#i'm simply fucking stoked

[clownstho]

Enemy Script Overhaul: Done!

I did it. I fucking did it. Last night, I finished de-tangling my enemy AI script.

Here are a couple of before pictures of the script and my reflective thoughts.

I was so taken with madness fixing this thing. I didn't bother to preserve the old script. These pictures are all that's left of the first version of my enemy. RIP but it won't be missed <3

231 lines all piled into one script. This poor man's state machine was just an enum and a MATCH statement executing all the functions it was crammed in with.

To emphasize the scope of the problem, I also took a picture of what I was calling "Timers' Alley". I named a section of his script because it was 5 timers all running at all. It lived above where all the animations happened.

I think once you're at the point you're naming the different neighborhoods of your goddamn script, you might want to Learn A Better Way.

I've attempted state machines in the past, but I don't think I had the confidence or skill to debug anything if there was a problem. Or the understanding of structuring my code. This time around, I could grasp Heartbeast's finite state machine explanation. So I set it up and then spent about 5 hours debugging.

God. It was so much trial and error. There were a lot of little changes made that were reversed. A lot of print statements. And even more comments written! I rooted out a lot of code that I didn't need. Now it all works and now the state machine is also fully commented. My script is sooo organized, and works like I want it to. Not to mention that I feel like I understand it completely now. That was not always the case in the old script!

100 fewer lines in the main script, and that's with the addition of updated descriptive comments. Now timers' alley no longer exists, replaced instead with the two-function Animation Alley. The timers now connect directly into the relevant state scripts using signals. All together the state scripts make up 442 lines across 5 states. So it was a lot more coding and commenting to get 100 fewer lines, but i think it was worth it. Now I can feel at peace, and modifications to behavior later will be easier later.

Now that I know how to do this, I could theoretically do this to the player too. I won't right now. But I could.

Okay I guess it's time to consult my notes and see what else is on my to-do list.

[challengers]

hmmmm

[singleactionjack]

Mh wilds spoilers

I'm genuinely surprised how frequent it seems people are misrepresenting Nata's character arc and saying that they don't like him, every time it feels like they're actively leaving something out. I don't know if it's a lack of critical thinking or failure of narrative comprehension but idk

Like, it's not the most well written dialog but I think the kid has a pretty fleshed out set of motivations, his arc makes sense and none of it felt rushed to me.

Like, kid is in an isolated secret civilization, he doesn't know shit, he seems almost too innocent to be informed of anything. The most he seems to know is that monsters are dangerous, which seems very informed by his experiences in the intro. He doesn't know shit, his village is attacked by a terrifying creature he doesn't know much about, and his elder pushes him out of the village to "find help". His only community being presumably destroyed, everyone he cares about presumed dead, as a kid seemingly no older than 12 or something.

He gets picked up by hunters from the West or whatever, and they start an expedition to the forbidden lands because this kid is the first proof that there is /any/ civilization out there, and this traumatized child is having to be a part of this expedition because he's the only one alive they know who has any knowledge of the land. But the fucked up part is, he doesn't really know the land.

He spent the last few days (?) running scared out of his mind, luckily avoiding anything too particularly dangerous, across lands so large and dense the player needs a super fast dinosaur to navigate. The kid doesn't know much of anything about the land, only hoping he recognizes enough of the way out to see the way back home.

So you have a kid who's scared shitless, having to help an expedition to his home that /no one else/ knows about, through lands he doesn't know anything about, with the implicit expectation that his entire people are dead at the hands of a creature that still lingers in his nightmares. The glimpses of the brutality of Arkveld still plastered in his mind. And it seems until he travels with Alma and the player, this brutality has no context.

As he follows along with the party, he starts to see reasons for the behavior of monsters (which is probably subtly indicating that his home isn't a place where regular monsters live) He sees an ecosystem thriving, a cycle of life and death, things doing things to survive. This further stokes the growing hatred he has, survivors guilt and thinking he's the last survivor of Arkveld. He thinks his people are probably gone, and he can't see any reason why a creature would do that. Narratively, Arkveld isn't a Monster™️, but a Monster, who does things out of maliciousness, cruelty, with no rhyme or reason.

Later, Nata and friends actually spot his White Wraith, attacking the Apexes, draining power from Rey Dau. In this part of the story, this "Villain Arkveld" conceptualization is firm in his mind, a target of revenge for his fallen kin. He is too weak to enact any meaningful revenge, just wishing to stop Arkveld from hurting anyone else in the way his people were hurt. The Hunters he's with prevent him from doing anything reckless, but he's fully in the fuck Arkveld club.

All the while, he's still a child. Optimistic, still has hope. They're able to actually find his home, in Sild, and he (despite really thinking everyone would be dead) still calls out for Tasheen. He hopes that someone else survived the horrors he was saved from. And lo and behold, Tasheen lives, among many others. His people weren't wiped out, many did survive. Tasheen then does something that changes Nata's path directly.

Tasheen tells Nata about his people and their actual purpose/role as the ones who reside and look over this land filled with guardians, artificial monster shaped constructs who only exist to be tools for a civilization that no longer exists. And that the "White Wraith" was simply one of these creations who was behaving erratically, unable to be controlled.

Tasheen specifically does this reveal in combination with celebrating Nata for successfully escaping and getting help as something they were not supposed to be able to do. The people in Sild weren't supposed to be able to leave really, bound by duty and second hand shame from a civilization that no longer exists, but Nata was freed from that cycle of imprisonment.

In doing all this, Tasheen gives purpose for Arkveld AND Nata. No longer just a child, he was supposed to be one of these protectors. Arkveld, no longer a creature without direction, but a guardian who is acting strangely.

This information is given to him with the explicit understanding that Nata's purpose (as ascribed to him) isn't set in stone, and by him leaving and finding help he has already been given agency to be his own person and make choices his people could/would not. In this part of the narrative, the vengeance seeking Nata is largely replaced with concerned curiosity. He knows /what/ Arkveld is, but not why it's doing what it's doing.

They eventually discover a reason why. Arkveld, seemingly too powerful a construct, is attempting to revert to it's original status as the wyvern it was before extinction. Trying to engage in the behaviors it knows it should do, either from instincts or seeing other monsters in the wild. Predation, subsistence. Arkveld, as an extinct predator reinvented, has all the tools to hunt but not all the tools to survive, leading to it seemingly rampaging in acts of violence as it attempts to overcorrect by eating and hunting despite not needing to.

When Nata understands this, his perspective on Arkveld is informed and he becomes very sympathetic to it. It isn't the monster he was lead to believe. It's a creature who's agency was taken from it, that found freedom and sought to behave in a way it felt right over what it was predestined to do. In a very literal sense, Arkveld and Nata /ARE/ the same. Both are children of the ancient civilization, given purpose by people who no longer exist. They are both given opportunity to understand the outside world, and in doing so are given chances to make choices for themselves. If Nata decided to stay in Sild once he knew people were safe, this wouldn't be the case. He was given opportunity to do more and see more and he took it because his horizons were broadened. By Arkveld's attack both of them were unchained by fate.

Nata at this point starts to truly empathize with Arkveld for two reasons: one being the stuff listed above, but also his learned understanding of the ecosystem. Arkveld is just doing what any other monsters are doing. He's seen several environments where the monsters fight and struggle for survival. Arkveld is textually (for Nata) really "just like him frfr". Steeped in wylk, finally able to see the sun, able to eat the cheese (animal flesh) and be their own person.

When it is deemed Arkveld has overcorrected and is too dangerous for the ecosystem, Nata objects, but he does so purely from empathy. Before Arkveld had no purpose in its cruelty, now its cruelty is somewhat overstated and its purpose is no different from anything else. Why must it die for doing what everything else does? Why must it die when it was finally free?(Like Nata himself has come to recognize in himself)

It's very straightforward honestly. None of his arc feels rushed, he is a scared and traumatized boy who is then given new information and hope, and that hope informs his empathy. It's like if a kid grew up in a cult and his whole family got attacked by a knife guy ™️, they escape into the outside world to find out that Knife Guy was actually kidnapped and kept in his cult family basement. Knife Guy only did what they did to escape but now they're too maladjusted to society to not be knife guy other places. I'd probably feel bad for Knife Guy ™️ too if I was the kid who escaped.

[corseque]

I honestly just wanted one single plot step that I could not predict given the 10 year wait. More behind the cut, I talk about Emet too, and I'm comparing his writing favorably to Solas' writing and why it worked better for me personally, but I am just talking about the writing skill that went into the games and not the dudes themselves, I love them both dearly of course. idk this is a mess and I am not going to edit it for clarity

For me, the game was a series of me saying

"ok I knew that. cool."

"oh yeah, I knew that. I guess it's good that the larger fandom knows about that now."

"nice, but yeah I already knew that too"

"that was something we've been talking about a lot for years"

"this thing they are acting like is a huge enormous reveal that the characters could not possibly have deduced through simply thinking about it in depth over the 10 years... the fans easily figured out by thinking about it in depth 10 years ago. So you would think his girlfriend would be able to figure it out more easily than we did. Like, why couldn't the game have been like 'oh lavellan already figured that out a while ago' it would have cost them nothing"

"this is something I've been thinking about for years, and now that it's being revealed, the companions' reactions to it are very irritating and jarring and unnecessary and I really dislike the experience I'm having right now, in this, the hour of my greatest triumph"

"this thing that is happening on my screen right now is something that I wrote an essay about 2 years ago describing how it would be a letdown if it happened without the correct setup"

"this way that they're characterizing Solas makes him less likable and less interesting than I have been finding him for all these years, and I have had people tell me 'no, he's simpler than you think' for years but I guess I was wrong, he really is simpler than I thought, so that fucking sucks. I wish I could take that information out of my brain."

"this thing is a retcon of information I have been thinking about for 10 years, and so I don't know how to follow along with this new direction, and I'm not sure if I even want to because it's not particularly interesting anyway"

"aw that was sweet"

"why is it like, so very impossible to have an honest back-and-forth with my favorite character about the dilemma that was most interesting to me about the previous game"

and then, as soon as, like, the other fans had caught up to the Solas lore that was really obvious from the other games, the game was.... over without anything surprising happening, or introducing a new element or plot point or perspective, or a real true twist (or two, or three) for those of us who have thought about it too hard for too long. It was very simple and easy, much, much, much, much easier than I was imagining. It all felt sort of like that Nicholson quote:

The thing was, the whole story was so interesting to think about because in 10 years, I couldn't figure out a good solution to it!!!!! It's why I was never able to write post-game fanfic about it. So I was stoked to find out some reveal we never knew about, some new information, in maybe a SERIES of steps of new information, that made the situation more complicated but also something that could be navigated by everyone involved. I know it was asking for a lot, but they had TEN YEARS, and they seemingly had set up the things they did in DAI on purpose, so surely they had some idea of a complex and satisfying narrative that would reconcile everyone.

The reason why I was expecting this is because FFXIV did a very similar story arc, which was started AND concluded WITHIN those 10 years (so it took the FFXIV team far less time to deliver as well). And the conclusion to the story in FFXIV did what I was expecting Dragon Age to do. So I thought, "holy shit, if this is the FFXIV version of this plot, how much more complicated is DA4 going to be!?!?" The DA devs also PLAYED FFXIV so they were completely aware, several years ago, of a satisfying story ending that was pretty darn similar.

People are probably going to think "oh, well Chelsea was disappointed because she spent too much time building it up in her head" but that's exactly it - I actually speculated and thought about FFXIV's story IN DEPTH NONSTOP for a year+ before its ending came out, and the ending absolutely blew me away. FFXIV Endwalker managed to introduce information and new story elements that I was not able to figure out in the YEAR I spent speculating on the ending of FFXIV's story. It took a complicated situation and revealed several several more facets to it that I was not able to predict, but were very interesting and thematically compelling, and took us all to surprising and climactic places that we could not have predicted.

Endwalker ("end" is in the title on purpose) too, was written to be THE ULTIMATE SATISFYING ENDING for a very long-running story in the exactly way that Veilguard SHOULD HAVE for Dragon Age, so while this complexity is being explored, FFXIV also gave catharsis to many different plot threads that have been built up through the previous expansions, until finally it ends with a bang. The story is desperately good to me, I loved it, it gave me closure for Dragon Age long before Veilguard was even revealed, and going back and looking at its story has made this whole thing far less painful for me.

So, I actually did not have a picture in my mind for how things SHOULD go. I just had the thought "I hope it's complicated and there are points of view or facts that we haven't before been exposed to, and the situation is resolved respectfully for Solas, not making him look like a fucking idiot (lol, the only thing I asked for). I don't even care what happens to Solas and Lavellan, I just need the story to be complicated and interesting to think about. Please, god, don't let it be "solas is wrong and he just needs to be convinced" because that's like the simplest story you could tell with this setup"

(btw they managed to tell Emet-Selch's story without making him seem like he's being an idiot on purpose or can never get anything right, and in fact the more the story goes on, the more you think of him as smart and capable and cool, so it is possible to write.... I wasn't asking for the entire moon)

And I played it and... yeah. Most of the story beats were more simple than I wanted them to be, a lot of them didn't make sense in my heart given the writing from Inquisition. (This is another essay, but if Solas' thematic story arc was always about him needing to let go of regrets, why was his personal quest the way it was? After that quest, doesn't he end up regretting not doing more....? Why did he never really talk about regret during Inquisition? If he was so trapped by regret, why was he able to do so many actions? It doesn't mesh well to me. The whole regret thing was very quarter-baked to me, I don't even like thinking about it.) His story never seemed like one that was as simple as being about one man's regrets, but then, I guess, it was always just about one man's regrets.

Emet-Selch's personal storyline (and the way it interacts with and affects the larger story) is very similar but much more cohesive and satisfying to me. It would be difficult to explain why without the aforementioned 5-hour essay. Emet-Selch's story IS about grief and anguish on a world-shaping scale in a similar way that Solas' was apparently always about letting go of regret, but Emet's story was also very pointedly and beautifully about that one theme for the entirety of his story from every tiny detail, from beginning to end - meanwhile, it seemed to me that they tried to introduce 'regret' as the main thrust of Solas' story only in the short story with the Regret demon onward.

From Inquisition just by itself, the closest I personally could get to a story theme for Solas was his inability to trust others hurting him and the world, but his trusting others in DA4 wasn't really addressed to my satisfaction. He is never required to trust anyone before the ending, he never opens up or makes himself vulnerable at all. People find out information about him, he never really dynamically opens himself. So the personal story I thought he had was never addressed at all, while a new one about regret was introduced that never made a ton of sense to me. And I don't think this is just because of my expectations - my reaction to FFXIV proves that I am able to meet good writing where it goes in surprising directions, as long as it's interesting and thoughtful and clear.

And I think this might be part of what people felt was off about the ending - Solas is sort of uninvolved in the revelations that are about him, and doesn't do much to be part of his own ending. Part of what I loved about Solas in Inquisition is that he is not controlled by you in any way, and so he feels like his own person with a very strong sense of character.

Anyway, Emet-Selch, in a very comparable and arguably more extreme plot position, is very involved in the revelations about himself, he always feels like a very strong character who cannot be affected by the player, and the whole situation is handled with deft emotion and care and delicacy. The story is comparatively very uninterested in litigating Emet-Selch or putting him on trial - the story allows you to simply feel the way that you feel in an organic way, and Emet's story spends that energy instead actually exploring his thematic material about grief and legacy, and the larger story theme of existentialism instead, in a way that is very refreshing and interesting. I've seen a lot of western stories tie themselves in knots over "redemption" and frankly it's almost never been interesting at all. Who cares about any of that. lol

(Now, I guess this is a matter of preference, because some people really like being able to shape a character's story, but idk I rewatched the ending of FFXIV and even though there wasn't a choice with Emet, because it isn't a branching story, his story felt more satisfying to me, maybe because there isn't a patronizing choice to be made for him. He is who he is, and he fulfills a very beautiful narrative role and purpose that no other character could in the story.)

I don't know how this could have been improved to me and still allowed players to choose Solas' ending for him, but I can actually think of a few different methods, none of which involve Rook condescendingly and patronizingly lecturing Solas as if Solas had never thought about a single aspect of this horrible situation he's in before that very moment that Rook lectures him lmfao.

All this to say... idk I'm writing this and I am not going back to edit it so it's stream-of-consciousness. But yeah

I just wanted the story to be complicated on a few more levels than I could have predicted. I genuinely don't care what happened, but I thought of a few twists like the Veil coming down and yeah, I was expecting A Single Twist or reveal to happen. In a Dragon Age game.

I wanted Solas to seem cool and capable and noble and smart, and actually feel like he was as old and experienced as he is.

I wanted a clear theme I could sink my teeth into

Like notice I didn't even say anything about Solavellan. Like I never in 100 years thought they were getting a happy ending where they were both alive in bodies, and I like that we got that, but I would honestly trade it for a more complicated story. To me, if a story is sad you can always write fanfic, but if a story isn't COMPLICATED, that's a much more urgent issue.

These 3 things DA4 didn't give me in a way that satisfied me but FFXIV did. anyway idk the way my hyperfixations work, I completely switch to a new subject so talking about Dragon Age is actually hard for me right now.

[smutallyouwant]

Twice Fic World ch. 2.5

I Got You, Boss

🎱 Part 1

I got busy, but here's the first part of the sequel of Strawberry Picking 🍓<3.

Mina x Male Reader

Word count: approx. 800 words

Summary: A quick warmup before the presentation.

The time has come, it's Monday and today is your presentation in front the higher-ups of your company. You're excited and nervous at the same time. You went to work early because you and your boss will hit the road at exactly 8 am. You arrived at 6:45 am and you went to the roof top to have a smoke. Smoking clears your mind and also makes you relax. You held into the rails and a familiar voice called out your name.

" Y/N "

You looked and Mina approached you with a peace sign pose

" What the heck, why are you so early? "

" I heard that you smoke here every morning whenever you have quite a work load. I knew you'll go here early because it's your presentation today " Mina answered.

" You're amazingly thoughtful " you giggled and continued smoking.

" You know smoking kills you, right? "

" Yes I know, will you make me stop? "

" Of course not, but I will help you relax " Mina answered before kneeling.

Mina looked into your eyes whilst removing your belt.

" Hey Mina someone might see us, someone can just bust out the door " you whispered.

" No, I locked it "

" I checked view earlier, no one can see us down there in this angle " she added.

You're turned on already due to her hot outfit. You palmed her cheeks and gently rubbed it with your back hand. Mina looked at you seductively. It's abvious that she's wet and horny right now. She keeps on looking towards you while licking your dick.

" You remembered when you fucked my throat last time, Y/N? " she asked with a frown before putting your dick inside her mouth.

She sucks it while maintaining eye contact with you. She gently sucked your shaft in a slow pace. You cupped her cheeks as you find her so cute in that position while giving you a head. You're very surprised on how she's doing a fellatio, you can feel her tongue circling and playing the head of your dick while sucking it at the same time. The pleasure is immense, her slow pace causes you to feel her blowjob much better. Her tounge makes your dick tingly, her sucking and her lips then gives you that nice pleasure.

She finally popped your dick and started stroking it with her silky smooth hands. The combination of the pre-cum and her saliva makes a perfect lubricant. You grabbed her face and started making out with her while she strokes your dick.

~~ahh

~~mmmhhh

~~slurpss

Moans escapes both of your mouth while enjoying the make out. You are leaning on the terrace grills, your left hand is palmed and rubbing her face and the other is wrapped around her waist. You're pulling her closer as you sucks her tongue and clips her lips with yours while her left hand stokes your dick, her other hand is simply wrapped on your neck.

You slowly pushed her to the door of the rooftop entrance, all while you're still kissing. You pushed her against the thick door and you held her neck. You kissed her neck and shoulders, her arms hugged your head and your other arm is groping her boobs.

" ~~ ahh baby, I've been waiting for this " she said under her moans.

" Me too, I'm so hungry for you " you said before giving her a final deep kiss.

You broke the kiss and you turned her around, revealing her back. You licked her back and you gently pulled her dress up so you can remove her shorts and underwear.

~~ mmhhh ~~ahh

She moaned.

You aligned your dick to her pussy and slowly pressed it inside.

" ~~ ahhh, yes babyy fuck me, fuck me " she said while moaning.

You started fucking her, she arced her back and her head is pressed into the door. You're holding her waist while giving all your strength in every thrust of your dick. Mina kept moaning every thrust.

~~ ahhh!!

~~ mhhh, fuck me more baby!

" Y/N can you pull my hair? " she said while smiling seductively.

You're shocked on how bold Mina was. But nothing's going inside of your head right now except that you're fucking a goddess while completely witnessing her sexy arced body and bottle-like shape. You pulled her hair and her moans becomes more bold.

~~~ahhhhaaahhh yesss!

" You're so horny, Mina "

" Are you happy? That you can now moan this wildly because of my dick? Your girlfriend can't do this to you so you can't show your true nature right, Mina? " You said while ramming her.

" Don't say that, Y/N ~~ahh "

You put your head beside hers.

" No, you're my slut now. Tell me the truth if you want me to fuck you like this everytime " you whispered into her ear.

" ~~mhhh, yes babyy. I'm your slut. Chaeyoung can't fuck me like this so please fuck me everytime you want " she seductively said.

You pulled her hair to your head, she released a wild moan and grinned her teeth while you're ramming her pussy.

" I've been fucking you for few minutes now, where do you want this load, slut? "

" I don't have a tissue with me baby, please tell me if you're cumming and I will suck that dick clean ~mmhgg " she said before biting her lower lip.

" ~~ ahh I'm cumming baby " you said before letting go of her waist.

Mina quickly puts her mouth into your dick and sucked it. You grabbed her hair and fucked her mouth, your dick reach her throat and you continued ramming her throat. Mina is pretty used to it now and she holds your leg while looking into your eye. After few thrusts you shoots your cum into her throat and you feel her fingers clenching your leg muscles. You pushed her head into your dick so hard while it still spits your cum. Mina's eyes rolled as she choke in her own salivas. After you withdrawn your dick she fell into her knees and gasped for air, she coughed heavily as she chokes. She is holding her neck and her eyeliner is a mess.

" Are you okay Mina? "

You asked before you sat in front of her while she is still gasping her air. She is not answering but she laid her arms into your shoulders.

" You okay, Mina ? " You asked again in a comforting voice.

Mina slowly lifts her head and she opened her mouth infront of you revealing her tongue. She shows how she swallowed your cum and nothing is left, all while smiling. You're turned on again and your dick became hard again. You sucked her tongue and makes out with her.

" I'm horny again, Mina " you said.

" Follow me " she replied.

She pulled you into the women's restroom, she pulls out a toothbrush from her pouch and she removed her underwear and raised her dress. She lets you fuck her while brushing her teeth infront of the mirror and on top of that she lets you record how you fuck her. In her defense she want you to watch that if you became horny when she's not around. She let you cum inside this time. Before leaving you kissed her and she sprayed her perfume into your suit.

" Goodbye, Y/N ! Goodluck in your presentation " she said with a gummy smile.

- To be continued

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .4 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 10.2k (oops) warnings: cursing? hot wonwoo, obsessed wonwoo, a lot of tears (this entire thing is more of an angst than anything); y/n acts kind of annoyingly but its all for the plot i promise ᴀ/ɴ: i'm flying back and forth to and from korean rn bc i'm done w midterms rn!! sorry for the delay!! ALSO IM SO PROUD OF SEVENTEEN FOR WINNING 2 DAESANGS OMG; im also trying to go through requests at the same time so if i like dont answer for a while i promise im writing it!! just wait!! anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would not consider himself a greedy or jealous man.

No, of course not. Why would he be when he could have everything he wanted in the palm of his hands? When he was the Archduke? 

But the sight of her in the winter market roads, dressed too-thinly for the cold biting air of the evening pushes into his chest a stabbing sort of pain he cannot really place. And the sudden tension he feels from her presence, does nothing to ease the tsunami of emotions crashing into his chest. 

The festive winter market of the Capital. The common festive winter market of the Capital. Never had he ever thought of bumping into y/n in the streets of the Capital – without a guard, no less. Although, he thinks, Mingyu serves more than enough of a guard for tonight. He knows that his thoughts are too bitter – too bitter, considering everything she has said, everything she has gone through because of him. Yet, he cannot stop the bile rising in his throat and his fists clenching by his sides as he only watches from the side. 

The familiar, homey scents of warm cider and baked pies mingle with the cold evening air and sprinkles of snow fall around him, yet he can’t seem to pay attention to the stand owners who call for his attention.

He swallows as Y/n moves from the winter flower stall to a jewelry stall. He tries to ignore the way Mingyu laughs at her side, shoulder bumping hers and hand going up to pull her cloak over her head. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar flame of what seems to be anger, regret, or something in between, stoke the fires of his heart, as Y/n simply laughs. And it hurts. It hurts so much because she never laughed like that around him. At least, not since his return. 

He cannot even begin to put into words how gorgeous she looks under the yellow lantern lights and the blinkings of the market stalls. He has just barely enough capacity to recognize how the deep greens and golds of her dress blend in rather unassumingly with the commoners also walking the snowy road. How different she looks when she is far from the palace walls that seem to have always guarded her independent spirit. How joyous she looks when she stares at a piece of jewelry in her hands, fingers running over the blue sapphire in the middle. The gem hangs from the thin gold chain delicately and he can’t help but think how pretty she would look in it. 

He can’t hear the conversation, but he can see Mingyu lean down (curse him for his height), and also inspect the necklace that she is now holding up to his face. 

When Y/n tilts her head, a soft smile gracing her features, Wonwoo’s heart clenches. Almost painfully. Painfully because he recognizes that smile – the smile that used to be locked away only for him when they shared late night tea in his parlor, when he gifted you a diamond-encrusted bangle for your eighteenth birthday, when he danced with you for your debutante, when he went boating with you on a random Thursday afternoon.

Painful because now you are staring up at Mingyu with the same look, some kind of unspoken familiarity in your eyes that he seems to have missed because it sure as fuck wasn’t there when he had left.

At your head tilt, Mingyu leans forward and says something too quiet to catch. But it makes you laugh – loud, brilliant, clear-cut like the most expensive of diamonds. It catches the attention of the people around you and they smile too. And he would if not for the twisting feeling of a knife in his gut because your carefree laugh he only ever heard in the privacy of the night, days ago, flows so naturally when you are with Mingyu. 

What the fuck did he even say? 

It’s a bitter sort of rage. More directed towards himself than anything. But he pins the blame on the prince, opting for an easier way to divulge it fully. It’s easier that way – anger to yourself is easier to let out when directed another way. 

The knife’s presence exponentially sharpens and his throat feels weirdly scratchy when Mingyu gently touches your hand, taking the necklace out of your palm and placing into it a more extravagant piece. Your fingers brush. He can see it from where he is. And he can also see you look up at Mingyu in surprise at his sudden touch – no gloves, too. Were you worried about scandals with Mingyu? He wants to scoff at himself at being this ridiculous, but some shallow part of him wants to yell out your name and whisk you away. Away from Mingyu, away from the market, away from the Capital. To somewhere he can take a deep breath and just let you know. Let you know how much he-

“-Oh, I don’t know, Gyu,” you sigh. 

Wonwoo is surprised at how close his feet had led him to you. If he takes a couple more steps, he can reach out and brush your hair from your shoulders. 

Mingyu just smiles, canines biting down into his bottom lip. “What do you mean? It’s gorgeous. Matches your eyes ‘n everything, duchess.” He gives you a small little wink. It’s teasing, Wonwoo knows. It’s done in passing, which he also knows. But it stirs the pot of bubbling frustration (and jealousy) in his stomach like nothing had ever before. 

And it doesn’t simmer, especially when you just laugh at Mingyu’s words, leaning into his presence to roam your eyes around on other jewels. 

The only thing good to come out of that was your hand slowly letting the bracelet you were holding slip back onto the table. 

Good. It didn’t suit you anyways. 

You need something less flashy. More elegant and timeless. You are breathtaking enough.

He only watches, under the pretense of his hood and perusing through an antique stall, as Mingyu hands you another piece, fingers brushing. Again. 

Wonwoo grits his teeth. 

It’s something small – something that would have gone unnoticed by everyone else. But to him? To him, it feels mocking, almost patronizing and belittling. 

You could have been in his place, it almost says. You could have been the one brushing fingers, tossing an arm around her shoulders, teasing her, laughing with her, buying her jewelry in the Capital night market. Buying her anything she wished for.

Mingyu’s ease with you, the natural way you just take up the space next to him, grates on Wonwoo’s nerves to the last degree. 

Do you two even realize how you look to others? To him? 

Do you realize how his heart clenches at the scene of Mingyu repeatedly suggesting jewelry Wonwoo knows you don’t like, only for you to laugh off his sulking comments about how you and he just don’t have the same taste in exquisite things? 

Have you realized the meaning behind his flowers? His three words he had finally finalized in writing after countless sleepless nights’ worth of letters and love-essays? 

The urge to step forward claws at him – to insert himself, force himself, into the situation – to reclaim some part of your attention he is vying for. But he can’t. He can’t bring his feet to move from their place nor his eyes to move from how you just glance back at your original necklace you chose, studying its gem and masterful metal work. He can’t. Not here. And definitely not now. Still, the thought of walking away feels equally impossible, as if leaving would signify some sort of defeat. 

Wonwoo’s breath clouds the cold air, but he doesn’t notice. He has to force himself to take a step back – back and back and back until he has some reasonable amount of distance between you and Mingyu’s merry little party of two. His gloved hand raises to his chest and pressed hard, as if doing so would stop the chaotic, frantic beating of the muscle. His fingers curl into his coat and he desperately wants to hand you his jacket – wants to place the thick fur over your slightly shivering shoulders (something he tells himself Mingyu would not do, except he knows Mingyu would) – wants to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close until your cheeks flush in embarrassment at the proximity. He wants to embrace you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder as you ramble on about the kind of jewelry you like, without knowing that he already knows. He wants to kiss you dizzyingly under the soft snow and cut off your pure sort of laughter. He wants to make you smile and laugh and then smile again just because you were with him. He wants to buy you bouquets of flowers just because he thought of you and send them to your royal advisory meetings. He wants to do those things and more, yet he wills himself to keep composure. 

Not the time, he repeats to himself. Not the time.

She deserves her laughter, he tells himself, though the thought is bitter. Even if it’s not mine to share yet.

And although he wishes it would, the pain does not fade. It lingers in his chest cavity, raw and all-consuming, all-knowing, as he stands there, watching your joy seep into someone else’s laughter. And as Mingyu leans in even closer (terribly ungentleman-like, Wonwoo convinces himself), offering you yet another comment that coaxes yet another bubbly laugh, Wonwoo finally forces himself to turn away. 

He feels a tightness in his chest and a strange thudding in his heart as he stands there, fists clenching as he tries to forget. 

Forget the pain, forget the tears building up, forget what your absence turns him into. 

The crisp night air bites at Wonwoo’s cheeks as he and Soonyoung approach the royal mansion. He would have much rather preferred if Seungcheol had held the Charity Ball in the actual royal palace, but the king had decided to move the venue to a “less extravagant” area, which was only a street down from the palace. So Wonwoo wasn’t too sure what Seungcheol was trying to accomplish except to freeze his palace guests to death as they walked over to the mansion. 

As the tips of the open arched gates could be seen through the winter night’s haze, a warm glow upon the two of them, the mansion’s many windows spillions beacons of golden onto the welcoming courtyard, frozen over with snow. Already, there were many footprints that lined the fallen white carpet, melting the small ice flowers into water again. 

The manor’s golden warmth made the cold knot in his stomach twist further. Beside him, Soonyoung walks with an easy stride – seemingly unaffected by the wintry air or the tension Wonwoo knows he is radiating. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight” Soonyoung suddenly says, tone half-teasing, words hanging in the air for Wonwoo to jump and catch in his mouth. “Trying to strategize your grand entrance?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, focus already blurring at the edges. His fingers toy with the edges of his scarf.  

Soonyoung casts a sidelong glance at him. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles as he simply flashes his royal knight badge at the soldiers guarding the gate, strolling along. The white of the falling snow blends in nicely with his blonde head of hair. 

“Are you not looking forward to another night of forced smiles and silent judging on your part?” Soonyoung cracks a teasing grin, bumping Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

However, when Wonwoo stays silent, face shadowed as his gaze locks on the mansion, Soonyoung’s grin falters. 

“You okay?” A slant of worry in his voice does not escape Wonwoo and he feels almost guilty for worrying his closest friend. 

Wonwoo swallows, shaking his head as if that would wake him from his trance. “Yes. Yeah, I am. Why would I not be?” He forces a laugh from the confines of his tight throat. It sounds almost hysteric to his ears – as if he was on his last straw. Soonyoung knows, too.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow as he places a firm hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, stopping him in his place. He turns Wonwoo to face him. “Why? Is it because of her?” 

Wonwoo falters in his forced grin. Just barely. But it’s enough for Soonyoung to notice. 

“Ah,” Soonyoung sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I’m right.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes lighting up in interest but it drops when he realizes the tightness on Wonwoo’s face. “Why the-” he cuts himself off with a gasp. “Wait, please don’t tell me you did something stupid.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, lightly shoving Soonyoung away. “Shut up, man,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’m going inside.” Wonwoo resumes his walk down the snow-ridden aisle, down the middle of the courtyard. 

Soonyoung groans. “Wonwoo!” His footsteps are light against the snow as he jogs to catch up with Wonwoo’s wide strides. “You did something, right? What did you do? Huh? What was it? You were literally with me for the entirety of last week!” Soonyoung whines, almost hanging off of Wonwoo’s arm, earning another eye roll from Wonwoo. “Was it bad? How did she react, huh? Why, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?” 

Soonyoung jabs his finger at Wonwoo’s ribs, repeating the same phrases over and over until they reach the entrance of the mansion, huge golden doors guarded by two valets. 

Wonwoo sighs, massaging his temple. “Will you shut up, please? It’s nothing, okay?” To the valet, he hands two pieces of papers, written on them the required name and title announcements of the night. 

Soonyoung stubbornly shakes his head. “You did something. What was it?” he presses as the valets swing open the doors. 

Wonwoo is quiet as his name, along with Soonyoung’s is read out loud for the entire mansion to hear. From his position at the front door, he can see how Seungcheol had turned the entire first parlor of the mansion into a ballroom of sorts. Near the end of the welcoming hall are the charity auction items – the blue sapphire jewelry set and the gold-set ruby diadem. At the call of his name, everyone stops, briefly, before staring up at the entrance balcony where he and Soonyoung are. 

“What was it?” Soonyoung hisses, jabbing an elbow at Wonwoo’s ribs. Wonwoo grits his teeth at the sharp pain, throwing a side-ways look at Soonyoung. 

“Jewelry,” Wonwoo grits out, pushing Soonyoung to start walking down the stairs into the chamber. 

Soonyoung gasps, as if Wonwoo had just said something more scandalous like lingerie or an estate. “When?”

“Last Friday.” 

“It’s been a week?”

“I suppose.”

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He clutches his chest in faux astonishment, eyes blown wider than necessary. “The great Archduke Jeon gifting jewelry – and flowers, I imagine – to a woman he claims doesn’t even-”

“-I don’t need your commentary, thank you very much,” Wonwoo interrupts, voice hard as he and Soonyoung reach, almost, the bottom of the staircase. His eyes scan the open chamber for a familiar face that almost taunts him like a dream. He can’t even control it. It’s natural, instinctive, almost. He needs to see her. He needs for his heart to stop thudding in his chest, just in case this time, she leaves him. Like he left her. 

From next to Wonwoo, Soonyoung lets out a rather loud sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters under his breath. “You send her gifts in secret, pine after her like a lost puppy, and then show up to events like this – which you don’t even like – expecting… What? That she’ll somehow tap into her telepathic reserves and read your desperate mind?” Soonyoung tuts, shaking his head, starting to part with Wonwoo. “Man up, Wonwoo, come on. If you want her that bad, do something.” 

Wonwoo says nothing, his jaw tightening painfully as his teeth grit against each other and his fingers fist at his sides. 

If Wonwoo had to see another fucking interaction between you and Mingyu that ended in laughter from your side, he was going to bust a vein. Most likely the one that was likely protruding from his neck. If he had to sit in the stupid fucking ballroom watching your gorgeous face scrunch up in delight at what someone else says to you, he was going to lose his shit. Here and now, no regrets.

Well, maybe a little regret. But mostly no regrets. 

His eyes trace your figure as you return back to your table, draped in a rich crimson cloth, occupied by a small group (that deep-down, he felt hurt not being invited into): Joshua’s wife, laughing and fan fluttering in animated conversation with Seungcheol, Joshua, who simply leans back in his chair, arm draped over the back of his wife’s chair, you, with your dazzling twinkle in your eyes and the way the light reflected – refracted – off of almost every part of you, and Mingyu. 

Mingyu makes him freeze. The prince leans in ever-so-slightly, a teasing smile dancing on the corners of his lips as he whispers something in your ear that makes you blush like a virgin, lightly slapping his upper arm in protest at his words. Wonwoo tries his best to not walk up and intervene because who was he to decide what you do with your life? He didn’t see you as a duty, thus he doesn’t need to intervene whenever someone is-

Mingyu leans back in his gold-draped chair, a casual arm thrown over the back of your. It’s not the act in itself that bothers Wonwoo (although it does), it’s the way Mingyu’s fingertips drum against your upper arm. Your bare upper arm. Your bare upper arm that should be clean of anyone’s touch (except for his). The prince reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing something akin to a box – neatly wrapped, twinkling under the low light. 

Wonwoo can’t really see your face from where he is – on the other side of the shorter hall, arms crossed, and leaning against a wall – but he can see that you tilt your head, a scrunch of your brows as you probably ask Mingyu what he was giving you. 

Mingyu shrugs, an easy grin on his face, and places the box in your hands, opening the top. Wonwoo sees your eyes widen in surprise, which makes Joshua, his wife, and even Seungcheol lean forward to see what it is that Mingyu had the audacity to give you. 

When you bring it out of the box, Wonwoo has to admit the quality of the gift. It’s a handkerchief, embroidered with amazing detail and an intricate floral pattern. He can make out your initials on the corner and the studded pearls that line the other corner in small mother-of-pearl flowers. 

For a while, you’re silent and Wonwoo thinks you’re going to shove it back in the box and place it back in Mingyu’s pocket. Because that’s what you would do – at least with him. 

But then your lips slowly curve up into a soft, genuine smile – the whites of your teeth poking out – and you launch out of your seat, arms suddenly thrown around Mingyu. And Wonwoo can see all of this unfold in absolute slow motion. It’s all in slow motion — from the way you jump up with a small clap to the way you bring Mingyu in a hug that’s so unlike you that even Joshua’s wife blinks in surprise at your sudden movement. 

Wonwoo can hear your delighted laughter and “Thank you!” even from where he is. Mingyu looks rather flustered at your sudden embrace but seems to brush it off with a quick laugh and a sheepish grin, mumbling something like “if I knew you would like handkerchiefs so much, I would’ve bought more, duchess.” 

God. Wonwoo’s nails presses painfully into his palms when Mingyu leans in again and steals another bout of laughter from your precious mouth. Wonwoo���s chest tightens at the sight. The sight of your joy, so free and unguarded, so genuine, should have been more beautiful. And it is. He thinks you’re the most beautiful person to ever walk this planet and any other – your warm eyes, your pouting lips, your blushed cheeks, your gorgeous peals of laughter, the way you blush under any of his heavy stares. But this time, looking on at you and Mingyu, it filled him with such a shredding visceral sense of loss. A sense of loss at the time he willingly gave up – what you could have been – what you are to him now – what he is to you – what he wants to desperately shout out for the entire world to hear. 

The undulations of the orchestra notes slowly faded out gradually as Mingyu stole more laughter from you. And Wonwoo barely even recognized Soonyoung standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, saying something. But his voice sounds muted, almost like he’s underwater and she’s the only source of pure oxygen that he needs to inhale to live. All he can see is you. You, you, you, you, you. Just like always. Except this time, Mingyu’s next to you, elbowing you, bumping shoulders, brushing fingers, twirling your hair, gifting you handkerchiefs, for Christ’s sake.

And he suddenly finds himself pushing off the wall (and consequently Soonyoung’s arm and his concerned words of “Where the fuck are you going?”), and slowly walking over to the crimson table. He doesn’t notice the curious glances of the other guests as his growing presence becomes the source of whisperings between tables. All he can he is you. You, leaning towards Mingyu, the faintest of blushes barely visibly but fucking unmistakeable. You and red. Dark red as some carnal part of him – a desperate part of him drowning in jealousy – takes over, flashing warning signs across his brain. 

With every step he took closer to the two, the room seemed to shift around him – air growing heavier and thicker with tension. Before he could stop himself, Wonwoo was two steps away, jaw clenched, head slightly tilted down, arms crossed. The table instantly falls silent when Joshua looks up and blinks, almost surprised at Wonwoo’s intrusion. Seungcheol straightens in his chair, throwing a questioning mouthing of words at Wonwoo (that he completely misses), and Joshua’s wife darting a glance between himself and Mingyu. 

“Is this really necessary?” Wonwoo’s voice is low but it carries. Each word, though he means to not make it so, is clipped and sharp, precise knife points nicking parts of your plush skin. His stormy gaze flickers briefly to Mingyu before fixing on you. It’s easier like this. It feels like he can still reach out and know you’re there. He knows what he might look like – a man without a warrant. And technically, he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t have an extravagant excuse as to why he is suddenly intervening except for the fact that he felt jealous. 

The only thing that falters his confidence is the way your face almost immediately drops at his words. Instead, your expression is replaced with something he can’t quite place – surprise, deliberate coldness, and maybe something sharper. Slowly, you rise, your silk gown flowing down your form. He wants to tell you how beautiful you look tonight – how the sage green suits you exceedingly well, how the pearl-drop earrings blend in perfectly with your braided hair tonight – but he notices the necklace that sits in between your collarbones – it’s small, but it’s there. The necklace with the crafted jade and pearl flowers. The one you had periodically gone back to at the Night Market. The one he had, after not-so-deliberate thought, gone up and bought before the end of the night and slipped under your door along with a single tulip. 

“I am confused as to why any of this is your concern,” you say evenly, voice quiet but steady. 

Those words threaten to crack Wonwoo’s composure. He can feel his jaw tighten because he doesn’t know why it is his concern. “This-” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He tries his best to swallow down the tightness of his throat. “This act, this pretense with him-”

Your laugh cuts him off. It’s nothing like the one you give Mingyu. It’s sharper, more combined with a set of unshed tears. Wonwoo wants to punch himself. “Pretense?” You whisper, voice cutting through his words like they were made of the thinest grass. It is sharper than the cold air outside, more biting with unsaid disbelief. Your eyes narrow and he can so clearly see the anger simmering inside of them that it takes him off-guard. You take a step closer. His breath catches. 

“You are no one who should be talking about pretense, your grace,” you hiss. And Wonwoo tries desperately to keep his tormented eyes to rest on your eyes, but they flicker hesitantly to your lips, down to your necklace, and then back up to your eyes. “Is this-” you gesture vaguely to the entire group, “part of your duty too? Are you afraid of someone snatching up your convenient little wife before you can call it official?” Your voice slowly rises in pitch the more Wonwoo’s eyes wander. And he swears, it’s not on purpose, but he can’t bear to look at your glassy, tear-covered orbs because he knows then that he will break. He’ll break and bring you into a hug and start murmuring apologies for everything he’s ever done. 

“What is your-” you stop yourself and he knows immediately that you’ve seen his eyes flicker to your lips. You scoff. It’s loud, haunting, taunting. “Fucking look at me,” you snap, hands balling into small fists by your side. Wonwoo looks up into your eyes and it feels like a part of his heart shatters at the sight of your faint dark circles and redness of your eyes. “Your grace, I’ve said this once and I’ll say it only one more time,” you whisper, stepping just one more half-step closer to him. He can feel your dress flutter against his skin and your expensive Capital perfumery perfume waft towards him. “If duty is all you care about,” you choke out, and he can see the way your bottom lip trembles as you continue, “get the fuck out of my life.”

The words hit him squarely in his chest. He can feel his constructed walls tremble under the weight and restrained emotion of your words. 

He swallows down his own set of tears. It’s infuriating, really, having the one person you care about the most strike you down before you can even say anything. It’s frustrating when even he can’t decide to let you be or if he needs you – needs you the breathe, to sleep, to help the blood flow in his veins. 

Around you, the ballroom almost holds its breath. Of course, the dancers still twirled, the string ensemble still played on, but in the one meter radius of you, every table feels frozen, watching a scene unfold that no one dares to interrupt. 

“You still think you’re part of my-” Wonwoo starts, but the way you stare at him almost chokes him out of the rest of his words. He couldn’t even argue against the truth of what you said. On the probability that you had figured out the flowers and necklace were from him, it would have only worked against him in ways he had not properly thought out or even intended. He wishes he could just scream out the words. 

You take a shaky breath, expression almost forcefully hardening as you lift your chin. “Don’t question me, your grace, when you’ve made it crystal clear that your reputation and your title mean more to you than anything else.” He can hear the wavering undulations of your voice, but your resolve, whether forced or not, held firm. It held the entirety of your sentences together. “So yes. I’m going to keep up with whatever it is you think is pretense and you…” you trail off as your eyes rake up and down his body, finally landing on the crest of his duchy by his shoulder. You scoff, “should stick to what you think is best for your Archduchy.” 

Wonwoo feels almost wronged at your words. Is that really what you see him as? Did you really only see him as someone who would do something if it meant for a greater reward for his duchy? His heart thuds in his chest, except this time, it’s in dread. The sting of your words root him in place and the crowd blurs into a scene of motion and moving colors. 

“Then why do you wear the necklace?” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, but you hear him. 

Your hand flies to finger at your necklace, smoothening over the jade pieces. You look down. “A mistake on my part,” you whisper, voice shaking now. Your finger suddenly undo the clasp at the back and the necklace falls into your palm. The jade flowers sit there, like a dejected piece of artwork. Without any more words, you drop the necklace into his palm. The stones feel much heavier than when he bought them – as if they had absorbed some of the weight of your words. He looks up at you – mouth slightly open, eyes blown wide. He can’t even believe it. This feels as if you were finally ending everything. Because you knew the flowers, the jade, were from him. 

“Wait-” he hurries, fingers clenching over the jade. But before he can say anything else, you turn around and Mingyu stands. Wonwoo can only watch as you turn away from him, back straight and head held high, as you walk towards Mingyu, who rests a firm hand on your shoulder. 

“Perhaps, Archduke,” Mingyu says softly, though Wonwoo can hear – loud and clear – the unmistakable warning, “it would be best to just let her be.” 

Wonwoo’s fists clench at his sides. He has to be trembling from the pure forceful restraint he held all night now fraying exponentially at the edges. His gaze lingers on Mingyu’s hand, on the easy familiarity between you and him, on the jealousy that gnaws at his insides. 

Wonwoo can’t bear to speak. The faint scent of your perfume lingers in the air, almost like a cruel reminder of your presence even as you move further away from him. The orchestra swells with the tsunami of his emotion. The triumphant notes almost feel like mockery to the hollowness of his chest. The ballroom returns back to life but Wonwoo can’t seem to remove himself from his position, until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung. “Wonwoo, come on. You’re making a scene,” Soonyoung whispers, pulling his arm. 

Wonwoo stumbles after Soonyoung, feet not leading him in any way. He wants to scoff – to go back up to his room and cry. He had told himself that he could handle this – seeing you, being near you without tapping into any of the feelings he had tried so hard to suppress. But now, at your words, faced with the stunning reality of the depth of your scar, the realistic distance, of you being able to continue life without him, a tsunami of loss threatens to drown him. Because he can’t. He can’t live without you. Because he had underestimated, severely, the pain of it. 

And for the first time, being pulled out of the ballroom by Soonyoung, he wonders if he has lost you for good. If he has no chance anymore of pulling you close to him and kissing you under the starlight again. If he has no chance anymore of you returning his deep-rooted affections. 

y/n

It was kind of sad to see the royal gardens cloaked under both night and the snow. Your hands brush against the winter rose bushes as you walk along the path to the atrium, outfitted with a dying fire in a hearth and hot tea that steams under the wintry temperature. You smile softly at the memories flooding your mind of running through these very gardens when you were younger, laughing and tumbling with all your friends. Smiling during a time that seemed so carefree. 

You wish you could go back. You wish you could go back and experience the carefree again. You miss it. You miss being able to fall asleep at night without trouble, being able to wake up in the morning without cold sweat in a nightmare, being able to go about your day without the constant plaguing thought of him wandering the confines of your mind. 

A soft crunch of a branch startles you. You turn. 

The sight in front of you makes you stumble back in surprise. 

Wonwoo steps up to you hesitantly. It’s more so the expression – the emotions – clouded with something so raw it seems almost not humane in his eyes that stutter your breath in your lungs. Under the moonlight, way past the time both of you should be outside, he looks vulnerable. Much more vulnerable since the last time you saw him at that stupid charity ball two nights ago. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It’s quiet but it rings through the empty garden. You want to laugh at how much your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. You fidget with your fingers as Wonwoo stares at you with an unfamiliar intensity. The rosiness of his cheeks make you wonder if he’s slightly tipsy. 

“I couldn’t stay away,” he rasps, voice a low murmur that carries to your ears, stabbing a long knife in your lung. 

You want to scoff but the deep tenor of his voice stops you from actually doing so. Your arms instead cross over your chest. “Why?” 

You’re not quite sure if you want to hear the reason, lest all of your walls come crumbling down, but you ask anyway. 

Wonwoo steps closer, movements slow as if to not spook you. “Because there are things I need to say – things I should have said years ago.” 

You swallow, head tilted up to look into his eyes. Behind his glasses, tears swim unidentified in his eyes. Rather late of you, you want to say. Instead, you opt on “Say them,” you whisper. “What is it?” 

His jaw tightens. You want to reach up and kiss his worries away. You do, really. For a second, it seems as though he is regretting ever bumping into you, but then he speaks, voice trembling with the weight of all of his emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, hands reaching for yours. You give them up without hesitation – as if your body was acting on its own habitual wants. “I made a mistake. I left because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I thought I could protect you by staying away – by returning to you with some sort of success.” He falters. “But I was wrong, y/n. I’ve been wrong about so many things.” 

You can feel the foundation of your walls shaking. 

No. No, stay with your resolve, y/n. 

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. But you don’t pull your hands out of his caress. “You’ve said enough. I want to be with someone who doesn’t disappear the moment duty calls.” 

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath. You can almost feel the unspoken accusations swirl between you. 

“Is that really what you think of me?” Wonwoo's words sound almost bitter. “That I left without caring? That I would risk everything just to avoid you for the time being?” 

“What else am I supposed to think, Wonwoo?” You snap back, your voice rising. You wish desperately for him to leave. If you talk about this any longer, you were going to break. “You left without a word, without confidence in me, and then waltzed back into my life expecting everything to be as it was! But people don’t just fucking stand around waiting-” 

“-You have no idea what you’re saying, y/n.” Wonwoo’s voice is dangerously low now. He steps even closer and you finally register something in his hand. “Do you think I do all of this because it’s convenient? Because it’s an obligation?” he asks. It hurts to hear your words used against you. It hurts even more to hear the pure anger in his voice. 

“Isn’t it, though?” you whisper, stepping back defensively, hands slipping out of his hold. “Wonwoo,” you murmur looking down at your feet briefly, “ the only reason we’re even speaking is because of a scandal. We are simply solutions to each other’s inconvenient situations! What part of that do you not get?” You slam a hand on your own chest. Your breaths come out as puffs of white in the air. You can feel your tears welling up in your eyes. 

Wonwoo stares at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe he’s hearing you right. His hands curl into fists. 

The next words he utters are low and full of just pure fury (at you or himself, you’re not too sure). His next words almost punch all the breath out of you.

“If you think I’d waste my fucking time, my life, on anyone I didn’t want – on anyone who didn’t mean everything to me – then you never even knew me at all.” 

His words hit you square in the face. It’s so vulnerable, the most emotional you’ve seen him, that it incites another spark in your chest. “But you’ve never been here, Wonwoo. You always leave! You’ve left once and you’ll keep on leaving.” Your own words are a desperate attempt to keep your walls up. You can feel your tears poke and prod and threaten to fall. You can hear your voice shake and your bottom lip tremble at your words. Actually, more of his words. You want to keep arguing. You want him to leave – leave you, leave the Capital, leave your life, but you desperately need him to stay – stay with you, stay in the Capital, stay in your life until you die. 

Wonwoo shakes his head as if he doesn’t agree with you. “You can call it duty all you want, y/n. But it doesn’t change my heart. It doesn't change what I feel towards you. You think I really wouldn’t have stayed if I could help it? You think I’d willingly let someone else have what I’ve always needed more than my next breath?” Wonwoo’s hand comes up to caress your cold cheek, thumb rubbing your cheekbone. 

“Don’t say that shit to me,” you whisper, glassy eyes gazing up at his. You can see the tears that are welling up near the corners of his eyes and if you didn’t have the last remaining thread of resolve left in you, you wouldn’t have kissed his tears away. 

Your shattered heart jackhammers in your chest as Wonwoo stares into what feels like your soul. It makes you feel bare – naked, almost. “Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “I came back for you.” 

You don’t make a move to leave his warmth, but you look up at him with your own air of defiance. There’s a confusing sort of wreath of emotions that circle your bruised heart, and the words escape you before you can stop them. “You’ve left before. And I would be a fool to not believe you’ll leave again.” 

Wonwoo’s hand stills on your face and he looks so pained for a moment that you wonder if continuing your facade is really a good idea. If it’s better to just give in. “I left to protect what matters, y/n, you have to understand,” he almost begs, desperate for you to just know, “To protect you.” 

You bite your cheek, a single tear falling from your eyes. It’s immediately rubbed away by Wonwoo’s thumb. “And what do you want me to do, Wonwoo?” you whisper, voice bordering on hysterics. “Wait around until you leave me? Again? Do you know the pain of your heart shattering when someone like that just up and leaves?” 

A few more tears fall from your eyes. You can’t even help it anymore. You feel the tightness of your lungs come back again. You can feel yourself start to choke up on your own tears. You can feel yourself start to break down – unwind completely under the softly falling snow. 

“No, no, no,” Wonwoo murmurs, cupping your face, brushing away all your tears. “Y/n please, I left because I had to. But now I’m here. I’m here, and I won’t leave,” he whispers, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I’m convenient, Wonwoo,” you suddenly cry, tears streaming down your face. “You need a partner, not me!” You want to look away, run away, but Wonwoo’s caress on your jaw holds you still. 

Wonwoo’s face contorts painfully with hurt. And you wonder if you have finally pushed him out. But then his jaw sets, like every time he is ready to argue in the royal court. Like every time he is ready to prove his point. “If I had wanted convenience, I’d have chosen anyone but you. This,” he gestured between you two, “is the furtherest thing from fucking easy.” 

You open your mouth, but you can’t find the words to express anything you’re feeling. The pain, the hurt, the resolve you are trying desperately to keep up. Wonwoo watches you with such sharp eyes it sends you into another spiral of being flustered. 

“I’m giving you my heart, y/n,” he murmurs. One look into his eyes tells you everything you need to know. “It’s terrifying – more than any battlefield I’ve seen,” he admits, “but for you? For you, I’d face any danger, any fear over and over again, even if it means standing in front of the love of my life, knowing you don’t believe me. Even if it means standing in front of the one person I would give up my life for, knowing she doesn’t want me like I want her.” 

Your eyes blow wide and a stuttered gasp of a breath feels punched out of your stomach. For a moment, it seems deathly quiet – even the winds seem to soften around you two. And then memories of the nights of your sobs, of your broken heart, scattered into the smallest of shards on the floor, taunt you like a haunted nightmare, circling over and over again.

“Maybe you should have given it to someone who wouldn’t have questioned it,” you whisper, placing a hand over his. “Do you think your proclaimed love is enough, Wonwoo, to erase my pain? My memories? That you can come here and confess and it’ll fix just about everything?” 

You know. You’re being overly critical. You’re being annoying, you’re being frustrating. You know he means every word he utters because he’s Jeon Wonwoo. If he didn’t mean it, he would have not even said it. But even you can’t help the words that flow out of you, fueled with bitterness and pettiness. 

“No,” he says softly, interlocking your hands together. You almost pull away. “I don’t even expect forgiveness, Y/n. Hell, I don’t even deserve it. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t fucking love you. Like I don’t want you by my side for every passing hour. That I don’t want-” his voice breaks and you flinch in surprise when a single tear rolls down his cheek. “That I don’t love you ‘till my last breath.” 

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. 

You shake your head, pulling away from his reach, frantically brushing through your hair. “This is unfair, Wonwoo. You can’t just- just come back and say that you love me.” You sound desperate even to your own ears. You will for Wonwoo to stop there. Please. 

“It’s all I have, y/n,” he admits, voice cracking at your name. The way he utters your name, it carries such unrestrained emotion that it makes you shudder. “It’s all I’ve ever had.” 

Your knees give out, and you sink into your skirts, arms caging your body close to your legs. You rock yourself back and forth gently, eyes trained on the white snow beneath your feet. “What am I supposed to do with that?” You whisper, more to yourself than to him, but it catches Wonwoo’s ears. 

He kneels in the cold snow, brushing hair out of your face. “I’m willing to wait, y/n, you have to know. There is no one else. There never was and there never will be. And when you are ready to believe that – believe me – I’ll be here. Always. I’ll wait. Even if it takes fifty years. I’ll wait.” He tucks the strands of curled hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your temple. Another hand rubs your shoulder. “And I’m sorry, y/n,” he continues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you by yourself for all those years. I really am.”

You can’t bear to look up because you can already feel two warm teardrops on the back of your hand that Wonwoo holds close to his face. Because you know that if you look up and see his desperate, dejected eyes, it’ll haunt you forever. Because if you look up and then match his expression to his vulnerable words, laced with such truth, you’ll break. 

“I don’t know if I can, Wonwoo,” you finally murmur. 

“That’s okay. I’ll wait,” he responds. His words are full of such conviction they almost reassure you. 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Y/n,” he laughs, tears falling down his face. “I’m not giving up on us.” 

“You should!” you sob, burying your face into your palms. “Wonwoo, just give up on us! Please!” You don’t mean it. Not even one bit. But you say it because you can’t live through him leaving again. Because if, in the chance that he does, leave again, you don’t think you can bear it. You know your heart won’t be able to bear the brunt force of it. 

Wonwoo shakes his head. You know he knows. Or at least can tell. “I can’t, y/n. Not when you mean so much to me. Not when it doesn’t feel like living when you’re not close to me – when you’re not next to me,” he replies. His voice is much calmer than yours and holds to it a sense of firmness in his decision, like nothing could convince him out of it. He pulls you up by your arms, holding you at arms-length, almost inspecting your face for something. Some emotion he may be losing in the heat of everything. 

“Wonwoo, please. Let me just forget,” you murmur, nails biting into your palms. 

Wonwoo shakes his head again, tilting your face up. He swallows. Your red eyes, swollen from tears, close briefly at his warm hand. “You know I can’t, y/n. You mean everything to me.” 

“You’re being selfish.” 

“Maybe. But you should be too.” 

“Wonwoo…” 

“Y/n, I’m not demanding an answer right now. I know the pain I’ve caused you. I know the-” Wonwoo stops suddenly when he sees you biting your lips, teeth clenching down hard on the flesh until you can feel a thin sheen of iron against your tongue. His brows furrow and his thumb gently pries your lip from your teeth, letting out a small sigh. “You don’t ever have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I need you to know how much I love you.” 

Wonwoo ends with a certain sort of flourish you remember from when he would conclude a debate in the National Academy, or when he would argue with his father. It was with a conviction that he knew the other person could not argue against. And you couldn’t. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as if to stop the flow of tears. Your heart clenched and you could feel the cold start to seep in. 

Wonwoo’s eyes softened at your tears. You stare down at your feet as his hands work to unbuckle the fur cloak from his shoulders. In the next second, your body is engulfed in a familiar sort of warmth and the scent of a more familiar cologne. He adjusts the cloak around your shivering frame. Warm fingers brush your tears off your skin and your hair from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel.” 

Your breath hitches at the nickname. The nickname that took you three years to get over – to forget and partially forgive. The nickname that felt so wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth. You look up, warm tears pooling in your eyes again. “Don’t call me that,” you whisper and you know he can hear the pure pain in your voice. “Don’t-” you hit his chest with your fist, though lightly, “fucking call me that,” you choke out. Your forehead rests on his chest, tears falling freely down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. You can feel the gentle pressure of Wonwoo’s chin on your head and the way his hesitant arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer to his embrace – pulling you closer to his comforting warmth. 

Wonwoo presses his lips together, inhaling a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, y/n, I really am. You don’t have to answer,” he confesses, more desperate this time. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait and wait until you’re ready for me, whenever that is. And if you accept only for one day, that’s okay too.” 

Wonwoo’s fingers fix the cloak around your shoulders and they falter when they brush gently against your empty neck. There is a pang of guilt when you realize it’s because of how you shove the necklace he had gifted you back into his hands on that night. But he doesn’t linger, opting to pull away.

“It’s all okay, y/n. It’s okay. And I’m sorry,” Wonwoo murmured one last time, before he pressed a fleeting kiss – gentle, warm, so him – against your forehead. Before he turns away and steps through the snow-covered walkway, back towards the warmth of the palace, leaving you with your own bubbling thoughts. 

There is a tightening sensation in your heart that travels along the arteries and veins and seeps into your lungs, then the rest of your chest, until you find yourself slumped on a bench, tears soaking your handkerchief and sobs echoing through the otherwise quiet garden. 

Approximately two days later, Joshua comes to visit you in your Capital estate, hands laden with gifts sent up from his wife who had gone down early to their country duchy. 

Your parlor is warm, lit by the steady glow and crackle of the fire that dances within the ornate hearth. Darkened drapes are tied back, letting the minimal winter sun seep into the room. A soft atmosphere of silence wraps itself around the room, broken only by the soft clinks of your cups as you and Joshua both sip on the tea laid out in the tea table in front of you. 

Joshua sits opposite you in a high-backed chair. His usual easy demeanor around you belies the sharpness of his attention. You can see it just from how his brows scrunch and his eyes dart from your face to your wringing hands in your lap. His coat is draped over the arm of his chair, leaving him only in a simple waistcoat. He cradles his own teacup with the same kind of quiet thoughtfulness that seems to define his entire being in times like this. 

The tension only grows as you slowly get more anxious at your senior’s silence and Joshua grows more wary of your wandering eyes – how your gaze flickers to the flames and then to the ceiling and then back to your hands, never truly focusing on anything. 

“Do you have anything to tell me?” Joshua asks, voice gentle but firm, how it’s always been with you. Sometimes, you wonder if he actually saw himself as more of your father than your older brother. 

You hesitate to respond. Should you tell him? No, you want to argue. But technically, if Joshua was already asking you if you had anything to tell him, that meant that he already knew something happened, or he already knew what happened and wanted to hear it from you. Either way, it leaves you with no choice but to answer him. 

“Why?” you choose to respond, setting your teacup down. 

Joshua shrugs, stirring his tea. “Just a hunch,” he hums. 

You’re quiet. And Joshua indulges in your voluntary silence. But only for a minute, as it has always been. Joshua Hong is only patient when he wants to be. 

“Y/n, what happened between you and Wonwoo?” he finally asks, ripping the coarsely-placed bandage off of your wound. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. 

You sigh, slumping down in your chair. Your hand pulls at your hair. “What didn’t happen,” you mutter. 

Joshua sighs, tapping your foot. “Not an answer. Come on, y/n. I need you to tell me so that I can help you or something.” 

You falter at his words. It was curious, really, how Joshua knew exactly the perfect time to come and visit you. How he knew exactly when you needed help. 

You finally give in. 

“He said he loves me,” you whisper. You cringe at your own words. They feel foreign leaving your own mouth, and maybe it’s because you haven’t even given yourself the time to wrap your own head around it. But in any sense, you say it. 

“So he finally confessed,” Joshua muses, as if he already knew your little tidbit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, really. He had a knack of finding things out before you could properly process what was happening. But it does annoy you, just a little bit. It’s the same thing, you guess, as Seungcheol asking you to weekly afternoon teas to see if everything in your life is okay. 

“If you put it that way,” you mutter, crossing your arms, eyes fluttering over to the window. 

There is a thick sheet of silence that lands heavy between you two as Joshua chooses not to respond. Instead, he sets his cup down on the small table between you with deliberate care. He studies you for a long moment and for a second, you think you have biscuit crumbs on your chin or something. 

“I feel like I can guess what you said to him,” Joshua finally says, leaning back on his chair. 

You nod hesitantly. “I just-” you sigh, sinking further into the chair, “-I don’t want to be the convenient choice so that he can fulfil his obligations. What if he doesn’t choose me if he had the option?” you ask quietly. An edge of bitterness and underlying hurt seeps into your tone even though you try to mask it. And you know Joshua picks up on it too. 

“If that’s what you believe,” Joshua says, voice low and deliberate it almost scares you, “then you don’t know him as well as you think.” 

You blink at his words. The certainty in his words – almost like he knows because he’s talked it over with the person in question – throws you off. It’s rather unlike Joshua to frequently give relationship or love advice, seeing as how his own marriage came to fruition. 

You’re about to retort when Joshua continues. 

“Wonwoo’s never taken the easy path,” he says, “Not once. Not in the National Academy, not in society, not in the knight corps, and definitely not when it comes to you. Actually, the man probably takes the hardest route whenever it comes to you.” His words hang in the air, laden with something akin to a heavy truth that makes your chest tighten. No tears though, which is good, considering the considerable amount of tears you’ve accumulated over the past couple of days. 

The glow of the firelight lends a warmth to Joshua’s face that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze. You want to desperately argue, to push back against the certainty of his words, but the sheer conviction in them, as well as Joshua’s rare sure relationship advice, has you basically grasping for words. 

“He’s struggling too, Y/n.” His words are quiet but firm enough to pierce the silence. 

You laugh, tears stuck in your throat. “Oh, I bet,” you mumble. 

“The weight of duty, of everything, it’s heavier on him that anyone else realizes,” Joshua hums, pausing for a bit when he sees your frown, “But you can-” 

Suddenly, the doors to your parlor swung open, followed by hurried half-yells of your estate staff asking the prince to “Please wait outside, your highness!” 

Both your and Joshua’s heads whip towards the sound, the tense atmosphere now conveniently broken. When you turn towards the oak doors of your parlor, Mingyu stands in the doorway, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. He looks rushed, almost distressed – hair sticking out of his fur hat, cloak lopsided on his shoulders. 

Joshua opens his mouth to speak but Mingyu beats him to it. 

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he breathes, ripping his hat off of his head as he bends forward, hands on his knees as he tries to collect himself. 

You turn your wide eyes towards Joshua as if he can give you an answer. Joshua only shrugs, confusion marring the space between his eyes. 

“Your highness, what is this about?” Joshua asks, standing up as Mingyu makes his way over to the long couch, collapsing on top of it. 

Mingyu heaves in another breath. “He left,” he states. 

“What?” your voice is sharp with annoyance. Really, the men in this kingdom need to learn how to talk in full sentences. How is anyone supposed to understand who “he” is when the speaker doesn’t clarify it with any proper noun? “Speak properly, Mingyu.” 

Mingyu looks up from his position on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. “Wonwoo, Y/n,” he sighs, turning over to face the back of the couch. “He was commissioned to the north. Again. He left at dawn yesterday, apparently.” 

Mingyu’s words are like a bath of cold water that is thrown on you. They crash over you like an unwanted gasp of air. It threatens to break you. You can’t breathe and you don’t know why. Your body suddenly feels like it isn’t yours. You feel like your lungs are caving in themselves and you can feel your heart punching at your ribs, threatening to break the bones. You clutch at your chair, gasping in inhales of oxygen like you are a fish out of water. Like you were some sort of broken machine that needed fuel. Like you had just heard a world-ending news. 

He was gone. 

“Left?” you croak out and a gasp of air follows, which clearly worries both Joshua and Mingyu because both men either stand up or sit up, heads whipping towards your weak voice. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until Mingyu’s eyes blow wide and he’s hurrying over, dabbing your tears off with his handkerchief. You want to push him away – let yourself mingle in with another set of tears – but the only thing that you can think is that his cologne is too strong compared to Wonwoo’s. The only thing that you can think of, while your eyes drift towards the open-curtained windows and watch the thick snow fall down from the dark skies, is that Wonwoo left. Again. Wonwoo left you again. And he’ll have to ride through the thick snow of the Capital and then ride again through the thicker snow of the countryside, and then fight in the thickest snow of the north. That he’ll face another battlefield – a battlefield you knew, from Soonyoung’s letters – that he hated with all his being. That he’ll most likely get injured while fighting for the king, for the kingdom, for you, apparently. That he might-

“Oh my god,” you breathe, shooting up and out of your seat with a speed that scares both Mingyu and Joshua, who are staring at you like you’re going through a life-changing crisis. “Oh my god!” you choke out, steadying yourself with your chair. The three words just fall from your lips like a mantra as you pace back and forth through your parlor, pulling at the ends of your hair and biting your lips. And through everything – Mingyu glancing over at Joshua and Joshua trying to get Nai to bring you some chamomile tea – the only thought in your head is the singular worry that gnaws and teeths at your entire soul: what if he dies? 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

[fawnsflowerbed]

MDNI!!! AGAIN!!!!

Umm I'm thinking about Vendetta Leon with his puppy/bunny hybrid for this one but it could also just be a regular ol’ AFAB fem reader and YES, IT IS ANOTHER ASMR PORN THING because I can't get it out of my head leave me alone...

UHH CONTENT WARNING FOR ESTABLISHED CONSENSUAL SLEEP-PLAY!!!! This audio specifically from Whorosethinks (love him) gives me SUCH vibes like

Imagining it’s a lazy Sunday morning, and Leon's body is instinctively waking him up early since he's so used to doing it for his old assignments. But then he settles in and realises oh yeah shit it's still the weekend, so he chills out, tossing over only to see you. Oh, you. All soft snores and little twitching nose, your tail wiggling ever so slightly. He loves you so dearly, cherishes you, kisses the ground you walk on for Christ's sake. Railing that perfect pussy is just an added bonus.

But fuck, the position you've decided to flop into. Half on your tummy, one leg tossed over so your pert ass is up and those thighs are parted. It's not Leon's fault that he's got morning wood, it's not Leon's fault that you're dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts and some skimpy underwear so from this angle has the perfect view of your cunt soaking through the thin fabric. He swallows hard. He might also be a little hungover, that's definitely not helping.

You've already talked this out together, and you'd made it clear in the past that if you wanted dear old owner to bury himself in your cunt even if you're asleep you'll wear a specific colour of panties. So, of course, he gets a closer look through the haze of the early morning.

There it is. Navy blue. Just like his work shirt. All pretty and lacy. He has free rein.

So of course he takes a thick finger to slide the frills to the side, slick coating the digit as he gently handles you. Of course he splays a careful hand over your back as he fumbles to lazily pull down his sweatpants, bare chest heaving as he stares at your twitching hole like he's been fucking hypnotised. He's slow, easing his rock hard dick into you inch by inch, watching that adorable nose wrinkle at the feeling of being stretched and filled by your beloved owner's cock. And god you feel so good, hot and wet, he has to take a second to collect himself.

Shaky hands stabilised on each side of your head, it doesn't take him too long to start gently fucking into you with long, slow strokes, stoking the ache in his guts with every push and pull through the velvet of your heat. He furrows his eyebrows, groaning deep from his chest, losing himself in you to the point of readjustment. He settles you fully onto your stomach, elbows bracketting you and chest to your back, cuddlefucking your sleeping form into the mattress with every clench and twitch of your insides. It should be illegal for someone's pussy to be this good, right? But he loves you, so he tries to be soft, even if he does slowly ramp up a little quicker, a little harder, a little deeper, you've got him panting like he's run a marathon.

So when you stir in your sleep, nose twitching and tail wiggling, giving that broken sleepy whimper of "Daddy?" that he loves so much all Leon can do is shush you. Leaning forward to nudge his face nice and close to your ear, whispering soothingly. "Shh, stay still baby. Daddy just needs to use his pet's perfect cunt." And ever the loyal and loving thing you are you obey with a squeaky whimper, melting into the pillows beneath him. Oh, he adores you. So compliant.

He's groaning, bordering on whiny at the way you simply let him use you, watching you adorably paw at the headboard. Every sweet tired mewl and gasp of yours against the frilled trim of the pillows. You're everything to him, taking him to the hilt, balls deep, even as he gently pins your arms behind your back so he can pronebone you good and deep into the duvet. Even as he picks up the pace, dragging his cock over every ridge of your pussy. The feeling of your hole sucking down on him like you're trying to rip his dick clean off is driving his brain to insanity, making him go dizzy. But watching your eyes flutter shut and tail wag and twitch as he dicks you down good and deep is probably the best thing in the world.

Well, a close second.

The best thing is definitely getting to creampie your cunt, watching you go rigid with perked ears and a high pitched, broken moan from your throat, how you fall to a slack pile of syrupy love stuffed full of his cum, that's definitely in first place.

And then there's the question of where this lies; what he's doing right now, peppering soft kisses across your cheeks, rubbing stubble against your face as he tugs your panties back into place. Cuddling you close with soothing words and soft back rubs until you both pass back out for another hour or so.

Eh. That sits somewhere between first and second. He's just a man, after all.

[skeletonh0e]

HAII I SAW YOUR BLOG— welcome back to the x reader scene!!!

I wanted to ask for general romantic US Sans headcanons! If that’s alright

Glad to be back! Sorry this took me a bit, ya girl is rusty. Reader is gender neutral, no nsfw but some jokes here or there

Under Swap Sans x Reader Headcanons

Baby boy is SUPER stoked and happy to be in a relationship, but also he has no idea what the fuck he is doing

You are his first partner so literally everything is new to him, but let it be down the Magnificent Sans never backs down from anything

Literally never shuts up about you, that one Will Smith proudly displaying his wife meme? That's him with you especially during the earlier stages of your relationship, proudly boasts that you're his partner and how awesome you are. Most other people find this annoying

He chills as you two date later on but he's not above just randomly going, "Wanna hear about how good my S/O is? You don't? Well I'm gonna tell ya ANYWAY-"

Generally not hard to tell he's kinda...trying too hard, especially with dates and gifts. Man can easily go overboard. It does take him awhile to figure out how to properly express affection without being smothering and that first romance awkward fading away

Regardless, he's a very sweet boyfriend, lots of compliments, encouragement, love and bombastic spurts of energy

Not big on PDA, purely because he gets easly flustered but definitely does some minor gestures like hand holding or the occasional cuddles. Frequently gives you a peck on the cheek before he runs off to do something or leaves for whatever reason

This man's flirting is uh...kinda silly, sometimes basically saying something corny followed by a wink with finger guns. You return the energy then he's frantically looking through his how-to guide on what to do next

If you're small enough to be picked up, he will absentmindedly pick you up likely not even noticing that he's doing it. If you're tall enough to pick him up and return the energy he's extremely whiney and blushey

"He's in air jail-"

Likes to call you his "little dove", "beloved" or even just "my (insert your name here)"

He's not a needy partner but clingy in that he likes to hang around you a lot, he listens if you give him space but definitely doesn't care to be separated for long periods of time.

"I miss my S/O Pap, I miss them a lot. I'll be back." Said not one hour after you left this morning to run an errand

However as a result he is very attentive, not only to your physical needs (insert funny boning joke here) but also just in general. You will NOT be skipping meals or being overly stressed out while he's around

Definitely the type of boyfriend to ask about your day, genuinely listens, gets super invested all while doing your nails or something. Really an activity that'll help you two bond or unwind

Biggest. Hype man. Ever. Whether you're doing some crazy shit or simply trying to open a jar he's there for you. (But he will open the jar if you give up tho but he still thinks you did great)

Protective in the sense that he'll declare anyone that messes you messes with him and now that'll be their greatest error ever, it's a speech that's sweet if not full of constant ego bloating

Has a lot of pictures of you two together, he can't not have pictures of you. What if he wants to tell someone about you and you're not around???

"Of course someone as great as I has such an amazing S/O!"

Some minor self esteem issues pop up, but you're there for him as much as he is for you. But occasionally he does just hug you like, "We're gonna be together forever right?"

He is a hopeless romantic at his core for all his silliness, inexperience, and his natural tendency to be extreme he does love you and is giving this his all because he believes you deserve it

[cavegirlpoems]

The Beast & The Church in 'Black Death Rising'

I'm writing a religious horror rpg, in which the End Of Days is in full swing in 15th century Europe. I figured it'd be worth it to talk about that game's religious perspective.

So I'm going to do something inadvisable, and talk about religion from a christian perspective. (religious/setting design ramblings under the cut)

Some context. I'm a quaker; for those less invested in minor christian dissenter sects, I'll give a brief summary. Quakers are a sect going back to the 17th century, with a strong focus on egaletarianism and individual conscience. No clergy or heirarchy, no formalised doctrines, and - historically and currently - a lot of focus on social justice issues. Honesty, equality, pacifism and simplicity as core value. So that's the overview.

This is, you will note, a stark contrast to a lot of what Christianity is currently, and has historically been. Which is to say, quite often on the side of the wealthy, the societally entrenched, and the oppressive.

I am also, as it happens, very openly and obviously queer. As you can imagine, this makes me really quite uncomfortable in a lot of 'christian spaces'.

So. Let's turn our attention to the Book of Revelations, as the various ideas in there are a lot of the game's inspiration. Revelations is written extremely abstractly, with dense metaphorical language rather than a direct accounting of events. There are, needless to say, a wide variety of ways to interpret the text, but I will focus on my own.

A key feature of Revelations is the subversion of religion; the idea of a false prophet turning religion away from its moral/spiritual purpose, and making it a tool for politics, leading to the rise of 'the beast' to power. It's made clear that as the beast seizes power, it goes on to use that power to persecute the outgroup (with whom the text's sympathies lie) and that a church controlled by and reverent of the beast becomes evil and totalitarian, leading to widespread suffering.

The parallels to the state of christianity in the modern day are, to my mind, quite apt. A wide faction - 'conservative christianity' to be polite about it, or christian nationalism to be more blunt - aligns itself with the oppresser over the oppressed, concerns itself with worldly wealth and power, and is actively and openly and inexorably tied to dangerous political forces. That mainstream christianity frequently acts in support of fascism is hard to miss.

There is a particular horror, I think, to seeing representations of one's faith hollowed out and distorted, emptied of their spiritual value and instead becoming a tool for evil. The perversion of what should be sacred has a huge potential for horror.

This is, after all, a particular horror one encounters in a regular basis in the real world. I mean, fuck, one simply needs to see Kenneth Copeland speak for 30 seconds to get a sense of something deeply, deeply wrong.

So, this is the horror the game seeks to capture and accentuate. The sense of what should be holy having been emptied out and used for evil. The twisting of faith to become a tool for fascism.

To this end, the game treats aspects of Revelations quite literally. The Beast is, in fact, the leader of a vast and horrible fascist empire that is the cause of misery on a vast scale. Key to this is the total cooption of the church. The 'pope' is a reanimated corpse issueing proclamations at the Beast's direction, and the church is an engine of propaganda and inquisition that serves to enforce the empire's orthodoxy and stoke hatred against the Empire's outgroups.

This is not to say that faith is absent, but those possessing true spiritual conviction (and with it, in some cases, the ability to perform miracles) are definitively outside the church; actual faith is the domain of religious dissenters and heretics. PC clerics are not members of the church, they're actively persecuted by that church for - essentially - their refusal to spiritually sell out.

(Also, critically, miracles are not the sole domain of christianity; the game treats Jewish and Muslim figures as equally capable of performing miracles, and grants relics associated with those religions equal potency to christian ones; what matters is spiritual conviction, not one's specific denomination).

Other aspects of The Beast's Empire followed from this. Inquisitors and paramilitary agents are common enemies, and the 'seven heads and ten horns' are taken to represent The Beasts inner circle of most powerful servants.

In particular, I've given the Beast's empire it's own form of magic, Defixion, with the name taken from old roman curse-tablets. Defixion is, essentially, the magic of spiritually selling out. In exchange for eroding the user's soul, they become bound to The Beast and his empire; this gives him incredible power over them, but also grants them power based on their position within the Empire's heirarchy. Importantly, it's totally, one-hundred-percent off limits to player characters; playing as the fascists simply exists outside the scope of the game. Instead, Defixion is an explanation for why the Empire's agents have scary monster stat-blocks.

The choice of what to make The Mark Of The Beast was surprisingly easy; it's a cross, the same one that is embraced by fascist groups such as Stormfront.

(This also ties in with the use of the inverted cross as a counter-cultural icon; it's historically been a symbol of humility before God, and in the modern age is associated with strongly anti-church sentiments. In a setting where the church has turned away from God and towards hateful political power, those two meanings can go hand in hand.)

In conclusion: "I know writers who use subtext, and they're all cowards."

[nectardaddy]

notebook paper | hinata shoyo

chapter seven | it's a party [ ✎ ]

masterlist

ignore timestamps

Putting the car in park, and quickly sending out an I'm here text, he swore he found himself spiraling. Leg bouncing in a methodical rhythm as anxiety got the best of him, and brown eyes flickered to the door just outside his car window.

"Man, I think I'm already drunk," a loud voice from the back of the car rang out, followed by an, even more obnoxious, laugh.

"We're not even there yet! If you puke in this car with me in it, Bo, I'll kill you," the man next to him grumbled before shifting his eyes out the window. "Holy shit, pipsqueak, is that her?"

Seeing the frame of a woman exit the door he was previously looking at, he couldn't help but grin. A smile that pulled hard on his cheeks before looking back at his friends, "yeah!"

"My man can pull!" The loud voice returning in a cheer as he leaned, far over, Oikawa to look out the window. "Dude, you weren't kidding! She's pretty!" Before he could say anything else, he was shoved off harshly, followed by a rough "get off of me!"

"I know!" Matching the energy of Bokuto as he turned his head to look at her, "I can't believe she said yes! This is like the greatest day of my life!"

But the loud voices abruptly stopped as the car door opened and shut, the woman getting in with a smile and a soft chuckle. "I didn't know this was the greatest day of your life. I thought I was pretty boring, honestly."

Hinata's cheeks burned at her words, and his friend's laughter that followed made him sink in his seat. "You heard that?" Hands finding themselves in auburn hair as he let out a nervous chuckle.

"You were yelling, it was hard not to. But thanks." Giving him a small smile that made his heart skip a beat.

A simple statement that made Oikawa cackle with laughter at his roommate's reaction. "Holy shit! Shrimpy look at your face!"

"Shrimpy?" She asked, a laugh leaving her lips as she looked back at the brunette, "I've heard better insults from middle schoolers."

"Oh my god! Sho, she's fucking awesome!" Bokuto grabbed his friend's shoulders from behind, reaching from the backseat and shaking him. Making the man laugh in return, anxiety washing away from Bokuto's strong personality. Stark hazel eyes flickered over to her, a drunken smile upon his lips. "Tonight is gonna' be so much fun!"

One single sentence held the tone for the evening.

Brown eyes watched as she laughed at every joke, smile at him like no one else was in the room, and take his hand when he offered to dance with her - and, oh my god, were the only words in his head when she did.

Taking in every inch of her in awe was an understatement - he was a doomed man. The way she flourished in conversation with him - speaking of things that interested her, silly memories from the past, right down to outrageous stories from school - made him all but reel.

He swore he fell hard for her that night, skinning his own knees from the force of it. Finding himself walking her to her door by the end of the evening, out of generosity, and for the sole fact he simply couldn't bring himself to see the night end. He hoped this wasn't an outlandish fairytale, where she would whisk herself off at the stoke of midnight.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" The question slipping easily from his tongue just as her hand reached for the doorknob; but he watched as his hopes slipped right through his fingers as her smile faltered.

"Teaching," she said with a wry smile. "And after I'm probably gonna' sleep for the rest of the day, honestly." At least she was honest, he thought.

"Right, I'm sorry." Giving her a nervous chuckle in response after, "I did keep you out pretty late."

"Don't worry about it, I had a lot of fun."

"So did I."

It wasn't as if he expected anything from the woman, he wholeheartedly didn't even believe she would agree to going today anyway. But he felt his heart strings pull as she opened her door, stopping in the door way to give him a smile. "I'll text you, ok?"

"Alright, have a good night."

"Have a good night, shrimpy."

And just like that, she closed the door, leaving him with a silly grin on his lips.

I'm sorry for having one measly screenshot - I got really into the writing

but I am so in love with this man!!

yn changed his contact name to shrimpy <3

hinata can fucking dance oh my god

he does that really cheesy shit where he took her hand and spun her around (giggling and kicking my feet just thinking about it he's adorable)

he's down horrendously now - he doesn't care if it's been a few days

both bokuto and oikawa were passed tf out in his car and he had to shake them awake when they got home

yn was very tempted to wake up suga and tell him about how the night went

taglist under cut

@muyyie @wyrcan @eggyrocks @eclecticeggknightpsychic @nbcvs

@marzzn @naweirdo @yukii-1 @girlkissersco @yuminako @kunimix

@empress-pug-pug @cherrypieyourface @lvtilzs @punkhazardlaw @localgaytrainwreck

@crownj1min @sereniteav @madiexuberant @st4rdusttx @chizunata

@le000xxgrd

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Subbing (ha!) via ask so I can be anon

I would give my firstborn for you to write just about any M/F especially if it was another CE/Reader like "You Heard the Rumour about these Legs."

Honestly I will read and adore anything you write but that is one of my absolute all time fics and I'd go absolutely feral for more like it

"You Heard The Rumors 'Bout These Legs, Well I'm The One Who Spread 'Em"

Lmao, good to know 👀 Though I promise I don't need your firstborn 💀💀 and thank you, I'm so glad you enjoy my writing! 😘

So, of course, taking inspiration from your ask and the man, the myth, the legend himself--

Chris Evans × female!reader with tonguing, fingering, fucking, and jerking off. All that fun shit 😏

Chris is many things to many people. To you, though, Chris has always been a gentleman in and out of the proverbial bedroom (or the very literal bedroom, kitchen, living room, or car, or... y'know it doesn't matter where, just that you're alone and willing. And how could you not be willing when he looks and acts like that, anything he wants with you, he can have. You shiver just thinking about it). Chris always starts as a gentleman, at least.

As foreplay melts into something hotter and thicker, totally irrestable as the lust between you burned and crackled, Chris is still polite and kind and even serving toward you, yet...

Once he's spent some good time lavishing attention on you, pulling an orgasm or a few from you as if you're a marionette on strings that he's mastered and he can make fold and sing however he pleases, some of that polite nature melts away. It's not that he's rude. It's simply primal--and it's so goddamn sexy. You can hardly take it, your thighs pressing together, flexing, trying to make sense of the sticky, hot wash of arousal that always comes crashing over you. Because, damn, as much as you ache when he takes care to make sure your filled with lust and sparks, walking you closer and closer and closer to the edge with each touch, making you cum and then making you cum again, it's worse, better, when his patience is worn down, thinned, and he gets swept up in the pulsing, persuasive current of his arousal. The sensation buzzes underneath his skin like a live wire that demands his attention. He loses himself to it. So, suddenly, there's no room to think about giving you, and you alone, more and more. He has to take something for himself.

You want him to take it all.

Take you.

Have you.

Fuck you.

You've had enough. You don't need more when he gets like that; you could subsist off of the second-hand pleasure from him.

Christ.

It makes you feel sinful and powerful, the way he takes his pleasure from you. How he reacts to you. How he can't have enough of you. You're just too damn much for him to stand in the most erotic way.

Yeah, yeah, he can have you.

This time, when he reaches that point--his flesh and muscle melted down, leaving no strength, no defense to resist the bone-deep need he feels--he's already done so much. Given you so much.

Jesus Christ.

He's already gone down on you, his mouth putting in work between your legs, shameless and unrestrained with his tongue and lips and just that daring, dangerous hint of teeth with the sharp, heated edges of his beard.

You came with his beard scratching against your sensitive skin, hot, wet, hot, wet, so hot and wet, sofuckingwet, making you feel so wet. Shivering with the friction of his bearded jaw as it fucking started a fire but the fire is molten liquid that feels as if it's almost gushing from inside you. Flames consuming your body from the inside out. Fuck, Chris knows just how to stoke the flames, too. He strokes and rubs and presses with his tongue and lips and bearded jaw, even his nose, bumping your clit at the fucking perfect moment, keeping you purring. Roaring. If he's not fucking careful you'll burn the house down.

Ah!

He's already fingered you, too, working you to the brink and making you crash over it with his thick fingers curling inside you.

His fingers urge c'mere, c'mere, c'mere from within you, beckoning against that spot that makes your eyes roll back, a gasping moan overflowing from your lips, humid and all rasping breath. You'll go anywhere he tells you to, and you won't think twice, your back arching into a curve so deep you know you'll feel it in your muscles later. You don't care. You just want him to do it again.

A-again, oh, God, please, again, Chris!

And he's already fucked you, too. His rhythm filthy and fluid, unstopping, just building gloriously, with his thrusts carving deep enough to make you pant, at just the right angle to leave your nails digging into his shoulders, and then, God, then, sliding his hand sensually, heavily down your stomach to press the heel of his palm against your clit as he works, leaving you unable to shut your mouth, nearly drooling. Every time he thrusts inside you, your body arches and shudders as if possessed by animal lust and your clit rubs against his palm like a firework exploding.

Arousal curled so tightly inside you that it hurt. The pressure against your clit, the thickness of him inside you, the sounds of your bodies together adding to it divinely. Deliciously. God. God, it was all just biting and rough enough that you came clenching desperately around his cock, split open yet tangled into a tight, tight, tight knot.

Now, exhausted and just on the knifes edge of raw, pain mixing into your pleasure like venom that burns so sweetly yet leaves you limp and helpless, you're somehow still heated. You blame him. Jesus Christ. He's a fucking dog under all that pretty and polite. Bastard. How he keeps fucking fuck-just fucking going is beyond you sometimes. You're never going to tell him that, though. Then he might stop.

Nothing could be worse than him stopping.

You're hot everywhere and you can feel yourself dripping when he pulls his cock out of you with a lewd squelch that just fucking ties back into your fever. Bastard. He's the worst. How could he do this to you!? Oh, God, that fucking soaked sound echos through your head--his dick pulling out of your clenching pussy, clenching trying to fucking keep him where he belongs, deep and heavy inside you--and turns your vision to static. More and more, the longer you have to deal with that on loop in your head without anything other sensory input to drown it out and leave you thoughtless, you turn into static.

Squelch.

You hear it. You feel it. You're soaked.

Yet, he doesn't fuck back in, splitting you again, and finish like you expect. Like you want. You ache without him, you're so open, shivering and almost cold without the heat of him draped across you--shoved inside you.

Instead of fucking you until he cums, thrusts sloppier and messier now that he's focused on the pleasure tearing through him on a rampage, his hands glide over your goosebump-ed, slick skin. You're sweating so badly. You're leaking, too. More. Dripping. You need him. You don't need more, you might not be able to cum again, too much too soon, too good, but you want him to do whatever he wants to you. Desperately, you want it. It's all you can think about. All-consuming and ravenous.

As you shiver, weak and strung out, he turns your spread, melted body over, letting you soak into the sheets like butter on hot toast, and pulls you onto your knees.

Just onto your knees, getting them underneath you. He doesn't bother to untangle your fists from the messy sheets when you grab them, needing something to hold onto as anticipation wracks you. Despite how weak you feel, over-satiated and shaking, he knows he won't be able to rip you off of them. Fisting the sheets, you're too overwhelmed and wound too tight despite having cum multiple times already. He just needs you on your knees. He just--

He just needs you.

He can have you for his own desires. Anything. Everything.

Your blushing face and tits are pressed wantonly into the mused bed as your chest heaves. You're moaning wetly, breathily, into the mattress, hardly muffled at all with the lust he stirs in you as his big, heavy hands run up your back. His blunt fingernails stretch just a touch, that delicious bit of recklessness surging through. It feels so good. It must look good, too, because he groans deeply as you instinctively arch for him. And, oh, fuck--

Oh.

Oh, yesss.

You urgently fight your shaking, well-used muscles to arch just a little deeper, spread your thighs just a bit wider, and grasp the sheets just a little bit more in response to the dizzying slick sounds of his fist flying tightly over his cock. He's wet, too. Dripping with you. Using your wetness to slick himself. So shameless about it. And, shit, his voice chases the desperate sounds of he grips himself, a noise of agonized arousal, almost too turned on by you. A kick to the chest. Painful with how he's held off, devastated by the way it feels to let go.

It feels so good. It rolls off of him in waves as he grits out a few swears from behind you, jerking himself off frantically, that Boston accent coming out full force, cutting his filthy mouthed swears off at the end.

Fuckin', Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby.

Oh, the way that fills you with hot, clenching need all over again...

Want isn't a strong enough word. Need isn't strong enough, either. The way it makes you feel is insane; the way he makes you feel is insane with his eyes heated as they stare at your body, dragging across your skin in the most sultry way, all but sizzling, gazing at you so intensely you feel it through your whole body. Ripples of pleasure, just from being so thoroughly enjoyed. Stared at like that.

Fuck, it's like being prey, but you want it. You want to be torn into. You gasp with anticipation every time his teeth loom nearer, poised to bite down and make a feast of you--the sticky, leaking head of his cock keeps brushing hotly against your ass, his breath humid as it fans out against your skin. He's gone from kneeling upright behind you, taking you in, to curling forward, so attracted to you it's like gravity. Crumbling. He just can't help it.

Again, again, and again, his hips jerk forward instinctively. Fucking forward. Bucking needily. And you just keep choking on the sensation of his cock against your ass, smearing his pre-cum and your own slick wetness into you. God. Your thighs slide apart wider without your conscious mind having anything to say about it. He's so painstakingly close.

He could just--

He could slide right in. You're so wet. Wetter now, probably, then he was when he was inside you. It's just building. Building. Soaking. You're dripping, you swear it, melting from the inside out. If only he'd just--

He would hardly have to shift and he could fuck right into you!

He could do no work at all and shove himself inside, go back to filling you up. Fucking you hard. Carving space for himself inside your hot, wet, tight body and make you heavy with cock.

You want it so bad that your pussy throbs with your pounding heart. Frantic. A raw moan comes careening out of your mouth. You didn't even realize your mouth was still wide open, panting, chest heaving, heart racing faster.

As you struggle to breathe around the rising immense arousal inside you despite your emptied exhaustion from orgasming before, all the oxygen you get just makes you ignite more. Feeding the fire. Combusting hotly. Brightly. You feel all swollen and tight. Wet. You can hardly take it.

You can't take it!

Next, something of a whine surges out of your lungs. With each heave of your chest, you can feel your hard nipples brush against the sheets. You just feel tighter and tighter. Each time his cock brushes you, just the tip, each wet squelch of his fist, speeding up now, chasing and urgent, each sound he let's out, each gruff word he let's slip, swearing and saying your name, admiring you, using you, desperate to claim you until--

Ah, ah, ah! Ohh, God!

He does.

He cums wet and filthy across your presented ass with the most delicious sound and all the muscles under your too tight, feverish skin ripple all at once. And you sigh roughly. Raw, sandpaper edges to the sound. You're still fucking throbbing but you could--you could live, you could die happily with the sensation of his release soaking into your skin. You would ache but it would be more than enough, enough now and enough later to dive between your own thighs and touch yourself when he's not home later, on set, working, dipping your fingers into your own mess, stifling your sounds into his pillow, dreaming of the way he makes you feel, cumming to what he does to you.

You don't ache for long, though. You hardly have the time to think, to breathe before he's there. Here. He has you.

All he has to do to get you off is drag his fingers through the mess he's made across your ass and use it, as if he needs it, you're so drenched, to rub tight, fast circles around your clit.

OH!

It shocks you.

Electric.

So fittingly, lightning fast, one of your hands darts down to hold his hand there, fingers around his wrist as you uncontrollably gasp and plead for him to do that, yes, please, more, oh, ohh, Chris, yes! Just! Mmmgh! Just like th-thaaat! Reaching forward between your legs and touching, rubbing, merciless where you're most swollen and sensitive is nearly crewl at this point. It's murder. You mewl, grinding into the pressure, riding and riding the waves. It lasts. It really fucking lasts.

By the time you're done, you're more than exhausted and drenched. You already were those things, so what are you now? Not that it matters. You can't think. Your brain has turned to liquid and dripped out of your ears.

Giving up, your thighs slide apart shakily, leaving your heated, swollen slit to be revealed to the sex-thick air of the bedroom as you run across the bed like spilled ink, spread open and exposed. Messy. With the last of the air in your tender chest, you gasp--the air feels so shockingly cold, caressing your flesh. But you can't even speak to say so. It's so much. Overwhelming in every way. How does he do this to you? How does he manage to get so much from you? How does he manage to be kind and servicing and selfish and a fucking bastard? It's not fair! He drives you out of your mind, out of your body.

I hope that suffices 😘

[kozh-lucium]

BG3 Patch 6 teaser

Sooo... yeah. About that tweet Larian dropped. The one with Astarion and Gale. You know, as someone who used to ship them, I FUCKING HATE IT. Wtf Larian.

Honestly, it's not the D/S nature of that kiss that bothered me, but the expression of Gale AND the fact that they use him to showcase this kiss. Gale looks like he's so scared and ready to cry.

I get they want to do the biggest ship on the fandom, since previously we get SH/Laezel and Halsin/Astarion, but c'mon, Gale, who has been on the groomed/manipulated relationship before? The guy who very much implied that d/s isn't his cup of tea? Sure let's use that guy (/s).

I mean... ugh I get it, I probably overthinking it and it's simply from marketing purpose. But sorry I can't change how I feel that easily.

Moreso when Gale has been the butt of so many (sometimes degrading) jokes, both from the community and Larian itself.

And of course many people love that kiss simply because "Astarion is so hot there uwu". Not that I disagree (about astarion in that regard) nor wanting to speak ill of them, but idk, it's just feel a bit hypocritical when they're picking pitchfork whenever Astarion is depicted is a slightly degrading manner but is okay with other companions (especially Gale) is on the receiving end.

Tl;dr I'm on overthinking mode and absolutely hate how Larian decided to throw gasoline to the fire and stoke the already horny BG3 fandom.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Can you please make a continuation to tantra? 🥺 I Loved that one smm

Gonna combine these two because it just makes sense!

Love's Sweet Embrace

(AKA Tantra PT.2)

Pavitr x Wife!Reader

(Pavitr and Reader are adults in this fic.)

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, sex, protected sex (condom), piv sex, fluff, aftercare, Pavitr being an angel husband

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: We all know the P-Man would be the sweetest in terms of aftercare. Also I'm so sorry there are so many backlogged requests asdfghjkl. They're gonna be paused until I can catch up with them!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

So many times have you heard people coo and giggle about how you and Pavitr were so in love. So many times did old ladies grin and pat your hand, telling you how they were young once, too, when Pavitr simply couldn't stop kissing you in public.

You two had a blissful marriage in the short few months after the wedding. It was all going so wonderfully, it was like a dream come true; the kind of love Pavitr poured over you like warm honey, and the love you peppered all over his body with tiny kisses and sweet words.

You'd also learned that now that he didn't have to really hide it... Pavitr adored your breasts. Whenever he came home, he would bury his face in-between them. Whenever you snuggled, he'd bury his face into them.

You joked and said he had an addiction.

"Not an addiction. An obsession." He grinned up at you.

"Is there a difference?" You snorted, running your fingers through his hair.

"Uh.... Well. Uh..."

"Like I said." You grinned, booping his nose.

Another thing you learned was that Pavitr was interesting in the bedroom. And the living room. And the bathroom.

And that one time on the dining table...

The tantric sex that he'd tried with you was a favorite of his. He loved slow sex, and he knew just how badly it drove you insane.

He took his time with you, every single time, stoking the flames and pushing your buttons, not stopping until your mind was a haze and your clit was so sensitive you could cum from a puff of air.

It was maddening how much he enjoyed taking things slow. And was even more insane how you loved it yourself...

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

"P-Pavitr, please..." You whined, arching your back off the bed as he slowly rolled his hips into yours, his cock sinking slowly into your wet, needy pussy.

"I--I know." He groaned, biting his lip as he looked down at you, taking in your needy, whiny state.

God, you were gorgeous. The way your hands gripped the sheets, the way your sweat rolled off your body, how your eyes kept rolling and your lashes brushed your cheeks.

Hia gorgeous wife, the absolute love and treasure of his life. His bright shining star in the sky.

There weren't enough words for him to describe you and what you meant to him, not enough words to translate or even speak.

Your heels pressed into the dips in his back, forcing him deeper into you as you moaned loudly, your pussy gripping him so tight he thought you were choking the air out of him just from his dick alone.

When your orgasm hit you, he doubled over you, slowly thrusting; his pace slightly quickened but still slow as he gently helped you ride out your orgasm.

He buried his nose in your hair and made a soft noise, a sound bordering on a whine and a guttural moan as your nails bit into his shoulders.

"Pav--" You hiccup softly, your hips sore and tired from the exhausting and same-as-always slow sex session. You were exhausted, sweaty and out of breath.

"It's okay..." You breathe, kissing his cheek and panting in his ear.

"It's okay, go on."

Your airy and fucked-out voice is what ultimately pushed him over that edge he was teetering on, his hips stuttering into yours in less coordinated, loose thrusts as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and gripping you tight as he pumped his load into the condom wrapped snugly around his cock.

Now that you were married it was off and on when you would use protection. A bit reckless, but you both had so much trust in one another that you'd support each other no matter what life threw at you.

You shared breaths on messy, sweet kisses, tongues dancing in a lewd tango as he pulled his softening cock out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss of him.

"Go on and rest, lovie, m'kay?" Pavitr said to you, in between sweet kisses he planted all over your face.

"Mhmm..." You hummed, dropping your head onto the pillows as Pavitr slowly pulled himself off of you. Your body felt cold and barren without his warmth around you, and you pouted at the loss as he walked away and into the bathroom. But, you were too exhausted to care.

You were a little relieved Pavitr didn't want to try for a round two. From the long, slow sex and the tiring day you had at work? You were dead exhausted.

You weren't aware how much time had passed or even when precisely you nodded off, until you felt yourself being scooped up and being carried through the air.

"Pavitr?" You asked, your voice drowsy as he carried you into the bathroom.

"Easy there, babygirl." Pavitr smiled, kissing your temple as he carried you past the door.

You looked around and saw two candles lit, your favorite scent. When your eyes dragged to the bathtub, you saw the tub was full of nice steaming water, bubbles, and what looks like a bath bomb had been dropped in, making the water shine with a pearlescent sheen.

He set you down and gave a sheepish grin when you looked back at him.

"Pav?" You balked.

"C'mon! You know me, I'm all for aftercare! And besides, you are the best wife ever. I gotta make sure my girl knows how awesome she is!" He said, with a flip of his hair.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and bumped your nose to his, a giddy smile on your lips.

"Get in with me?"

He looked at you, his warm, dark eyes gazing at you with a love-drunk look. "Sure."

The bath was amazing, the water emanating a soft strawberry scent as you both sunk in. You could feel the oils moisturize your skin, the light, body-safe glitter making your skin shine.

Pavitr hummed as he sat behind you, massaging your shoulders with his thumbs, easing the knots and tension from your back.

"God, yes... Please keep going." You groaned, brows pinched together as that electrifying sensation spread through you as his skilled hands eased every tough point of muscle, every bit of tension simply melting away like hot butter.

When you relaxed against him, Pavitr wrapped his arms around you, his athletic body wrapped so snugly around yours in the cramped space of your bathtub.

"Feeling better?" He asked you, your hands twining together in the water.

"Mhmmm..." You sigh, looking down at your left hands, matching bands shining brightly in your ring fingers.

"Good. You've been working so hard, lately, babe." He murmurs, planting a kiss to your shoulder.

"I know, we just have that stupid quota to meet..." You groan.

"Mmh." Pavitr huffed. "But still, you're such a hard worker, you deserve a break."

"I deserve a break?" You giggle, turning to look at him. "You are a damn superhero! If anyone deserves a break, it's you!"

Pavitr grinned, his cheeks flushing a bit. Never fails, your gorgeous husband would always blush like a schoolboy when you said things like that about him.

"Well... I'm used to that, and I've found a bit of work/life balance. Your boss is just using you as a mule at this point." He says softly.

He buried his face in the crook of your shoulder.

"That and... well... I kinda did a number on you tonight." He mumbled sheepishly.

You grin and squeeze his hands in yours.

"Well... if anything, you're certainly, thorough. You won't catch me complaining every time you put my legs out of commission." You quip playfully.

You couldn't contain the fit of giggles that erupted out of you at Pavitr's embarrassed squeak.

"Babe!"

[crowscallthecrows]

Stained fingers were one thing, but the thick knots that plagued his hands were the real trouble. Every once in a while they would bite like knats, making their way up his knuckles, the flats of his palms, even down the sides of his arms when God seemed to be against him

They weren't impossible to deal with had it not been for the boredom that came with it, and the inconvenience was even worse. His fingers seemed to twitch in every way but the direction he wanted, the grip never staying firm and it didn't matter what he did to prevent it: new pieces of charcoal were cracked, books slipped through the spindly gaps of his hands.

Not much could be done, anyway, other then wait until they faded over time. Believe it or not, he could actually deal with the factors that came with them level headed.

All except for one.

Violet cursed at his hands, and then at his reflection where his face laid undeniably bare. He'd gotten as far as powedering his face and neck for the usual white base to work with, but the minute his mind was set to his eyes or god forbid, his lips, his hands simply chose that very moment to tremor.

After few attempts that had him damn near throwing the product against the wall, it came down to three very unattractive options.

One, he could try to do himself up as usual, and take the curse of uneven stokes, unblended pigment, and overlined lips with his head hanging. He was a prefect. No one would dare say anything unless it were Cheslock (big mouth, that one) or another prefect (who's opinions he happened to care about very much).

Two, he could say fuck all, shrivel in his hood all day, while simultaneously risking the world of Weston by giving the first glance of Gregory Violet's raw face. At the cost of his already shot pride, of course.

Three, he could hole himself up in his room until the shaking settles. A choice dressed in fool's gold, Violet thinks, because while he didn't give a shit about his prefect duties to begin with, he would miss the idle chatter of his friends, and the light buzz of their voics wouldn't fill his head in pleasant drones

So he does the one thing he can think of.

Scrawling a quick note, he sends it off with Cheslock.

--

"Hold still, as I have said, for the 7th time."

Lawrence shifts his weight to get in a better position, and Violet can't help the shudder that escapes from between his lips, that Lawrence definitely feels on his neck but chooses to ignore.

Edgar laughs from his couch, waving his hand in their general direction. "I didn't know you could be capable of such teasing, Lawrence."

"It's Bluewer, and I believe this position is necessary for the best results."

Herman awkwardly clears his throat and his eyes briefly scan over the pink tinted ears of their fags. "...It doesn't look necessary."

Violet feels Lawrence's scoff against his lips and his hands twitch, not in pain this time, but with the reoccurring fantasy of placing them on on the sharp curves of the prefect's hips. Lawrence adjusts himself on his knees before resting on Violet's lap once more.

It's Edward that fills the silence that Edgar nor Lawrence nor Gregory noticed in their distraction, wringing his hands briefly.

"Are you familiar with makeup, Bluewer?"

"Quite," he answers without looking up from Violet's features and leaning back to see them as a whole, before resuming his current blend. "My sisters' are fond with it, and the younger ones often need help applying. Obviously, I'm no better then, say, Mother, but they would come to me if she or the others had their hands full."

Violet's mouth is dry. Every movement, every word from Lawrence he can feel as if they're connected, from the very tickle of his breaths. Either Lawrence is playing oblivious to the eyes of the man under him, lingering, or he's simply too engrossed in the task to notice. He's suddenly consciously aware of the chapped texture of his lips, forcing the urge to run his tongue over them as Lawrence applies a thin line of pigment.

With one final look over, the blue prefect smiles triumphantly as he brushes Violet's bangs back in place.

"Finished. It's not how you usually do it exactly, but it'll do for now."

Herman looks up as Lawrence gets to his feet and nods in agreement. "Fine work, Bluewer. Violet, I do hope your hands get better soon."

Edgar stands to take a closer look with a grin. "Violet indeed looks like Violet! Splendid work, Lawrence, really."

"You're too close," Violet mumbles, pulling his hood over his eyes. "...thank you, Bluewer."

"Always," he motions to Clayton for his book as he sits back on his own couch. "You come to me directly if you need me in the future."

"Ah!" Edgar snaps his fingers. "Greenhill, you wouldn't mind fixing Violet's little problem, would you?"

Maurice cocks his head. "How do you mean, Redmond?"

Herman looks at Edgar warily as he rambles.

"Greenhill's strenght is absolutely vital when my back is stiff and sore as a board from dancing-"

"I've never seen you dance-"

"-and I very well have touched the clouds of heaven when his thumbs run over the right spots, oh do try it Violet, I'm positive your hands will feel at least a little better, please-"

"I wasn’t aware the both of you- well, all four of you actually- were so close," Clayton stutters as he fiddles with his glasses.

Cheslock rolls his eyes. " 'course they're not. All the houses hate each other to the bloody core."

"Even so," Herman puts down his weights neatly on the floor. "It would be an unfair rivalry if the prefect of Purple House continued on at this disadvantage."

Lawrence peers at them though his hair. "It wouldn't do you any harm to try."

Edgar nods eagerly. "Do let him, I'm telling you it's splendid-"

Herman sits gently beside him. "It's up to you, Violet."

Violet holds out his hands.

[jeffgerstmann]

So apparently AEW pays well and that's bad?

I know a couple of current WWE folks who definitely got better contracts simply because AEW existed and, thus, created a world where people might jump ship and go somewhere else.

But yeah, I don't know, people are fuckin' crazy. That said, with all of the recent free agent talk going around and that article that is all "WWE needs to look in the mirror about why they keep losing free agents to AEW," I think that's a little off the mark.

Like, yes, in a theoretical, big-picture kind of way the WWE should probably ask themselves why people would want to work anywhere else. And they can chalk it up to "well, we've had some negative press lately" or "this person just didn't want to work as many dates" or whatever. Each case will be different. But I think in the three recent cases cited, there are very real life reasons why none of those three would go with WWE. It's great that the offer from AEW was better and, honestly, I think those signees will easily find more success in AEW than they would in WWE.

Like let's not kid ourselves here: WWE could have offered Okada a fuckton of money, but would he actually make a meaningful mark in the WWE? He'd come in, the announcers would have to spend a ton of time educating the audience on why he matters because most of their audience doesn't watch anything else, and he'd probably just end up being the next foreign heel. The types of great matches he had in NJPW aren't really the kinds of things that WWE is looking for or especially needs more of. They'd probably rush him into a main event program for three months or so and then do something embarrassing with him. He'd be tagging with Nakamura in a team with a vaguely racist-sounding name or something shitty like that. He'd be another amazing performer in search of a meaningful storyline and the WWE's midcard is fucking stuffed full of guys like that right now. He'd be losing to Karrion Kross by Survivor Series.

Tack on the notion that WWE's business is doing really well and they're selling tickets everywhere they go and inventing new, more evil forms of revenue all the time and it's easy to see that WWE doesn't need Okada. They need to be making sure that they have a fresh crop of young talent ready to take over when the current headliners fall off or move on. At 36, Okada isn't quite that guy.

However, Okada is a great fit for AEW and its audience. Too good, actually. I mean I don't think he'll be a "needle mover" on the ratings because anyone in this country who knows who Okada even is already watches AEW. They're super-serving their audience. They're "building golden toilets" for their fanbase. As someone who really likes that shit, I'm stoked. But the weirdo ratings nuts online who live and die by television ratings are melting down over "is Okada a draw or not" or something. And I think it'd probably be obvious to anyone who really sat down and thought about it that Okada wasn't ever going to drag in a whole new American audience.

I'd say mostly the same thing about Ospreay. He'd become the leader of the Catch Wrestling Crew or whatever the fuck they're called now.

The other thing I'd say is that, over time, a better program will probably attract a larger audience. So AEW's programming is better by way of these new signings. They're great performers and I think they both have the ability to be super big in the US for years to come, provided they're working somewhere that plays to their strengths.

Bringing Sasha Banks over to AEW has a chance to bring in new audience since she had a level of fame here in the States already and, hey, maybe fans of hers weren't already watching AEW. It's possible! Punk did it, right? We'll see. That might immediately make her more valuable than Ospreay and Okada. That said, there are already a ton of women that I'd love to see more of on AEW TV, so inserting another star at the top of that division kinda rubs me the wrong way.

Either way, I think these three specific cases are, well, specific enough that trying to use this to claim that WWE is "losing out" on this free agency stuff is probably wrong. They know how much they're willing to spend on an individual talent, they've been at this long enough to have a pretty good idea how some of these people are likely to monetize once they get there, and they're simply not going to overspend on any talent anymore because they're really focused on trying to bring in new talent and raise them up through their system. For all we know, AEW overspent on all three.

But they aren't spending my money, so fuck it! It's awesome! I only get mad when the people I want to see are locked behind the ROH paywall. Like Athena! Put her on real TV, she's fantastic! What the fuck!

[blacklegsanjiii]

North Blue Language CH. 1

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Vinsmoke Sora

Can also be read on AO3 here!

CH 2! CH 3! CH 4! CH 5! CH 6!

Sora holds herself with the grace of royalty and being from the North Blue, where much was in ruins at that moment, he could see it.

Sanji knows his mom has been through hell, he does. She poisoned herself to reverse what his father had done to him and his brothers when they were in the womb and it only worked on him. That's why he's stealing from the little boat, because he owes it to her to make sure they can eat since she's so sick. He chokes as a hand fists into his shirt and pulls him back and Sanji is eye to eye with Dracule Mihawk and oh he fucked up. 

“I'm sorry!” Sanji exclaims dropping what little he had grabbed, which was a loaf of bread and three cans of food. Mihawk looks over the dropped items and then the boy. He pulls the kid off the boat and keeping his hand fisted in his shirt pulls him onto the main road way near the docks. Sanji doesn't say anything and instead tries to follow as best he can lest the swordsman kills him or his mother.

“Where the hell is the orphanage on this damned island?” The man growls before heading off and dragging Sanji with. 

“I'm not an orphan.” Sanji replies weakly trying to look for the abandoned shack that held his mother. 

“Then perhaps your mother should have raised you better.” Mihawk mutters as the boy began twisting his hold. “Quit that.”

“Don't talk about my mother like that!” Sanji seethes. They continue walking, Sanji gripping Mihawk's hand to keep him from ripping the shirt more than it already was when Sanji sticks a finger out pointing. “I live there.” 

“And?” Mihawk growls, dragging the boy further still.

“My mother is there, she's sick, I have to get back to her.” Sanji says, struggling with a new vigor. Mihawk drags him to the derelict building and almost breaks the door as he slams it open and finds a woman, who looks a lot like the boy he has in his hand. They're both very light blond and have sea blue eyes and are very thin. She looks like she's on her way to death’s door if Mihawk is honest. 

“Sanji? What did you do?” She asks as Mihawk let him go and Sanji ran to her, arms wrapped around each other he mumbles his answer to her shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she looks to Mihawk, “I'll make sure he never does it again.” 

“Given the circumstances it’s understandable.” Mihawk states which is as close to forgiveness as he'll give, usually. “You're not from here.” He catches them off guard with that.

“No, we're from the North Blue.” She nods. 

“And what brought you to the East Blue?” Mihawk asks.

“I had to save my son.” She gave Mihawk a look and it stoked something inside the man. She held herself with the grace of royalty and being from the North Blue, where much was in ruins at that moment, he could see it.

“Come with me.” He says, shocking everyone in the shack.

“What?” The woman asked. “You don't even know us.” She argues.

“I can tell you'll both die here without help.” Mihawk says. “You called him Sanji earlier.” The woman and the boy looked at each other, the silent conversation ended with the woman nodding at him. “Then let's get going.” Mihawk orders. The boy stood and helps his mother who is fairly weak. They walk slowly back to the coffin ship, Mihawk glared down any onlookers who dared to simply whisper or gawk.

Once they were settled and Mihawk split the loaf of bread between them and got the ship moving did the woman speak again.

“Why?” Was all she asked and Mihawk took his eyes off the ocean to look.

“You know how to keep a secret.” Mihawk answers and she nods. They sail for two days before reaching an island that knew Mihawk well enough to not ask questions. He also learns Sanji and his mother, Sora, had been struggling for a good few months. They didn't explain much, other than that Sanji had been trying to work to keep them afloat but a child would never be paid much, even if they were better than an adult. 

“You said you had to save your son, why?” Mihawk asks, looking at her. 

“Why did I have to save him or why did I?” Sora asks back. Sanji is asleep, albeit fitfully with his head in his mother's lap. She pets his hair but it doesn't seem to help much. She receives no answer but shares look between the two. “I poisoned myself to save my children, but it only worked on one. He thought I was dead for two years before I managed to get us both out. He blamed himself because his siblings don't have the same faculties as he does.” Sora explains. 

“I see.” Mihawk replies. He doesn't understand it, not really but he guides the coffin ship to the dock. Sanji woke and tied the boat to the dock quickly. The knot was good and tight and Sanji stood on the dock double checking. Mihawk and Sora took some time getting onto land, she was weak but her determination was admirable. They walk for a while, gathering some supplies before heading to an inn where Mihawk got their rooms. “You both need a bath.” Mihawk says without thinking.

“As do you, Sir Mihawk.” Sora smiles at him. “Go take one in your room, we've got it.” 

The swordsman nods and they part ways. Mihawk takes his bath and cleanses himself and tries to pick apart what he had done. Sora certainly held herself like royalty, her posture immaculate and her pain well hidden. She also had more kids than Sanji. He didn't know what other ‘faculties’ his siblings were missing but chances are Sanji was singled out for not measuring up. He finishes his bath and put on fresh clothes when he realizes he had the bag of clothes he bought them in his room. He grabs it and walks to the room they were in, Sanji was nowhere to be found but he can hear humming. It's an old North Blue lullaby, one Mihawk remembers from his time traveling there when he was working to become what he is now.

“Sanji?” Sora calls from the bathroom.

“No.” Mihawk answers. “Are you alright?” He couldn't help but ask. The quiet lasted longer than a few moments and having not received an answer he opened to the door slowly and saw Sora in the bath. They were staring at each other, confusion and shock in both sea blue and ringed yellow eyes. 

“What are you-” Sora starts.

“Are you stuck?” Mihawk asks at the same time. They stare at each other again neither answering other than Sora shyly nodding after a moment. Mihawk helps her out and hands her a towel and rushes out of the bathroom quickly. He was not shy about nudity or sex or any of that, but Sora was not a pirate and had her son with her. She was certainly more shy about certain things than he was. He laid out the clothes he thought best on the bed as Sanji came back into the room.

“Oh, hi.” He whispers meekly as Mihawk nods to him. 

“I got you both some clothes. They'll hold up longer than the rags you both claim are clothes.” Mihawk says and Sanji nods.

“Thank you, sir.” Sanji mumbles. They don't talk and Sora comes out and she gives them both a look.

“Pray tell, what happened out here?” She asks as Sanji hurries past her, successfully dodging past her without bumping her and shutting the bathroom door.

“I brought clothes for you both.” Mihawk answers.

“You're being extremely kind for a pirate,” Sora hums out, "but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?” 

“The dress should be easiest to put on.” Mihawk replies instead and Sora nods. “I'll leave you to get dressed, I'll bring dinner soon.” 

Sora nods and Mihawk leaves. Later dinner is a quiet affair, Sora and Mihawk talk rarely and lightly and Sanji doesn't speak at all, despite Sora trying to get him to. Mihawk doesn't push one way or the other. Sora is pleasant company and Sanji is well behaved. Maybe a little too well behaved but Mihawk will tackle that beast later. After they're done Sanji quickly nabs the dishes and cutlery and bolts out of the room, Mihawk spares a glance that followed the boy.

“What time will we be leaving?” Sora asks as she gathers the spare clothes Mihawk had purchased.

“Before lunch.” Mihawk answers, moving to leave.

“I must thank you again, Sir Mihawk.” Sora says.

“You keep referring to me as ‘sir’ yet I am no knight nor am I remarkably honorable.” Mihawk responds looking at her. “Am I right to infer that you're royalty?” 

“Not anymore, though it's a force of habit I will try to break.” Sora answers. “Sleep well.” 

“And you.” Mihawk drawled leaving. Ex royalty then. Mihawk tries to think of any recently fallen kingdoms or kingdoms that lost members of their family and couldn't place any that looked like those two. Sanji's twirly brow would stand out everywhere. Mihawk tries not to dwell on it. Even to the next day as Sanji helps him load the coffin ship and Mihawk helps Sora in. They don't talk much, Mihawk warns them of the dangers on Kuraigana, possible bounty hunters or Marines but neither seemed to be concerned about either of those. There might be much worse after them then, Mihawk thinks, but nothing he couldn't handle most likely.

They're arrival is marked by Sanji taking the first items to the kitchen while Mihawk shows Sora to a room before going to help Sanji who has managed to find the kitchen and has brought in a good amount of the supplies already. The boy was quick so Mihawk follows to make sure they miss nothing and the humandrills won't bother the kid. They don't but Sanji's eyes flick through the trees enough to pique Mihawk's interest into what the boy could do.