satisfied as his best friend who is laying asleep in front of him but bby is so new he is ashamed of asking so force him into telling what he wants and then like …corruption kink akksnwkaoaoao😋🐸 idkkkk 🫨

hey ...... i'm sorry in advance for this one. i don't fucking know what this is either. also, this ended up being an entirely separate thing from the original satosugu fic & this is just........ afab!satoru getting his cunt slapped raw while suguru—who's implied to have been fucked by reader earlier—is passed the fuck out. &. i ended up writing this as a teacher!suguru au a.k.a everything goes well au so yeah, don't get confused

despite common first impression, twenty-eight years old gojo "the strongest" satoru had never been touched by anyone before. yes, you heard that right. he was still a virgin; pure and untouched.

before he came to jujutsu tech—before he left home, before he found out about the world, before he realised that he was practically a damn princess stuck in his tower—satoru hadn't even thought of the art of carnal pleasure. he had thought it was just something that happened, not something to indulge himself in.

growing up amongst people his age had been an awakening, that was for certain. his hands started wrapping around himself more often, the collar of his shirt caught between his teeth as he stifled the noise escaping his throat. porn became a commodity, and satoru wasn't exactly oblivious to it, he just never had the time or opportunity to try it.

until you.

satoru let loose another sob, tears streaking down his face. his teeth was caught around the meat of your shoulder, and he could barely breathe around it, much less speak coherently. he still whimpered, "too much."

"you wanted this," you reminded him, your voice low and dirty and so, so fucking real that it's driving him insane. nothing—nothing, no lewd images or videos or even his own imagination—could compare to the feeling of you right now. "you asked me for this, baby."

and you were right. he had asked for this, craving your closeness just as much as he craved the feeling of your hands on him. he had asked you for this, physically and audibly begged you to give him a taste of the things that he had seen and watched all these years.

finally, satoru had thought to himself when he met you properly for the first time. finally, someone who can understand. who can finally give me what i need. it hadn't taken much time before he was on his knees, begging for you to give him everything and so much more. men like gojo satoru didn't make a habit out of begging, but you were an exception amongst many others.

your only response had been a raised, unimpressed eyebrow before you told him that you would consider it. he didn't blame you for it. it wasn't as if your relationship with his own best friend, suguru, was a secret, even if it wasn't official. but satoru had to try.

(and he had asked suguru about it already, kicking at the floorboard underneath him with an out-of-character show of shyness, until suguru had laughed at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "yeah, sure. what's mine is yours and all that—if you can get him to agree, that is." so.)

but when he had asked you to show him what it meant to feel good hurt during sex, he had never expected you to do this to him—to be so mean and so fucking rough, to be so, so desperately cruel to him in ways that he had never seen you do to anyone else.

fuck, satoru thought dazedly. the position—his body bent over your lap, his ass high in the air and his cunt flushes, twitching, and so fucking exposed—had him distinctly dizzy, his head dropping at an awkward angle on the mattress but he didn't care.

he blinked away the tears in his eyes, but the slumped figure of his best friend's body passed out a behind you on the bed remained blurry. how the fuck do you handle this? he wondered.

he let out another whimper when your hand met the meat of his ass, and he could feel it fucking jiggle. he found it so humiliating, but you must think otherwise because you groped his asscheek with an air of smugness. you pried his ass apart, making him grimace when he felt his slick slide down his thigh, betraying him.

"look at you, baby," you cooed, chuckling to yourself. "you're fucking dripping all over the place. you're so desperate for it, huh? pretty virgin like you probably doesn't even know what it's like to be touched like this."

your voice was a light musing, distinctly distant and almost detached in your amusement, but satoru couldn't help but feel raw all over; an exposed nerve ready to be flayed over an open fire. he was sensitive, each inch of his skin a weakness that leaves him feel vulnerable.

"hurts," satoru croaked out miserably, feeling a bit like a fool for saying it. his words are garbled, slurred—almost watery in a way satoru hadn't known was possible before.

"hm." your hand left his hand, making a whine escape the back of satoru's throat. his voice returned to something subdued, something calmer, when he realised that you're simply moving to rest your hand on the small of his back.

"i suppose i can give you mercy," you said, your voice a low drawl that sent goosebumps racing along his skin. "just this once."

satoru couldn't help the whimper that escaped him. even through the heavy haze in his mind, he knew that he couldn't have this without a price. you always demanded an equal pay be returned for the price of your kindness. he had watched you wring dry orgasm after orgasm out of suguru, even when his best friend's body was limp, practically motionless save for the overstimulated twitches and the sobs that escaped suguru's throat, all in exchange for having satoru there with them tonight.

you must notice the sudden shift in his attitude, the way his ass was wriggling in the air almost desperately, because you snickered and your hand pressed him down harder against your lap. fuck, he thinks, feeling himself dripping all over the place at the feeling of you.

"how about this," you offered. "five more spankings, and i want you to count. if you miss one, we'll start over." your hand caressed the swell of his ass, your movements gentle as you soothed the spank marks you had left there earlier.

as much as satoru knew he shouldn't believe you, he still couldn't help the way he sniffled at the feeling and asked, "promise?"

you chuckled, the sound soft. your lips met the skin on his back, right over his spine. "sure, baby," you said. "i promise. just five more, okay? you'll be a good boy, won't you, satoru? you'll stay still for me?"

satoru nodded eagerly, chewing at this lower lip at the sound of your praise. good boy. yes, he could be your good boy. he would always be your good boy.

although he couldn't see it, he knew your smile was there when you said, "good. don't forget to count, okay, baby?" which, really, should have been the first sign of something dangerous looming.

the sound of your hand slapping his skin was promptly followed by a fucking howl that was stripped out of his throat; loud and jagged and surprised and so fucked over that satoru's head throbbed with it.

because jesus motherfucking fuck, you just slapped his cunt.

"count, baby."

satoru could barely even think past the static ringing in his air, stuffing his brain full with cloth, but he thought he might have choked out a whimpering, "one."

your hand moved once again to his cunt, he motion gentler this time. you didn't spank him again but rather, you spread his legs, exposing more of his cunt, and he whimpers in anticipation.

but your fingers only breach the lips of his cunt, spreading his labia apart to look at the slick already dripping the moment his folds were parted. you cooed at him, and satoru felt himself burning with so much fucking feelings that he couldn't even identify a proper source for it.

holy shit.

"four more," you whispered, your thumb dragging along his slit down to his clit. you rubbed it for a moment, causing satoru to whine at the feeling. "just a bit more, okay, baby?"

he didn't know if he nodded, or if he just lay there across your lap—rooted in place and feeling lightheaded, entirely motionless—but you must have found something you wanted to see from him because he could feel you moving again.

anticipating what would come after didn't make it any easier to handle.

your palm met the centre of his cunt perfectly, the tips of your fingers catching his clit, and satoru sobbed. "two," he quickly scrambled to rasp out before you could make him repeat it, before you could make him start all over. "two, that's—" he catches his breath, tongue feeling swollen in his mouth. "that's two."

"good boy."

another slap, making his back arch and his body squirm away from the sensation. the sound was fucking disgusting, even more so now that the slick accumulating on his cunt had created a pillow for your hand to rest on, creating a loud squelching sound that made satoru's toes curl.

"three," satoru whimpered. "it hurts."

"just two more," you reassured him, your fingers grazing over his entrance but never once dipping inside. fuck. "can you do that for me?"

satoru sniffled, but he nodded. "two more," he repeated.

"good boy."

your next slap came in sharp and quick, and he barely managed to blurt out, "four." before he collapses into sobs. his body is slumped, weak and unable to even twitch.

one more, he thought. just one more.

letting out a ragged breath, satoru's voice bleeds into a high keen when he feels you pull back the hood over his clit, exposing the sensitive nerve. the realisation of what you're about to do strikes him a second, too late.

no, you're going to—

your entire fucking palm met his exposed clit, sending up a burning sensation across the length of satoru's spine. "five!" satoru shouted, a little desperate, a lot hurt, equal measures of feeling fucked right out of his mind.

"fuck, that's five. that's—" he couldn't even finish his sentence, already broken off to sobs and whimpers as his entire fucking body trembles at the feeling of it. fuck. every inch of him felt numb; all of the hurt centred on the feeling of your slap on his clit.

the world is a hazy blur of static and cotton and distance for a long moment. when satoru's world comes back into focus, he's still on your lap, but seated now, positioned in a way that saved his cunt from any accidental stimulation. his mouth parted and drool dripping down the corners of your lips, but your hands are on his his back, keeping him close, and you're murmuring sweet nothings to him.

and he must have done something—something right, something wrong—because he feels himself going weightless and then your lips are brushing over the shell of his ear, and you're telling him, "get your rest, satoru. you deserve it."

oh, satoru thought dazedly, feeling the world drift in and out of motion for a long moment. this is why. because for all your cruelty and all your harshness, you were exceptionally gentle in the aftermath. satoru's vision is blurring around the edges, but he feels you all the same—warm and present and there.

"g'night," he thought he might've slurred out.

he might imagine the feeling of your lips on his temple, but he liked to think that it was real all the same.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: The chaos surrounding the death of Macrinus keeps Letha and Geta apart much longer than either of them expected. Geta has an urgent question for Letha.

Warnings: make-up sex, and a shitty understanding of ancient Roman procedures around rule, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 15 of 15!

[ Part XIV ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I would like to preface this by saying thank you for reading this self-indulgent slop. I hope you got some small amount of enjoyment out of it. Your comments along the way kept me engaged enough to actually finish this. It's the first thing I've ever started writing that I actually feel like I finished. There's so much I could've added to this post-reunion that this would've never been done. I could always embellish at a later date if anyone wanted it. I'm also a bit sad to finish this because I don't have anything to look forward to now. Thank you for your time and attention. It means a lot.

Also, mea lux is 'my light' I believe.

Almost two weeks passed before Letha laid eyes on Geta again.

It was prevented by a combination of things. There had been so much to deal with after the incident in the gardens. Geta had been embroiled in meetings, debating things Letha wasn’t privy to. There was a ceremony for Ancus, to honor him for his efforts to protect his Emperors. And at every party, everyone was so desperate to show face to their Emperors, to remind them of their loyalty in wake of the exposure of Macrinus’s plot. 

Though she wasn’t invited to any official meetings or ceremonies, there were situations where she could’ve sought Geta out at these fetes and events. But she didn’t. She was scared to have that conversation that needed to happen. 

She knew she was still treated as a guest in the palace. More like a fixture, really, available to distract Caracalla whenever the burden of rule grew too tiresome with more poetry, read under the shade of a tree in the gardens, Ancus always nearby. But aside from that, she felt quite restless. 

It’s not as if she expected things to go back to how they were, but she didn’t think it would be this hard to put her thoughts together. Leaving the gardens that evening, neck still sore, she was imagining how she’d look over at Geta the next morning and fervently apologize, for all of it. She’d tell him she would understand if he sent her away, and he would assure her that he wouldn’t dream of it.

But the next morning she couldn’t leave her bed, paralyzed by this new fear. She’d gotten a chance to see what her relationship with Geta could be, she didn’t know what she would do if it was not that. And the possibilities he’d promised her most certainly couldn’t and wouldn’t happen anymore. She stewed in the hesitance, the uncertainty, until she became convinced that it absolutely would be different. No matter what different meant, she was sure it wouldn’t be good.

And so it continued, Letha skipping mealtimes that used to be routine, bumping into servants gossiping on her way into the kitchens to eat. Occasionally she heard her name on their tongues, her appearance causing them to freeze as if Letha were Medusa herself. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d just duck right back out, resolving to return later.

Caracalla assured her his brother was just being kept very, very busy in the wake of the subterfuge and death of Macrinus, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was a little intentional. 

What did you expect, honestly?

She didn’t know why she was still allowed to wander the palace, as if she were back to being a guest. There were no guards posted outside her room, and for the last week she spent her evenings in the gardens, observing the moon, asking no one in particular what happens next.

She wasn’t naive, she knew Tegula didn’t trust her. And nothing spread faster than a salacious rumor. They weren’t so foolish as to speak poorly of their Emperor, so they resorted to tarnishing her reputation instead. She was a witch, had steered Macrinus to his end, was desperate to attach herself to the divinity the Emperors were entitled to.

It was ridiculous. If she had such powers, she sure wouldn’t have suffered all this. 

It was all just more fuel for her suppositions, perpetuating her unhappy cycle until she felt like it would be better if she just snuck out one night. She could become a ghost story. But against all odds, she still carried hope that the next day would be different. 

As for Geta, well, Geta was trying to prevent an economic collapse. Some part of him thought Letha might think poorly of him if he let the empire fall around them because he would rather be locked up in his rooms, curled up in her. Because that was what he wanted. But he had a duty, a responsibility to steer this monstrous empire in a direction he could have heirs in. Perhaps the danger had put things into perspective.

Listening to the senators describe just how involved Macrinus had been in arming their voracious armies became more and more painful as they dove into the minutiae of complex accounts and processes he never bothered to pay attention to before. It was overwhelming. But he knew their efforts were working. Still, there were moments where he’d trade it all for those eyes on him again. 

What little free time he had was spent trying to avoid Letha, because he needed hours, days, uninterrupted, for him to spill his heart to her. A few minutes here and there wouldn’t be enough to relay any of the complex emotions he felt. He couldn’t avoid her forever, though, because there was a certain conversation that had to happen. He needed to know where he stood with her before he picked a particular path to tread down.

So that was why he stalked the gardens that evening, waiting for her to appear for her nightly stargazing. And as he watched her spread out the emerald-dyed linen on the grass, he felt calm. Almost peaceful. He let himself forget the weight of all that had happened, the guilt, too. Everything they’d all been through. 

Well, not everything.

“You should have run far away from here,” Geta spoke, disturbing her peace. 

Letha looked over her shoulder, her breath held in her lungs as she appraised him. It almost felt like the first time. The first time she saw him and admitted against her better judgment that he was beautiful.

The moonlight glinted off the laurels and the golden chestplate he still wore, though the ceremony had long been over. His hair was shiny, neat, framing his fair face. His deep, dark eyes, still lined in crimson, were locked on her.

He looked close to divine standing there in the golden armor, easily one of the most opulent things she’d ever seen. He somehow looked taller, broader, in the armor. Untouchable, too. 

It was so late in the evening, he should’ve changed. He should be in bed. Anywhere but here.

No more hiding. 

“I was locked in a cell, I wasn’t running anywhere.”

He surprised her by sitting beside her on the blanket, the ceremonial armor quite uncomfortable to lay down in. He kept his arms slung around his knees, the bindings of the tall sandals flexing over his shins as he joined her in staring up at the large moon.

“What about after?” After Macrinus. “You’ve had no chaperone for well over a week now.”

Letha felt her stomach twist. “I’ve thought about it.”

“But?” Geta supplied, turning his head away from the splendor of the night sky to peer down at her where she laid out beside him. A challenger to the celestial might hanging above.

“You know there would be no point.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

She rolled her eyes, a treasonous activity if done by any other, but it filled Geta with warmth, bringing the beginnings of a smile to his lips. It all felt so familiar.

“There’s something that is keeping me here. Besides the fact I wouldn’t last a day out there with nowhere to go.”

“I dared to hope,” he admitted, taking her own admission and shoving it into the cracks that were slowly mending, a makeshift mortar.

She looked over at him, a line forming between her brows as she studied him, thinking very hard about what to say next. He reached down with a finger, gently pressing at the center of her brows, pushing away the line.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, the pressure of his closeness becoming overwhelming. 

“No,” he shook his head, moving his finger lower to press to her lips, silencing any further unnecessary apologies. “It is forgiven.”

Letha felt relief, could feel a tear forming at the corner of her eye. But she didn’t want to cry, not now. She recalled her apology muttered into his hair that day. He’d told her ‘no’ then too. 

“Do you still care for me?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course I do,” she whispered, feeling the tear slide down the side of her face. 

He noticed it, moving his fingertip to wipe away the trail before resting his hand on the ground beside her head. He licked his lips, staring at her, all his weight bearing down, as if daring himself to collapse onto her. 

As much as he might have enjoyed frolicking beneath the stars, removing this armor was not a graceful job, even for two. 

“I want to show you something.” He pushed off the ground and sat up, the haze of him dispersed. She made herself sit up, kept her eyes on him as he stood up. He could feel a swarm of bees in his stomach moving angrily as he held a hand out for her to help her to her feet.

There was a split second of indecision and he nearly faltered, but her tight grip on his hand was a balm, immediately settling his nerves. As she leaned down to gather up the blanket, he tugged her hand, urging her to leave it. 

Geta  lifted the small chest off his desk and carried it over to where Letha sat on the side of the chaise in his room. It sank into the plush seat and she looked up at him, surprised. 

“It’s quite heavy.”

“I can manage just fine,” he smiled, his teasing tone returning.

It was so easy to get caught up in his magnetism. She wondered if he knew he possessed such a thing.

“Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

She obeyed, pushing up the lid, exposing a rich ruby interior, the box created to house this one ornate bauble. Laurels, golden and sparkling. There were small, dazzling red gems hidden among the leaves here and there.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, reaching in to run a finger along one of the gilded leaves. “Seems a bit small for you,” she admitted.

“It is,” he confirmed. 

“Well I think Caracalla will love it,” she smiled, lowering the lid. “It’s a thoughtful gift.”

Geta reached down, pulling it back open. There was a look in her eyes that gave him pause, all the smiles and teasing forgotten. As if she knew already what he was about to say. To ask.

“It’s not for my brother.”

His words sent an icy chill down the center of her back, forcing her to sit up a bit straighter. He was already moving away, pacing.

“I have been busy, Letha,” he admitted. “I’ve spent more time with the senators than I can possibly stand. And in exchange for those long hours, I got this.”

“Geta, I—”

“Don’t feel like you need to say yes right now. Just promise me you will think on it. I know these last couple of weeks have been difficult, we’ve had a hell of a time trying to navigate—”

Letha stood and walked over to him as he rambled. She reached up and curled her fingers around the collar of the chestplate, pulling him down by it, pressing her lips to his. 

Geta recognized the action immediately, bringing one of his hands up to cover hers where she held the armor, moaning against her lips. He pulled her in by the small of her back with his free hand. Her necklace clattered against the metal plate until it was muffled by the press of her against him. 

He could not get near enough air into his lungs. He felt dizzy, incoherent, his blood at once diluted but also thickened, leaving his limbs feeling heavy with a honeyed sludge passing through his veins. The pressure of her hauling him down to her eager mouth by the bronze plate persisted in his brain, in his gut, and he suspected he would relive it for the rest of time. 

“Letha,” he breathed, his palm pressing to her heated cheek. “You can take time,” he offered, though he would be lying if he said he was satisfied with this and nothing more.

“I’ve taken it,” she replied quickly, releasing the armor. 

Before the dissatisfaction crept in, he felt her fingers at his side, brushing the underside of his arm that he immediately lifted. She worked at the buckle, pulling the leather free before moving down to the woven golden string keeping both halves together. 

Once his brain caught up to hers, he pulled at the cords holding the pauldrons over his shoulders, the both of them picking up speed as an unspoken sense of urgency grew in the silence. It all hit the floor with a loud clattering, the pteruges joining it not long after. 

Free from the weight of the heavy armor, Geta reached for Letha’s neck, pulling her into him, groaning against her lips as he attempted to make up for lost time.

As he held her, he realized she was working herself out of her dress. It was bunched up on her shoulders by the time he looked down. The next chance she got, the two of them needing air, she threw it off over her head. 

“I would have gotten to that,” he breathed, allowing himself to look her over. 

“Like I said, I’ve taken it.” she spoke with intention. He felt it low in his belly.

She got to spend only a moment more on her feet before he collected her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She let out a laugh as she sank into the plush arrangement of silks and pillows. He stared down at her, feeling that blooming of warmth in his chest that only she gave him.

 “What are you waiting for?”

As the words left her lips, Geta threw off the white tunic and joined her, crawling up her body to seal his lips to hers, finally allowing the weight of him to press her down into the bed. He had missed this. Her skin, already hot beneath his hands, her movements only drawing him in further, seeking his touch, his lips.

It had been a long couple of weeks.

He felt her bring a leg up around his hip and he reached for it, fingers digging into her thigh as he rutted against her. The ragged moan that left his throat said more about his desperation than anything else.

The tension in his arm trying to hold him up off of her was too much to ignore. He turned onto his side, clinging to her thigh, slowly bringing her with him until he was on his back. As she settled in this new position, she looked down where they met, a bashful smile on her face.

He couldn’t deny the wonder that overtook him at the sight of her above him, the way her mussed hair hung around her face, a few strands now loose. She was radiant, even in the night. Her nervous smile took hold in his chest, and he knew then that he would make it his goal to continue to find ways to draw that same smile from her. 

“I missed you,” she admitted, eyes cast down to the expanse of his torso beneath her hands. “I thought we might never…”

“Letha, you possess me.” Her eyes widened, her body frozen in his hands. “I think that was why it hurt so much to be separated from you.” He shifted his hips, forcing heat into her cheeks. “And I owe you an apology.”

“It is forgiven,” she insisted.

He shot her a look. “I could have lost you. It was cruel and impulsive.”

“We are fortunate your brother had the good sense to intervene, then.”

“Please, do not speak of my brother right now,” he pleaded, squeezing her thighs. 

She laughed at him, covering his hands with hers. “Let me distract you,” she offered, bringing his hands up higher, his fingers skimming her belly before she pressed his palms into her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands squeezing her soft skin. 

She ground herself down on him, using him, the sight filling him with desire for her. How he ever got pleasure from anyone else, he could never know. This was all he ever needed. He could only thank the gods, the fates, whoever brought her to him. 

She surprised him as she swung her leg over him, leaving him there in the bed, a pathetic whine leaving his throat as the air hit his slick-wet cock.

Letha felt a bit unsteady on her feet as she walked through his room. She was ready to show him that she would take on the mantle, the responsibility of keeping him sated and happy. 

Possessed him? She would never get over it. 

She found the chest and lifted the lid, reaching down for the delicate crown. Even in the dim light it sparkled. Her prize in hand, she set it on her head and nearly sprinted back to Geta.

He still laid in the middle of his bed, a vision of long limbs and pale flesh. At the sound of her feet padding on the floor he craned his neck, his large brown eyes passing over her, lingering on her head, where the crown sat precariously.

His full lips parted in a grin. “Eager to fulfill your duty, Empress?” he questioned, his voice low with desire. He held his hands out for her, helping her return to her place astride his hips. 

“Do you like it?” she asked a bit bashfully, her hands leaving his to steady the crown in her hair.

He let out a deep breath. “Mea lux,” he smiled, reaching up to pull her down to his chest, “you spoil me.” He stole a kiss from her lips before he reached up to adjust the crown so it would sit more securely on her head. She leaned into every touch, relishing the sensation of his large hands on her skin, skimming, gripping, squeezing.

She was so overwhelmed by him that she didn’t notice him preparing to shove into her, her only warning a quick swipe of him through her slick. They let out matching sighs as he filled her, like this was all they needed. Letha sat up, a hand pressed against his abdomen for support as she reacclimated to him. 

“W-What exactly are the duties of an Empress, Geta?” she asked. His hips snapping up forcing a wanton moan to leave her lips. 

His flush extended from his face and ears down to his chest. “Besides the obvious?”

She nodded, shifting her hips, moving on instinct, eager for relief. 

He grunted, letting his head fall back. “Well,” he began, bucking his own hips up slightly to reward her. “You will sit with me in all the boring meetings. We will suffer together.” 

“Mhmm,” she moaned, nodding. “I can do that.”

“You will advise me, keep me in line,” he grunted. “Tell me when I’m being a fool.”

“I will relish every chance I get,” she grinned, chasing her pleasure.

“Don’t look so excited,” he chuckled, biting his lip. 

She felt her thighs burning, but she didn’t dare stop, the coil pulling ever tighter. “What else?”

“You will guard my heart, Letha,” he breathed, his eyes meeting hers.

Her hips stilled. 

Geta flipped them, bringing his face down to hers. She ran her hands up his sides, over his shoulders, tangling in his hair as he kissed her. She relaxed beneath him, her legs wrapping around his hips as he drove into her at a steady pace. 

“Can you do that?” he asked, meeting her eyes. 

“Haven’t I been already?” 

He blinked down at her, absorbing her words. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed, pulling his face down to hers.

In the kiss, he quickened his pace. She felt like she was falling apart in his hands, unable to form more words. He reached down between them, his fingers finding home in the apex of her thighs, his nose brushing against hers as he urged her to her release.

She clung to him desperately, choked gasps leaving her throat as he pressed his lips against it. She clenched around him, the coil finally snapping and giving way for her hard-earned release. He pushed her through it, her hands squeezing his hips in an effort to slow him down, too sensitive. 

He sat up, pulling her to him by her hips, grunting as he pounded into her.

“Is giving you an heir part of my duties as well?”

He laughed. “Not a requirement, but–” He cut himself off, burying himself in her as he fell on top of her, pulsing into her. “–a perk.”

He settled on top of her, his lips pressing to hers before he buried his face in the side of her neck. She held him close, running fingers up and down his back, enjoying the warmth of him despite all the sweat. 

“I would stay like this forever,” she sighed, trying to fight off the exhaustion she felt. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep now that she had him back.

“I have no pressing business for two days, mea lux. You’re not leaving this room,” he spoke into her skin. “And when we do, we will be wed.”

She felt nervous, but optimistic. “Should we not have waited until after for this then?”

He lifted his head, his warm eyes settling on hers. Full of love and mirth. “Oh, no, dear Letha. I believe you said you have already taken your time to think,” he winked, “and I would not deprive my Empress of anything.”

[ fin ]

Thank you for reading!

[pluckyredhead]

…Sorry if this is a bit weird but do you have any queer romance book recommendations? I ended up finishing the last binding trilogy because you posted about it (you have excellent taste lol) and I’m a bit stuck at the moment with what to read next.

Not weird at all! I absolutely have recs! Also Freya Marske has a brand new book out called Swordcrossed if you want more of her writing. (For people who are not anon: The Last Binding is an Edwardian historical fantasy romance trilogy and it's excellent.)

Okay recs:

KJ Charles: My favorite queer romance author, hands down, and also the most prolific! She's written over 30 queer historical romance novels (and one queer historical mystery), mostly M/M, all historical and set in the UK during various time periods ranging from the 1810s to the 1920s. My two favorite things about her work: 1. It draws very heavily on the history, meaning that her characters never come across like modern people in historical cosplay. And 2. she's great at creating genuine conflict between or around characters. I have read too many romances where everything is uwu softness and nothing hurts but Charles's characters are always either fundamentally divided by politics, class, ethical perspectives, lies, and/or tragic backstories, OR they get along fine but a murderer is trying to kill them, OR, in the best of her books, both.

My favorites are probably The Will Darling Adventures (1920s trilogy all about the same couple fighting a criminal secret society), A Seditious Affair (1810s, a radical firebrand and a Tory government official accidentally fall in love while having extremely kinky sex), An Unnatural Vice (1870s, "spiritualist" con artist and the crusading journalist trying to expose him), and Any Old Diamonds (1890s, The Saddest Boy in the World hires a sexy jewel thief to rob his horrible father, kink ensues), but you can really start anywhere - Think of England is where I jumped on and it's nice because it's more of a standalone (there is a companion book but Think of England comes first). If you liked The Last Binding, you might want to start with her Magpie Lord series because they are also fantasy romance. (Freya Marske is a big KJ Charles fan and it shows, in a good way.)

Allie Therin: Sticking with the fantasy romance angle here for a moment, Therin has a 1920s trilogy called Magic in Manhattan that is all about the same couple, a prickly magic-user named Rory and the big hunky WWI vet who loves him, as they fight various evil magicians. (HUGE oversimplification but you get it.) There's a spinoff trilogy, the Roaring Twenties Magic series, which has two books out so far. I love NYC, the 1920s, fantasy, and queer romance, so obviously I love all of this.

But I'm particularly obsessed with her Sugar and Vice series (also a trilogy, first book is out already and the second one comes out next month) which is set in modern day Seattle and is about an empath named Reece and the super dangerous empath hunter called the Dead Man who may or may not be here to kill Reece, and also there's a serial killer on the loose. This one is a suuuuuuper slow burn (they don't even kiss in the first book!), so you have to be patient but I read the second book early and yeah I'm obsessed and desperate to talk to other people about these books.

Charlie Adhara: More paranormal romance! I wrote about these books at greater length recently, but the short version is: FBI agent gets transferred to the super secret werewolf division of the FBI and partnered with a hot werewolf, they fall in love, spend five books developing into The Ultimate Power Couple, I'm in love with their love. There's a spinoff series called Monster Hunt but only one book is out so far.

TJ Klune: I probably don't have to tell anyone about TJ Klune anymore and I'll admit he can be hit or miss for me but I did really love Wolfsong. As long as we're talking werewolves.

Dessa Lux: Okay these are more erotica than romance but Omega Required is a comfort read for me, which is funny because I'm not usually an omegaverse gal. But this is about a very sweet alpha doctor who offers a marriage of convenience to a very traumatized omega and it's literally just nonstop cuddling and soup. She also has a series that's just ever-growing werewolf gangbangs, if that's a thing you're into. Like. A cartoonish amount of werewolves at the gangbang. It's delightful.

Cat Sebastian: I will admit Sebastian is also a little bit hit or miss for me. I loved her very first trilogy, the Turner series, which is very much in the vein of KJ Charles (Regency romance, class divides, lots of conflict). She wrote some more 19th century stuff after that and then moved into mid-20th century romance (50s-70s) which is honestly very rare. She also basically...stopped writing any conflict at all. I would say a large portion of her books after the Turner series can be accurately described as "two best friends who are secretly in love with each other sit in the same house/apartment and enjoy each other's company until they get together." I know a BUNCH of people who absolutely love that and they are well-written! But I really have to be in the right mood for them.

Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy: Okay I am not a hockey person, but you must, you MUST read Him and its sequel, Us. Hockey-playing BFFs, one is gay and secretly in love with the the other, the other one is like "I don't think I'm into dudes but I'd better give you 300 blowjobs to make sure." (Spoiler: he's into dudes.) Honestly the stupidest men imaginable. I love them so much. Bowen has written a few other queer romances solo and I'm working my way through her back catalog now.

Rachel Reid: Yes it's more hockey romance but. BUT. Heated Rivalry. Two of the top players in the NHL, on rival teams, have famously hated each other for years...and have secretly been fucking since they were rookies. Reid is another one where I'm still working my way through her books but Heated Rivalry is something special.

I am SURE there are more I'm forgetting but this is long so I'll stop it here for now! Also folks should feel free to reblog with further recs, she said selfishly.

[impishjesters]

First-time jitters (NSFW-ish)

warning(s): kissing, hickeys, suggestive themes, implied lead-up to sex, sexual jokes note(s): Naked twister kind of joke, not anything in a typical Jax insulting joke form. A/N: I actually really liked writing this, it gave me a chance to write just kissing and while I still suck at it, it was something. Plus I can totally see Jax cracking jokes to keep his s/o from being so tense and nervous. Happy that this didn't push me out of my comfort zone, even if it did make me feel weird about writing kisses. I'm not experienced in that department either. request: Hey I was wondering if you could write a very slight NSFW of Jax and the Reader? Maybe this is the reader’s first time and is nervous about it?

“I’ve uh, never done this before…” You mutter nervously, hands playing with the hem of your shirt.

“What sat on a bed with a man?” Jax snorts.

“Ass, you know that’s not—”

“Oh, you’ve never played naked twister? It’s a little slippery I’ll admit.”

“Jax…”

“See you’re already doing a great job, ya already got saying my name down. Though I’d like to hear it a bit louder and more desperately, maybe a tad more breathy.”

You cross your arms in irritation and embarrassment, this was not how you were going to spend your first time if he kept being a little shit lord and keep cracking jokes. You loved him and tolerated enough of this outside of the bedroom, it wasn’t exactly something you were expecting during such an intimate moment.

As if sensing your thoughts Jax took a seat on the bed and leaned closer, placing a hand on each side of you on the bed. “Oh c’mon angel, I’m trying to ease the tension. Ya more wound up than a music box, if ya this tense it’ll hurt. And we don’t want that.”

Jax wasn’t stupid, he could tell you weren’t ready when the topic was officially brought up and told you he was fine waiting. Blue ballin’ sucked but he’d endure it until you were ready—which was tonight, if you were still up for it.

He caught you chewing on your bottom lip and raised a hand to tap at your lips to get you to quit. “Ya know I won’t do anything to hurt you, especially if ya aren’t into it.” You giggle faintly and he slips his fingers over to pinch your cheek. “There we go, loosen up and I’ll help loosen you up so it won’t hurt. Trust me.”

“That’s pretty bold of you to ask me to trust you of all people.” You tease. However, there is reassurance in the tender touch and his tone that has you relaxing more and more into his touch.

Jax rolls his eyes playfully, giving your cheek another pinch before moving the hand back to the bed. “And ya pretty dumb to trust me of all people.” he pokes back.

It’s all in good fun, it’s not typically how he’d treat someone in bed but you aren’t just any random shmuck in his bed. Plus it’s your first time and he’d rather not make it an unpleasant experience, he would like to get laid more than once after all.

Before you can respond he gives you a quick kiss, shifting to get more comfortable on the bed with you but not making any attempts to undress either of you. “We’ll go slow, ain’t gotta get naked right from the start—though I won’t complain if you wanna strip.” His brows waggle suggestively but his tone is far from it.

“Can we just kiss for now?” Kissing isn’t new and it feels like a nice start to everything, you don’t want to back out now but you aren’t going to just force your way straight into sex.

“Sure doll.”

Jax is surprisingly careful with his kisses, each kiss is sweet yet firm until you find yourself getting impatient at the little pecks and run your tongue along his bottom lip. Working around his teeth takes a few minutes but in no time the kisses grow more heated and full of tongue.

The distance between the two of you gradually closes, Jax sits with his legs loosely crossed creating the perfect little spot in the middle for you. He drapes your thighs over his and tugs you closer to create just the right amount of space between the two of you, mainly so he doesn’t have to keep breaking his back to lean in.

Your hands find purchase around his neck while his hands find home on your lower back. It’s no different than the usual make-out session except this will actually lead to more than just the two of you separating and having to wind down or take care of things separately.

Jax is the first to break away, leaving you panting. You’re such a flustered, red mess and he’s soaking up every little noise and expression on your face. Diving back in he dodges your lips much to your confusion and instead aims for your neck. You tilt your head to give him better access and he peppers the area with kisses and the occasional nibble.

He pulls back after a bit, satisfied to see your neck littered with his marks, and gently guides your head to tilt the other way, giving the same attention to the unmarked side. There’s no way someone won’t say something later, the marks are too obvious and most definitely won’t be covered by your clothes—you’ll have to think of an excuse later.

Eventually, he has to pull away and admire his handiwork again, that smug expression on his face per usual, except the reason is different this time, more genuine. “What a pretty necklace ya got there doll, who bought it for ya?”

Necklace? You weren’t wearing any—oh the hickeys. “Jaaax..” That’s so painfully cheesy that you can’t help but whine and giggle.

“Your damn right I did. Looks so good on ya too.”

He runs his fingers over the fresh marks and you can’t help but shudder at the sensitivity. You don’t remember them normally being that sensitive, but you also don’t remember him ever leaving that many in one sitting. Something tells you those won’t be the only hickeys you’ll end up with.

Your eyes fall on his own neck, bare as ever, and find yourself feeling a little mischievous. “How about we give you a matching one?”

Jax’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if to help give you a better position before his hands knead into your hips. “Oh sugar, I’d be more than happy to be sportin’ a matching necklace with you.”

[galactichoneybee92]

Helluva Boss Season 3 Predictions

So now that I've spent the past week or so recovering from Sinsmas, I'd like to take some time to think about what's coming in the next season. Strap in: This post got WAY longer than anticipated. Spoiler warning for absolutely everything.

We are going to have ample time to concoct theories since Vivzie already confirmed that there will be a considerable wait for the new season. However, she did also confirm that we will be getting more shorts to hold us over and also that the extended wait time is in order to facilitate a more regular update schedule once season 3 premiers. We haven't gotten any further information on what that schedule might look like but I'm hoping for weekly releases instead of monthly so, you know, fingers crossed.

While season 2 was incredibly heavy on the Stolitz arc, Vivzie has stated that season 3 will be more focused on exploring some of the other characters. I'm sure Stolitz isn't going to disappear and that some of the episodes will still be focused on the progression of their relationship (I've seen some people saying that the Stolitz arc is over and like...respectfully...no? They're not even officially together? They have so much ground left to cover) but it would be nice to flesh out the rest of the characters in this universe.

One of the big plot points will of course be Millie's pregnancy. Now let me just say now, I'm already so incredibly sick of the "Millie cheated" theory. As if that's the only reason that a woman could be nervous about an unplanned pregnancy. Be so fucking for real. As for how I think they'll handle it, I think there could be some interesting juxtaposition happening between Stolas losing his child and the M&Ms gaining theirs. Millie is clearly very anxious about the pregnancy and I would personally love if there was an episode devoted to her trying to find ways to talk to Moxxie or Blitz about it but never quite finding the words, and in the end it winds up being Stolas who is able to help her. Out of all of IMP, he's the only one who has not only raised a baby, but did so while he was very young and probably very apprehensive about it. For all that he loves his daughter, Octavia was very much conceived out of obligation rather than either he or Stella feeling ready to bring a child into the world and I just think that it could be a good bonding moment for the two of them.

Right now IMP very much feels like the gang + Stolas, and I desperately need there to be more time devoted to Stolas getting to know the rest of IMP better. I think bonding with Millie could be an excellent first step (Step 2: Him and Moxxie bond over musical theater. Millie and Blitz are always trying to pawn Moxxie off on each other when it comes to watching musicals with him and I think it would be really great if he could have a musical theater bestie who actually enjoys them. And lets be real- There's no way you can watch Stolas's entire little musical production in Mastermind and come out thinking that that dramatic little fuck wouldn't love a good musical)

Speaking of Octavia, I would love to explore her character more. I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on her that I will probably explore in another post but while she does frustrate me, I do love her. Additionally, I'm very interested in what Stella and Andrealphus have planned now. They succeeded in getting Stolas out of the picture, his titles have passed to Andrealphus until Octavia is of age, but that has to be soon, right? Octavia was 17 in season 1 and while I'm not sure how much time has passed she has to be coming up on 18. 18 was the age that Loona was going to age out of the foster system so it's apparently the age of majority in Hell, the same as on Earth, so that would be the age that she would inherit her father's titles and estate. What are their plans for her then?

I think it's very possible that they will continue with their plan to have Stolas killed now that they no longer need him. Would they go as far as to try and kill Octavia too? What would happen if they did? What is the line of succession? Octavia clearly doesn't have any children so would Andrealphus get to keep everything?

Stolas and Stella were engaged as children, but so far we haven't seen anything about an arranged marriage for Octavia. If Stolas had to marry in order to secure a "precautionary heir", wouldn't Octavia need to do the same now that she has inherited everything? I wonder if we will get either a birthday episode (Octavia dealing with having her 18th birthday without her father- Stolas dealing with missing his daughter's 18th birthday) or an arranged marriage plotline (Maybe Stella announces her daughter's engagement on her 18th birthday?)

This next theory is really out there but bear with me here and remember that they're strongly based on European royalty: What if Andrealphus tries to marry Octavia to secure the title for him and his sister.

Overall, I think an arranged marriage arc could really do a lot for Octavia's character in regard to her perspective on Stolas. Right now she only really views Stolas as her father, not as person in his own right, independent of his relationship to her. She only sees the ways in which he's failed her and not any of his own personal struggles. Furthermore, she had the quote from Sinsmas, 'You don't love mother and you don't love me- You love him." Which seems to imply that she thought her parents loved each other??? Stolas has mentioned on several occasions that he did his best to give her a normal life and I wonder if that included hiding the fact that he and Stella hated each other. It leads me to believe that maybe she thinks that they were happily in love until he met Blitz and then that was the catalyst for their marriage falling apart instead of their marriage having always been rotten at the core.

But what does that have to do with Octavia having an arranged marriage? Well I could see Octavia being very against it and Stella saying something like "Oh please, I had an arranged marriage when I was your age" and Octavia discovering the truth of the matter. She expressed surprise that her parents didn't marry for love and then Stella is like "Me? Love Stolas? Don't be ridiculous."

I mean naturally the wedding never happens- Stolas and IMP are able to interfere and save her from going through with it and maybe in the process repair her relationship with Stolas. Maybe they could steal her away and if she's staying with them she might be able to see all of the ways in which Blitz isn't some evil father-stealer like she's imagined him being. It sets it up for her to see them being soft with each other and maybe compare it to her memories of her parents and how they were never affectionate like that. Maybe Stolas will do something dorky that Stella would usually mock him for but instead Blitz will just roll his eyes and think it's cute and they might laugh about it together. And then Blitz would definitely make her smiley face pancakes in the morning (because he's nothing if not a girl-dad) and I could definitely see him remembering that one time in Sinsmas that Stolas mentioned that rats were Octavia's favorite snack and being sure to hunt some down for her.

Other unrelated small things I would like to see:

Blitz gets Stolas a little plant for the apartment.

Blitz gets some glow in the dark stars for the ceiling.

I'd love to explore Loona's character some more. How old was she when she went into foster care? Why was she there? Was she surrendered as a baby? Was she taken by whatever passes as CPS in Hell? Did she have any other foster families before Blitz? Why didn't they work out? Was she returned for behavioral issues or something? What's the story there? We got a little bit in Seeing Stars but not nearly enough and I would love to flesh out her backstory.

What about Loona's love life? She clearly had a crush on Vortex in season 1 and was disappointed to find out that not only did he already have a girlfriend but that that girlfriend was Bee- one of the seven deadly sins. Not someone she could compete with. Now me personally? I think that Bee has 2 hands and is the god of gluttony- she could definitely handle a 3-way polyamorous relationship. But that's just me. I don't actually have any sort of canon evidence to back that theory up, it's just more like a fun head canon: Let Loona Have a Boyfriend AND a Girlfriend 2025. (But if they introduce a new love interest for her? That's fine too. I just want my girl to be happy)

Finally, there has to be more about Barbie in season 3. Now I'm not super in love with her character like some of y'all are (This fandom has the unique ability to see a character with 30 seconds of screen time and LATCH ON like no one's business. See: Vasago) but she's an important part of Blitz's past. I think that a Barbie episode could be a good opportunity for Stolas (And Millie? And Moxxie? And Loona even? How much does IMP even know about Blitz's past???) to learn more about Blitz's past and trauma while also fleshing Barbie out as a character.

I feel that there are 3 major relationships that Blitz has to resolve in one way or another before he can properly heal from the events of the fire: Fizz, Barbie, and Cash. Him and Fizz have worked through their issues and are back on good terms and I feel like Barbie is next since we have actually met her in present day. Alternatively, we have no clue what Cash has been up to since the fire or even where he is now which leads me to believe that Blitz will probably be confronting him last, if at all.

That's all I've got so far but please, if you've read this far, drop a comment or a reblog with you own thoughts and opinions. Tell me what you think of my theories and share your own in return! We've got a long wait until the next season so we might as well scream about it together :)

[rejectedfables]

While the source material clearly intends Xue Yang to be read as an orphan (perhaps orphaned so young he has no memory of his parents), I think it’s underexplored in fandom that he never ACTUALLY SAYS that his parents DIED, but rather that he was a child without parents. 

"He had neither dad nor mom nor money" (via the official english translation)

I think there's something in here worth exploring about the possibility that Xue Yang was abandoned by his parents. 

Perhaps he remembers one or both of them and/or the event, perhaps he does not but just has a sense of it having happened, perhaps he has no memories of it at all but it still psychologically impacted his development. 

Just about every character in the story can be better understood by looking at how they were raised, and Xue Yang is CERTAINLY not an exception. 

There are myriad ways to interpret his childhood (though none of them stable, safe, or cared for), but I have been thinking a LOT lately about how being abandoned by his parents could have shaped him into who he later became.

His behavior in the Villainous Friends extra (wherein he, seemingly arbitrarily, breaks things and antagonizes people and then specifically challenges Jin Guangyao about paying for damages) COULD be interpreted as acting out in a way that's common for children and teens with a history of abandonment who are testing the waters of just how much their new guardian/s will tolerate. This sort of behavior can be a self fulfilling prophesy as well as an attempt to prove to themselves that their expectations of rejection or punishment are correct.

If Xue Yang has only ever known the world to be a painful place where people reject and abandon him, then that's how he expects the world to continue behaving. If suddenly someone defies this expectation, it is simultaneously a fascinating and wondrous thing, and also a threat to his worldview. After all, if THIS person can be kind and care for him, then why didn't anyone else?

If JGY, who at this point is essentially just his handler, can be unconditionally patient with him... then why couldn't others have been patient with him over much less? And why couldn't his own parents, who had considerably higher responsibility to him, be as patient as JGY?

It's much easier to push and push and push until you break the patience and prove your cynicism correct, than it is to grapple with those painful questions. And after all, Jin Guangyao had an exterior force (Jin Guangshan) requiring him to show patience. And once that force was removed, so was Xue Yang. This, perhaps, felt as much like validation as it did betrayal.

There might be a parallel to be made here, too, about how JGY was and felt betrayed/abandoned by his father. This in common might be something that they bonded over.

And of course, as always, there's Yi City.

Xue Yang expects Xiao Xingchen to abandon him, and his elaborate “revenge” was at least in part in preparation for that anticipated betrayal. He "knows" he will be betrayed and, perhaps unlike what happened with Jin Guangyao, he intends to be ready for it this time. Ready to punish Xiao Xingchen the MOMENT it happens, or ready to convince him not to betray him after all (what is "We're not so different, I'm not uniquely evil, you're ending our life together because you think you're better than me but look! Look! You and I are the same now" if not a deeply misguided and utterly desperate plea?).

At some point he starts hoping it just won't happen, and stops needing the “revenge” plot. When it starts unraveling before him, he tries for understanding first. What is "Hear my story, THEN decide--" if not begging to be understood?

Of course it doesn't work.

Xiao Xingchen doesn't even kill Xue Yang, either; he goes Away. Goes where Xue Yang can't. If Xue Yang is read as having this particular trigger, Xiao Xingchen's suicide may feel like abandonment all over again.

Perhaps Xiao Xingchen NOT killing Xue Yang becomes a parallel to Xue Yang's parents abandoning him to suffer alone instead of keeping him or killing him. Or else maybe Xue Yang's mother DID try to kill him (drown him or left him out in the cold) and he just managed to survive, in which case Xiao Xingchen NOT trying to kill Xue Yang puts him a cut above even Xue Yang's own mother/parents.

Final thought:

While I find Xue Yang's lack of familial connection to the rest of the cast compelling, I also find "what if" scenarios fascinating to explore, and "Xue Yang was abandoned by parents who might still be around during the story" does create some fascinating opportunities for fic.

Such as:

What if Xue Yang was yet another illegitimate son of Jin Guangshan? What if he knew but Jin Guangyao didn't? What if Jin Guangyao knew but Xue Yang didn't? What if Jin Guangshan himself knew? That would really put the insistent protections into a very weird light (is there a heart in there? Or did he think he could string Xue Yang along like he did Jin Guangyao? Or was Xue Yang blackmailing him?)

OR

What if Xue Yang was the illegitimate son of Chang Cian? It certainly puts a spin on that entire scenario. Little Xue Yang has another reason to want to please this man, and a further reason to feel betrayed by the abuse. Chang Cian not even recognizing him. Xue Yang taking revenge on the entire family because they ALL wronged him in a way he can't articulate. Because they got to live the life he could have if he'd been wanted.

Certainly none of this is canon, but it's not TERRIBLY far beyond the bounds of canon either, and makes for some juicy food for fic.

[youcouldmakealife]

PSA

The recent ask about SAIT gives me an opportunity I have been, well. Not waiting for, exactly, but preparing for, maybe?

TL;DR: Gritty's delayed indefinitely (not the 'indefinitely' that's a cowardly 'forever', the kind that actually does mean 'we don't know for how long')

More detail below.

SAIT is, at this point in time, projected to have 20-24 parts in 2024, rather than the 11-13 I was anticipating. Which is great! I'm genuinely really pleased that it's been cooperating, and I hope you all are too.

But, because those 10 extra parts had to come from somewhere, and it wasn't COTT (at least mostly), that brings us to news many of you likely figured was coming, especially as the year's gone on: Gritty (working title is actually Grit & Determination, like a very Philadelphian Pride & Prejudice) isn't going to be coming in 2024, as I'd been originally planning.

Most of the reason I've put off this Official Delay (other than garden variety procrastination, which can and does strike at will), was because I frankly don't want to delay it, and I was desperately trying to find a way to fit it in.

But SAIT has been going so well that I refuse to slow down at all, for fear I stop the momentum entirely, and I don't want to write less of COTT either. I think ongoing series should pretty much always outrank starting new projects on the whole priority list (or I will literally never finish anything ever again).

And there's another scheduling wrinkle coming, because there will be a Kickstarter coming in 2025, with all the attendant work involved. Add the fact I'm trying to figure out the writing pace that works for me without leading to burnout (and dealing with the frustration of that being slower than I'd like), and I'm hesitant to give a timeline beyond 'TBD'.

But please know that this absolutely isn't a case of 'lost inspiration/will/interest' or the like. It's more a result of me prioritizing certain things higher than I have been, and altering my projected workload to fit those priorities, the number one priority for me since I was diagnosed as a AA battery (autistic with ADHD) being to work at a pace I can sustain and maintain. Sustain and maintain meaning without missing deadlines (like every Kickstarter I have ever done), constantly shuffling projects around like they'll fit if I find the right combo, and risking my own health and happiness by refusing to acknowledge that I don't have the same energy levels as a) neurotypical people and b) myself in my 20s (who frankly didn't have the energy either, which is what led to burnout in the first place).

I'm bummed about it, and I totally understand if you are too, but it's still top of my priority list in the 'future series' category. It's just that the category itself is going to be delayed for a bit, because two series (and then two series plus a Kickstarter project) is all I can handle at the moment.

[peachmangofuzz]

7 minutes in heaven - shohei ohtani au

summary: Y/N snoops around famous football player Shohei Ohtani’s locker in search for a scandal against his clean record but ends up in one herself.

tropes: friends with benefits, friends to lovers(?)

tw: *slight* smut, mentions of sex, oral (f receiving)

word count: 30,033K words (i'm SO sorry in advance holy shit)

hi! it's been a while. when i made this account, i vowed to write at least once a week but it had been so difficult this month juggling work, my chronic migraines, and seasonal depression (lol).

please note i did not proofread this so plsssss i apologize for grammar mistakes and inconsistencies!!

posting this on the last day of 2023, hoping to give everyone a good read before we welcome the new year. so thankful for this small space to try, linger and reset all over again. hope you had a very merry holidays with your loved ones.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

==================================

Locker Lockdown

At around thirty minutes past four in the afternoon, I skimmed the clubhouse for any signs of life. It was only the quiet that prevailed. Clear. 

I tiptoed my way towards the player locker room. I only had around ten minutes to locate the correct locker and take whatever I could find. Discovering the locker area to be empty and unguarded, I felt a surge of excitement. 

Six years later, I couldn’t get my big break and decided sports journalism could catapult me into somewhere big in the industry. This is my last chance to prove myself, otherwise I’d have to reconsider going back home and write Hallmark greeting card messages again. 

Shohei Ohtani’s jersey number is the number 17. Lucky bastard, after all these years and even after going through free agency, he got to keep his famous number, even at the cost of having their senior player give it up for him when he joined the football team. 

And here you might be wondering why I’m doing this aside from my sheer desperation to get an official spot in the workplace and not eat scraps of topics editors discarded for themselves. 

Some people are privileged to a fault.

And I hate seeing him on TV. Or on social media. Or his Colgate-white smile plastered all over my favorite beer and skincare brands. 

Some would say this is the TMZ tabloid level of writing. I say this is investigative journalism. Find out if the famous favorite son-in-law has any flaws of his own and wrap around a bowtie of hidden horrors of sports documentaries. 

And where else can we find this but in the athlete hotpot: their locker room.

I found Shohei’s locker right away as it was the tidiest locker among all on display, with nothing but brand-sponsored clothing hung neatly on the rack. He also donned the top shelf with some dog-eared self-help titles and vitamin bottles. While the rest of the athletes have pictures of their girlfriends, wives and their kids, Shohei has an unreleased polaroid selfie with his dog, Dekopin, just right beside his perfume bottles. Dekopin was looking away, captured in mid-yawn, with his ears raised, and Shohei, smiling into the camera with pursed lips and a snapback on.

I got so immersed into reading the ingredients of his vitamin bottles, trying to find anything remotely related to steroids, or any form of illegal bodily enhancements, that I didn’t notice footsteps from outside the hall.

“What are you doing here?” a voice loomed behind me and I dropped the diet supplement bottle in panic.

Only the sound of the bottle rattling could be heard as I locked eyes with Shohei Ohtani, tall and all muscular. His hair was sweaty and unkempt and his eyes held mild anger and confusion. After the bottle stopped rolling and settled somewhere on the floor between us, there was only silence and the cold sweat building up at my back. 

I swallowed hard. I planned everything from studying the stadium’s entrance and exit doors but I didn’t plan on bumping into him. Not like this. Not when I’m at the lowest level of the social hierarchy right now. 

I could only be ashamed. 

Brain still befuddled at the thought of getting caught, I urged my limbs and picked up the vitamin bottle and returned it back to Shohei’s locker. The plan was not to respond at all and run as fast as I could before the rest of his team arrived. That was the only way to keep whatever dignity I have left. 

“I said, what are you doing here?” He caught my arm mid-exit and pulled me back, tightening his grip. 

“Let go of me.” I struggled to keep my balance and the way my voice wavered was no help at all. 

Shohei saw the camera slung over my shoulder and looked back at me, realization hitting him.

“Y/N, are you a sports journalist now? And were you looking through my stuff?” he said, sounding almost disappointed. 

“That’s none of your business. Let go of me.” I kept my voice steady but his grip only tightened. The sides of my eyes slowly formed tears. 

“What tabloid media do you work for? I should report you. Would you like that? What a shame you’ll be banned from all the games now, right? You nasty journalists just won’t keep your noses away from my business.” he took my camera and deleted all the photos I took of the contents of his locker. I tried to leap for it but he was obviously inches taller than I was and I was no match for that.

“I don’t write tabloid news. If I was, my name would have been all over TV by now.” I grabbed the camera from him and sighed morosely at the lost media. A day’s work is all lost.

“My boss gave me a green light to do a documentary about the team. And the star player.” I wiggled my fingers in front of him, as if to emphasize the word “star” in front of him.

“I came here assuming you and the other players would be here for an interview but no one was around yet. So I hung around a bit and took interest in your nutritional supplements.” Lie after lie after lie. I gritted my teeth and faked a smile. The most convincing lie I’ve learned on almost all my failed dates and relationships was to stroke a man’s ego and have him talk about all the things he is interested in, making him divert his attention to something else. 

“You’ve got really good, um, vitamins for muscle recovery there. Maybe that’s why you got so big and strong, right?.” He looked at me dubiously, nodding responsively to be polite. If he took the bait, then he is obviously just like any other guy I’ve ever met. 

“I mean, I guess? I’ve been doing deadlifts so–”

Approaching footsteps and faint voices were heard from the hall. Shohei pushed me toward the opposite end of the hall, where the showers were located. 

“Wha–” I started but was shut up when he pushed me further into the back of the shower room, swiping the doors closed. 

“Shut up if you don’t want to be caught.” He growled and I recoiled back into the tiled corner. On top of me was the almost rusting shower head who had seen better days, and two bottle pumps for shampoo and body wash. 

Voices and conversations were starting to fill in the locker room that was empty only a few seconds ago. The voices of men echoed through the shower rooms.  You could hear the sound of water turning on from neighboring shower stalls, laughter and tired conversation in the locker area. We were surrounded.

Shohei could be heard laughing with his mates while blocking the door to the shower room I was hiding in. 

“Are you using that, Sho? I could use a hot shower right now.” one of his teammates said. 

“Uh, no, I was just about to use this room, sorry.” he said, almost hesitating. After a few seconds, he entered the shower room and started undressing. 

I widened my eyes and shot him daggers. When he unhooked his shirt from his armholes, I was rendered speechless. 

He had the body sculpted by the gods with his wide shoulders and large pecs that glinted under the light. How could someone look handsome and beautiful at the same time? 

So when Shohei reached for the waist belt of his pants down, I didn’t know why I had choked on a silent scream. I looked away, embarrassed to have reacted like an inexperienced teenager. I have seen and have been with naked men before. This should be nothing new to me and my level. Or so I thought.

I stole a glance at Shohei, who was slowly walking towards me (or to the showerhead, where I stood under, obviously)  in only his boxers on, gazing at me in wild amusement.

We were almost inches apart from each other, foreheads almost touching, breaths almost converging, if you may. If I stand on my tiptoes, I would be almost at his eye-level and I could peck him on the lips if I wanted to. 

If I wanted to.

“Sorry, but I need to shower or someone else will try to take this stall.” His voice broke my salacious thoughts. He looked at me and turned the shower on.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m supposed to. Aren’t I? I just got off practice and I stink.” He said almost sarcastically.

“So I’m supposed to just watch you bathe and hope I get out here alive?” Water slowly dripped into my shirt, soaking my chest and exposing a bit of my underwear. 

“If you didn’t sneak in here, we wouldn’t have this problem.” He concluded and pursed his lips, not looking at me. 

“Shohei? You okay? You sound like you’re talking to someone.” a familiar voice floated into the shower room.

“It was a video on my phone that I forgot to pause, Ippei-san.” Shohei’s face turned red but recovered quickly, glaring at me. 

“Oh, well then, I thought you finally had a girl in there. I was wrong.” Ippei laughed.

Shohei started lathering body wash on his body at the slowest pace possible. His hands glided through his chest, stomach, and into the dick he’s restraining inside his boxers. Simply having this view had me almost whimpering. If it had been another day, I would have obviously enjoyed this, having a sexy man bathe in front of me, because who wouldn’t? But under my circumstances, I’m only fairly annoyed at being a flustered, hot mess and I couldn’t do anything about it. 

“Oh, fuck, now you got me wet.” I blurted a little loudly as the water splashed and got into my socks. 

Shohei’s widened and panicked eyes shot at me.

In between those short seconds, Shohei was able to respond quicker than my brain could. He had faked a laugh and said loudly, “Well, that’s awkward, the video keeps on playing on its own. Let me turn my phone off instead.” gaining laughter from outside the shower area and then reaching for the small of my neck and closed whatever space was seen between us. 

Based on what I had learned in self-defense training, my initial bodily reaction should have been this: If someone is coming at you from the front, a groin kick may deliver enough force to paralyze your attacker, making your escape possible. 1. Stabilize yourself as best you can. 2. Lift your dominant leg off the ground and begin to drive your knee upward. 3. Extend your dominant leg, drive hips forward, slightly lean back, and kick forcefully, making contact between your lower shin or ball of your foot and the attacker’s groin area.

Instead, when his lips touched mine, I felt my arms throw around his neck and pulled him closer. They say we’re all beggars for something, and this indulgence I had let myself be greedy for. 

When his lips reached mine, I parted like the Red Sea almost immediately, welcoming him and everything that he could offer: the taste of his tongue on my mouth, the smell of honey orange and apricot from his body wash seeping through my nose as I peppered kisses on his chest, and his obviously hard dick grinding against my stomach. When I palmed him, he managed a low growl and caught my wrists.

“Not here.” he groaned.

I pushed my head back inquiringly, both of us breathing too hard. 

“I have no condom,” he tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear. Under the dim bathroom light, I could see his face and chest were flushed. “Next time?”

“Well, usually when two old friends meet after a fall out in college, they just catch up and have coffee.” I said.

He laughed and said quietly, “Okay, so I owe you.”

“The coffee or the protected sex?” 

“Uh, it could go a lot of ways.” Before he could say more, I palmed him through his boxer shorts and looked up at him, trying to find his limit.

Shohei bit his own lip and tugged the roots of my hair in a bundle, pulling and tugging from the pleasure. To keep himself from making such ungodly hot sounds, he pushed his tongue down my throat and thrusted his hips back and forth against my hand.

As if to make it even, he unclasped my bra and sucked on my already soaked breasts, a satisfied groan slipped from me. We both pulled and pushed and sucked and kissed each other in the crevices the shower splatters couldn’t reach, silencing the moans before it could escape us.  

In that brief and elating moment, while we muted the noise from unsuspecting people, we smothered each other’s groans and reached our highs in the quietest, most pleasurable way possible. 

=========================================

7 minutes of heaven

It’s strange how I always find myself in the most ridiculous situations. 

The next few occasions that I’d meet Shohei would be wordless and timed interactions in enclosed spaces. We’d see each other in public and pretend we didn’t know each other but slip each other notes of the next place we’d secretly meet. It all felt strangely exhilarating to keep a secret like a fifteen year old would, with all the sneaking and running. 

We’ve explored almost every nook and cranny of the stadium, discovering hidden spots of our rendezvous. We’d meet up in a different bathroom and he’d push me on my back while he fucks me repeatedly on the bathroom sink. Pre-game preps meant I gave him blowjobs in his manager’s office hours and hours before everyone even arrived. 

Of course, when we ran out of places to hide, we’d go as far as looking for the next empty parking lot and tried to fuck each other noiselessly.

“So when can I take you out for dinner?” he had asked one day, when he dragged me out to meet with him around after midnight. I wouldn’t let him inside my apartment and I refused to do the deed in his either, so he’d bring me to places that only us knew, to fuck, to kiss, sometimes to talk, but more often, to drive each other’s pleasure and only that. 

Because god forbid we both catch feelings and lose the fun, right?

So no talking, no sharing of personal details, no anything. 

We were in an empty parking lot, away from the lampposts and streetlights. Shohei had made sure that we were well hidden in the dark. 

He had his legs spread while sitting on the driver’s seat. His hands, warm and wide, rested on my hips and thighs, lightly urging me to ride him slowly.

Soft RNB music played on the stereo, it was a quiet, still night. It was both our day off so he had wanted us to chill and take the sex slowly.

Slow meant gazing at each other’s eyes–gaze, not look–with endearment or adoration, not lust or pleasure. Slow meant thinking the unthinkable thoughts. Slow meant being vulnerable while coming undone.

And I don’t want the slow and quiet moments. I wanted the fast and rough with no time to talk, gaze or even think, just one hundred percent fun and debauchery. 

“Mmm. Maybe when you show me your photos,” I avoided the question but I also knew Shohei would never show me the photos he had taken–past and present. Even when we had been buddies for an entire semester, he had, not once, shown me his portfolio. 

“So probably never, right?” he gazed up at me with his creamy brown eyes, hands caressing my stomach lightly. 

“Probably,” I muttered and with that he had gripped my thighs tightly and moved his hips upwards to meet me. I moaned when he hit me in the right spots. Any sign of softness he had shown a few moments ago was gone, and only the roughness and unsettling disconnection remained. 

This particularly fine day, I would be standing at the mercy of his mouth. He had dragged me to an empty storage room in the east wing of the stadium, hours after practice. According to him, the area stands the exact opposite from the lockers so most people hardly come by. How he had found out about this, I had no idea. 

He was kneeling in between me, my right leg hooked on his shoulder, giving him more access and my hands tugged at the strands of his hair every time he licked my sensitive clit. 

Shohei’s tongue grazing against me had left me quivering in delight. He stands up and kisses me, giving me a taste. My fingers started unbuckling his belt when he felt his phone vibrate. 

“Oops, Ippei’s looking for me.” He pockets his phone, looking forlorn, as if telling me he didn’t really want to go yet. “See you again next time?”

“Yours or mine?” I had asked, brushing up and straightening my wrinkled dress. And when I realized what I had done, Shohei’s eyes shot up and he beamed widely. 

“I just– I- I want a proper night with sex, you know.” I explained, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s so uncomfortable having to go commando at work after you had just literally sucked the life out of my vagina, Sho.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He smiled even more.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“What? Fuck off.” By this time, my face felt hot and had probably looked red like a tomato, which probably amused Shohei even more. 

“Your place, then. I’ll call you.” he gives me one last kiss then heads out first, leaving me a dazed and pulsating mess.

A shrill sound knocked me awake. It felt like seven thousand screaming hungry babies in my ear, bouncing off around my brain like a pinball. 

I looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and saw the time glinting behind the glass: 8:41 PM. I must've fallen asleep after taking a half day off from work, feeling nauseous and slightly feverish. It seemed that whatever body malaise that I have been carrying inside me earlier had sprung into a full-blown ailment.

 I pushed my body up and walked groggily to the source of my misery. 

Someone was buzzing the doorbell and repeatedly pounding on the door. Great.

“If you’re not dead or dying behind this door, you’re about to be.” I croaked harshly, throat burning; putting all my remaining energy in pulling the door open. I was greeted by an extremely tall man with frantic brown eyes, searching my face.

“Oh, thank fucking god. I’ve been knocking for half an hour.” he wrapped me in a tight hug, I almost collapsed. Partly because of the throbbing headache and overall discomfort that I already felt, but hugely because of the warm minty scent of Shohei Ohtani. 

“Jesus, you’re burning up!”

“What are you doing here?” I said, struggling in his grip, his face resting on the curve of my neck. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You don’t text someone ‘at least i’ll die happy today knowing that my last meal was shoyu ramen’ and then not fucking reply after.” We were still standing by the entrance, his face now angled towards me, a look of concern or anger mixed in his face, I couldn’t tell. My cerebral cortex functions seemed to have shut down after witnessing this unexpected tenderness. 

“Medicine knocked me down cold.” I shrugged weakly. 

Shohei pulled me into the bedroom and tucked me back in, apologizing for his intrusion, putting down plastic bags of what seemed to be groceries on the kitchen counter, and went back to lightly scolding me for proper texting etiquette to family and friends, to anyone really. That my dark humor doesn’t translate well in messages and that I could have really died and people would think I’m joking but really, he got so scared that he went here as fast as he could.

I don’t remember much but in between fever dreams and my ibuprofen haze, I faintly remember the savory taste of rice porridge exploding in my mouth, the constant dabbing of a cold towel on my face, neck and chest, sometimes, my back, too; the smell of rubbing alcohol and a large, gentle, almost loving touch. 

I don’t remember much but in between waking up in the darkness and stone-cold silence, I remember soft forehead kisses until I drifted back to sleep; of big strong arms enclosing me into a big embrace, as if to tell me, you can put your guard down now. you are safe here. 

I don’t remember much from coming in and out of slumber, but I remember thinking: wouldn’t it be nice if this wasn’t a dream?

======================================

Reset

In the end, I quit sports media on my own volition and got into a friend’s ceramics house. I have always had a thing for ceramics and sculpting as early as college, where I had met my then-professor and now friend–who happens to be the owner of mentioned ceramics house. She had always praised me and encouraged me to join her when she first opened the shop, but as someone who had musings for writing at the time, I politely declined and pursued, you guessed it, journalism. 

I’ve always been good at writing, no doubt, from the way professors always had a good word for me, but I always seem to get into the wrong places every time. Time moves fast if you’re a journo, if you’re slow, then the news is rehashed news, it would just be a late-night recap at a midnight slot that no one is ever awake to watch. 

Here, inside her shop, it was quiet, and time moved slowly. I can get into my laziest clothes and no one bats an eye. I can finally retire my stilettos and straight cut blazers. 

It was all so going well. The customers were always mid-twenties who got interested in our social media marketing of creating your own mugs and other ceramics and always came in in groups, duos, and solos. 

Slowly, I realized that not everyone gets to the places they want. Even when you work blood and sweat for it. Not all were built like, say, Shohei Ohtani, whose talent was recognized early and afforded him an automatic slot in the big leagues.

Some are born to be big icons and some, like the rest of us, are meant for smaller, softer spaces. I get that now. It finally felt like I was in the right place and pace. 

All this positivity and good timing felt all too good to be true and been proven accurate when the scandal blew up. 

Shohei Ohtani photographed exiting his LA apartment with a woman in his arms.

Shohei Ohtani’s rumored girlfriend receives backlash from fans: READ MORE

EXCLUSIVE: More photographs of Shohei Ohtani and rumored girlfriend driving away in his Porsche

Rumored girlfriend of Shohei Ohtani: Who is She?

When I say it was everywhere, I meant it exploded right in front of our faces like a million confetti, falling and twirling fast. It was unstoppable. It was inevitable.

I felt my limbs go numb when I read the morning news. There in bold and black letters was the headline, my name and a clear photo of me holding Shohei’s arm, smiling. A certain news outlet had gotten juice of us and our secret hideouts and had spread all over social media like wildfire. You know what’s funnier? The media outlet that released this was my previous employer. The same company that asked me to snuff out a controversy. While I had failed to give them the news they wanted, I had unintentionally brought them an exclusive that wrote my entire name–and face–off the map and potentially ruined Shohei Ohtani’s clean record. 

Shohei Ohtani, despite his happy-go-lucky and passive demeanor, was a very serious and straight-laced person. I already knew this in university but I got to see more of this side of him when we had started the fucking thing. Even though I had clearly told him that I didn’t want any strings attached, it was unavoidable to give and receive bits and pieces of each other when we’re not naked. 

I  did enjoy talking to Shohei under the sheets. His ingenious ideas and the way he talked about the things he adored spilled all over him, like afternoon sunlight streaming in between curtains, making way even through the small spaces to cast his light. I basked into this warmth as much time allowed me, because who knows when I can experience the glow of his presence again after all the chaos. 

He was exactly like the golden hour: a warm afternoon orange luminescence that usually only stays for ten to fifteen minutes a day. If you wait too long to look up, he disappears quickly as he goes, leaving only the faint orange, yellow and pink hues chasing after him before the black of the night takes over you. 

Well, now the fairytale has run its course and the sun has set to announce that golden hour is over. Night has finally fallen on me and I’m feeling scared and alone.

The first thing I did was to grab as much stuff as I could and put them all in my luggage and filed for an indefinite leave. 

As if like clockwork, my phone rang and saw Shohei’s name on the caller ID. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. What could I possibly say to him? That I used him just for the clicks and the views? That after all this time we spent together, he would realize that I am still the same despicable, scathing piece of garbage who’d trample on anyone just for a few cents?

So I don’t answer. Even when he calls back again and again and leaves me twenty or more messages by the hour. I turned my phone off. The latest message from Ohtani coming up on the notifications bar read, “Where are you?” before the screen flashed to black. 

I have nothing but my pride left. I’d like to keep it that way.  In such a way, I was embarrassed, too. I thought I finally had something to brag about. A job that I actually liked and enjoyed, a peaceful mind, and the possibility of liking a guy who had shown me nothing but kindness. 

And because I couldn’t handle all of this, I handled it like I have always handled things: I ran away like a coward. 

I rode a bus without reading its destination card and let it drive me away as far as it could, to someplace where no one knew me or Shohei Ohtani, or had any idea about the news. 

The bus drove away and I never looked back. 

================================

Waiting Until My Spring Comes Again: Shohei’s POV

Just like that I lost her. She wasn’t even mine to begin with. 

When the news broke out, I was so furious that I wanted to drive to the news outlet that published the article and give them a piece of my mind. I knew my blind rage would have done more damage so I didn’t.

Instead, I looked for her and wanted to let her know that whatever happens, I won’t drop her just like that. That I’m willing to acknowledge the rumors and make it official, if she wanted to. 

I’ve always been open to the idea of taking it to the next level with her but every time I broached the subject, she would change the topic, get into a foul mood, or try to pick a fight with me. Which I found endearing. She’s so adorable when she pouts. And when she pushes her luck thinking a five foot four girl like her can withstand someone as tall as me. 

I just can’t help but laugh and feel a flutter in my stomach. She’s someone who has been adorable and held a special corner in my heart. 

Y/N’s face was so expressive and whatever emotion she was in it would always be evident on her face. When she’s happy, a dimple on her cheek shows up. When she’s feeling sad or down, she’d look downcast and would prefer that you leave her alone. When she’s thinking about something deep, she would chew on her lower lip and always had a blank almost unfocused stare. Despite her many faces, I’m sure as hell that I love all of them. I wanted to be by her side when all this shit happened, I wanted to see which face she was making. Is she pissed like I was? Is she sad? I wouldn’t know. The moment her number didn’t connect after I had tried reaching her, I already knew that she was avoiding me. 

I lost count of how many messages I had sent her, of how many missed calls and voicemails I left her. She was unreachable. She gave me her spare key so when I tried visiting her apartment, it was empty. 

She was gone. 

And only the traces of her lingered in her apartment. Her unwashed mug with leftover stale coffee was on the kitchen counter, specks of lipstick staining the mouth. Dirty clothes hanging on her bathroom door, forgotten and unwashed. The peachy scent of her purifier that always latches on to her clothes whenever we go out. Her unread books on her coffee table, some dog eared and annotated. 

Everything that I love about her is here except for her and I miss her. 

For the next couple of days, I dodged the media and focused on training, playing and practicing. Those three over and over again. I tried to not think about her and lose sleep because of her. An athlete’s wellbeing is connected to quality sleep. 

But she was everywhere I went. Pieces of her were scattered all over the places I avoided, and it was my fault really, for bringing her to places we usually hid. For hoping that someday, the secrets we hid would be our stories to tell. Now I just let her memories rot inside my heart, where she should be. 

I thought it would be easier when you just let it slip by but the more days that passed without seeing her, the more I feel a gnawing pain in my heart. She had sucked all my sunlight and took it all away with her. 

I want her back. 

=====================================

My Answer is You

Eleven days. It took me nine days to realize running away was a bad idea. 

When I first got off the bus, I thought the place looked familiar. Turns out, I rode the bus to my hometown, to the very south and the last bus stop until it turned around to go back to the city. 

When I appeared in front of my mom–the first time in a long time–she had immediately said, “Did something in the city?”

The moment she asked, I broke down in tears. She shushed and consoled me while I cried like a little kid. Like the way I had bawled to her when my first boyfriend broke up with me, or when my love birds died from illness, the other from loneliness. 

It feels like I would die of loneliness, Mom. I had said.

Did he really say that? Did he tell you that it’s over? She cooed.

I was embarrassed to admit to my mom that no, Shohei had never told me anything because I had shut him out even before I could give him the chance. But what if that call was already the end of it all? What if answering his call meant exactly what I had thought. That would shatter me more. 

So, no, Mom, you can call your daughter a coward but in her heart, it’s all over. 

The next forty-eight hours at home was a blur. After feeding me with what feels like a day’s worth of homemade dishes, she made me wash the dishes, clean my old room, and the living room as well. And when that wasn’t enough, she made me go with her to the night market and bought whatever seafood she could find to feed me. 

Is this what you did when Dad left? I wanted to ask her. Did you go around acting as normal while nursing a wounded heart? Did you go all through that facade just to show me that you were strong for the both of us?

She had her back to me, her hands pale and creased with age, showing signs of passage of time and her hardwork to put me to school. I know she was trying to make me busy to keep my mind off of Shohei. I’m not sure if she fully understands the scandal but she was trying her best to keep my head above the water. Probably just like how she always did. 

I wish I was strong like you, Mom. 

On the fourth and fifth day, she had let me work under the sun harvesting corn. Which I absolutely despised. I had to wear sun hats and these jumpers to cover myself from the heat. 

“It’s cheap labor for letting you stay and eat my food,” she said when I complained. “Tomorrow, you’ll help me sell these at the market.”

As the days grew idly by, I’ve grown more accustomed to rising early and eating less meat and more vegetables. I willingly went out of the sun more to do housework, like hanging clothes, watering Mom’s plants, however, I was still not willing to harvest her vegetables, which she made me do a lot. When I say a lot, it means everyday since then. 

On the eleventh morning, I woke up earlier than usual and found my mom already awake. She busied herself with a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning, mom.” I yawned, grabbing my own mug. 

“After breakfast, pack your things and go back to the city.” She said quietly.

“Huh?” I’m not sure I heard her right. Is she kicking me out?

She pushed today’s newspaper into my hands and pointed at an article. An article shows a picture of Shohei smiling at the camera, behind him was a framed candid photo of me turning my head just in time when the camera clicked, I was wearing a sleeveless shirt, a shawl draped over my shoulders, and the wind blowing my hair and covering my face slightly. Just by looking at the photo, it looked like a time when Shohei and I drove to the beach. He had brought his camera and took a lot of photos. 

The article said, “Portfolio on Love: Shohei Ohtani’s Photographs Displayed for A Cause.”

“....and when the powerhouse athlete gets a day off, he plays around his camera and takes photos of anything, everywhere. He reveals Insider Today that for the first time ever, he is displaying his portfolio to the public at the Grand City Museum starting today until the 31st of the month, with the theme of “hello, love, are you there?”

“...’I don’t know how else to define love but this. I hope when the public sees this, they will instantly know that my photographs are a reflection of my love,’ he said.

“When asked if this was a confirmation to the rumors flying around recently, he just smiled sadly and said, "I'm hoping that this answers everyone’s questions, especially hers.”

“If your face is plastered on all of the newspapers, it wouldn’t make sense to stay here longer.” Mom said after a while. She had finished her breakfast and took them away to the sink.

“It doesn’t end well if you’re too afraid, my darling.” she said, not looking at me. “To love and to be hurt is to be brave. If it doesn’t work out after facing him, then by all means. Come home. My doors are always open for you. And I will feed you rice cakes while you harvest my corn.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t a hugger but welcomed my hug and patted me on the shoulders. “Now go, before all the chismosas wake up and corners you.”

I packed my bags and left home, my heart pieced back together. It was not wrong to go home and seek shelter. What I did wrong was leaving Shohei all alone when he took most of the fall. 

Five hours, one taxi ride, and a ten minute walk later, I arrived at the city museum, nervous, anxious, feeling a little lightheaded and hesitant. I wiped my sweaty palms and got inside. 

It was not as packed as I had expected, probably because it was a little over after lunch, though there was still a relatively big crowd overall. 

When I stepped into the hall featuring Shohei’s displays, I felt a surge of emotion. It was a collection of all the photographs of his loved ones. In a black and white collection, he had photographed his parents holding hands while walking in the snow, a photo of his dog sleeping idly on his couch, a photo of the football stadium in a wide angle shot, showing Ippei and the rest of his teammates playing a warm up game before practice. 

When I turned to a corner, that’s when I saw it. There were multiple frames hanging intricately on one side, showing all of the photos he took of me. One during university days, where I was showing him a strangely large eggplant during our photo walks at the market. There was another with me looking at him angrily for reasons I couldn’t remember, and a more recent one, in the middle, where he was holding my hand while I walked forward, back facing the camera. 

On the metal plate below were words that read in cursive: “2009–present. Moments of love that I hold dear.”

At that moment, tears had started rolling down my cheek and I couldn’t help but sob. The onlookers nearby started moving away, probably weirded out by the sudden burst of emotion over some piece of art.

They weren’t just pieces of art. These were moments when Shohei and I were together and maybe realized that it was love.

By then, someone on my left offered a handkerchief and I gingerly took it, wiping my tears-strewn face. I muttered an apology for ruining the fabric.

“This is not the first time someone cried in front of my photographs. Some were absolutely heartbroken after seeing them.” a man’s voice said. And that reeled me back as I turned around and saw Shohei standing in front me.

“I knew this would lure you back,” he said, smiling.

His face was a little gaunt and tired. He had dark circles around his eyes that I’ve never seen before. I could only look at him and he looked back. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things I wanted to explain but he spoke first and said:

“Did you get a tan?�� he started, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I was harvesting corn!” I said, covering my face with both hands. I didn’t even have the time to put on makeup or a swab of lipstick and that’s the first thing he notices.

He took my hands and held them tightly against his chest. “No one looks this beautiful even after harvesting corn.”

“Shut up,” I said looking away.

He tipped my chin and held my face. “Let’s start again, shall we?” 

I raised an eyebrow in question.

“Hi, my name is Shohei Ohtani. I’m an athlete and an amateur photographer sometimes. I’ve been in love with the girl in the photographs since forever.”

I managed a smile and laced my hands around his neck. “Hi, I’m a ceramics maker and sometimes, a farmer, you should see the corn I harvest. You look so familiar. I think you look like my future boyfriend.”

His eyes perked up and laughed at our silly little game. He went in for a kiss and I obliged, feeling safe and brave in his arms.

Let them take the damn photographs and write the articles all they want, but they could never take my sunshine away ever again. 

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

There is a curse in me that will not sleep (and a home in you that will not leave)

Day 1 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: hinata shouyou x reader (gn) x kageyama tobio

length: 7.6k

genre: fairytale au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: very vaguely beauty and the beast inspired, a bit of miscommunication but it's all resolved in the end, I know it's angsty but I promise there's a happy, comforting ending and everybody ends up alright, basically just a lot of emotional stress but that's my trademark by now

a/n: woooow ok au week has officially begun !! I am still kinda scrambling to get all of these finished in time ahaha but this first one is monumentous so I hope everyone enjoys <3

tags: @love-and-lore

It's not often that you see Hinata Shouyou this way, weary and sullen, with his brows furrowed and his gaze turned down. It looks wrong on him, like he's wearing someone else's face - someone else problems. So, of course, you throw the rag you'd been using over your shoulder and flip the open sign by the window of the tavern, quietly sending your barback home for the evening as you make your way over to Shouyou.

He's so distracted by whatever's going on in his mind, so wrapped up in the heaviness of running a town like this that he doesn't even notice your presence until you tap your knuckles on the wood of the bar next to him. 

"Did you want a refill?" You offer gently. Shouyou just blinks, spinning on his stool to see the empty tavern before turning back to you.

"You're closed. I should go, I don't want to bother - why isn't anything cleaned or put away? Where's that new barback you hired?" You laugh at his jumble of words - the way his mind bounces around is nothing new to either of you and serves as a comfort that he isn't too far gone right now. You take his cup away from him despite his gentle protests, frowning as he lets you peel his fingers off of it so that you can dump out his ale, serving him a new, fresh pint.

"I sent him home," you say easily. "There isn't much to do tonight, I can take care of it myself."

"You work too hard."

"What were you thinking about?" Shouyou shoots you his best attempt at a scathing look when you dodge his comment, but he turns into such a lovesick puppy when you're around that the effect of it falls short. You merely cross your arms and raise your brows as you wait for him to speak.

"I'm… worried," he sighs eventually, shoulders sagging in defeat as he admits it.

"Cleary," you quip back gently, moving to begin wiping down tables. "What about, though?"

"Did you know they're raising taxes again?" He says quietly. You sigh and pause your cleaning, rolling out the tension in your shoulders - or trying to.

"I thought you had some say in that?" You ask. Shouyou scowls into his cup.

"This may be my town to look after, but I'm only a nobleman. When the royal family demands it, even I have to obey." You hum in understanding as you throw your rag onto the bar and move to begin hauling benches up and onto the tables. Shouyou makes an alarmed, disbelieving sort of sound and shoots to his feet to gently shoo you away, picking up benches in your place.

You roll your eyes, of course, making a big show of huffing and mumbling under your breath about how you can do it yourself. He just smiles in that gentle way of his and you know that the heat in your face and the honest care in his eyes as you move to put up the small chairs, instead, give away the show of it all.

Hinata Shouyou is in love with you because you let him be - desperately against your better judgment. 

"We've dealt with raised taxes before, Shouyou," you say quietly. "We'll be ok."

"For how long?" He snaps back, holding his hands up in surrender when you shoot him a look. "I just mean that there's a limit. I'm worried about… well, I'm worried about the whole town. There's only so much the people can take."

"So what will you do?" You ask as he puts up the final bench and lets you usher him back to his seat at the bar - the only chair you'd left available. 

"I'm… going to talk to the prince." That makes you pause, eyes wide as you stare at him.

"No you're not," you say quickly. Shouyou looks at you with a care that rattles you, an apologetic sort of love showing on his face.

"He's going to help me… he has to. It's the only option I have." You sigh at Shouyou's words and grip the edge of the bar.

"People are warned away from that castle for a reason, Shouyou," you say quietly. "The king banished his son there for a reason. The forest is impassible for a reason."

"I know, my beloved." You don't even have the heart to chastise him for calling you that when he pulls himself to his feet and sweeps his way around the bar to stand in front of you, the silk of his shirt shimmering under the dull, flickering candlelight. His hands grip yours firmly and he pulls them up to press kisses across your palms, making you scoff and turn your head away. The gold of his rings are cool against your skin and the jewels in them shine, reflecting their colours onto the stains of your apron. 

"I must," Shouyou goes on to say. "I must do what needs to be done to take care of this town… to take care of you."

"You will not die stupidly for me." Your voice warbles as you speak and you curse yourself for it. Shouyou just smiles, keeping his fingers intertwined with your own so that he can swing your connected hands back and forth between the two of you.

"I will not," he says firmly. "I will leave at first light tomorrow and be home by dusk. You'll see. Before the flowers on your mantle wilt, I will be back here with you, beloved."

It takes two days for the petals on your flowers to start curling and falling, two days without Shouyou's return before you've driven yourself mad enough to go after him, entrusting the tavern to your young, nervous barback and setting off on your horse. It takes another day entirely to maneuver through the dense wood that separates the town from its wretched, looming castle, the trees thick and sturdy and blanketing the forest floor in darkness. 

You wonder, in a crawling, frightened sort of way, if Shouyou's out here somewhere in the depths - if you'll stumble over his body being taken by the forest. 

But it does not happen. Nothing happens until you stumble, finally, onto the castle, dark and crumbling, with ivy crawling up the walls and moss covering the stone. Once, you can tell, it was beautiful, but that age of it seems to have died out long ago and the remnants stand haunting and silent until the end of time.

The silence, of course, you test as you shove open the great doors and stumble into the vast, arched entryway. There are no soldiers, no footmen or maids or anyone. There is only you and the silence and the sliver of light from the open doorway. 

Maybe it was the nervous whining of your horse outside, her hoof pawing at the ground, that made enough noise to draw attention. Maybe it was your own fault with the way you pushed open the doors. Maybe it was - well, it doesn't matter, you suppose, as the prince himself stomps down a spiralling, ornate staircase and towards you, regal cape flying out behind him and scowl clear on his face.

"Go," he spits angrily, the fury rolling off of him like thunder as he points out the open door behind you. You remember, somewhere far away, of the stories you've heard - of his endless pride and selfish ego, of the day he was banished by his parents, sent to live in exile while his sister was groomed to take the throne instead of him.

You should leave, you think haltingly. You should run and remind yourself how lucky to are to have a life to flee back to, you should -

"Don't be rude," you snap instead. The prince, for what it's worth, merely stares at you and holds his hand to his chest, recoiling from the way you slapped his pointed finger away from you. "I'm looking for someone."

"There's no one here," he says back, voice heated and loud. You cross your arms.

"Perhaps not now, but he would have passed through. It's Hinata Shouyou, the nobleman presiding over the town -"

"I know who my own nobleman is." Tobio''s voice is thunderous, echoing in the otherwise empty entrance hall. You snap your mouth shut for just a moment. 

"Perhaps then, you'd be helpful enough to know where he is." Surely, you shouldn't speak to royalty like this, you think distantly. But surely, an exiled prince living in a crumbling castle of a time long gone, a living ghost residing in a relic of the past, cannot threaten as much harm as you've been led to believe. 

"He is gone," he says simply before turning, his cape swinging elegantly to hit you across the knees, causing you to stumble as you chase after him.

"When? Where? Wh -" Your incessant questions have Tobio turning from halfway up the staircase, scowling down at you where you skid to a halt and look up at him.

"He, smarter than you perhaps, left when he realized that his trip was fruitless. You will, as well," he says stubbornly. You begin up the stairs again and he tips his head back and sighs.

"He never returned home," you shout back stubbornly, your voice matching the volume of his, ricocheting off the stone around you. "He could be dead because of you, lost somewhere out there and gone and -"

But not even your voice, loud as it is, is enough to drown out the crack of thunder outside, booming and quaking as dark stormclouds stir over the horizon, beginning to blanket the land in darkness. 

"The sun is beginning to set," Tobio says rather quietly. "Anyone would die trying to cross the wood at night." You turn to face the open doors at his words, your eyes wide and jaw tight at the darkening sky and the onslaught of rain that begins over the valley. Your hand grips the bannister of the staircase as you stare, as you consider the possibility of dying tonight alone in the wood, of never going home and seeing daybreak again. 

"The valley will flood," you say quietly, eyes still trained on the darkness outside. "The wood will turn to a marsh and the landslides will block the trails. I will not make it home tonight." 

"I am not so fool as to be unaware of the weather," the prince says haughtily, making your hand tighten on the gold leaf of the bannister in anguish. You wonder painfully, for a moment, if this is what happened to Shouyou, if he was sent to his death so uncaringly, as well.

But then Tobio sighs like he's been burdened by something great and turns to continue up the stairs.

"A room will be prepared for you here. You will leave at first light when the rain stops."

You realize at dinner that night, that perhaps the prince is not as alone as you'd all thought - the realization comes to you as you shift in your plush velvet seat at the large banquet table, servers appearing on either side of you to load rich, delicate food onto your plate. 

But something sits heavily in your heart as you think back to the way he'd demanded that you dine with him, the way his eyes stared hollowly at the long, empty table. It must be a curse, you think, to have such space in your heart and home and no one to fill it. You wonder if you could even tell yourself you have a home at all in such conditions.

But then you think of Shouyou, of his beaming smile and kind eyes and soft, firm hands, and the kindness you've been fostering is tampered out again. 

"How could you not help him?" You say abruptly, letting your cutlery clatter onto your plate as you sit back in your chair.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your people are suffering and you sit here living in lavish solitude and turning away the one person who was brave enough to ask you for help."

"Asking is an interesting way of putting it," Tobio says dryly. You falter, unsure of his meaning and letting your words die out.

"What… exactly happened here when Shouyou came to you?" You ask eventually.

"It is none of your concern." He looks away stubbornly, the candlelight illuminating a faint dusting of blush across his cheeks. It must be from the wine, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

"He is my concern," you snap. The prince stares at you, then, something deep and looming in his eyes that you can't place - something that makes you shift again as his gaze bores into you.

"What a life you live, having someone to make you act in such a way," he says softly. You splutter out a defence about how you're friends and look away. The shadows of the pillar candles flicker and splashes of light dance over your faces, like the golden heat is trying desperately to breathe life into this cursed place.

"You have not told me why you will not help," you say in lieu of addressing his comment and his disbelief at your denial.

"And I will not," he responds stubbornly. Your eyes narrow as you glare at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You're lying." Perhaps, you think desperately as he slams his fist against the abruptly, you've hit a nerve. Perhaps Shouyou was right all those times he told you that this mouth of yours will get you into trouble.

But then the prince sighs and murmurs something about this being his second tiresome overnight guest and you perk up, locking onto him again.

"The second? You mean -"

"Yes, of course, your beloved Shouyou stayed for far too long - days, in fact. What did you think happened to him?" Tobio says cavalierly. You huff and run a hand through your travel-dampened, tangled hair - much to Tobio's displeasure.

"Why didn't you lead with that?" You snap. "He was probably on his way back to me as I left - he's probably arriving home now and thinks I'm dead - or worse, stuck here with you." That comment, you think mildly, probably wasn't necessary, but the scowl on the prince's face is reward enough. 

"Then he's home," he spits the word. "And he's safe. There is nothing to be concerned about." Tobio says it like it's final, like there's no ill will that could befall the two of you now, but as you look out the stained glass window toward the night sky and the storm that stretches endlessly onward through flashes of white-hot lightning, you fear that the worst is yet to come. 

As Shouyou stands in your empty tavern, listening to your barback stammer on about how you'd left to go after him and haven't returned yet, he thinks that there is no pain like this, no fear like what he feels now, knowing that you're alone in that cursed wood because of him.

It's begun raining, thunder crashing in the sky and lightning striking down from above and illuminating the horizon as it stretches over the valley. There is no way you'll survive a night in the wood like this, Shouyou realizes as he stumbles to a bench, sagging down onto it and putting his head in his hands. There is no hope on a night like this. 

So he stands abruptly, declaring that he's going after you, when the barback all but throws himself in front of the door to stop him.

"You'll die out there," he says earnestly. Shouyou's hands tremble as he clenches them into fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"They could already be dead," he snaps.

"And if they aren't, then you're just killing yourself." Shouyou tries to remember the name of the trembling boy in front of him. Yamaguchi, he thinks you'd said once. But then he thinks of you again and a crash of thunder rattles the glasses on the bar.

"There's no use in both of you dying tonight," Yamaguchi says quietly, his voice shaking as his eyes grow wet. Shouyou sighs and puts a hand on the boy's shoulder gently, a comforting sort of apology as his shoulders sag and defeat takes hold of him.

"At first light, then," he says stiffly, and a flash of lightning illuminates the gaunt fear on his face. Yamaguchi finds himself wishing that you'd never left home at all. 

That night, you're aware, should've been a fitful sleep with the large bed chamber and silken sheets and mounds of pillows that you're surrounded with. After dinner that night, Tobio had had you well taken care of - a hot bath drawn for you and fresh clothes laid out, the fireplace lit and glowing golden and the bed given fresh linens.

But there had been something eating at you all night, something akin to guilt clawing at you from the inside as you thought of Shouyou out there, lost and without you, while you luxuriate in bed. When you wake from your turbulent night - from nightmares of the nobleman that had you tossing and turning, all hopes of returning to him are stamped out by the darkness that still swirls overhead.

The storm, you realize when you run to the large, ornate window, is still raging, darkening the endless sky and wreaking havoc over the land. There will be no returning home for you today, and there will be no safety found in Shouyou's arms.

Three days, the cursed storm lasts, raging overhead and causing the ancient castle to shutter and sway. Three days of you trapped in this stone maze with Tobio, trailing after him to ask why, why, why couldn't he bring himself to be a good person just once? It's late in the evening, on the third night, when the two of you find yourselves having cracked open a bottle of wine and sitting on the lavish, soft rug that lays in front of the great fireplace in his lounge. It had taken some convincing - and some drinks to get him down there, but the wine has begun flowing easily and Tobio, you realize delightedly, is almost relaxed. 

He softens a bit more, much to his own displeasure, when you sway with how tipsy you are, leaning into him so closely that he can feel your breath on his lips. But then he looks down at you and the sparkling mirth in your eyes and he finds them clear and alert - not nearly as hazed from the wine as he'd expected to see.

"You're drunk," he murmurs anyway. You just smile.

"No more than you," you point out, letting your gaze flicker down to his lips for just a moment. It's enough, you learn quickly, to make him lean into you, closer and closer and melding his body to yours.

It's the wine jumbling his own thoughts, Tobio assures himself, that leads him to close the gap, pressing his lips to yours and tangling a hand in your hair. He makes a small, whining noise somewhere in the back of his throat, something burning in him at the touch of you against him - at the touch of something living against the ghost that he's become. 

When you part, your chests heaving a bit too much and your lips both kiss bitten and reddened, he sighs and tips his head back to thump against the settee that you're both leaning against. 

"No wonder the two of you are so in love when you're both so ready to use your wiles to get what you want from me," Tobio murmurs, his eyes closed enough that he doesn't notice you staring at him.

"What does that mean?" You ask breathily. He snaps his head up and looks at you with wide eyes.

"Nothing," he says hastily. "I don't know what I was saying."

"Oh my god," you say bluntly, seemingly ignoring his assurances that he was simply talking nonsense because of the wine. "You slept with -"

"It doesn't matter," Tobio all but whines, petulantly screwing his eyes shut and refusing to look at you. You just laugh, though, a loud and honest thing as you pat his shoulder comfortingly. Tobio opens one eye wearily and you're smiling at him gently, not a hint of mocking to be found in your gaze.

"I don't blame you," you shrug. "He's… well, he's Shouyou." Things quiet down significantly at that and you sober noticeably as you look out the window towards the blackened, stormy sky. 

"He will come for you," Tobio says somberly.

"He shouldn't have to," is your simple response.

"Why do you deny him?" Tobio's fingertip traces over your exposed shoulder where your shirt's slipped in your tipsy, giggly state and thinks back to when he gave you the clothes, to when you spluttered and looked away and told him how inappropriate it would be for you to wear his belongings. But you hadn't brought anything with you, as he'd pointed out, and silk often feels nicer than three-day-old cotton.

"He doesn't really love me," your quiet, sullen words make Tobio pause, his fingers freezing on your skin as he considers what you've said. "He asked me to marry me again before he left, you know."

"Again?" Tobio asks breathily, cursing himself for the weak sound of his own voice. You hum in affirmation.

"For the third time, yes." You swirl your wine in your cup as you speak, something lonely and hollow flitting through your eyes that reminds Tobio a nauseating amount of himself.

"Why?" He asks simply, pulling his hand away from you as something clenches in his heart, as something in him aches. It's loneliness, he knows, deep and penetrating. Jealousy, perhaps. 

"He's noble," you say it like it's obvious. "He can't marry someone like me. It's fun, but that's all - like a little bubble of happiness that has to burst one day." You pluck at the rug as you speak, pulling at threads that are worth more than your home. You wonder what home you'll have to return to, after all this.

Tobio, sitting next to you and reeling from your words, can't fathom why you think so lowly of yourself when you look up at him, beautiful and kind and smart as a whip. As you sigh and reach for the wine bottle, topping up your cup and then pouring into his without comment, he wonders what it must be like to find home in someone like you.

Shouyou, as he wades through the forest paths towards the end of the storm, clings desperately to any semblance of home that he once had with you. He's not sure it was worth it to wait until the weather began to clear, although if Yamaguchi had his way, he'd be waiting until the rain slowed even more before setting out. The boy had been near tears again when Shouyou'd announced that he was going now, and by foot so as not to risk his horse's safety. 

He wonders, in a nagging, guilty way, if that boy is about to inherit the life of someone else - if he's about to mourn the people who he's just begun to call home. 

But three days of wondering if you died to try to save him was enough to drive Shouyou to hysteria, pushing him out and into the cold, back towards the towering trees and wall of darkness. As he wades through broken branches and felled trees and tumbling rocks and floods, he thinks about you all the while - about every moment, every fleeting glance.

He thinks about the first time he'd asked you to marry him, earnest and honest and caught up in puppy love. You'd laughed at him then, reminded him that he'd only known you for a week since you'd moved to town and opened the tavern. You'd asked him, at the time, what your favourite flower was, and when he didn't have an answer, you asked how he could possibly know that he wanted to marry you if he didn't even know you.

You'd assumed, of course, that that would be the end of it, that he must have just been some flirt who thought his money and influence earned him the right to toy with who he pleased. But Shouyou is nothing if not persistent, and day after day he appeared by your side, his gaze only growing more lovesick as time wore on.

He thinks, as he slips on a mossy rock and stumbles into knee-deep mud, about the second time he asked you to marry him, a few years after that. You'd hired your barback, much to Shouyou's relief, and you'd chosen a shy young boy who needed coin and a bit of life experience and someone kind to help him get it. He'd watched you help Yamaguchi throughout the day, showing him how to run the tavern, how to pour the ale, how to check to see if the bread was rising well.

Shouyou had looked past you, then, at the vase of orchids that you kept by the counter, at your favourite flowers. He'd gotten them for you days ago, he'd remembered, so it must have almost been time for some new ones. When you'd come over to refill his cup, he'd asked you again to marry him. You'd laughed - again, and told him to ask again when he was sober, pressing a kiss to his cheek and stopping to water your orchids on your way past him.

The third time, of course, was the night before he'd left. He'd stopped by the tavern as the sun began to rise and bathe the town in a dripping, golden glow that stretched beyond the valley and towards the looming wood. Standing next to his horse, he'd let you clutch his hands in yours as tightly as you'd needed to, shushing your worries gently and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You were scared for him, notably, in a way that made his heart ache as he realized how foreign the sight of you trembling and nervous was. He'd asked you to marry him again, in that moment, whispering it against your hair as you let your face tuck into the safety of his chest. You'd squeezed his hands tighter at that, and Shouyou braced himself yet again for another no when you'd looked up at him earnestly, instead.

You'd made him promise to come home to you safely. You'd promised that you'd say yes when he returned to you without harm.

Alone in the wood, in the dead of night, slipping on loose rocks and mud, Shouyou desperately wishes he'll get to see you again - that he'll get to hear that yes. But something in him stirs painfully, a worry nagging at his gut. What is he to do, he wonders, without a home anymore? What is he to do without you?

Waking up in the morning with a raging wine hangover and Tobio's arms wrapped around you is certainly a jarring surprise, one that has you shooting up from where the two of you had fallen asleep on the plush rug. He's groaning and throwing a hand over his eyes to block out the light and ward off his headache, you assume, when the realization that light is streaming in through the windows catches your attention. 

The storm, you realize as you look out towards the clear, rolling horizon, is finally passing. You turn to tell Tobio, to announce to him that you can finally return home, when you're faced with him sitting up and leaning back on his hands as he looks out past you towards the shimmering, golden sun that illuminates the crumbling corners of the place he's lived in for so long.

His face, hard and solemn, has you snapping your mouth shut. You both understand the truth - you will leave and he will disappear again, returning to roam the halls of a life that should not belong to the living, eternally alone in this curse of his.

"Tobio -"

"I'll send a messenger ahead," he interrupts you. It's the first time you've said his name, he notices immediately, and it rings through his heart in a painful, abrupt way. He can't remember the last time someone said his name. He notices, rather painfully, that he'd almost forgotten someone could. "That way your beloved Shouyou will know you're safe and you can wait for the forest paths to be cleared a bit before you leave."

You should disagree, you know - you should fling yourself out the grand front doors and never look back, returning to your sunshine love and the life that you've built for yourself. But you move, instead, to sit on the settee next to Tobio's head and place a hand on his shoulder, agreeing quietly. There is a sadness that pours off of him, oozing onto the floorboards and seeping into your soul. There is something about him that makes you stay, some cursed sort of pull that brings you closer.

You stay by his side more than you should - and you know that, somewhere deep down and ignored. You don't sit opposite him at breakfast, separated by the long banquet table. You sit next to him, letting your hands brush accidentally every now and then as you eat.

"It is wrong," he says quietly, toward the end of the meal. You freeze, the closeness between you feeling sweltering as Tobio points it out. "The raising taxes, the treatment of the people… I know it's wrong."

Oh, you think slowly, right. There is more to this world than the hand that brushes against yours.  

"Then why not change it?" You ask slowly, tilting your head to look up at him. He stares ahead, at the faded family crest on the chipped wall and the dust that's collected on it.

"My family stopped listening to me a long time ago. I am… powerless, these days. There is nothing I could do."

"Oh," you say flatly, letting your hands twist in your lap. You consider that perhaps you should've known that - should've known that someone so cast out would lose any ties, watching them sever over time as the vines climbed higher over his castle walls and sealed him away from the world. "Tobio, I'm sorry -"

"My father is too old to carry the crown these days. He's stepping down… my sister's coronation will be within the month." He says abruptly, moving past your sorrow, your sympathy. You suppose it means nothing to someone whose life is already dead, already mourned for and buried. 

"Will you… go?" You ask hesitantly. He shakes his head.

"Of course not. But I will write. I love my sister, as much as I am capable. It's not enough, I know, but I hope it will be sufficient to sway her. A plea from her brother must mean something, still… and the people do not deserve to suffer by my family's hand." He says it like it's simple, like his words ring with undisputable truth. But it's in your nature to dig up mountains when you find them in your way.

"You are capable of love, Tobio," you say simply, the firmness in your voice making him pause and stare at you intently. "I've seen it." Tobio just scoffs at your words, though, earnest as they are. 

"You don't understand what you're saying," he says, his voice hard. You frown at him as you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms.

"What is it that you think you are? Hm? What is it that you're so afraid of me seeing? I have spent three days with you, Tobio, and you are no more than a man." You say stubbornly. The prince looks at you hard, his eyes dark, striking against the backdrop of the golden sun pouring through the windows and into his life.

"Monsterous things don't often show themselves as monstrous things." Tobio's voice is as icy as he can make it, cold and cutting and sharp. But it wavers, ever so slightly, caught by the voice of a boy who lost everything before he'd even been given a chance to learn how to hold it.

"There is nothing monstrous in you," you respond gently, leaning towards him. He leans back, away from you, away from the light that you pour into him. "You are beloved to me and that is all."

"Stop," he says firmly, squeezing his eyes shut as if your words burn through him. "Don't say that."

"What?" You push. "The truth? Don't say that I love -"

But commotions, you've found, always hit at the worst of times, and a shouting, banging disturbance down in the direction of the entrance hall draws the two of you away from each other. Tobio, for his part, sighs like a knife blade had been lifted from his neck and stands quickly to attend to the issue, leaving you to run after him and through the winding, dark halls.

Shouyou's yelling voice is what greets you when you get closer, the volume of it carrying throughout the castle as the panicked spluttering of the messenger that had been sent out hours ago follows. You nearly trip over yourself rushing to the hall to meet him, to see him looking up at you, dirty and tired and desperate. 

Shouyou meets you at the bottom of the staircase, having gotten over his initial shock of seeing you here and alive and well so that he can crush you into a hug, a hand cupping the back of your head protectively as he holds you against him and buries his nose into your hair.

You hold onto him, of course, gripping onto his shirt as tears blur your vision and wet his collar. He shushes you with all the gentleness that you remember, swaying you back and forth to comfort you as he tightens his arms around you and whispers delicate promises in your ear that he's here, that you're alright and he'll take you home. 

And Tobio… Tobio watches, looks on from the staircase at the two of you coming home to each other and feels the walls closing in on him, feels the gilded, arched ceiling press down, down, deeper into his soul. 

Shouyou pulls away from you just enough to grip your face gently in his hands, tilting your head back and forth so that he can look at you thoroughly and make sure you're unharmed. Fortunately… you're really fine. Three days of lavish living with fine meals and lavender baths have treated you well, and you look up at Shouyou with shining eyes and a bright face.

He looks just past you, then, as if he's finally noticing the prince sweep down the rest of the staircase towards the two of you. He… blushes when their eyes meet and shifts on his feet, but there's a cold, impassive stare on Tobio's face.

"You may stay as long as you need to recuperate after your journey. Then… you may be off. The tax problem will be dealt with." Tobio disappears at that, spinning on his heel and gliding up the stairs, leaving the two of you alone in the vast emptiness of the hall.

You're with Shouyou in the bedroom that you'd begun to call your own later that evening, with him freshly washed and in new clothes and sitting by your side on the settee by the window. You're curled up against him, letting him hold an arm over your shoulder and stroke up and down your arm gently. 

"What happened between you and Tobio?" You ask suddenly, causing Shouyou to freeze against you. He coughs a bit, clearing his throat and shifting as he looks out the window instead of at you. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in violets and pinks as it begins to dip below the horizon that stretches on over the valley.

"I… tried to convince him," he says carefully. "And I failed."

"Mhmm," you respond easily, a teasing note entering your voice that makes Shouyou blush. "But you tried really hard, didn't you?"

"I -" he clears his throat again. "I… yes. I did." You laugh at that, relief painting Shouyou's features as you melt further against him and squeeze his hand comfortingly.

"I got wine drunk and made out with him… if knowing that makes you feel better," you shrug. Shouyou sits up so fast that he jostles you, making you grumble as you sit up, too. He stares at you, mouth open in shock for a moment, before tipping his head back and laughing, pulling you into a close hug. 

"He's really not what he's made out to be," Shouyou says quietly, swaying the two of you back and forth where you sit, your legs tangled together on the settee.

"Yea…" you respond, tipping your head back to look up at him somberly. "Some people are like that…" Shouyou looks down at you softly, stroking a hand over your cheek as you peer up at him. He says your name quietly, an earnest sort of prayer given to you as he smooths his thumb over your cheek.

"Shouyou…" you whisper back, pulling yourself closer to him as you grip onto the front of his shirt.

"Will you marry me?"

"…What about Tobio?" Shouyou laughs at your question, letting his head drop to your shoulder and sighing before dropping a kiss to your neck.

"I think that perhaps…" he begins slowly, lifting his head to look at you again, his face serious. "Perhaps our beloved Tobio has been the lonely prince for too long." You smile in a quiet sort of way at Shouyou's declaration, pulling yourself closer to press a gentle, firm kiss on his lips. 

He makes a shocked sort of noise in the back of his throat before pulling you closer, a hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you against him. When you do finally part, he makes a point not to stray too far, resting his forehead against yours and grinning broadly.

"Do you have any idea how many years I've been waiting for you to do that?" He asks breathlessly. You giggle a bit and kiss him again, a quicker, lighter touch of your lips against his.

"Ask me again," you murmur, your lips brushing his.

"Will you marry me?" He's choked up by now, his voice warbling and eyes watery.

"Yes," you respond earnestly. Outside, the sun finally dips below the vast, reaching horizon and drowns the world in darkness, but Shouyou holds you to his chest and presses kisses to your ring finger while the fireplace glows with the heated embers of the evening's flames and the sound of home calls to you. 

The days, admittedly, start to blend after that, with you and Shouyou taking up residence in the castle under the guise of him recovering. He is recovering, you assure yourself, it's just… taking a while. Surely… surely there's nothing else keeping you here, no ghost walking these halls that's drawing you to this life.

It's over breakfast one morning, the three of you taking up space at one end of the long banquet table, when Tobio announces that he's received a letter from his sister. 

"She was… responsive," he says carefully, like the touch of joy seeping into his tone is something that he shouldn't be allowed to hold onto. "It was good to have her hear my pleas. She will be better in our parents' stead. She will be a better leader."

"And you?" Shouyou quips, a challenge rising in his voice. You shoot Shouyou a look, but he's staring determinedly at Tobio, and you're pleasantly surprised to see his gaze matched by the prince.

"It's high time I stepped up and began taking care of my people again," Tobio says firmly, a conviction ringing in his voice that has you smiling softly, reaching to brush a stray hair out of his face. Tobio can't help but soften at the action, taking your hand in his to smooth his thumb over your knuckles and brush against the engagement ring that Shouyou had given you all those nights ago. 

Learning that he'd been keeping it with him, that he'd had the ring on a chain around his neck since the day he first proposed to you… well, you'd been thankful for the bedroom you'd been given that night - for the silk sheets and plush pillows and the privacy of the sprawling corridors outside. 

As Tobio thumbs over your ring, you feel your face heat at the memory of that night, and as you shift in your seat and Shouyou send you a beaming smile, you know that he's smugly aware of what you're thinking of.

"Well," Shouyou says happily. "You may need some help, you know, coming back to your people and learning how to be what they need."

"And you might need some companionship," you chime in. "What, with this big, lonely castle and all." Tobio leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, trying desperately to maintain the stern look on his face - but a blush dusts itself over his cheekbones and a smile twitches on the corner of his lips.

"And what of your beloved tavern?" He asks you.

"There is more to me that is beloved besides the tavern," you say easily, glancing between the two of them. "And besides, Yamaguchi's been doing well enough on his own. He can take care of it while I'm away, and if the forest paths are finally looked after and kept safe, then the journey back and forth isn't so bad. Maybe it's… maybe it's time to move forward in this life a bit, hm?" Tobio sighs at that, letting his shoulders drop as his smile finally breaks through as he thinks of taking a step forward, of being alive once more. Shouyou whistles happily at the sight, leaning back in his chair and grinning.

"You two are getting married, or haven't you forgotten?" Tobio snipes, but there's mirth in his voice as he arches a brow.

"Well," you drawl. "A castle is such a beautiful place to hold a wedding."

"And what a perfect start," Shouyou chimes in. "There's no better way to gain back the people's love than by hosting an event like that. Open your home up to them, let them in."

"Well, sure," Tobio sighs, tipping his head back to look at the arched ceilings, the golden morning light shining in and illuminating the family crest hung on the dining room wall. "After all… this is a home now, isn't it?"

The wedding, of course, is as grand and extravagant as you could've imagined. Tobio'd fixed up the castle for the event, his sister having sent staff to make sure that everything was repaired and polished and restored to its former glory. Tobio was pleased by it, in his own way, tight-lipped and subtle and small about the whole thing. You and Shouyou would never comment on it, would never bring attention to it, but there is a life in Tobio now that wasn't there before - a colour in his cheeks and a shining light to his eyes.

But true to himself, even as he stood at the altar and officiated the wedding, he remained stoic and upright while you and Shouyou held hands and kissed, teary-eyed and trembling. It wasn't until that evening, late into the night when all of the guests had gone home, that the mask began to crack.

It's a privilege, you think as you lay in the master bedroom, to get to see Tobio like this - soft and smiling and laughing once he's really relaxed. By the end of the night, the silk sheets send cool chills across your exposed skin as you lay between your two lovers, Shouyou's hand intertwined with yours so that he can see your ring next to his, shining in the dim, golden light of the fireplace. In turn, you twist the fingers of your other hand through Tobio's matching ring - the one that you'd slipped on quietly during the festivities while the three of you snuck off somewhere private.

There had been chatter at the wedding, of course, about the prince's sudden appearance and the light that begun to fill up the corners of the valley. Even the forest, people whispered, had thinned, ground solidifying into safely travelled paths and creeping vines receding. The air had shifted, the clouds had dispersed, and the sun had risen in its endless way to shine light down to patches of the land that had not felt that warmth in years. It's like time, people began to say, is finally moving in the proper way, and life has been breathed back into the valley.

There's a sort of haze that fills the air surrounding the three of you, a comfortable safety that blankets you as you're tucked between the two of them, skin pressed against skin in the privacy of your home. You giggle at the thought, placing a kiss on Tobio's exposed chest where your face is pressed against him.

"What are you thinking of, my beloved?" Shouyou asks quietly, his voice a hushed whisper in the quiet room. 

"Just that it's nice to be home," you whisper back, your words making Tobio hum in agreement and tighten his arm around your waist.

"It is nice, isn't it?" He says lowly. "To be somewhere… to have someone's that's home."

[invisiblegarters]

High School Frenemy Final Thoughts

I know, I know. I'm super late with this one. To be honest I was just going to keep it for a set of micro reviews (as if there's anything micro about any of those, sigh), but well. *looks down* Yeah. So here I go.

Oh my gosh this show. What can I even say about this show. Gird yourself because you think I was long winded before? Ha, you don't know long winded. The thing is that this show was completely off of my radar. To the point that I don't even remember if there was a mock trailer for it at some point, and to this day I don't think I've seen the official one either. The only reason that I bothered watching is that one of my mutuals was telling me about it and I said, "huh, this reminds me of School 2013 I think it was. I watched it because of my undying love for Lee Jong Suk." To which they replied, "oh yes, I think it's an adaptation of that." And since I had watched that one and remembered liking it well enough, I decided to binge watch the first eight episodes (all that were out at the time). I've never been so happy for an "eh, I guess" watch in my life. Because this show was so good. Part of it is the source material - School 2013 was an excellent show that explored themes of friendship, the pressure that students are put under by parents to succeed, the trouble people get themselves into when they are desperate...it's just great. And this show explores that as well. Part of it is the cast - everyone was amazing even though I will never stop being mad that I loved Foie's Mr. Sung as much as I did - but in the end what it is is the same thing that got me with Peaceful Property: this show has heart. What I loved most about this show is how hard it fought the idea that is so prevalent today that people are stagnant. That is a lesson that I really wish we had more of in today's world - so often we're willing to hate others forever based on something they did years upon years ago, often with very little evidence that they've continued to do so as they grew older and ultimately, wiser. So often the thing that we are holding against them happened when they were teenagers. And so often those opinions have changed. But we don't account for that, and neither do some of the teachers (most notably the Vice Principal) in this show. They see Class 2 as a project, or irredeemable thugs, or lazy and unmotivated. And Class 2 isn't really interested in changing that belief. It isn't until someone actually expects them to do better - not demands it to get money for the school, but because they know that they are capable of it - that the kids start to change. But it's not really changing, as Mr. Sung points out later. It's that they're growing up. As we all do. And finally, they're doing so in an environment that is allowing them to actually grow. But it's not jus the kiddos who are learning. It's the adults too. Because shockingly enough, we don't stagnate after we hit 20, either. So many people in this show are in the process of change. Of striving to be better. Of learning - sometimes hard - that their way of doing things isn't the only one, or even necessarily the right one. Not that everyone in the show did change. Jeng remained a dick throughout, and I appreciate that, because while I do love the heartwarming message the truth is that some people actively choose to make the wrong decision and then keep on that path regardless. At the heart of the show, though, was friendship. Fractured friendship that is being mended, tested friendship, new friendship, and friendship that is so fierce it causes people to reach down into the darkness swallowing you and yank your stubborn ass out by force, even if they have to enlist the help of every single person in the class to do it.

Shin and Saint's friendship was of course front and center, and I adored it - these two are so ridiculous about each other in the absolute best way, and I think we all knew that Shin was never actually that mad about Saint breaking his leg but about breaking his leg and then leaving him - not only taking his dream but also taking the one person, ironically, who could have made it bearable: himself. The amount of pain all over Shin every time he saw Saint's big pleading puppy dog face was enough to know that, but if we didn't get it they then had him literally scream it at him (to be fair, pretty sure Saint didn't get it. He's lovely but also kinda dumb, poor thing). Their friendship was the glue that held the show together, and it was threaded throughout even when they were barely talking or had worked things out and then somehow managed to adopt the rest of the class as their unruly kiddos. They were glorious, and both Sky and Nani did such an excellent job that I immediately put Wu on my to watch list even with that absolute farce of a mock trailer. I will watch anything these two are in together, BL or not. And I genuinely did watch most of HSF without shipping Saint and Shin, although by the end I was convinced that no they're in love actually (Shin absolutely is aware of this and Saint is not. See lovely but dumb). GMMTV's first branded bromance pair? I'd be down for it. That said, Saint and Shin's friendship wasn't the only one in the show that got me. Eve and Peeta did too, as did Airy and Eve. I liked them a lot - Eve and Peeta's friendship is being tested a bit by her overbearing mother sticking her big foot in where it isn't wanted, but I really loved that when it came down to it and Peeta was starting to fall apart Eve only cared about her well-being. I also really liked that despite the initial dislike and distrust between the girls from the different schools, Airy was actually a really good friend to Eve, level headed and giving decent advice when she and Peeta were in the middle of falling out. I also liked the way she and Tangmay went to bat for Eve when they thought that Jan had kicked her out of the Thai competition due to preferring Peeta instead, and then apologized when they learned they were wrong.

The one friendship I did not expect to feel so much about was Ken, Knot, and Nate, though. I thought they were going to be just a trio of hapless bullies, there to be fought against and not much else. But no. Instead of making them two dimensional bullies and not much else, they made them well rounded human beings who adore each other to pieces, who clearly bonded because they feel like they have no one else (this is especially shown in Ken's case, that dude's dad sucks). The way that Knot begged both Nate and Ken to please think about their futures because he loved them so much. The way that Knot and then Nate pretty much dragged Ken out of Jeng's gang by the scruff of his neck (with help from Saint and Shin, resident Batmen and aforementioned coparents to a bunch of kids only a couple of years younger than them). The way they rallied around him and were willing to do just about anything to help him out. That's love, and it won me right the fuck over with ease.

Ken in particular got me in a damn chokehold. The way his face would get whenever anyone treated him like a friend always made me feel a bit teary. And the way that he really did start trying once he realized that there were more people than Nate and Knot on his side, and that he didn't actually have to fight the world.

I also really need to take a moment to talk about how amazing Mark Pakin was as Chadjen. Just an amazing performance. I really hope that he gets at least a nod for it.

I guess this turned into more of a love letter than it did a review, but whatever. The show was amazing and I loved it. The only criticism I have is that I feel like Ken's father's turn around was a little too pat. I do like that the kids weren't the only ones learning lessons and changing, but I don't buy that one conversation with Ms. Jan took Ken's dad from drinking too much and saying things like his son would never amount to anything and it was a waste of time to care about him to sincerely wanting to make an effort. I also wish that we'd seen at least some of how Shin's mom went from very reluctantly allowing Saint back into their lives (understandably, to be honest, considering everything) to making him food and treating him once again like part of the family. I have my own thoughts about it, and we didn't have to see it, but it would have been nice.

In the end those two things did keep this show from passing the Moonlight Chicken Test…but not by much. 9.5/10, almost my perfect show.

[lilderitter]

Aside from the poem having to be cut short due to length (which is a shame, you did such a moving job!! I cried reading the full version lol), was there anything on Tyril's route (on either B2 or B3) that you considered doing but ultimately decided against? And what was the reasoning behind it?

I'm a writer, so I get really curious about people's processes and all the paths non-taken - specially if it's about my silly elf husband (!!!) with whom I've been obsessed with for years lol

Great to have you in the fandom, and thank you for taking your time to indulge us haha! Wish you nothing but success and happiness in your new ventures, Lil <33

Aw shucks thank you I'm so glad you liked the poem and you're so freaking kind 😭😭😭😭😭! This is a very interesting and ultimately very complicated question so please be patient as I work through some stuff lol.

Speaking again not as the official word, but generally since I wasn't a lead on Blades and it is Pixelberry's IP, this was just how I justified things in my own personal estimation.

The thing about Blades, and the thing that I think that people most don't like to hear, is that six LIs is a LOT, and that is (arguably) what was publicly committed to when Blades 2 was greenlit. It takes the book from a standard freemium VN to an otome format in a sense, and those have very different expectations on the real estate each character can take up. While we might aspire to be Dragon Age (especially Dragon Age 2, my fave), VNs are not open world RPGs, so we were bound by certain rules of linearity and demands on QA's time that mean some characters/elements will need to be pushed to the side in a way that a standard RPG wouldn't have to. (I adore Romance Club, but they are working with very different production pipelines for various reasons.)

I know that in the early days of Blades 2, Andrew was quoted as saying Book 2 was Mal's book much like how Book 1 was Nia's to a certain point, but in my estimations, as the development of 2 continued and we unpacked the extent of Mal's trauma from the core premise of 2, we realized he would be retreating into himself before going outward once he reached Whitetower and had to confront his past, while Tyril and Nia's personal conflicts locked in more actively to the conflict and reveals at the front of the book because of their relationship to the Light and the Elven Pantheon.

Tyril was a very useful voice for the personal impact of the imperialist hegemonic beliefs Nifara put in place in Light worshippers, and his breakdown in Zaradun was one of my favorite elements of the book to work on, partly because it was the first time we heard from Nifara in her own voice (I love that camp queen), but also because the Elven culture is very, very troubled, and it was very important to be able to explore that as it manifests in someone we know who very desperately wants to be a "good" person as much as "good" is an empirical quality in the Blades verse. (Spoilers, it's not, just as Light and Shadow themselves are not.) We really wanted to make it clear that 1) Tyril wasn't going to magically undo all this programming overnight because you talked to him once and 2) that he was capable of change if he worked on it.

Because Tyril has such a large role in 2 in terms of theme and did a lot of growing there (standing up to the Elves, protecting Valax, etc.), it was only fair that his ongoing conflict with the Elves take a backseat to the actual politics of the Afterlife and continuing Mal and Imtura's arcs in Book 3 to a meaningful conclusion since both of them had only begun to unpack their trauma in Book 2. The Elves' co-option of Tyril's death as a reason to isolate themselves once again is a great way to add urgency and complication to what's happening in the world above in Book 3 and I legit had SO many pitches of complications for that element (Nia and MCchoosing if they're going to use a Joan of Arc persona! The orcs' potential war profiteering! Aerin having to decide if he's going to seek the crown! Adrina and Valir having a falling out because he's ultimately a moderate and she is not!), but ultimately the dramatic questions of Blades 3 (again, this is just my POV here) is "Can you trust the world you built to be better after you're gone?" and "How much do heroes have to give up before they're allowed to rest?"

I'd argue that within its very conception, Blades 3 had a bit of a Return of the King/"Scouring of the Shire" difficulty in that you could literally do a whole book about trying to mop up the mess in Morella between the Elves and Arlan and the potential exposure of Aurinae's crimes used to uphold Arlan's rule and what it means for the other Morellan former city-states. It isn't the kind of conflict that gets resolved in one or two or even three chapters. It's a freaking civil war! In many parts of the world, that shit isn't resolved for a century or more.

I will always be able to do thought experiments about said war, but Pixelberry already has a very fun and complex fantasy book about a war for succession (also by a member of the Blades team) called The Crown & the Flame. (Again, to my mind) if you're going to attempt something in that vein, you need to be at least as good as the gold standard that was TC&TF, and there just wasn't room to do that in Blades Book 3 without short shrifting major plotlines that were started in Book 2.

The absolute beauty of this world, of any well constructed speculative world, is that it could go on forever in almost any direction. Where I come from, we call that the Tolkien and Terry Pratchett Standard, and I think that's pretty cool. :)

[ddejavvu]

sooo mei I was reading through your matt murdock ml and stumbled across the mafia one and pleaseee that is so cute, would you ever expand on that au? like maybe r’s flat is broken into and before she can even go to the cops there’s a bunch of matt’s guys there like don’t worry we’ve got it handled and she’s just ???

mafia!matt is the last thing i thought i'd be writing in the year 2024 but i can work with what you gave me <3

--

You're not sure whether you'd consider yourself lucky for escaping the bank unscathed, or unlucky for having been in the bank during an active shooting in the first place. Either way, the entire ordeal leaves you unsettled for weeks. You're bordering on agoraphobic, but food is a must, so you set out to brave the streets of Hell's Kitchen in search of something quick and dirty.

Upon your return, you know you're unlucky. You'd locked the door when you'd left, but evidently that doesn't stop someone who's desperate enough to break into a place that's barely up to code. You stare into the gaping, dark recess of your burgled apartment, noting that several electronics and appliances are out of place, but none of them appear to be missing. Your television is cracked, but you suppose your computer will be a suitable replacement until you can manage to afford a new screen.

You back away from the door just in case there's still someone inside; you're not stupid enough to investigate for yourself. However, the moment you step back, you ram into someone behind you, and your mottled nerves make you nearly shoot out of your skin.

All you can manage is a muffled, 'mmf!' when a hand clamps itself over your mouth, but the voice accompanying the hand is quick to assure you, "Easy, tuts, we're not gonna make it worse. We're with- uh, the cops. Okay? We got a call from the neighbors, 'said they heard someone breakin' in. We've got it handled, alright? Just relax. You can head back inside, that creep is long gone. We'll have someone stand guard outside, got it?"

You're only let go of when your captor deems you calm, but your heart is still racing in your chest when you turn to face him. He doesn't look anything like a police officer, but he does look menacing. He shows you a badge and I.D, and they look authentic enough for your arrythmia to settle.

"Go on," He ushers you towards the door, "Get in there, we'll take care of it from here."

You adjust your grip on your plastic bag of frozen meals, passing a couple other men that are now posted at the front door of your apartment. Each attempts a kind smile at you, and you're glad to shut the door on them once you get inside.

There's a man on your couch.

You don't notice until you flick the light switch on, but he's sitting there, clad in a suit and sunglasses. You shriek, and briefly consider whether or not your frozen ravioli could be used as a suitable projectile.

"Relax," The man stands, an easy smile on his face, one that drips with sympathy, "I'm Matt. I'm here to stand guard."

"Why were you sitting in the dark?!" You demand, now doubting the validity of the police badge you'd seen earlier, regretting the decision to trust these less-than-official men.

"It doesn't matter to me whether it's light or dark," He chuckles, and your face flushes momentarily when you realize what his sunglasses are for.

"Oh. Well- well you're not doing a very good job of making me relax, Matt. I feel like I'm more in danger of you than I am of someone else breaking into my house."

The man's smile is gentle, but not weak, "Sorry. Just go about your business, okay Y/N? We'll replace your damaged property and be out of your hair as soon as we can eliminate the threat.”

"Eliminate...?" You echo cautiously, "How long does that take?"

"Depends. A day. A week. Months, maybe. But this is all for your precaution, Y/N," He stands, making his way over to you and carefully feeling out the broken glass on the floor with the toe of his shoe. He places a hand on your shoulder, "Just trust me, I'm here to help. None of this will ever happen to you again- not on my watch."

[annaphoenix1994]

Trying Again

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

Once the ceremony had concluded, Simon had helped eased Kiera into the passenger seat of his car, eager to get her home and enjoy the rest of the evening within the presence of each other before they departed the next morning for the first destination to mark their honeymoon - to which Simon still did not tell her what he had planned. With assurance that Jacob and Evie were taken care of and secured into Eva's vehicle, Simon waited until Eva had driven in front of them on the way back to the ranch. 

"That ring looks good on you, babe." Kiera giggled from the passenger seat, blushing as she physically witnessed Simon's pupils dilate to a thicker diameter once he held his gaze on her, his lips curling into a smirk. 

"Not used to wearing rings, but I'll gladly get used to this one," He chuckled, his right hand reaching for her left, bringing her knuckles up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. "Didn't think that ring could look more perfect dressed on that pretty finger, love." 

"I still can't believe we just got married," She sighed. "We've waited so long for this and now that it's finally happened... I can't wrap my head around it." 

"Me either, but I'm glad it did," He smirked. "As much as I dread leaving our children behind for our honeymoon, I think it'll be a relief for you to have some time away." 

"It will, but I'm going to miss my babies so much," She frowned. "Mom said she's going to send us constant pictures and videos while we're gone." 

"I'm sure, love," He assured her. "I can't wait to see your reaction once you figure out where we're going." 

"Well, where are we going?"

"That's a surprise. But I will say I accidentally fucked up the flight..."

"What do you mean?" She arched her brow. 

"Well, our first flight was supposed to go towards the east coast, but I somehow scheduled it for Nevada..."

"You're confusing me, Simon."

He smirked, "Let's just say we'll be spending a couple of days in a certain town in southern Nevada first..."

He watched her jaw drop, "Babe, are we... Going to Las Vegas?" 

"Possibly," He smirked. "Just know that I can't afford to be losing my new wife in Sin City. I babysit Johnny enough." 

She giggled, "You can't babysit me if you can't find me..." 

He arched his brow and she giggled, "Trying to make my blood pressure rise already?" 

"Oh, I'm sure you already are getting a rise out of this evening. If you know what I mean..." 

"Don't start anything you can't finish, love." 

"Who said I didn't want it to finish?" 

She smirked as she watched his face flush before he moved to adjust himself behind the steering wheel, clearly desperately trying to hide his pending erection, his mind briefly short-circuiting as he had hoped they were nearly home. Sighing, he gripped the steering wheel tightly before reaching for her hand, hoping to distract himself from intimate thoughts until he were to get home. 

»»-------¤-------««

Without giving her any notice, Simon hastily swept Kiera off of her feet before he began to carry her towards the house, the train of her dress waving in the night air as Kiera giggled into his neck, placing short and teasing kisses along his hot and aroused skin. "All bloody mine," He grumbled. "You got that?" 

"Roger that, Lieutenant." 

He huffed in frustration, closing the door with his foot before rushing himself and his new bride into their bedroom, easily laying her on the bed and gently resting himself between her thighs, caging her between his arms and capturing her lips with his. "Simon." She moaned into his mouth, her core flexing in arousal.

"What is it, love?" 

"I can't believe this - us. We're finally married." 

"Good thought, yeah? How about we finally officiate this marriage?" 

She groaned at his words, running her hands through his neat hair only to ruin it, leaving the residue from his hair gel on her fingers. His hands had slowly began to run up her smooth legs, smirking against her lips when he realized she had been wearing a garter around her thigh after the pads of his fingers swept across it. "What's the order of this thing?"  

He knew. 

He knew what it was for and the tradition behind it, but he wanted to hear her say it as well as add his own twist to it.

"Oh, you know, typical bride attire," She giggled. "Tradition." 

"Is that right?" 

"Mhm. Don't they have that in Manchester?" 

He shrugged playfully, "Don't know. Never been married before. Might have to fill me in on this so-called tradition."

"I'm sure you can figure it out, babe." 

"Oh, so you're not going to tell me?"

"Well, we kinda broke the tradition a little bit..." 

"We've broken several, love." 

She giggled, "Well, you know how I tossed my bouquet during the reception and you refused to take my garter off from under my gown-"

"Because I'm selfish and didn't want anyone to see your legs? Yes." He replied proudly, the pads of his fingers tracing over the garter slowly. 

"You were supposed to take it off from under my gown and toss it to your groomsmen and whoever caught it was supposed to be getting married next-"

"Well," He scoffed, placing a kiss to her collarbone. "We agreed to make our own traditions. I think I know what I want to do with it." 

"Hm? What's that?" She hummed. 

"I think I'd want to rip this off of you with my bloody teeth and display you as my trophy," He didn't give her a chance to reply before he placed a kiss to her lips and lowered his body to where his head was under her gown, placing slow and delicate kisses from the inside of her knee and thigh until his lips fell onto the garter itself, gently grasping it with his teeth before he began to drag it from her thigh, smirking against her skin every time he heard a pretty whimper leave her lips. "And when I do that, nobody's eyes except my own get to lay on you." 

"I'm all yours, Simon." 

"I like hearing you say it." He murmured, proceeding to remove the garter with his teeth and slide it over his wrist before his mouth returned to her inner thighs, proceeding to move upwards under her gown before his lips landed on her sweet core, his hands resting above her gown to run his fingers along the lace fabric. All fucking mine. 

Her fingers were desperate to latch into his hair while her soft moans filled the quiet bedroom. She couldn't get enough of the image of him in his suit all for her. 

Simon's hands splayed across the outside of her thighs, holding them firmly against either side of his head while his tongue lapped through her folds, nearly making her jolt every time he crossed her clit with every slow and determined minute. 

Eventually, she had climaxed on his encouraging tongue, rewarding him for his efforts before he sat up on his knees, looking down at the overstimulated mess of his new bride, smirking at how flushed she already was. He sat back on his knees, admiring the way her dress bunched up at her waist and how her skin flushed, leaving red blotches of adrenaline dressing her chest and cheeks. Smirking, he moved to where he was standing on his feet, walking over to the nightstand to retrieve a condom from the drawer, setting it on top of the nightstand before he removed his dress shirt, tossing it to the side as Kiera moved to sit on her knees on the bed, her perfectly manicured nails curling around the belt of his trousers, her lips pressed against his muscled abdomen while her fingers slowly unbuckled his belt. 

She pumped his erection slowly with one hand, her thumb swiping the small bead of arousal that pooled at his aching head, swearing to herself that she could feel his pulse through his shaft. "On your back, babe." She whispered. 

"Dominant lass, yeah?" He smirked, looking down to admire the doe-like gloss in her eyes. 

"Don't make me ask again."

He couldn't help but smirk at her demand, sincerely loving when she'd get intimately aggressive with him, Kiera being the only person he'd consider being submissive for. He didn't know why, but he loved being bossed around by her - it unlocked a new excitement he never knew he had. "What happens if you do?" 

"Then I guess I'll just satisfy myself." She hummed. 

"Is that right?" He arched his brow, curling his index finger under her chin, forcing her head upward to look up at him. "Those toys of yours don't have the same affect, love." 

"Making yourself feel better, huh?" She giggled, knowing she was pushing his buttons. "On your back." 

"I don't much like being told what to do-"

"Oh, I know, Lieutenant," She hummed, placing a kiss to his chest. "But you're a long way from the barracks, babe. Need I remind you that I technically outranked you if you want to start using terms." 

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and a tingle traveling through his body, although he still didn't budge. I want to see if she really could make me, but bloody hell, those eyes she's giving me makes me want to fall to my knees and do anything she asked...

"That's what I thought," She giggled after hearing no response from him. "On your back." 

He couldn't help but do as he was told - Kiera being the only person to be able to dominate him. If he were honest, he quite liked being submissive - having her on top of him to her mercy and using him as she pleased. 

He loved it. 

Especially in her wedding dress - the sight alone drove him wild. 

Her dress splayed over him as she straddled his hips, subtly rolling her own hips to grind against his erection. He couldn't help but grasp the fabric of her dress in his hands during his desperate attempt to grasp her hips, leaning his head back against the pillow when he felt himself succumb to her hot core. 

They groaned in unison as his hands firmly held her hips while she slowly slid down on his length, eventually able to fully sheath himself inside of her. 

In roughly three months, the couple had lain together once due to the unfortunate events of the miscarriage in July followed by her father's passing. 

And during that one time, he had begun to use a condom to prevent another pregnancy knowing she had wished to wean from birth control and that he didn't want her to go through another miscarriage. 

It was a decision made by him to use a condom for her sake, knowing the effect hurt her more than it did him.

He knew she had been mentally exhausted - the last thing he wanted for her was to feel like she had an obligation to please him sexually. 

After all, he could care less if she had told him she'd never want to have sex again, knowing that the miscarriage alone was enough to frighten her about the idea of ever getting pregnant again. 

"Fuck!" She hissed, briefly uncomfortable due to the sudden stretch, keeping herself still on him to let her body adjust to his size. 

"Are you alright, love?" 

"Yeah," She nodded, splaying her palms across his chest. "Been too long for us." She admitted, blush staining her cheeks. 

"I'll wait as long as you want me to." He assured her, his hands finally finding the skin of her hips under her dress, gently rubbing circles along her skin with his thumbs. 

Her hips rolled against him, Simon unable to restrict his hips naturally wanting to buck up into her, but he knew she had things in her control when he was under her, completely surrendering himself to her. 

Already overstimulated from his tongue, she had heard herself squelching against him between moans. It was addicting for the pair of them. "You feel so good, love," He admitted, his voice gruff and smooth. "You were bloody made for me." 

She hummed in agreement, leaning her head back to enjoy the sensation he was giving her with just his length alone - his touches and words nearly driving her over the edge every time she felt his skin on hers. 

Suddenly, his forearms hooked under her thighs, effortlessly picking her up off of his length and curling his arms to where her core was level with his face. She braced her hands on the headboard in front of her, tightening her abdomen to keep her full weight from landing on his head. "Simon, I-"

"Don't hold yourself," He warned, his hot breath fanning against her wet folds and making her shiver against him, gasping when she felt his arms tighten around her thighs and pulling her weight down onto his face. "Sit." 

"But I don't want to hurt-"

"-Sit," He said sternly. She was unable to see his threatening gaze by how her dress had spread over his head when he moved her, but she knew that look. "Like a bloody chair." 

"But what if I suffocate you-"

His arms tightened around her thighs and pulled her down onto him, the tip of his nose pressing firmly against her clit, giving her the perfect stimulation while his tongue began to work against her folds, eager to bring her to a second orgasm. He loved when he would bury himself inside of her, but something about pleasing her with his mouth drove him crazy. Like a drug, he would think, musing about how intoxicating her taste was to him. 

He rewarded her with a quickened pace of his tongue when he felt her relax, knowing that gravity was in her favor when she finally realized just how good it felt. And to Simon, the thought made him harder than what he already was - almost painful. 

But he couldn't let up anytime soon. 

She tasted too good. 

Her moans gradually grew louder and louder, her stomach tightening at the sensation of his skilled tongue, goosebumps erecting along her skin when she felt his hands leave her thighs and slide up her back, slowly and delicately unclasping each button that held her dress together, keeping her nude body from him. He knew that if he didn't get that divine dress off of her soon, he'd accidentally end up ruining it. 

Sensing that she was on the brink of her second orgasm, he couldn't help but smirk when he heard a desperate whine leave her lips, knowing it was a punishment for even saying that her toys could get her off faster than he could in a sorry attempt to get him to submit.

With the dress now draping from her shoulders and exposing her breasts, he curled his arms around her waist and gently guided her to lay on her back, placing a hot kiss to her vulva before he guided her to lift her hips to slide the dress from her body, leaving her to be completely nude under him. His hair was now a mess and his chin was glistening with her excitement. Licking his lips clean, he then moved to make a trail of kisses from her hip all the way to her sternum, shooting a quick glance to her before he gave attention to her breasts, expecting her to deny access to them as she was still breastfeeding. Unbeknownst to her, Simon knew that even caressing her nipples were more stimulating than before she was ever pregnant. 

Judging by her sudden moan after he did it, he assumed that she had finally realized.

Especially when she arched her back to press her breasts even closer to his mouth, begging for more than just his hands. "Eager, are we?" 

"You're just teasing me at this point." She giggled playfully. 

"It's what you get for teasing me with the thought of you playing with yourself earlier," He answered, sitting back on his calves to reach for the condom on the nightstand, pinching the corner of the wrapper between his teeth before she stopped him. 

"You won't need that, babe," She spoke, her foot coming up to rest on his hip. "I want to try again." 

"Are you sure?" 

She nodded, "Positive." 

He wanted to ask her what was going through her mind for her to compile her decision, but he didn't want her to think about the reason as to why he had begun wearing condoms in the first place since the miscarriage. "I know we haven't really talked about it prior to the wedding, but-"

"-I love having children with you," He assured her. "I want another one." 

She smiled, "You do? I thought two plus Baler was enough for you." 

"The lad is almost an adult and our two are now a year old. I can't lie to you: I loved seeing you waddle around like a penguin with your belly." 

She laughed as his hands ran up and down her smooth calves, slowly tracing his fingertips to her hot folds, excited at the primal thought of getting her pregnant again, except this time, they were actually trying.

"Best get to it then, babe." She smiled, opening her legs for him when she felt his body lower onto her, their lips locking as his hips lazily pumped against her, teasing her yet again before he snuck his free hand to guide himself into her, the sensation driving him over the edge with her immense warmth and tightness. 

They lay in sensual lust - his hips guiding himself slowly into her as he savored every thrust while she purposely squeezed her walls around him every time he withdrew his hips. His lips were pressed against her neck and jaw while her nails dug into his back, leaving small scratches behind only to encourage another hard thrust from him. "You're so deep," She groaned. 

"I can go deeper," He whispered into her neck.

"H-How?" She asked, surprised. 

He smirked against her jaw before slowly withdrawing from her, "Turn over," He directed, grasping the nearby pillow to place under her abdomen, arching her hips perfectly for the deep angle he was about to let her experience, giving him an unrelenting pace into her G-Spot once he began to thrust. "There you go. Press your thighs together and cross your ankles," He continued, now standing at the edge of the bed, pumping himself lazily as she did as she was told. "I can't lie and say I won't hold myself back from getting rough," He admitted shyly, his head now at her even tighter entrance. "You grip me even tighter like this." 

She began to reply before her mouth opened to a gasp, the hot stretch of his length entering her and pressing against her G-Spot once he fully sheathed himself. "Please get rough, Simon." 

He groaned at her plea, hoping that she knew just how rough he could get. Pressing his palm between her shoulder blades, he did as she requested. 

Relentless, powerful thrusts of his hips snapping into her at a set pace. Each thrust rubbing against her G-Spot, making her toes curl and her back shiver while the pillow under her head collected her loud moans. 

Skin-to-skin contact filled the room along with their moans of pleasure. "Harder." She begged. 

"Are you sure, love?" He whispered, keeping up his pace. "I don't want to hurt you-"

"Harder, Simon," She moaned. "I want you to." 

Bracing one arm next to her head and the other palm between her shoulder blades, his thrusts grew harder and harder, the headboard of the bed now colliding with the wall as the squelching from her core swallowing him drove him wild. He curled his hips downwards every time they snapped, jolting every time he felt the sponge-like flesh of her G-Spot against him. 

Several minutes later, he stilled to release his spend into her, pumping slowly until he too became overstimulated, only keeping up his pace to bring her to her second orgasm before he did. 

With deep breaths, he rewarded her with kisses along the column of her back, slowly withdrawing himself before he helped her move to a comfortable position, smirking at how her mascara pooled at the corners of her eyes before bringing his thumb up to wipe the marks away.