#it takes so much of his body’s effort just like keeping him functional it’s impossible for him to get past 5’2

[kiddokori]

ive seen the idea that link’s power of the triforce manifests itself in the fact that hes able to tank hits that would kill any normal person and then get up again no problem i have Not seen anyone point out that this could coincide with his love to eat and sleep. when normal people just lightly work out it shoots up how much they need to eat to fuel all that effort imagine youre running for days straight no pitstops and also fighting dragons and also almost dying every day this guy has to carbo load like crazy to keep up with all the shit he does. and then to get out of it mostly unscathed your body needs rest when it’s hurt and also just like in general no wonder he immediately passes the fuck out whenever he sits still for more than two seconds. he’s like a giant furnace you gotta just constantly shovel coal into aka he eats as much as 10 people in one sitting and then conks out for 48 hours

[galacticgraffiti]

⋆☾⋆ Big Love Ahead (2) ⋆☽⋆

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: After you start to get better, feelings start to grow - and you find out Halsin's secret. Or: Halsin is the softest man and I want to live the cottagecore fantasy with him so bad.

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6k Descriptors: The first two chapters are fairly genderneutral. Reader's physique is not really described aside from being quite a bit shorter and smaller than Halsin. CW: Fluff, softness, building up some feelings before we get to fucking, pet names, oblivious pining, Halsin in bear form, thirsting for druids is hot, talks about feelings, resolving the tension.

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Chapter 2: The Bear

The morning brings… surprises.

You wake up, your legs sore and your functional arm sorer, but you feel clean, and your hair still smells of Halsin.

You stretch, clenching your teeth at the pain that flares up as your muscles contract and your joints crack into place. New bandages cover your deeper wounds, and oddly enough, the sight of them makes you smile. Halsin must have dressed the wounds after you had already fallen asleep.

The thought of leaving the bed seems terrible, except that the last thing you remember is Halsin telling you he sleeps right outside. It may just be worth it to leave the comforts of your sheets to find him. You can imagine him now, his large form curled up by a fire, watching the stars in the night sky move with his impossible patience as he falls asleep, and seeing the sun rise in his golden eyes when he wakes.

You wrap yourself in your sheet and try not to collapse as you limp towards the entrance. It is only a few steps, but the way seems entirely too long, even if you can lean against the cave wall to prop yourself up. The outside is already bright with the light of dawn, and you squint into the sun, taking in the newly familiar sight of the grove and meadow, feeling the grass underneath your bare feet for the first time.

At first glance, you don’t see Halsin anywhere. There is no campfire like you thought there might be, no tent or even a bedroll. You look around, a little lost for what to do. This has never happened before - you have not been able to walk by yourself for so long, and you have never left the cave before yesterday’s bath. You had never needed to before - Halsin was always there whenever you required anything, and most of your time has been spent sleeping, reading and recovering.

You look around, taking in the fresh morning air and the beauty of nature before you, when a noise catches your attention. It comes from the shadows beside the cave, right behind a big boulder covered in moss. It sounds… almost like a snore. Except no person could ever produce such a noise, not even one of Halsin’s size. It’s much too loud, much too… animalistic. But Halsin would never let you sleep anywhere where you were at risk of being attacked, right? Surely not. He wouldn’t leave you alone if he was not sure that you were safe.

Carefully, though your entire body is screaming DANGER, you make your way around the boulder. And you are met by the sight of…

A really large fucking bear.

A bear. Next to your cave. Sleeping, curled in on itself, its giant head resting on huge paws with sharp claws. You can see its chest expand with deep breaths, and if it weren’t right there in front of you, you would find it fascinating. The bear shifts, huffing as it moves, it’s nose scrunching up.

You nearly scream.

But its eyes are closed, and you press your hand to your mouth just in time that all you utter is a muffled “hmph”.

You stare and stare. Your eye twitches. Your legs shake, as if the new effort of keeping yourself upright was not enough already.

You press your lips together and try to breathe as quietly as you can. And then, you move. Slowly, ever so slowly, you try to make your way back towards the cave, away from the animal that sleeps right next to your resting place. Then, a thought comes crashing in: Halsin. Where is he? Did that bear do something to him? What happened to-

In your panic, your silly feet miss a step. It’s like you are falling in slow motion, the world blurring around you. You hit the ground with a dull crack and a cry of pain escapes from your throat. The bear grunts, its head raising.

Your spine aches and all the air that has been pressed from your lungs when you hit the ground floods back in, but you don’t scream. Instead, you close your eyes and… give up. What else is there to do?

You can hear the bear shift, and you can almost feel its breath on your face, sharp fangs glittering behind your eyelids as you wait for the worst; wait to be mauled to death, to be ripped open and devoured in a bloody mess of bones and cartilage.

The worst does not come.

When you are brave enough to open your eyes again, the bear is staring right at you. With Halsin’s golden irises glowing in its face.

*****

You get over it.

Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it.

You… find out. And you accept it. As soon as your mouth has stopped screaming in terror, as soon as paw turns into hand and fur into skin, you accept what has happened.

Halsin’s explanations make sense, and his voice calms you. You feel so stupid- you should have connected the dots ealier. But your mind is still reeling, and your heartbeat still much too fast. You might have collapsed if you were not already on the ground, but… you are oddly fine with it.

It’s just him. For a moment, the relief that nothing bad has happened to him cuts through the surprise, and that is enough to ground you. You pull yourself together and snap your mouth shut. You stare and stare, not moving, but not moving away either, as Halsin carefully approaches you, both hands raised in the air.

He sits down next to you with a sigh, far away so he won’t touch you. You watch him, watch his profile. And all you can think is: you should have known. A wood elf with his build? Of course he is a fucking bear. Of course this happens. You should have expected it.

Once the panic starts to fade, you are just ashamed at your reaction, which is not helped by Halsin apologising way more than he should.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you hear your voice say, eventually, though your mind is still somewhere else entirely, but he keeps on saying sorry for something nobody should ever have to apologise for. “You are just… a bear. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I should have told you.” He sounds so broken that you shatter at the sound of his voice. “I should have-”

“You should have nothing,” you interrupt him. “This changes nothing. I’m fine, I promise. I was just… surprised. I’m sorry I reacted so poorly, I should have made the connection sooner, but I swear I’m alright.”

“You were screaming for about ten minutes there.” His voice is so dry and matter of fact that you nearly burst into laughter.

“I… I mean, yes.” You take a deep breath. “Was this the ideal way to find out? Absolutely fucking not. But… Halsin. Nothing could change the way I feel about you.”

“You… feel about me?” He seems genuinely confused.

You roll your eyes, and everything you have been keeping inside for weeks now, all the feelings you tried to shun and suppress, bubble to the surface.

“You are incredible,” you whisper. You push yourself closer to him, your fingers finding his and holding tight. “I…The way you took care of me- I should have guessed you were a druid. I should have known-”

“-you couldn’t have-”

“-and even if I had known earlier, or even if I hadn’t found out just now, nothing would have changed. I love staying here, with you.”

His fingers squeeze yours gently.

“I am glad I found you, you know? This summer has been one of the best I have had in many years.”

You smile quietly, but you don’t push him. There has been a sizable surprise already, you are not sure you could take another one. You are happy just sitting next to him, his large palm covering your hand entirely.

You limp back into the cave eventually, holding onto Halsin’s thick forearm for stability, and curl up in bed again.

“I won’t ask any questions,” you say as he sits by your side, peeling berries from a twig. “But you can always talk to me. You know that, right?”

There is a small smile in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you lay back, your lids shutting all on their own.

You dream of a bear with Halsin’s voice and Halsin’s eyes, leading you through a forest with thick trees and sweet smells. He never leaves your side and you are never lost.

*****

The next day, you ask Halsin if he can carry you to the meadow that lies before the cave.

“I cannot bear another day of being bed-ridden,” you complain. After a moment of hesitation, you add deviously, “...no pun intended.”

Halsin’s face freezes, then he bursts out in laughter, so loud it makes your ears hurt in the small space of the cave. You watch his shoulders shake with joy and think to yourself that you have never been happier.

You could probably walk to the meadow by yourself if you had a walking stick or something similar. After all, you made it nearly all the way yesterday. Neither of you ever mentions that, not when he scoops you up into his arms, and not when he kneels on the softest patch of grass he can find to put you down. You like being taken care of. You like being taken care of by him. And you get the feeling he likes taking care of you, too. One day, you’ll return the favour.

You spend the whole day there, watching Halsin go about his day, enjoying the sun on your face and the birdsong around you. The meadow is beautiful, and your eyes keep finding something new every time you look around. When Halsin carries you back to your bed that night, you can barely sleep thinking about what the next day might bring.

He carries you to the meadow every day from then on, and lays you down, as gently as if you could break, to rest in the summery sunlight. You ask him if he has anything you could help with, and he shows you how to weave baskets, how to skin an animal so you can use its hide, how to whittle and sharpen your knives and so much more. You get the feeling he just enjoys teaching you things - none of this is actually directly helpful to him in any way. 

But when his deep voice calmly instructs you and sings your praises when you manage to get things right, how could you ever complain? And it’s nice to see nature through his eyes: not scary and strange, but familiar and comforting, providing all anyone could ever need.

A week passes like that, and then another. Halsin spends more and more time by your side, brooding over scrolls, helping you hone your new skills. He fishes so he can stay close to you - or at least, you hope that is why. And one day, he asks you something unexpected.

He is sitting next to you, checking the rod of his fishing pole. You watch him as you always do - out of the corner of your eye, fascinated beyond measure by everything he does and the way he moves. He clears his throat suddenly, and you are startled from your daydreams.

“I want to ask you something. The bear… did I scare you?”

You consider this for a moment, your hand resting next to his on the damp grass.

“No,” you answer finally, and truthfully. “It- it scared me that I didn’t know it was you. But once I found out that you were the bear and the bear was you… you have never scared me. Never made me feel unsafe. Why should the bear be any different? He is just another part of you. Is there… Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he grumbles, shifting beside you, and putting down the fishing rod. “You haven’t seen me in that form since then, and… I didn’t know if you would mind.”

He sounds so cautious it makes you think that someone before you did, in fact, mind. But you don’t- and you tell him so.

“Good.” His sigh is one of relief, and a broad smile appears on his features. “I will be honest, I was getting tired of using a rod to catch our dinner.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he is saying. When you realise, a shiver runs down your spine - excitement more than anything else. You are way more excited to see his bear form again than you probably should be.

“Do you… usually catch fish as a bear?” you ask, trying to sound casual. Halsin turns to you, and your heart stumbles. His features are illuminated by the light of the afternoon, soft and glowing, and a strand of hair sticks to his cheek. You want to brush it back, you want to-

“I do, yes. It’s… easier. Less time consuming. And it’s not fishing - it’s a hunt. It is fun, and it helps me… keep control while I am human. The hunt relaxes me, but it also gets my blood pumping - it can be hard to control the beast if I don’t let it out every once in a while.”

You swallow thickly. You could imagine some other situations that would get his blood pumping-

“Ah,” is the only response you can utter without sounding like a desperate fool.

A moment passes. Halsin’s fingers play with the grass, pulling and weaving. You clear your throat.

“Well, I don’t think we have any food left for tonight.”

He looks up at you, his eyes shining. You know full well that there is a basket full of smoked meat in the cave, and a whole collection of berries, weeds and flowers to eat. He must know it too.

“Well, then,” is all Halsin says. “I’d better get you back inside and go hunting, wouldn’t I?”

He gets up, towering over you in all his glory. You bite your lip.

“Actually… I was thinking I could stay here,” you mumble.

Halsin cocks his head.

“You want to watch me hunt? I promise, it’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit quietly. “I just… like watching you. I would like to learn more about you - and about the bear. If that is what you want as well.”

“Hm.” He glances across the meadow, over to the river, where the water gurgles and the fishes leap. “I suppose… this should be far enough away.”

Excitement floods you like fire in your veins. You smile at him, squinting into the sun.

Halsin flashes you his teeth in a short smile. You try not to stare as he stalks over to the large boulder next to the cave and starts shedding his clothes. You try really, really hard. And you fail miserably.

You have never seen an elf with his build, the bulging muscles, the soft belly, the thickness of his thighs and the roundness of his broad shoulders. It gets you every time.

He wades into the water, and you watch as a golden shimmer flashes across his skin, bringing fur and claws and wildness with it. It makes you think of that time he built a bath for you - how his eyes flashed, how you told yourself that the spark in the water was just an odd trick of the light.

Now you think it might not have been. 

The beast is hard to control when my blood runs hot.

Your belly tightens when you think about the implications of it. Was he- when he got in the pool with you… how close had he been to losing control? What would-

A triumphant roar interrupts your budding inappropriate thoughts. You watch as the bear - large and imposing, the water parting around its mighty hind legs - scoops one fish after another from the river. The thought that this wild animal is Halsin- that he is actually in there, with all his careful attentiveness, all his gentle touches- makes you feel things you cannot describe.

The whole thing cannot last more than a few minutes, but you feel like you watch the bear forever, in all his wild golden-brown glory. Every once in a while, his head turns to you as if to make sure you are still watching. Eventually, the bear wades back to shore. Only as he comes closer do you realise just how huge he actually is: Round belly, soft fur and deceptively cute ears.

A sudden flash of panic surges through you when you realise that you have no way of escaping him.

Your arms start to shake and you have to remind yourself to take deep breaths. It’s Halsin. This is Halsin, he would never hurt you. You press your eyes shut, then hastily open them again. The bear’s steps have slowed, he watches you with careful eyes. With Halsin’s eyes.

Your heartbeat calms.

With some effort, you heave yourself up from the ground, and stretch out a hand towards the bear. With steps that make the ground shake, he approaches, ever so slowly, until his wet nose bumps against your palm.

Carefully, you run your fingers up his flat nose, slowing your breath when the bear plops down next to you with a deep huff. He seems so… gentle. The wildness of the hunt is gone, evaporated along with the water of the river he stood in. 

You don’t fool yourself- you have seen the damage a bear’s claws and fangs can do, and Halsin would be no different. And yet, nothing about him seems threatening or dangerous. 

Your hand follows the outline of his fur-covered ear, and you smile when he twitches. For a while, you let yourself stay very still, until your legs start to tremble with exhaustion from standing up. Finally, you give in, sinking to the ground. Your stomach makes an absolutely inhuman noise as you do, and you realise how hungry you are.

The bear’s ears prick up. Languidly, he rises to his feet, shaking his fur like a wet dog.

“Hey!” you giggle when the droplets of water hit you. The bear’s head whips around, and the baring of his fangs seems almost like a smile.

He trods off, towards the boulder, and in a shudder of golden light, his form contracts and fur gives way to skin once more. Halsin smiles at you softly.

“You are a miracle, little flower.” His deep voice carries across the meadow, and you wonder if he meant for you to hear it. Heat rises to your cheeks as Halsin unabashedly dries himself off before stepping back into his trousers and pulling his shirt over his head.

He never seems to care about these things: him or you unclothed before one another. He never seems to notice it in the same way you do, though you think you have caught him looking at you a few times. You always tell yourself you must be mistaken - certainly, he would have acted upon it by now.

But to see him like this, to get to be part of his world so entirely- to be able to gaze upon the bear and see the man… Well, your blood certainly runs hotter, that’s for sure.

Halsin crouches down next to you, his finger stroking your cheek.

“You really don’t mind, do you?” His voice is full of wonder. You shrug and smile at him.

“I told you that I don't.”

“Many have told me. Few have ever truly meant it,” he mumbles. There is a pause, his face so close to yours that all you want to do is grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss.

Halsin clears his throat.

“I should get the fish.”

As he wanders off, you are left to stare after him, wondering if maybe, he does not feel the same way about you as you do about him.

*****

That night, you have a nightmare.

It’s the worst one since the battle, and you wake up in tears, screaming until your lungs give out. You are only half-awake, thrashing in your bed, the smell of blood in your nose, when Halsin is already by your side, in human form, pushing your flailing arms down to the bed and talking over your cries.

“It’s alright, little flower. You are alright, you are here with me, alive and well- you are fine, I’m here with you, I’m here…”

You bury your face against his chest and sob, haunted by the faces of your dead companions, by knives slashing at you and the sharp agony of an arrow through your shoulder. Halsin holds you through the pain, his arms tight around you, the warmth of his body the only thing tethering you to the presence.

When your head hurts and you have no more tears, you gently unwind yourself from his embrace, staring at him through swollen lids. The question slips out of your mouth before you think about it.

“Will you sleep here tonight? I don’t think I can fall asleep again on my own.”

“Of course, my love.” There is not a moment’s hesitation, he just crawls into bed with you and opens his arms. You bury yourself in his strong embrace, feeling small and fragile. You are so relieved that he is here, his mere presence providing much needed comfort.

“No harm will ever come to you again,” Halsin murmurs into your hair. “I shall see to that. I will be there to protect you, little flower.”

The tears you cry now are those of an affection you cannot put into words. Exhausted by your nightmares, you fall asleep wrapped in him. You wake up a few more times that night, scared and shaking, but Halsin is always there, stroking your hair and telling sweet stories until you fall back asleep.

When you wake properly in the morning, your bed is cold where Halsin used to lay, and your sheets are stained with sweat and tears. With eyes still swollen from last night, you scoot to the edge of your bed and test the waters. Your legs carry you - hesitantly, but they do carry you. You stumble through the cave, dragging your sheets with you, intent on washing them so they can dry during the day. You will not make Halsin clean up your mess again. He did enough last night.

When you reach the outside with trembling legs, Halsin is nowhere to be seen, though you find a note at your boulder:

I am sorry if I have not returned and you must find me gone. I did not intend to leave you alone, but you looked so peaceful I did not want to wake you. I am on a hunt - I shall be back before you know it, little flower.

You grumble, but fold the note up neatly to put it in your pocket.

Little flower. He makes you smile even in his absence.

The few steps to the river seem like an eternity, but you need to wash the sweat off of yourself and your sheets. In the shallows, you can sit, though the water is ice cold and even less comfortable than it was in the little pool Halsin once made for you. However, the feeling helps you wake up, and as you are hanging your sheets from the tree branches, hurrying to rest your burning legs, you spot the bear on his way back towards your little camp.

Your heart beats faster at the sight of him: Halsin is back. You knew he would not leave you alone for long - you wondered that he left at all. Then again, you have seen the amount of food the man eats, so maybe it was hunger that drove him out of the cave.

The bear lumbers towards you, bumping your hand with his snout.

“Hey there,” you smile. Sometimes, you find it hard to connect the animal and the man, even though rationally, you know they are the same. But the bear makes it so much easier to touch him, to not feel like you are asking for too much when you let your fingers glide through his fur. He nuzzles against you so hard you nearly topple over and you laugh.

“Oy! Careful there, I’m still not too well up on my legs.” You smile to soften the blow of your words, then point towards the little hollow in the meadow where you usually sit. “Will you come lay with me? I could use the warmth after my bath.”

The bear snuffles and nods his head. You hold onto him, using his sturdy form as a crutch as you wrap yourself up in a clean sheet and make your way over to your usual spot. There are some leftovers from last night to snack on, and Halsin has left you a scroll or two with some stories about the forest. You grow curiouser and curiouser how he has accumulated all that knowledge. You know he is a druid, but he seems to know so much about the forest and all its inhabitants that you want to learn more as well.

The bear curls up next to you, sniffling and groaning quietly as he does. You carefully lean back against him, buried in a living blanket of fur and warmth. He is so comfortable, his breath quiet and steady, his belly expanding against you whenever he inhales.

You have some food while you read, but soon, your eyelids grow heavy and you close your eyes. Just for a moment, you tell yourself. You will just rest for a moment.

Sleep has you faster than a net catches a fish.

When you wake up, nothing has changed apart from the light - it has become the light of a late afternoon, the sun already low in the sky. You stretch slowly, hearing your joints crack with the movement. The bear next to you huffs and shifts. You turn around to face him, raising a brow.

“Seems we’re both having quite the lazy day, aren’t we?” You chuckle to yourself. Your stomach is growling, though, and as much as you wish you could curl up against the bear again, you should probably cook something. When you tell this to Halsin, the bear rises to his feet and trods over to the boulder where Halsin’s clothes are strewn about.

The familiar golden shimmer rises from his fur, and a moment later, Halsin in his human form regards you with warm brown eyes.

“I’ll help you,” he says.

*****

It becomes part of your ritual after that: You, curling up against the bear whenever you grow tired and he is there. Every day, Halsin seems to get more comfortable changing shape around you, and you are happy about it. The bear, oddly enough, is an excellent listener. Telling him things feels easier than telling them to another person, even though you think to yourself that telling Halsin things is already easier than telling anyone else.

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t speak, or the comfort of being able to touch him without implications. Still, your heart beats faster at any shape Halsin is in, and you slowly come to realise that it’s not only lust that moves your heart. You like him. You care about him - a lot more than you realised.

Sometimes, as long as the nights are still warm enough, you sleep under the stars, curled up in the bear’s warmth, talking about the vastness of the universe or the flavour of the berries you had that day. Sometimes, Halsin the man sleeps in your bed, thick arms wrapped around your body which always seems so tiny in his embrace. He always makes you feel so safe, and he never asks for anything more. He just crawls into bed with you and opens his arms, and you slot against him like you were created to fill that space.

The only time you are ever really apart is when Halsin the bear goes hunting. Sometimes he comes home with his snout covered in blood, but you don’t mind. That is as much part of him as your violence is part of you, and you know he never kills without reason. The forest is about balance, and Halsin would never disrupt that. He starts bringing you wild game to cook and brine. Under his guidance, you learn more and more about the forest and its plants and creatures.

The leaves are almost turning when you are finally fully healed.

You never talk about it - not really. One day, Halsin just takes the bandages off and puts no new ones on. One day, you can make it all the way across the meadow by yourself, and then you venture into the forest, and beyond the cave; in the beginning always with the man or the bear by your side, and after some time, you go on your own, picking berries and mushrooms while Halsin hunts. And you never talk about leaving.

It is a quiet and peaceful and happy life. You have become closer than you ever thought you would, but still, he has never indicated that he wants anything more - nothing, aside from the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you. You are not even sure him sleeping in your bed is any indication that he likes you… in that way. That his affections are of the same kind as your own.

You try to be quiet in your love for him, afraid of disrupting the harmony, afraid he might leave if this is not what he wants anymore. You don’t press too close, you don’t bat your lashes, you don’t make any jokes, afraid it might all get too much. The thought of losing Halsin is more than you can stand.

One day, you are laying in the tall grass next to each other, your fingers interlaced as you look up at the clouds.

“That one looks like a bear,” you say, squinting at a particularly round accumulation of clouds and pointing.

“Do you say that to tease me?” Halsin laughs. “Have I become so fat and lazy in your presence, my love?”

You frown, sitting up on your elbows, unhappy that your silly joke could have made him think that way about himself.

“You are neither of those things, Halsin. You are perfect.”

“Perfect…” he muses. “It is not in nature to be perfect, and yet all of nature is.”

You watch him, the softness of his profile, the tree trunks of his arms, the lines all of his sunshine smiles have left on his face. And before you can overthink it, you roll over and clamber into his lap.

Halsin’s eyes are full of surprise, but his hands grab your hips immediately, slotting right into place as if he has been waiting for centuries to touch you. You look down at him, anxiety and excitement mixing in your belly.

Halsin looks back, his eyes warm and soft and hungry, mirroring your own.

You lean forward, tentative and slow, giving him time to stop you, to pull away, to lift you off his lap as if you were a feather. But instead, Halsin straightens up, his lips meeting yours in a sweet relief of tension.

You close your eyes, your hands burying in his hair, his fingers digging into your hips. The kiss is sweet, but there is something  simmering just beneath the surface - a hunger that is hard to describe but which consumes you whole. Your lips are swollen when you break apart, and your heartbeat is fast in your throat.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for so long,” you croak out, your hands fluttering nervously to his shoulders, his jaw, his chest. Halsin smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

“If I had known, I would have encouraged you more.” His eyes roam your body unabashedly, and heat rises to your cheeks. “All these times I slept in your bed, I could have done so much more to help you… relax.”

You choke on your own tongue, surprised by how forward he suddenly is.

“I-” you need a moment to make your brain function again. “I’m sure we will find some time for that still, my love.”

“Mhhm, I hope so.” Halsin’s fingers stroke your cheek. “I was so focused on making sure you would feel better- I should have noticed- I should have told you that this was always an option.”

“Always?” Your brain is spinning and you think you may have lost control of your limbs. Halsin’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Always, little flower. There is nothing under the sun that is not beautiful, and you may be the most beautiful of all of nature’s creations I have ever witnessed.”

You have never fancied yourself a particularly romantic kind of girl, but his words make your heart flutter and your breath hitch. Halsin’s eyes flash golden and he grimaces, his hands tightening on you for just the fraction of a second. The shimmer reminds you of something, something that seems so long ago now.

“The way your eyes just- that time in the pool, when you made a bath just for me-”

“I wanted you,” Halsin interrupts you. “I wanted you with every fibre of my being, but you had never given any indication that you had thought about me that way. I was worried I might scare you away if I was too forward- that you would not feel comfortable in my presence anymore. You were not well back then, and I… I could not risk losing control. The bear would have destroyed you.”

“The bear-” your mouth hangs open at the implication of his words. “Do you mean- I-”

“I told you, it’s hard to tame the beast when blood runs hot.” Halsin’s eyes are golden again in the light of the sinking sun. “Being around you so much has made things easier in some senses, and harder in others. I only want what you want, be it man or bear.”

“Or both,” you whisper. His eyes widen just a fraction, but that is enough. You kiss him again, with all the desperation, all the desire and yearning you have kept inside for the past few months. The groan that escapes him is animalistic, and before you know it, Halsin has picked you up and risen from the ground.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you, your back slamming against stone when he presses up against the entrance of the cave.

“Do you know what you are saying, my heart?” Halsin’s voice is hoarse. His breath is hot on your face and you shiver at the look in his eyes - pure desire that sparks liquid fire in your belly.

You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, lost in the feeling of his strong, warm body against yours, trying to somehow get even closer, to feel even more of him.

“I do,” you confirm quietly. “Though for tonight… maybe I’ll stick with you in this form.”

Halsin laughs, the sound rising into the air like smoke from a campfire.

“A wise decision, little flower.” His mouth descends onto you again in a swift motion. “We’ll have to make sure I fit as it is.”

⋆༻༺⋆༺༻⋆••●••⋆༺༻⋆༻༺ ⋆

Previous Chapter « ● » Next Chapter

I am once again in tears over him, come and be soft with me my loves. If you would like to be added to my taglist, follow this link please.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker

[raynesbunny]

WHAT MAKES THEM EMBARRASSED?

Mashle headcanon!

💌: GN!reader, fluff

⚠️: Ooc and maybe cringe, slight suggestive on Orter's part?

Requested by: @rainee-da

Characters: Orter Madl, Rayne Ames, Abyss Razor

Others: Guess who's back! I was thinking of finishing all the short stories before going back, though— but I don't want to keep you guys waiting! I'll feel very bad if I do so｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡ Angst Rayne A. x reader coming soon! Still fixing a lot of errors<33 Enjoy reading, pookies!(≧▽≦) (this is my first time writing a headcanon so please do leave a message if there are errors!)

—

Orter Màdl

♡ It's almost impossible to make this man feel embarrassed; he hardly shows any expressions regardless of what others do—always wearing a straight and serious face! Many have attempted to make him laugh and smile, but their efforts have always been in vain, no matter how much they've tried. It almost seemed like expressing emotions is against the rules to him!

♡ And then there's you, his dearest, his partner, his beloved, his darling, his sweetheart, his sunshine, his angel, his lover, the one who melted his icy heart and kept it warm—the only one capable of evoking emotions within him that he never thought he would experience someday. (although, this rule-obsessed man cannot bring himself to admit it openly!)

♡ If there's one thing that can make Orter feel embarrassed, it would be your unexpected, sneaky and quick yet soft kisses and pecks!

♡ Whenever you peck his cheek, his brain momentarily stops functioning, and his heart flutters. His body freezes (and a faint blush is visible on his cheeks) at the touch of your soft lips against his skin.

♡ Your innocent and delicate feathered kisses drives him wild, but he would never dare to utter a word about his longing for more of those adorable little kisses!

Extra:

♡ Today was another busy day for the young man, Orter Màdl. Well— busier than usual that he had forgotten to bring his lunch with him.

And here you are, now in his office to deliver the homemade lunch to your hard-working lover, along with an encouraging letter you poured your heart into creating!

Upon noticing your presence, Orter averted his gaze from his work and looked up at your approaching figure with a small bag in your hand.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"You forgot your lunch at home, and I won't allow my man to work with an empty stomach, so I decided to bring it here to you," you replied.

Orter remained silent, choosing to turn his focus back to his paperwork. However, his shoulders seemed more relaxed now, and his facial expression had softened. That sight alone was enough for you to know that he was grateful, and he doesn't need to express it through words or pay you back.

(The pile of paperwork on his desk bothered you. You seriously wanted to help, but this stubborn boyfriend of yours would not let you, and you were left with no choice.)

(Last time, you tried helping him, but it only ended up with you wrapped in his sand magic.)

"Here's your lunch, by the way. Don't forget to eat it at lunchtime," you said, placing the small bag with his lunchbox inside on his desk. When you heard no answer, you glanced at him, seeing that he was focused on his work.

This seemed to be the perfect time to take the chance and sneak a kiss.

As your lips were about to reach his cheek, Orter turned around (on purpose), causing your lips to meet his instead.

You were about to pull away immediately, only for the desert cane to grab your wrists, pin you down on his desk and deepen the kiss, preventing you from moving and keeping the kiss from breaking. Leaving you breathless and blushing, a flustered mess.

—

Rayne Ames

♡ Just like the rule-obsessed divine visionary, he's often cold and serious. But believe me when I say that he isn't cruel! He's just having a hard time expressing that he actually cares for the people, especially those whom he's fond of, interested in, and of course- you.

♡ Speaking of you, you are his everything. He'd do anything to keep you safe, make you feel loved, respected, and comforted! Even with his busy schedule, he'll find a way to prioritize you, no matter what. (You matter the most in his life, aside from his rabbits and Finn, of course he'll prioritize those who are important to him.) Though, there are times that he must attend to his duties first, but he'll be sure to make it up to you! It just takes some time, and hopefully you'll understand.

♡ And when I say you're his everything, I mean; you're his joy, his comfort, his warmth, his flower, his world, his dream, his reason to smile, his strength, his motivation, his star, his light—

♡ If there is something that makes this man embarrassed, it's the way you know or understand what he wants (sometimes mentioning it) and letting him know that you have given him your consent!

♡ He will hesitate at first, but will give in as soon as he knows that you are certain. Like those days where he was staring down at your lips with a troubled expression, and this will never go unnoticed by you.

♡ You held yourself back from laughing, it was truly an adorable and amusing sight!

♡ You would press your forehead against his, your lips parting to mutter the words that you have given him your consent.

♡ Rayne's face would turn bright red, his gaze snapping to you with a look of embarrassment. He cannot believe he got caught again!

♡ You chuckled at the expression on his face, but your laughter died down when Rayne immediately brought his lips to meet yours in a gentle yet firm kiss, the contact sending a warm shiver down your spine.

Extra:

♡ You were playing with Rayne's pet rabbits in your shared room, wearing the comfortable rabbit hoodie that matched with your boyfriend but in your favorite color.

"There! All done!" You chirped and stroked Usao's fluffy fur, staring at all the rabbits decorated with ribbons in awe.

"[Name.]"

At the sound of his voice calling your name, you turned around to face him. Once you did, you're met with himself close to you, the sudden closeness making your eyes widen in surprise and confusion. "Is something the matter?"

(It was hard reading him this time, not even a single clue was visible! Is he doing this on purpose?)

Said boyfriend shook his head before gently taking your hand in his, caressing it tenderly.

He closed his eyes and brought your hand up to his lips for him to place a soft and long kiss.

The kiss lasted for a while and it took you some time to process what just happened. When you did, you found yourself stunned and flustered.

—

Abyss Razor

♡ Believe when I say THAT THIS MAN GETS ALL FLUSTERED WITH EVERYTHING YOU DO. (You were just too much for his heart to handle, he might explode in embarrassment.)

♡ Even the simplest, smallest things you do, like getting close to him, holding his hand, or even a gentle poke on the cheek, headpats, or your compliments, cause him to freeze in embarrassment or leave him trembling and a stuttering mess. (Even your smile and voice!)

♡ The last time this happened was when you were combing his hair and you stopped when you caught a whiff of the scent of his hair.

You drew closer to him, hoping to smell that pleasant fragrance again.

"Say, Abyss, what shampoo do you use?"

♡ He responded with silence, you were just too close to him! Close enough that his brain stopped functioning!

♡ Abyss.exe has stopped working.

♡ You are welcome to shower this lover of yours with affection, but please have mercy! He has zero experience when it comes to this! (Your affections for him might be the cause of his death /j)

♡ He is so adorable, please don't ever hurt him. Cherish him with all your heart, for goodness' sake! He deserves all the love and care.<33

Extra:

Your fingers brushed the silky strands of your lover's hair, tucking it behind his ear before clipping it with a ribbon. (I live for the coquettish display<33)

Once you were done, you gasped at the sight of your lover with his hair neatly down and a ribbon clipped in place.

"My goodness! You look beautiful, my love, as always!"

"Even with my cursed evil eye?"

"Nonsense! I find your evil eye unique and beautiful! Even with or without that, you will always be a beauty in my eyes, both on the outside and the inside!"

Just as he was about to respond, you gently placed your finger on his lips and embraced him, burying your face in his stomach.

"Hush! Don't even think of saying those words. Your cursed evil eye has nothing to do with who you are! You have done nothing wrong! If no one else will accept the whole of you aside from Abel, then I WILL. I do not care what that evil eye of yours will do to me, I am willing to embrace everything in you. I will always love you, even with all your flaws. Nothing and no one can change my mind and my heart—"

You stopped yourself from rambling when you felt a sudden drop of liquid fall on top of your head.

"Abyss?"

You sat up to check on him, only for panic to rush through you as your eyes met his face that is soaked with tears.

"Did I say something wrong? Please, don't cry and tell me what's wrong! It pains me to see you in tears!" (You might cry too /j)

Receiving no response from him, you were left with no choice but to embrace him in a hug, hoping that it could provide him solace.

Abyss wrapped his arms around you in return, his tears soaking the fabric on your shoulder. (Which you did not mind at all.)

He could never be more grateful than being accepted despite the flaws he bore, especially his very own evil eye.

—

I'll add a few more characters for this headcanon after writing the second angst I'm planning to write! I hope you enjoyed reading my first headcanon! Have a great, wonderful day or night, lovelies!💌

[mad4turtles]

Can I get some Uncle Tello- Baby/Toddler Casey Jones Jr bonding fluff? Their bond is just so cute and funny to me & I just keep thinking about Donatello "I don't like kids, but if anyone even breathes wrong in Casey Jr's direction I will not hesitate to take someone out" Hamato aka 'the grumpy, protective uncle who grows to love his nephew very much but would never willingly admit it outloud (especially to his twin. Too bad for him Leo most likely already knows. again. twins lol ). Cause I can imagine poor guy had a hard time coping with the fact that CJ can destroy anyone's "emotionally unavailable bad-boy" image with little effort if you give him the time. And Donnie learned the hard way 😂

I am SO sorry this took so long! This prompt is golden and I love it, here you go!

--

Donatello tolerates children. He doesn't hate them because, believe it or not, there is a difference between the two.

He understands from a logistical standpoint that children function differently from adults. They're still navigating the world, cry when a need isn't met, laugh when you tickle them or someone falls on their face, and put everything and anything within reach in their mouth to figure out what it is and if they can eat it. Most of the time, the answer is no. 

Donnie understands that, so he tolerates children. And as the world caves in and he's forced to intermingle with more humans and Yokai than he'll ever see (the numbers dwindle daily, but who's counting?), his tolerance builds. Though his position in the Resistance—Keeping Everyone Alive Under Six Feet of Earth and Limited Oxygen—keeps him cooped up in his lab and limits his interaction with people in general, on the odd days he's not locked in there with a sign that reads 'Keep Out or Get Bit', he'd say he does a decent job. Take that, autism.

It's on one of these odd days Cassandra Jones kicks the door of the mess hall down with enough force to send it flying, holds up a dirty bundle with a squirming thing inside and screeches. “I have acquired a child!”

And that was that.

Well, not really; there was a lot of screeching, demanding, explaining and even more frantic demanding involved. But Donnie barely remembers most of it. He'd been busy staring at the little pink face peeking out from the ragged cloth wrapped hastily around a tiny body, wondering how and why anyone would abandon him.

Logically, he knew why. Babies smell, they're defenceless, needy and loud. All recipes for disaster—death—in the alien apocalypse. Logically, he knew it was better to cut your losses and ditch, lighten the load, ease the burden and raise your chances of survival. 

Emotionally, irrationally, he wanted to find the blood mother and kill her himself.

Regardless, Cassandra had claimed him, named him—Casey Jones Jr, of course—and the Hamato's had a new family member. 

Cass was a mother, and Donnie was suddenly an uncle.

Cassandra, despite herself, is a great mother. She feeds, clothes, bathes and teaches Jr with the ferocity and vigour she's always had in spades but dipped in a new warmth and love Donnie never would have associated with her. It's unexpected, but Cass wouldn't be Cass if she weren't screwing Donnie's perception of reality in her every waking moment.

April and Raph dote on him something awful with baby voices and whatever toys they find or have donated to them by other understanding and indulgent parents. Mikey cries when he takes his first steps. Draxum gifts him a Yokai necklace made from dragon teeth and scales.

(“He can eat them once his feeble infant teeth fall out,” he explains while stoically cradling the giggling infant on one clawed palm, outwardly indifferent yet impossibly gentle. “They will harden his skin and strengthen his bones to iron. No Krang would dare stand in his way.”

“We are not,” April says, “feeding dragon teeth to my nephew, Draxum.”

“As his grandfather, I should have some say in his dietary requirements. Cassandra agrees with me!”

“I will bury you, Draxum,” April growls in a tone that promises unspeakable violence. “I will bury you deep.”

“... understood.”)

Leo lets him chew on his mask tails while rocking him to sleep. He also cries like a bitch when the little pink thing looks him in the eye, drool dribbling down his chin and his gummy smile miles and miles wide and says—“Weo!”

(Donnie thinks Splinter would have loved him just as much. Shared with him the stories and legacy of their clan, sang to him the same old Japanese lullabies, enthralled him with the tales of Lou Jitsu, everything he'd wanted to do should he ever become a grandfather.)

Donnie doesn't see Casey much. Not by choice, but he's a busy freaking turtle and one-year-olds are notoriously for being loud, distracting little things that Donnie cannot afford, now more than ever.

He knows their chances of winning the war are slim at best and impossible at worst. Hope can only take you so far, crazy mystic powers or not. They've already lost so much of their world. They've already lost Dad.

So Donnie needs to focus, work and keep working so they won't lose anyone else. Anything less than the best possible outcome is not a thread of logic he is willing to follow.

Then there's a knock at his door.

Without turning from his multiple screens, mystic or otherwise, Donnie grunts, “It had better be good—”

Cassandra bursts through the door, blazes across the room, dumps something on Donnie's lap—“HOLD THIS I WILL RETURN SHORTLY SHUT UP AND THANK YOU FAREWELL!”—and slams the door behind her on her way out.

Donnie sits bamboozled in his chair in the aftermath of her whirlwind. He stares at the scorch marks her feet left on the floor, the angle his door sits at after she'd slammed it near off its hinges—

“Ba!”

—and at the one-year-old pink thing she'd left to drool on his lap.

“Oh hell no, hell no—Cassandra Bernid Jones!” he hollers to no reply.

How in the shit could she do this to him?! Why in the shit?!

Junior giggles at Donnie's misery, kicking his bare feet madly and clapping damp hands. He must've had his fingers in his mouth. Joy.

“Cassandra, come back for your child or I will feed you to the nearest Krang Hound!” Donnie shouts. Unsurprisingly, his only answer is more of Junior's incessant giggling. Pudgy fingers reach for Donnie's face and Donnie lifts him higher, further away. Junior shrieks with joy.

Growling, Donnie activates the mechanical arms in his shell to carefully lift the child off his lap as he stands, holding him at a fair distance. The child is delighted by this and kicks harder, screaming with unbridled joy and having the time of his life. Donnie stares, fighting a scowl and a flinch because dear god how can something so small be so ungodly loud?

Donnie wants to smash something. Ironically, the indirect source of his ire keeps that desire at bay, but it doesn't stop him from grinding his teeth.

He's busy running updates on their freaking security system, the only thing keeping the Krang from finding them and killing everything that breathes. Cassandra knows this, everyone knows this, he'd sent them an email about it! So why, in the ever-loving shit, would Cassandra literally drop her child off with the one person who has a history of only tolerating children? Sure it's his adopted nephew, but he can only last so much in the presence of his own blood relatives for Christ—

He doesn't realize he's hissing, a low guttural thing rivalled only by Raphael at his angriest, until Junior stops laughing.

As much as they postured and played with fashion, aesthetics and trends as teenagers, Donnie and his brothers are mutants, and by (non-freaky)human standards, they are not conventionally 'pretty'. And according to many honest human comrades, April included, they can be downright unnerving sometimes. Mostly when they're pissed off, their animal roots seeping through the cracks of the humanity instilled in them by a loving father. They growl, hiss, click and roar, bearing their teeth and snarling like beasts. It's worse for Donnie and Raph, the carnivores of the family and most prone to biting; Raph's size doesn't help, and Donnie has easily frightened some of their biggest and strongest Yokai allies with a flash of fangs or a warning hiss.

It's not something he likes about himself these days. It never bothered him until they were forced to interact more and more with humans who had no qualms pointing shit like that out, even now with literal aliens prowling their ruined world. Still, he's learned to roll with it like he does with everything else.

But Casey Junior looks at him—his peeled lips revealing sharp fangs grit tight in a snarl and a hiss he can't curb fast enough—and he starts crying.

Oh shit.

“Oh shit,” Donnie says, flapping his hands, ire forgotten as panic takes over. “Oh shit, the child is crying and I am the cause. Cassandra will kill me, then Draxum will bring me back as a zombie so Raph can kill me again.”

What the hell does he do? Make funny faces? Pretend to trip over and fall flat on his snoot? Kids love physical comedy, pain is always funny! Or maybe he—or—oh who is he kidding, he's screwed. And the baby is still crying, kicking his feet and red in the face. Donnie lowers but doesn't touch him, biting his lip as his thoughts race. Not even five minutes and he's proven he cannot handle a child. How does Raph do this? How did Dad put up with this for seventeen years—

Oh wait, there's an idea. What did Dad do?

Trick question: Donnie knows exactly what Dad did when they were younger, and eight times out of ten it worked. The problem lies with Donnie and his intense aversion to all things stinky and gross and loud, all of which Casey Jr is.

But Donnie has seen and lived with worse even before the world went to shit. He lived with Leo and Mikey as his little brothers; they piss him off like it's their personal mission, but he loves them so fiercely it's painful. He'd look death in the eye and double-dog dare it to do its worst for them.

This is his baby nephew. He's not been around nearly as long but surely, surely, Donnie can get over himself for him, too.

(Even if he is a busy turtle working his ass off at the end of the world. But family is different. Family trumps everything.)

So Donnie swallows, takes a deep breath, takes Casey from the mechanical arms before dismissing them into his shell—“I'm doing it, I'm freaking doing it—” and pulls Casey into his arms, holding him tight against his chest.

The crying doesn't magically cease as Donnie had hoped, but it dies down into kitten-like sniffles that do—something to Donnie's heart, squeezing and twisting it in a way he hasn't felt since Mikey was this small, maybe smaller. Whatever it is, it compels him to cup the back of Casey's ebony head and press his (grossgrossgross) face into the exposed crook of Donnie's neck.

“Um... there there,” he says clumsily, patting Casey's back with his other hand. “Cease your crying. It's making my knees hurt and my chest do weird, fuzzy things I don't have time for.”

Casey turns his head at Donnie's voice, frighteningly alert. 

Hm.

With a claw from his battle shell, he pulls his purple hood up, shielding Casey from the neon glare of his computer screens and LED lights around the lab. 

“I apologize for scaring you,” he says a decibel softer. Casey turns his head again in response, still sniffling but significantly calmer. “I am angry, yes, but I am not angry at you. It was unfair of me to show my ire that way, especially in front of you, child who is easily frightened by loud noises and yet is scarily perceptive of the moods of the people around you...”

Casey lays his head against Donnie's shoulder, blinking up at him with big watery eyes. Donnie blinks back.

This is... not awful. It's progress. Progress is good. This is good.

He tears his gaze from Jr's—as deadly a weapon as Mikey's eyes for sure—and sways from side to side the way he used to do for Leo when they were young and scared. He hums a tune under his breath, one from that Ghibli movie about little people; he can't remember the film's name but the song at the end was cute and catchy as it was corny. Even years later, he remembers the words—

“I'm 14 years old, I am pretty. I'm a teen tiny girl, a little lady. I live under the kitchen floor. Right here, not so far from you.” 

The sniffles die off, Casey's pudgy fingers grasping Donnie's torn hood, tiny nose buried against cool scales. Donnie keeps going, softly rubbing Casey's back the way Dad would rub his shell during Donnie's worse days. The memory brings tears to his eyes, so he shuts them before they can fall.

“Sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I feel blue. In my dreams O I wish I could... Feel my hair blowing in the wind, see the sky and the summer rain, pick a flower from the garden for you. Beyond the lane there's another world, butterflies floating in the air. But is there someone out there for me?”

By the end, Donnie looks down to see Casey fast asleep, sucking his thumb and drooling on Donnie's shoulder. For a breathless moment that lasts an eternity, Donnie is spellbound, staring at the little pink thing—a biological miracle someone had so quickly discarded on the barren streets of a dying world, a little life that had persevered despite every odd stacked against it, Cassandra's son, Donnie's little infant nephew—he cradles in his arms. For the first time he doesn't care for the slimy drool coating his shoulder, the bacteria or anything his body and brain would outright reject.

Donnie stares at Casey Jones Jr and finally pins a name to the fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Oh.

“Oh,” he says. Jr snuffles in his sleep.

---

When Leo turns a corner to find Mikey, Raph, April and Cassandra huddled outside Donnie's lab doors, he almost turns around to avoid the oncoming storm of Donnie's short temper. The gossip in him wins out in the end as he squeezes between Raph and Cassandra to peer through the crack in the door.

What he sees has him gaping like a fish.

Donatello Hamato—the Resistance's resident genius and hermit—sits languidly at his desk surrounded by screens, one hand tapping away at holographic screens, breezing through emails. The other arm curls around a babbling Casey Jr, grubby hands clenched tight on one of Donnie's old rubber fidget toys as he gnaws on it like a dog with a bone.

“The shipment from Asia's remaining base in Hong Kong should be arriving at the port between noon and sixteen hundred hours tomorrow,” Donnie rambles, eyes scanning a long wall of encrypted mystic text.

“Ba!” Casey cries around the toy, kicking his legs.

Donnie nods with a hum, scratching his chin. “Yes, I agree. Krang activity has intensified alarmingly at the Old Port since the refugee extraction six months ago, but there's no time to plan a safer route...”

“Ba dee ba!” Casey blows a messy raspberry. Not missing a beat, a mechanical arm pops from Donnie's shell to wipe the baby's mouth with a cloth before discarding it.

“You're right, Jr. I suppose there's no helping the matter. We must brief the teams as soon as possible to discuss the matter, rally what factions we have at our disposal—”

“Eeeee!” Casey screeches before bursting into giggles.

Donnie brightens. “Of course! We could send the drones! They're stealthier and won't incur a needless massacre at the hands of psychopathic aliens. If anything, we shall be doing the massacring once I've outfitted the drones with my newest Genius Built trademark mystic weaponry! Excellent idea Casey Jones Jr, what would I do without your added brilliance.”

“Don-NEE!” Casey cries.

“Yes yes, I'll send the email and hopefully one of those dumb dumbs will actually read—wait, what did you say?” Donnie drops the screens and plucks Casey off his lap to stare him in the face with wide eyes. “Did—Did you just—did you just say—?”

“Don!” Casey giggles, wiggling in Donnie's grip. “Don don don don don! Don-NEE!”

Donnie stares and stares and stares. A stupidly happy grin splits his face in two. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” Mikey breathes with a matching grin.

“Would'ja look at that,” Raph chuckles, his smile a proud, fond thing.

“Knew he had it in him,” April nods.

“Which means Leonardo owes me fifty bucks!” Cassandra quietly whoops.

Tearing his eyes away from the horrendously cute picture of his twin and nephew, Leo aims a sly grin at Cassandra. “I would if we still used actual money as a source of income or trade.” Cassandra's grin drops like a stone, and Leo fights an evil cackle that would make Draxum proud. “Cash hasn't been a thing in years, Cassandra dear. Get dunked on.”

“Bite my ass, you di—!”

The door abruptly slides open the rest of the way and they tumble to the floor in a heap. Above them, Donatello stands unimpressed, brow raised and one hand on his hip. Curled in his other arm, Jr babbles happily and reaches for Cassandra.

“Evening all,” Donnie drones as they clambered guiltily to their feet. “To what do I owe this displeasure.”

“Nothing at all!” Cassandra said, shooting Leo a poisonous glare before opening her arms to receive her son. “Thank you for looking after my child, I will take him back now and relinquish you from your—”

“A-bub-bub-bub!” Donnie turns slightly, putting Jr out of her reach. “I have decided that Jr may stay a few hours longer while I run the regular diagnostics and schedule that meeting you no doubt heard about while you were unceremoniously eavesdropping at my still broken door—thank you for that Cassandra, by the way—he is no trouble presently and makes an excellent rubber duck to bounce ideas off. Don't you agree, Jr?”

Jr snaps his head up to beam at Donnie. “Ah!” he says. Donnie's impassive face melts into a rare smile that Leo aches to see. He's not smiled like that since before Dad...

Cassandra's arms flop to her sides. April, Mikey and Raph stare, rendered speechless until April lifts a finger. “... er, Don, are you sure—?”

“Quite sure, Commander O'Neil,” the impassive mask returns, but Donnie's fooling no one. “Now if you don't mind, Jr and I are very busy bees and must get back to work, so begone. And while you're at it, please issue this new warning to the rest of the base: 'I have only had Casey Jones Jr for five hours, but if anything happens to him, I will kill everyone in this base and then myself.' Good day.”

“Goo' 'ay!” Casey chimes and Leo has a front-row seat to Donnie's delighted crooked smirk right before he slams the door shut in their faces.

There's a beat of silence.

Then Raph claps his hands. “So,” he draws out with a strained smile, “who saw that coming?”

“Me,” Leo sings.

“You bet against him!” Cassandra booms. “With non-existent money!”

Leo shrugs, motioning them to follow him down the hall. “Only on principle. I knew he had it in him. Jr is family and Donnie loves attention and family. It was bound to happen.”

“Aaand it was stupidly cute!” Mikey chimes, floating by them with his hands tucked under his chin.

Leo thinks of the tingle he'd felt in his chest hours ago when Cassandra first ditched—ahem—dropped Jr off with Donnie, of the familiar tune from an old, corny yet hopeful film from their childhood humming from the fringes of their Mind Meld, of the glee and soft, new, helpless love bleeding from Donnie's gaze, his smile, as Jr babbled his name.

Leo smiles. “Yeah. Stupidly cute.”

---

Reblogs are appreciated! Feel free to drop more requests! For those of you still waiting, thank you for your patience I will get to them soon! :3 <3

[clockworkowl]

Okay, fair, but I will die on the hill of defending his honour against accusations of botoxing. There is no way he could make all of his facial expressions on Botox. Like, yes, he has had crow’s feet and furrows since he was in his 20s so they should definitely show up more just resting from the ‘if you keep making that face it will stick that way’ rules alone, but the fact he’s had crow’s feet since the mid 80s is all about how much stress, guilt and pressure he’s under and how much effort it takes to keep himself from shattering under the weight of his life to stay functioning and for a good half of the series to stay alive so that he can give his oath brother his ‘right’ to kill him.

Also consider that LAD7 Majima is finally a version of Majima that is not being crushed under the weight of ongoing trauma and guilt. I mean not saying that all the shit going on in 7 is a cake walk and not just ever-present Yakuza politics, but he has no abuser’s hand holding his leash, his kyoudai has long forgiven him for anything relating to not making the ueno seiwa hit (not that I think Saejima thinks there is anything that he would need to be forgiven for once he heard the actual facts of his failure to make it, Majima is the only one who thinks there’s anything like a betrayal there to hold him accountable.) and is finally not just randomly throwing himself back in prison and leaving Majima alone again. He’s not being used as bait or stuck with impossible trolley problem decisions where all tracks have a devastating bodies tied to them including himself. And his greatest rival/friend reappears from the alleged grave and they can once again brawl this time on the same side.

After so many years of only seeing his face aged by the tenseness of his face muscles from stress to see him almost relaxed and not over-contorting any fine muscles in micro expressions of stress it makes the lines and wrinkles look even less prominent more noticeable.

I mean he is still not aging like a mere mortal, and for someone who smokes and gets stabbed as much as he does it’s more than a little unreal, but I think I have a harder time suspending my disbelief when it comes to both he and Kiryu still being as ripped and toned at their ages than I do with Majima’s non-aging face just due to the other considerations.

say what you will about that era's character models but y3/4/dead souls majima's crows' feet are top notch and they should be brought back

like here's him age 45(ish)

vs 55

they fucking ironed him out. he's got smoothed

[senjuushi]

Whumptober — Day 27

Prompt: Magical Exhaustion

Character: Springfield

Missions are always hard. Even when he does his best to be careful, Springfield’s body ends up protesting the extra strain in the most inconvenient ways possible. Finding himself bedridden from a simple battle is downright shameful, but that’s the unfortunate reality of being broken. 

This time, it’s particularly bad. By some miracle, he made it back to the base mostly functional, but by the time he got to his room, Springfield knew that he wouldn’t be moving for a while. With his limbs aching and numb in a way that implied nothing good, he collapsed into bed, fully expecting to stay there for a while and hoping his body cooperates soon. 

And that’s exactly what’s happened. Even now, late the next morning, there’s no way he’s going to be able to even stand on his own any time soon. Just rolling over takes what feels like an insurmountable effort. 

He’s stuck, and everyone is going to be disappointed in him for it. 

When his superior finds him like that, the response is the usual sigh and shake of their head. People know what to expect from him by now, but that doesn’t make Springfield feel any better about it. He gives a sniffly, nervous apology, and is left to rest, just like that, until he’s functional again.

But it’s okay. He’s used to this. Lying in bed is miserable, but it’s what he deserves when it’s his fault he can’t get up and be properly useful. 

At least, that’s what Springfield is thinking until someone else enters his room. You knock before coming in, which is an unnecessary kindness on its own, and the concern on your face brings up a whole new wave of guilt in him. “How are you feeling?” you ask, leaving both the questions of who told you and why you care. You don’t need to be here, fussing over a faulty tool. It’s his own responsibility to function; his Master has no need to worry. 

“I-I’m fine...” Springfield tries to say, only to be cut off with a painful cough before anything else can come out. When he can keep his eyes open again, you’re much closer, and shame creeps into him all over again.

You tell him he doesn’t look fine— but the tone is lightly teasing, not angry or cruel. There’s cinnamon applesauce and some easy-on-the-stomach crackers in the bag with you, and you help him sit up so he can have some. Springfield ends up with a little plastic cup in his hand and sweetness on his tongue, too stunned to protest the sudden, gracious treatment. 

He’s thankful for the food and even more so for your presence, but it’s still a shameful, shameful thing to need it. He’s your weapon. He’s supposed to protect you, but instead, he’s bedridden and barely able to feed himself. He’s a disappointment on every level, and yet, you’re still being so kind—

“What happened, anyway?” is the eventual, dreaded question. 

“J-Just a mission... I’m alright, r-really. I overstrained myself, th-that’s all...” Springfield replies, trying to sound reassuring. Convincing, maybe. 

“Is that really all? I’ve heard that you have some, um... health problems. I didn’t want to get the details from someone else, though,” you tell him, and Springfield is impossibly grateful that you haven’t yet heard the extent of his damage. It only means he’ll have to explain it— but that’s still better than knowing that you found out through someone’s disappointment.

He winds up telling you quite a few things; that he used to be an Antique, that his gun was modified to make him more useful, and that the result of that is a weakened body and a shortened life span with it. 

You deserve to know. He has no right to hide his flaws from the person who owns every part of his being, who he belongs to in body and soul. 

After a moment of thought, you ask, “Can I look at your gun?”

It’s still with him, right now. He had it after the mission, and no one’s bothered to take it away again quite yet. Normally, Musketeers aren’t allowed to keep their weapons with them— but he’s useless enough that the superiors often let it slip. There’s no reason to worry that he’ll cause trouble.

Since he can’t stand on his own yet, you’re the one who picks it up. Already, there’s an awful sense of nervousness twisting up inside of him; you’re going to see just how bad the damage is, and what will you think then? The jolt of phantom sensation when you first touch his gun has Springfield flinching like he’s been struck. You bring the rifle over to the bed, holding it lightly, carefully, clearly unsure of how to handle such a weapon. 

“Let’s see... oh.”

That quiet exclamation of shock hurts. You ask him to point out where the gun is damaged. He doesn’t want to do it, really doesn’t want to put all of his flaws on display to be judged, but you’re Master, and he has no choice.

You’re gentle. Tracing the warped wood and poorly installed parts leaves shivers running up and down his spine, tingling all the way to his fingertips. It’s the most tender anyone’s ever been with this part of him. You listen intently to the problems he describes, all of the things that make him weak and pained, and don’t say a word about how broken he is. 

“Can it be healed at all?” you ask. Not fixed, healed. “Not for function or battle, just... so you don’t hurt as much. So the pain isn’t as bad.”

“I don’t know,” Springfield whispers. “No one’s ever... I-I mean, there hasn’t been any attempt to repair it that way. I’ll be useless soon enough, when this thing breaks, s-so it’s not worth the effort...” 

“I’ll look into it, then. If there’s anything that can be done, I’ll make it happen,” you say resolutely, as if you could singlehandedly ensure that his broken mess of a soul could be properly repaired. There’s nothing he can say in response— as it is, he’s fighting back overwhelmed, confused tears. 

Why do you care so much at all? 

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Necklace

A/n: I knooooooow I said I'll post it tomorrow but I couldn't wait. Eren is really something so I hope you all enjoy this. Feel free to look ✨disrespectfully✨ I don't know if I'm embarrassed or not by this pls

Pairing: Eren/ Reader

Summary: sometimes the backseat of a car is the ideal place to find yourself in, so long as it's with Eren Yeager

Tags/ Warnings: NSFW, 18+, car sex

"Aw fuck!"

The drizzling cold enticed any of the skin that you had exposed, piercing through teeny molecules of flesh with what felt like severely dangerous needles. The loud, panting breaths that escaped both you and your partner merged in sheer fog, yet they clattered with the windows around you, staining the transparent material of glass like heavy curtains.

A mewl like sound reached your ears, ringing through your head for the upteenth time this evening only as if to reward you for your hard work.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

Eren's hand shot off of your head so fast that it felt like he had been burnt only to land to the window next to him. A big hand print was plastered onto the foggy window, letting a few droplets of moisture run onto the rubber frames of the car.

The kitten like lick you placed onto his head, picking up the much dreaded drop of precum sent his head colliding in such force with the head of the backseat that the hard foam inside its industrial cover bounced his head to the front.

A bold hand cupped onto his balls, kneading the smooth skin in a manner that was firm in all the right ways. Eren bit his lip at that, a low grunting moan leaving his throat after scratching onto his vocal chords. Leaning further down you accommodated more of him in your mouth, trapping his shaft on to your pallette with your tongue before letting him off with a loud pop, only to repeat the action again.

Eren couldn't help himself, his digits run through your hair, despite being frozen, locked into place, stroked your scalp tenderly as if he found it in him to move even an inch. But when his lower stomach was churching beyond a sane point he only found it fitting to gather all of his remaining energy to treat you with a kiss.

In a heartbeat, the flats of his palms came to your cheeks tagging towards his face until he managed to open his eyes into yours. Teal orbs that were so beautifully decorated with gray specs started back into yours, hazed with lust to the maximum. You spoke no word, instead, you plopped his member off your hot mouth with a loud pop, revealing your swollen, slick with his own lust lips to him before curling the line of your mouth into a small smirk.

The cold air licked over his shaft, sending shivers across his spine yet you acted as if you knew that it was bound to happen. Carefully you wrapped both of your hands around his member, giving firm squeezes across his length with your right while twirling your left onto his base, eager to trap as much blood as you could into his erection.

"Oh fuck that feels so fucking good."

"Mhm baby"

Eren clenched his teeth as he tugged on your face again, much more forcefully this time and you couldn't help but comply to his unspoken request.

Instantly, your lips were clashed onto his, your teeth colliding from the action but you chose to ignore it as you moved your mouth on his in your own accord. Eren pushed further into the kiss, his tongue darting out towards your bottom lip to order you to open your mouth for him, to which you simply complied without teasing back.

"Fuck!" Eren said for the thousandth time "you're killing me tonight princess!"

In response your thumb circled his slit, collecting all of his slick, gushing precum, playing with how tender or soft you pressed onto him with every circle.

His tongue danced inside your mouth again, exploring the salty spots of taste he had left behind, his nose sniffing as much air as he could managed to make his lungs function halfway decently.

"As much as I like kissing you," you said, pulling back from his lips before delving into them again "I want to fucking devour you right now."

The words spiralled into Eren's brain, sending a whirlpool of desire to his lower abdomen. With wide eyes he nodded, swallowing any remaining saliva into his mouth hard enough to fill the small space of his car with the sound.

"Look at you being such a whore for my cock." He whined.

In reality, he didn't know how he could find it in himself to stand tall to his usual nature of dominance, or rather, how he managed to put any effort into it. His hands eagerly let go of your face and rested between your messy (h/c) locks once again.

Hungrily, you returned to his member, running the flat of your tongue teasingly over his head before licking the rest of his underside. When Eren hissed, you rubbed his tip sloppily over your lips and gathered your sweet saliva in your mouth, deciding that it was time to warm him up once again.

The premative sound of his voice enticed you, causing a strangle series of bubbles to form into your abdomen at the thought of what affect you could have at him. You were so hitched over the fact that you could make him melt and mewl under your touch that it excited you to no end.

As your heart sped up though, your jaw remained restless, opening eagerly to accommodate him once again. Your tongue flattened as you grabbed the base of his member right under his balls, bobbing him slowly into your mouth.

Eren's eyes watered as he watched you, his teeth digging into the chapped flesh of his lips so hard that he thought he could taste the piercing iron taste of blood, but he paid it no mind; how could he? How could he, when he felt so hang up on your total conquer of his body.

After a few thrusts you popped him out of your mouth, a longing haze in your eyes as you fixated them into his. You felt him burning holes into your orbs, your heart spreading up at the sight of him unravelling before you in such way. Your legs almost rubbed together to relieve some of the tention you yourself were feeling.

Eren seemed to notice, despite the vertigo that was written into his rich orbs, because a hand came to slightly squeeze onto your panty clad buttock. Four long digits wiggled there way under the line of your underwear, working vigorously to simply shove the clothe to the side as you finally decided to take a smooth ball into your mouth, giving it a little suck and a simultaneous long lick.

"More" Eren panted. "Take the other one too, don't stop jerking me baby."

While you were pleased with the loud sound Eren let out you wanted to stay victorious over your affect on him before delving into your own pleasure, though Eren begged for the opposite. Finally a frozen finger that had found its way through your folds managed to launch onto your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, leaving you vulnerable to let out a mewl of satisfaction.

With much determination focused on the movements in your hands you began to stroke him in a swirling motion, once again flattening your tongue as you felt him thrusting his hips slightly into your open mouth.

Eren's hand wiggled further against you, pushing your bottom into the air as he laid his palm flat against you. The sweet friction left your hips shaking, urging you to rub yourself just to prompt the slightest increase of pressure from his hand. Eren eagerly gave into your neediness, delving his middle finger just in the opening of your entrance while his thumb came to press onto your clit steadily.

When it happened, you shrieked, your chest heaving as your knees dug into the wide seat of the car with force, immediately sending a smirk of triumph onto Eren's face. Your moans were muffled by his member, the deep grunt you had wanted to let out transforming into a pleasuring vibration that spread all over him.

"Don't stop baby, I'm gonna come!" Eren's breath hitched in his throat as he spoke, his voice barely audible as it struggled to reach your ears.

You pressed on him, skillfully maneuvering the screw of your hands on him as you rubbed just below his tip, sending numerous hisses to come out of his mouth. His grip on your hair tightened while his hand momentarily stopped it's torment over you. Happy that you realised he was focusing on his release, you bobbed your head faster on him, reaching out two fingers to press just underneath his balls.

The pressure on the spot made Eren moan and widen his eyes, an inaudible curse leaving his mouth as he pushed his hips towards you further. With fast movements you stroked him up and down, your own hand colliding with your mouth, merely spreading the slickness of your drool over his whole length.

"Keep going like that and I'm going to come in your mouth."

"Mhm" you chuckled.

"That's it" Eren squirmed "Im gonna-"

Eren's thighs turned into stone, his whole body frozen as a strong ribbon of his release exploded into your mouth in spurts. His breath paced, his heart heaped into his chest, his eyes dilated as his head started feeling lighter that usual.

You got off of him, bringing a soft hand on his thigh to brush upon his hot skin, tenderly caressing pools of skin here and there. You leaned in softly, placing mellow kisses on places where your fingers couldn't caress, eliciting wondrous sounds off of Eren.

Finally, your eyes were fixed on his again, gleaming in unshed specs tears. Even though Eren's eyebrows were raised in agonising pleasure they furrowed dangerously as he kept staring at you. You felt your stomach tighten upon his gaze, a new, intense shock of arousal washing through you.

A needy gaze was all he needed to send him growling like a wild animal against you. Eren pushed past your face, bringing his face impossibly close to your ear. His breath ghosted over the spot, sending ripping shivers on your nape as he dragged his tongue in the tormentous manner across your lobe.

Nevertheless, in a moment where you felt your heart start speaking again you brought your forehead to Eren's forearm, eager to finally allow yourself to catch your breath. Looking around, you noticed how that hand print on the window had been covered with fog once again, your hand giving a small squeeze on Eren's bicep as you rubbed your lips over his silky smooth skin. His thumb rubbed a single soothing circle on your back before giving your butt a small prompting slap and, for a moment, you were sure you heard him chuckle with his own antics

"Time to get your shirt off babe." You heard Eren call as you cooed into his arm further.

You simply smiled knowingly in response. This was definitely going to be a long night.

Taglist: @thethyri @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @berrijam

[recurring-polynya]

The shinigami buffoonery in the TYBW was unparalleled, and even though you know I love those idiot grim reapers with my whole chest, I general feel like they did not deserve the W on that one (the bit where they are told not to use their bankai and, like, five captains immediately use it???) However, my languishing-in-the-elementary-school-dropoff-line thought of the day is this: The Quincy really did snatch defeat from the jaws of victory by the very simple virtue of never making sure anyone is actually dead.

It’s pretty obvious to me, and makes sense in universe, that high-powered shinigami are really hard to kill. Shinigami have bodies, but they are mostly just there to make everyone feel better, they don’t function like our meathusks, filled with delicate systems of organs and...mucuses and stuff. Shinigami are an incomplete set of memories, bound together by a will to exist. If you wound a shinigami in a way that would definitely kill a human-- disemboweling them for example (a thing that definitely happened to Ichigo once), it will traumatize them for sure, but if they can make it through the initial wound trauma, their spirit (possibly their zanpakutou) will just start spackling their reishi back together. Consider, if you will, how much blood came out of Renji when he fought Byakuya.

I think Byakuya assumes he’s leaving Renji for dead here, given the whole speech about “your bankai has disappeared, you must be close to death” (and let us also consider-- Byakuya considers this to be the indicator that Renji is about to bite it, rather than the fact that most of Renji could be picked up with a mop at this point). Rikichi and Hanatarou come by, but you get the sense that they didn’t save Renji’s life, they just got him back into fighting shape. I’m not sure that if he had just lain there indefinitely, if he would have gotten well enough to get up, but I definitely feel like Renji is incapable of bleeding out. I think this is normally the sort of thing that separates a lieutenant from a captain (or at least a lieutenant with captain potential from, say Omaeda), but Renji is incredibly stubborn generally, and at this moment was incredibly driven to keep going in order to save Rukia.

To actually kill a shinigami, it seems like you have to either cut off or destroy their head, or cut them roughly in half. Even when Tousen gets stabbed through the brain, he is still able to chat a little bit before, um, exploding, for some reason, which is definitely not what would happen to a person who got stabbed through the brain. You can even cut a shinigami, like 65-35, and if the head is on the big half, they can probably survive that. This has happened to Hitsugaya, like 4 times, although I don’t remember which ones turned out to be illusions or in filler, or what, but I am pretty sure that there were at least twice. I mentioned earlier that a shinigami is a set of memories, but another way to think of that is that they are a self-concept. This is sort of a two-edged sword, in the sense that it is this identification with their physical corpus that can cause them to die if it gets hacked up too bad. Mayuri, who is able to think of himself as a big moving glob of reishi, might be nearly impossible to kill without literally, like, doing some sort of Quincy reishi absorption trick. He turned himself into a goo once. (Incidentally, I think Urahara is also very good at this, as evidenced by his bankai).

As far as I can think, the only shinigami we have ever seen succumb to their wounds is Gin, and this holds to my theory, too-- he’s spent over a century lying in wait to take Aizen down. He took his shot and it wasn’t enough. Then, Ichigo shows up, and Gin looks at him, says ‘I am no longer needed’ and dies.

So, back to the point!

The Quincy did a lot of property damage and killed a shit-ton of low-level shinigami. I’m sorry to them, but let’s face it, the low-level shinigami have never played... really... any significant role in Bleach. In terms of actually taking out people with enough power to be considered players:

Sasakibe is killed by a group of seven Quincy as a warning shot

Yhwach personally kills Yamamoto

Unohana lets herself get killed by Kenpachi because she very much wanted to be excluded from this narrative so he would get stronger (still not convinced this was necessary)

Nemu dies while fighting Pernida because she pushed herself past safe operational limits

Ukitake sacrifices himself to keep reality from collapsing

Yhwach and his best guys do manage to kill (temporarily) Squad 0 using a 1-time power-up that claimed the lives of most of the other Quincy forces. It is implied that it is not possible to kill Squad 0 permanently.

You might notice a pattern here, which is that the Quincy suck ass at killing shinigami. Furthermore, at one time or another, the Quincy KO’d a significant portion of the main cast: Kira, Byakuya, Renji, Rukia, Kenpachi, Hitsugaya, Matsumoto. Renji and Rukia interrupted Mask just as he finished taking down Kensei, Rose, Hisagi, Ikkaku and Yumichika, but Giselle gets ahold of Rose and Kensei later and zombifies them, which I am very distinctly not sure is a better strategy than just killing them (it certainly doesn’t pan out very successfully). There may have been some other of these fights that were interrupted, I am not going to re-read the whole TYBW arc for the purposes of this post. My point is, instead of spending one hundred billion Quincy dollars on developing bankai stealing abilities, I would have also given the Sternritter a PowerPoint presentation consisting of a single slide that just says “once they go down, make sure they’re dead.” Personally, I probably would have divided my forces into frontline fighters like Bazz and As Nodt and Bambi, and given them squads to follow along behind them, cutting off heads and incinerating bodies. Then again, Yhwach seemed to give exactly zero shits about personnel issues or strategy, generally.

Mostly, this war was a matter of Yhwach trying to do stuff and various shinigami preventing him from doing it. The TYBW arc is a mess and I am honestly not willing to put in the amount of effort to determine if there were actually any linchpin characters aside from, Ichigo, obviously, but I feel like if the Quincy had gone the extra 0.1% in that first invasion and actually finished off Byakuya, Rukia, Renji, and Kenpachi, they would have won the whole thing.

But they didn’t. lol.

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable. ( Jungkook x Oc) Chapter 3

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five.  Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Chapter 1   Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

“So, you guys looked pretty cozy in the garden.” Somi pursed her lips, disapproval evident on her sharp features as she watched me hop around, trying to pull the pantyhose up over the fleshiest part of my thigh. It was just a little past six thirty  and I already wanted the night to end. 

“He was telling me how he wanted me to have babies so his son could play with them.” I snapped. 

Somi blinked. 

“And uh..is he providing the baby batter?” She said drily and I laughed.

“I think..... he’s attracted to me.” I said dreamily, remembering the way he’d definitely gotten hard at breakfast this morning. 

“I mean, he’s a straight guy with eyes? Not surprising....” My sister grinned. 

“No, I mean... like actually physically attracted. I felt it too. it made me want to do something unholy with him.” I muttered, eyes misting over at the idea of being spread out on his bed. Satin sheets underneath my body, the weight of his body on mine. 

“He’s a vampire. Pretty sure anything you do with him is unholy.” She winked. I sighed, running a hand over my face. 

“Are you sure this is the way to go? “ I glanced at the robin blue off shoulder gown. I was wary of drawing attention to my neck, especially with a Kim. 

“It’s beautiful. Besides, it is your color. I want to see the look on Jungkook’s face when he sees you. Want to see him regret all his life choices.”

“i thought you didn’t approve of him.” i said amused. 

“I didn’t at first. But then you told me he rejected you and well, no one does that to my baby sister,” She glared and I hugged her close, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

I hesitated.

“Would it be too terrible if I tried to seduce him?” I bit my lips.

Somi’s eyes widened. 

“Sera...”

“Just hear me out.” I said urgently. 

She sighed. 

“Somi, I’ve never been with a man. I just... I can’t get married as a virgin ..I absolutely refuse to. And I sure as hell don’t want to give it up to one of these pompous little brats who act like utter douchebags.  So what am I supposed to do? Now, Jungkook ..” I paused, taking a deep breath to steady my pulse which raced every time I thought about him,. “ ...he’s...he’s so gentle. And nice and I just... I think he’ll make it good for me.”

I felt my face flame, half certain there was steam coming out of my ears. 

Somi looked slightly slack jawed. 

“Oh..um.. okay.” She laughed nervously. “ And how are you goig to get him to agree to this?” 

“Beg? ....  I don’t know...” I groaned. “ What do you think?”

Somi hesitated. 

“I think, for now you should concentrate on showing him that you’re not a child. So , do well tonight. At the dinner. Be polite courteous ... make good conversation... he’s going to be nearby right? Let him see you as an equal... I think he needs to trust that you guys are on equal footing before he will consider anything more ....”

I stared at her, my mind racing.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” I kissed her again.  “i love you. Now get my make up on.”  I said excitedly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For all that I wanted Jungkook to be slack jawed when he saw me, it was my own jaw that came unhinged when I opened the door to the hallway at exactly 7.00 PM

I stared, my eyes literally popping out of their sockets when i took in the absolute fucking  vision  he looked like. 

Tight, fitted leather pants that molded to his legs , putting those deliciously muscled thighs on display, so tight on his crotch that my mouth watered . A dark belt, cinched tight around his ridiculously slim waist and he’d paired it with a  blue silk shirt , that flowed around his torso like water. A thin black and blue striped tie hung around his neck, knotted loose and the end brushing past his waistline and a small silver earring dangled from his earlobes, catching the light of the lamp in the hallway. 

My throat went dry as I stared at him. 

And then i squinted. 

Oh God, was that a   nipple?

Nope. Not doing this today . 

 “Please excuse me!” I said hoarsely, voice cracking and face flushing red as I turned right back around , wrenched the huge oak door open and all but flew into the safety of my room before  slamming the door shut in his face. 

I sank to the floor in a heap, pressing a palm to my heart, trying to calm my pulse which had shot up so much. Somi stared at me from where she was putting away her cosmetics, eyebrows raised in surprise,. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked worried. 

“I think I just came untouched.” I whispered, staring at her with wide eyes.

Her eyes widened and her lips twisted in disgust.

“Oh my god, you horny little pervert!!! Get up from the floor, you’re wrinkling the dress!!”

I breathed rapidly, trying to get my brain to function but the sight of Jeon Jungkook’s nipples covered only by a thin silk shirt was burned into my mind. 

i had never wanted to lick something so bad. 

The knock on the door made me jump.

“Sera? Are you alright?” Jungkook’s voice called from the corridor and I whimpered. 

“I can’t do this... Please... i can’t.... don’t make me..” I begged. 

My sister gave me a glare and stalked over grabbing my arm and dragging me up with ease. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not like you’ve never seen Jungkook before, how hot could-” She pulled the door open and froze in place, her eyes going wide as saucers, lips parting in surprise as she stared at Jungkook.

“ Fuck me ..” She whispered softly, clearly having lost all her senses at the sight of him. I elbowed her hard, trying not to burst into tears.  .

Jungkook frowned.

“Excuse me?” 

“Nothing!! Nothing...she’s just excited that I’m finally dating again!!” I laughed cheerfully. 

Jungkook glanced between the pair of us, a small frown on his face but he didn’t question me further.

“Should we go?” He prompted and I smiled, wide. 

 Just don’t look at him. Don’t look at him and you’ll be fine.

I kept my gaze straight ahead as we walked down the corridor. 

“You look nice.” He commented casually and I swallowed.

“You look.....” decadent...like the kind of dessert I’d be tasting for hours... please let me lick your nipples...”.different.” I squeezed my eyes, willing myself to calm down but it was impossible. I swelled and ached in all the wrong places and my thighs trembled with the effort not to rub them together. My insides clenched, arousal dampening the bikini briefs I had on and i had to bite my lips to resist the urge to climb him like a tree and grind down on his thighs till I came. 

 fuck. 

“ Your father mentioned that it would be better if i blended in with the other patrons. He thinks it would make your date more comfortable if I didn’t hover around in black like a ghoul. “ He laughed. 

“ Ahahahahah....” i laughed shrilly, barely listening to a word he said because I was having a mental breakdown. 

I glanced to the front of his chest again, a quick sharp glance and yup.....those were certainly a pair of nipples, the nub hard and obvious through the silk of his shirt. 

Jungkook left to get the car and i stood at the entrance to the mansion, shivering lightly. The small fur throw i had on my shoulder was more for decoration than to keep warm and the night was chilly. 

By the time Jungkook brought the black Bugatti around, I was shaking. 

“Ooh... That’s a fancy car.” I commented , heart racing with how handsome he looked, gripping the steering wheel and he smiled. 

“It’s Namjoon’s . I thought you’d like to arrive in style today.” He grinned. 

I climbed in quickly, eager to get out of the biting wind. The interior was warm and cozy and i moaned, relaxing into the seats. 

“You look really good.” He said again, gaze flitting over me with a little more intent and I blushed. 

“You mentioned.” I whispered. 

“I see you in those godawful t shirts and stained jeans all the time and you’re usually just cleaning  spill ups or washing baby bottles  at the daycare so i keep forgetting .” He shook his head, thoughtfully, fixing the mirrors and glancing back. 

“Forgetting what?” i asked confused. 

“That you are literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

He said it casually, no fervent ardor behind his words . 

Just a matter of fact observation and somehow, the words felt like liquid heat being poured into me. 

it stuck me then, that I would give my entire life and soul to be on this date with Jungkook. To have dinner with him, to listen to him talk about himself. To tell him everything about myself. To just sit there, staring into his gorgeous face. Hold his hands over the dinner table and gaze into his eyes. 

 I’m so in love with you. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I said softly. 

“Yeah? I clean up good, don’t I?” He tilted his head, hair falling into his eye as he winked at me , a small smirk on his cherry red lips. 

I glanced away quickly, because staring at Jungkook was like staring into the fucking sun. 

staring at him made my eyes hurt. 

And it also broke my heart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Sera....” Mingyu had a very familiar look on his face. A hungry, lustful , disbelieving look that I was altogether familiar with. 

I managed a weak smile in return, letting him hug me , wincing when he buried his nose into my neck, breathing in my scent like he was starving. And the honest truth was, I didn’t even blame him . Control came with age and Mingyu was way too young to have full control over his instincts. And I knew exactly what my scent did to a vampire’s instincts. 

But still, the grip on my waist was bruising and I was having a hard time breathing. I tried to push him away , a bit but Mingyu merely moaned, nosing in deeper.

“You smell amazing.” He sounded punch drunk . 

Over his shoulders, I caught Jungkook’s gaze as he sat at the table next to us. He was frowning deeply. 

“You okay?” He mouthed and I nodded.  it was way too early to pull the plug on this. We hadn’t even sat down for dinner yet. 

I grabbed the arm around me hard and dug my nails into the skin. That made him recoil, pulling away with a wide eyed look of horror on his face. 

“Oh.,..Oh God... I’m so sorry.. I didn’t mean too... I’m so sorry...” he apologized over and over again but I could see the way his eyes flashed red, every few seconds. His hands trembled and shook like he couldn’t wait to get them on me again and my skin crawled at the very prospect of it. 

The guy had zero control. He couldn’t keep his shit together for a dinner date in public. 

My mind flashed to Jungkook, how he’d barely batted an eyelash even while he was  literally  drinking from me and by contrast Mingyu looked like a snot faced, sniveling brat , desperate to have something he wasn’t entitled too. 

I sighed in defeat, tamping down the urge to cry. 

I hated this. Hated men like Mingyu who couldn’t see past what I was. Who couldn’t think past the idea that they would finally be able to drink from me, if they got me on a date. 

“It’s alright. Should we order?” I said softly, my voice shaking just a little. i jumped when water spilled over my hands, Mingyu having knocked his glass over while reaching for the menu. 

“Oh..Oh no.. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry...” He stood up, trying to grab the glass but the water had already spilled across the table dripping over the edge to my dress.

My brand new, Dior dress. 

I turned, letting my  horrified, miserable eyes flit  to Jungkook.

I blinked, shocked at what I was seeing. 

Jungkook was laughing, hard. 

I fought the urge to grin myself as he grinned, shaking his head in disbelief, fingers pressed against his lips in sheer disbelief. 

Well, I suppose it was a little funny. 

Mingyu was on his feet, bowing over an over again muttering about how beautiful I was and how sorry he was and I decided to put him out of his misery. 

Standing up, I bowed politely and stepped away. 

“Mingyu ssi.... I think we should postpone this to another day.” I said gently.

He glanced at me, his eyes flashing red again and gaze dropping to my neck. Oh, for god’s sake. 

“Can I have a taste though?” He said hopefully, holding a hand out to touch me and I flinched when his fingers closed on my wrist. .He yanked hard and I shrieked when his fangs came out, ready to sink into my skin.  

Jungkook materialized between us like he’d been conjured out of thin air. He grabbed Mingyu’s wrist, squeezing till the younger boy howled in pain and yanked him back so hard I heard something pop in his shoulder. . 

“Hands to yourself, Young Mr. Kim. I believe the lady said she would like to call it a night.” Jungkook growled into his face and Mingyu flushed. 

“Yes..Yes of course.. As you wish, Ms. Hwang. Can I have your number? “ He whispered and oh god, this was just so excruciatingly embarrassing for everyone right now.. 

Jungkook stared down at him like he was an insect he’d accidently stepped on. 

“You have to the count of five to get the fuck out of here kid.” He said drily. 

Mingyu flushed even redder, bowing to me once more before grabbing his jacket and scarpering away. 

I stared after him, completely stunned. 

“Can you believe he’s going to be a lawyer?” I whispered. 

Jungkook’s eyes met mine. 

We both started laughing at the same time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This can’t be real. I refuse to believe, that what I witnessed was real.” Jungkook shook his head in disbelief as we waited for the valet to bring the car around.

I chuckled.

“You know what's actually unbelievable?  But true?” I said softly. 

Jungkook stared at me, eyebrows raised. 

“That is actually,  not  the worst first date I’ve had.” I admitted , grimacing. 

“Oh good god. “ He flinched. 

The valet arrived and I watched Jungkook head over to the driver side, before climbing in myself. I scrubbed the water stains on my dress after putting on the seat belt. Jungkook reached over, fixing something on my side of the dashboard and I held my breath as his shoulders brushed my breasts, the scent of his cologne filling my brain and turning it to mush. 

“so, what happened?” He asked settling back and I blinked. 

“huh?”

“Worst first date?” He prompted , pulling the car out into the driveway. 

“Oh... oh yeah. Freshman year of college. Agreed to date one guy...turned up at a hotel, he had three of his friends over.” I swallowed. “ They nearly killed me.”  

The car nearly veered off the pathway, Jungkook having gripped the steering wheel too hard and jolted it to the side.  

“Sera-  what? The sheer horror in his voice was palpable. 

“ They wanted a taste and I was an idiot back then I said okay just a taste for each of you...they were young...couldn’t control themselves .... so they just get drinking and well, I can usually let someone drink from me for a long time because my blood it sort of regenerates fast enough but...three people at the same time... I almost got exsanguinated.” 

“Jesus fuck.! tell me those bastards are dead...” He snarled. 

“My dad got them de-fanged.” I whispered. Jungkook flinched away as well. Being de-fanged was pretty much a death sentence because you couldn’t feed anymore. 

“Serves them right. Three of them...what the fuck.” Jungkook shook his head, jaw clenched. 

i swallowed.

“It’s kind of why I haven’t been with any Vampires. After that my dad got really protective of me and well, he doesn’t like the idea of me meeting  strangers. I was actually pre med back then. I couldn’t handle it. I quit and well, dad hired tutors for me and I got my degree in Childcare. And that’s okay. I love kids..” I laughed.

“You’re amazing with them. I’ve never seen Joowon this happy.” He said gently. 

“Its why I prefer staying with the clan. Only my family gets to feed from me occasionally because I don’t trust strangers to bite me, because they could lose control.”

The moment I said it, I regretted it. Jungkook’s eyes bore into me and i knew exactly what he was thinking. I didn’t trust people. Didn’t let anyone drink from me. 

And yet, I’d let Jungkook drink from me. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t even a friend. 

But he didn’t bring it up. instead he just sighed. 

“It’s not an excuse, you know. “ Jungkook said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Being young, its no excuse.  I’m not a born vampire which makes my instincts more potent and even dangerous but even in the first few months when I was turned... I never attacked anyone. Self control is a choice. That dude you met today... I doubt he gave a shit about you. Bastard just wanted a taste.... Could fucking see it in his eyes.” Jungkook sounded righteously upset on my behalf. 

“Now you know why I’m attracted to you.” I said softly. 

Jungkook froze. 

“Sera, -”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I said quickly, hating myself. 

Jungkook didn’t reply. 

Cursing myself for ruining the mood, I cleared my throat.

“I still don’t have to be home for a couple of hours. We could go somewhere else...” I suggested softly.

Jungkook gave me a small smile.

“I’m your bodyguard, Sera. If you choose to go somewhere , I’m kind of obligated to follow you.” He reminded me. 

I flushed.

“Right.....yeah...yeah. of course.” I stumbled over the words, so reminiscent of Mingyu that I felt a little sick. 

“So where to, Ms. Hwang?” He said casually. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“People can’t stop staring at us tonight .” Jungkook grumbled, glaring at a couple who had stopped their bicycles, just to gawk at him.

I laughed, tugging on his sleeve to pull him to a more secluded spot of the river bank, both of us looking distinctly out of place in a crowd of people dressed in comfortable clothes. 

 I hugged myself, watching the waves lap the river bank as I sat on a rickety wooden bench, a few dozen feet away from the water’s edge . The river looked especially picturesque today, reflecting the incandescent lights from Seoul’s skyline. 

“It’s because we’re dressed like we’re presenting at the Oscars.” I grinned at him and Jungkook’s lips quirked in a small smile. He stood by, glancing around at the people watching by, occasionally at the river as well. 

“This is nice. Do you come here often?” He asked , eyes skimming the city’s skyline , as he stuck his hands into his pockets. 

I hummed. 

“Sometimes. With Somi or Jimin. They like those ice lollies you get down the road.”  I smiled. “ I brought the kids here one weekend and they had a lot of fun.” 

Jungkook laughed.

“I bet they did. I should bring Joowon here someday.” He said thoughtfully. 

“ I could pack you guys some lunch.  Make it a picnic. “ I suggested and his gaze shifted to me thoughtful. 

“That won’t be necessary Ms. Hwang. I’m sure one of the cooks will be able to do it.” He said evenly and I tried not to let the words sting. 

“Of course.” I turned back to the river. 

For a few minutes we didn’t say anything. 

“Where were you? Before moving to Seoul?” I asked quietly. 

Jungkook hesitated before moving around to settle next to me on the bench. 

“Busan.” He said , staring out into the distance. “ I worked for a warlock there . For five decades nearly. His daughter was part vampire , part witch and well... I was lonely. “ His face showed a whole lot of regret, “ She had Joowon five years ago and tried to offer him as a blood sacrifice or something when he was born.” He grimaced. 

“She what?” I said stunned. 

He ran a palm over his face

"I didn’t want to do it but I had to kill her. Joowon was three months old and well, I had to quit my job soon after. Moved to one of the smaller villages nearby. Your father paid for my food and lodging. He wanted me to come over to the clan at once but I didn’t want to be a freeloader. When your father suggested you needed protecting, i thought it would be a good way to pay him back for everything.” He sighed. 

“Did you know who I was?” 

He gave me a look.

“Every Vampire with a dick knows who you are.” He said ith a dry smile and I flushed, looking away. 

“Jungkook...”

“The most desirable of humans. The perfect mate. The unsullied jewel of the Hwang clan.” 

He was laughing now, eyes warm and fond in the fading light of dusk and I found myself completely bewitched. 

“Unsullied....” I shook my head. “ I can’t believe people know I’m a virgin.” 

Next to me Jungkook went completely still. 

I turned to him and there was no mistaking the stunned look on his face. 

“What?!” I said feeling like my face was on fire. “ I told you I’ve never been with a Vampire.” 

“I didn’t think you meant... “ He stopped, swallowing. “ Anyways its none of my business. Let’s talk about something else.” 

Something wicked began to stir inside me.

“I’m saving it for the right man.” I said softly. And then I turned to stare right at him, long enough to get the point across. 

He stiffened a bit more.

So i barreled on. 

“These bumbling fools who can’t string two words together in my presence....They don’t deserve someone like me, don’t you think?” I prompted. 

He swallowed again and I felt a sort of vindictive satisfaction. Just knowing that I affected him possibly just as much as he affected me. It soothed my bruised ego a bit, the way he refused to meet my eyes now, making up for his brutal rejection earlier. . 

“I deserve someone amazing, don’t you think Jungkook?” I pressed on and he finally looked at me, eyes blazing. 

“Only the best for you, princess.” He muttered  holding my gaze. and I tried to ignore the way the nickname made warmth bloom all over my skin. 

“Yes. Only the best. I don’t want any of these younglings with their fumbling hands and stammering words. I want a  man. Someone who knows how to put me  in my place.” 

Jungkook gripped the bench hard the old wood splintering under his strength and I bit my lips. 

“Someone who can be gentle, show me what I’ve been missing out on. Show me how good it can be with the right person, who can get me wet and wanting without even touching me...” 

He exhaled sharply at that 

“We should probably get-” he moved to get up but i was quicker. . 

Not so fast, Mr. Jeon. 

I scrambled over to him, climbing his lap and grinding down on him, before he could fully realize what I was doing. The impact took him by surprise and he grunted, settling back on the neck and hands gripping my thigh to stop me from toppling over. 

“Sera-what” he looked furious but i pressed a palm to his mouth. 

“Are you going to pretend you don’t understand what I’m asking for?” I demanded, heart pounding against my ribcage as I looped his tie over the wrist of my other hand, once , twice, giving it a yank so he had to bend over, his lips inches away from mine. 

“And exactly what are you asking for, princess ?” He whispered, his breath warm against my lips.

“A teacher. Someone who can show me the ropes.” 

“Ropes? For your first time....oh baby, you sure?” His eyes danced with mirth. 

Not entirely sure what he was implying, I just stared back at him.

“You can do it. You can be my  first. “ I brushed my lips against his, softly. it was barely a touch, hardly a kiss. 

Jungkook stared at me, his hands lightly squeezing my thighs  for one second, before falling to his sides again. 

“The only first I’m going to be,  is the first man to toss you into a fucking river, if you don’t get off me right now , Princess.” He said casually. 

I stared at him, refusing to budge and he stood up anyway 

i yelped, nearly landing on my butt before i managed to catch my balance. 

He made to walk away but i grabbed his arm, pulling him close. And it was ridiculous, the fact that he came closer, the fact that he let me grab his wrist, bring them up to my waist. 

“Please kiss me.” I begged. 

“You don’t want this.” He said softly, hands rising up to brush the hair off my forehead and I gripped his shoulders levering myself up to press a kiss to his lips.

It was quick, over before it even began. 

“That’s the only kind of kiss I’ve ever had. “ I said desperately “ It was a boy in college. He kissed me like that and then he asked me if he could bite me. I refused and he never talked to me again....”

“Sera...” He looked stricken and miserable and I let my fingers flutter to his collar, gripping it hard and yanking on it, feeling angry and upset and altogether miserable. 

How ridiculous...that men all over the country tripped over themselves to be with me and yet here I was, reduced to a pathetic begging mess just for one measly kiss from this man..... 

 “ I want to be kissed. I don’t know how it feels to be kissed..to be wanted for something other than the blood that flows in my veins.... I just want someone to kiss me because they want to...because I’m beautiful and precious and i deserve to be kissed and -” 

Fingers clamped over my arms, gipping me hard and almost lifting me off the ground as Jungkook pulled me up, my eyes fluttering shut just as his lips closed over mine, soft and tender and warm and wet and so delicious I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out. 

I let my hands fall to his chest, the soft smooth silk of his shirt felt like heaven underneath my fingers and through the thin fabric i could feel his heart, pounding against his ribcage. I ran my fingers over his torso, the strong muscles flexing beneath my fingers and my fingers crept up to grip his upper arm, the coiled strength in his bicep making my legs quiver. 

He tasted like mint , his tongue licking the seam of my lips and begging entrance and my lips parted in surprise, the sensation so new and electrifying. 

I gasped when I felt his tongue tangling with mine as he pressed in closer. I groaned , almost forgetting to breathe when Jungkook’s  lower lips brushed mine, his teeth tugging the plump flesh of my lips harshly , biting down gently and my lips parted, giving him better access. He was so warm and strong and big and  i couldn’t get enough of him, my body wanting nothing more than to stay pressed against his for the rest of our lives. 

He used slow, subtle strokes of his tongue to taste me, gentle licks that made my head swim and it felt like I was drowning, in the heady taste of him . I felt weak as a kitten, my fingers scrambling up to grip his hair, tangling in the silky black locks, gripping to ground myself and i accidentally yanked a little too hard making him pull back, a little. 

 He laughed gently, right against my lips, the sound sexy and arousing and I groaned, chasing the taste of him and Jungkook obliged, nipping my lips again with his teeth , soft little pin pricks of pain and pleasure,  before laving the abused skin with his tongue. His hand came up to cup my cheek, holding me in place as he kissed me deeper . 

 I could feel myself go weak in the knees, stumbling into him and he wrapped one arm around my waist holding my body up as he nibbled and teased and drove me insane with his touch. 

Jungkook’s hand slipped, from my cheek, down to my neck, his fingers brushing back and forth on my bare shoulder before moving down, lightly gently brushing my breast . 

I melted, gasping as he shaped the swell of my breast with his hand, thumb rubbing gently against the tip till my nipples pebbled up and I felt a sob build up, pulling away from him to catch my breath, gripping him hard and burying my face in his shoulders, overwhelmed and shaking. 

“Darling... you alright?” Jungkook whispered, hands reaching up to stroke the back of my head and i clung to him, wrecked. 

“Please don’t let me go.” I panicked when he made to move away and he froze at once, drawing me closer, hugging me tighter.

“I’m right here princess. You’re going to be okay.” His voice rumbled through my body and I willed myself to stop shaking but i couldn’t. 

“What did you do to me...?” I asked hoarsely, my body thrumming. 

He laughed, voice low and tinkling. 

“I kissed you. You begged me to kiss you and I obliged.” He teased. 

I shook my head against the fabric of his shirt, clutching his waist harder. 

“That was not a kiss.” I snapped. “ That was...That was....attempted murder.”  

 Jungkook laughed harder at that, 

“Take deep breaths, darling. Relax.... You’re going to be okay. Just catch your breath you’ll be fine.” He kissed the top of my head, gentle and fond and I closed my eyes. 

“I need a few more minutes.” I said softly. 

“ I’m right here. “ He whispered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook turned the car off and we both sat in the silence, staring straight ahead into the murky waters of the river. I was still in shock, my brain rendered entirely useless from one single kiss.

 He had kissed me senseless. 

 Literally. 

“I can’t give you what I want.” He said gently. 

I bit my lips.

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.” I whispered. 

He made a sound, a sharp little exhale.

“Fuck, Sera...you’re killing me.” He swore. 

I clenched my fists. I was so scared, that this would be yet another rejection and I just knew that I couldn’t live without his kisses. Not now, when I knew just how amazing they were. 

“I’m serious. I... I won’t ask you to court me or do any of that serious stuff. Just.. Just want you to touch me. Keep touching me. And kissing me. ” I finished stupidly. 

Jungkook laughed a little.

“God, you’re so young... I feel like the worst kind of man for wanting this so fucking much.” 

I felt my heart soar at that. it was the first time he’d acknowledged wanting me and i reveled in it. 

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to understand exactly what you’re getting into.” He said softly. 

I felt my heart begin to pound, a steady thrum that was so loud in my ears that I couldn’t fathom how he couldn’t hear it. 

“This is going to be physical. Only physical. I don’t want you to dream of something that isn't going to happen. “ He said sternly. 

I nodded. 

It sounded like a recipe for a disastrous heartbreak but if i could get more kisses like the one I’d just had.... well, maybe I could deal with it when it happened. 

“I’m the one who gets to decide when , where and how.” He turned to look at me and I met his gaze. “ i won’t have you trying to climb me in the mansion in front of everyone.” 

i flushed. 

“Fine. “ I snapped. 

“You don’t stop meeting your potential suitors. You don’t turn them down without cause.” 

I groaned.

“Jungkook...” i began but he held a hand up. 

“Not all of them are going to be incompetents fools, Sera. There’s a guy out there good enough for you. “ He insisted ,  “  I’ll warm your bed till you find him, because you’re beautiful and I’m fucking weak” He shook his head, laughing without mirth, “ but... I won’t have you ruining your chances of making a worthy match. “ 

I nodded. 

“Alright. Anything you say.” 

He gave me another long look before starting the car. 

“Okay. My room, tomorrow. After 11.00PM. Wear something I can take off easily.” He said drily. 

I felt the grin creeping into my face, wide and shameless and he groaned. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Jeon Junkook ssi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A chapter inspired entirely by jeon jungkook’s nipple in that blue shirt. 

[moony-marvuders]

Hiii! ❤️ I have a request pleaseeee with Remus (young) and a hufflepuff reader 🥰

could I possibly be where the reader is super shy and always has their nose in a book, wallflower like but is in a relationship with Remus and one of the other guys upsets her? ❤️

I absolutely love when a x reader reflects me personally like this! I would adore to write it ! I hope you enjoy.

paring: young!remus x hufflepuff!reader + platonic! with the marauders and lily.

warnings: angst. swearing. sirius being kind of an asswipe, m*dblood mentioning, panic attack.

You loathed potions, its was the absolute worst. You could have sworn Slughorn had something personal against you, especially when he had assigned permanent seats to everyone, after a rather eventful prank, obviously carried out by Sirius and James. That was unbeknownst to Slughorn, as nobody had come forward in who had slipped his morning coffee with tainted, dog haired polyjuice potion. Thus leading to an assigned seating.

You were perfectly fine where you had been sitting, with your boyfriend, Remus. He made you feel comfortable, especially considering the class was always so utterly loud. Many times you had wished  to leave, the sensory overload being too much to handle at times. But Remus would place a hand upon your thigh, calming you down through the loud laughter that came from the rest of the table. 

Not often were you participating in “The Marauders” shananigans, but of course you had been pooled within the “group” losing your seat next to Remus, who was now at the very back with Severus. You gave Remus an apologetic look as Slughorn continued to separate everyone from their tables.

James was forced to sit off to the side, closer to the front, making it almost impossible to admire Lily, whom sat near the back.

Peter was now sitting on the opposite end of the front, from where James was situated.

And you were situated in the middle table, with Sirius. Obviously Slughorn had trusted you enough to keep an eye on the rowdy boy, but sitting next to Sirius everyday?

That would be pure torture.

You loved Remus’s friends, because they loved him. But you had never really felt “apart of the group.” Half of that being your own fault, nose always caught in a book in any given social functioning that you had been invited to. Too shy to speak, or even play truth or dare. You sat amongst his friends, listening intentively to their many conversations in which you were never apart of. You enjoyed it that way, it was who you were.

But some days they didn’t understand why you had been this way. Annoyingly so, they would often talk behind your back when they hadn’t thought you could hear.

“ She doesn’t say a word to us!”

“ What does Remus even see in her?”

“ Shut up you lot! We should just be happy for him.”

Overhearing this had hurt you many times before, but you had always hid your hurt behind your kind eyes when assuring Remus that everything was alright. But this only made it harder to talk to them, you felt as though they hated you enough already, that the effort didn’t seem like it would have been enough.

Needless to say the uncomfortable and overwhelming silence, and glances between Sirius and you was enough to make you nervously and slowly grab your muggle book from the bag that sat amongst your feet. Opening it where the bookmark had been, hiding half of it with your potions book, as you pretended to follow along to the lecture. 

It had been not even 15 minutes before Sirius was tapping your shoulder and complaining to you, “ Who does he think he is eh? Moving all of us.” You shrug at his words, barely picking your eyes up from the page within your book as he continued on.

 “ Can’t he take a joke?” You didn’t feed into his desperate attempts at conversation, too scared to get caught by Slughorn, and too invested within your book.

 Sirius went quiet for a moment, realization washing over him as he came to the conclusion you wouldn’t dare utter a word. It had been his final straw. It wasn’t that he was angry at you, or particularly had it out for you, he just had assumed you were stuck up, perhaps even more than Lily had been, and then again, she didn’t ignore the boys, she played along.

“ Do you ever fucking talk?” He said this a bit louder than he had expected. And it stung more that he had chosen such a foul Muggle word to spit at you. You couldn’t look in his direction, your whole body froze at his words. Surely it hadn’t been that bad, he was simply frusterated. It still stung, considering the other judgemental things he had uttered behind your back. 

“ Seriously? What is wrong with you?” He spoke again, this time sparking you to stand up, quickly pushing your belongings within your bag, and rushing out. Ignoring Slughorn’s call of your name.

You ran through the corridors, a panic settling itself within your chest as you searched for somewhere to be alone.

-

Remus would have ran after you, he tried, but Slughorn warned him against it, threatening to take away house points if anyone else moved from their seats. 

After class though, he rushed after Sirius, blocking him in the corridor, against a wall. “ Bloody hell Sirius- What did you say?” He questioned, far too aggressive. But Sirius didn’t hold back. 

“ Get- off of me-” He pushed Remus, only causing Remus to get more aggressive, pushing him back to the wall.

“ Tell me Sirius!” Sirius couldn’t help but laugh at Remus attempting to protect you of all people. The one that ignored them, that acted as if she was as odd as Severus. Perhaps if Remus hadn’t been blind, they would bully you as they did him, Sirius thought. 

Remus could see James and Peter out of the corner of his eye, James attempting to wedge himself in between his two best friends.

“ Merlin’s beard!” He exclaimed, getting in between, “ Get off of each other!”  Remus stood back, still seething with anger, watching Sirius still having a playfully mischievous smile dancing upon his lips.

James turned to Remus, calmly, still in between them, “ What has you peeved Moony?” Remus’s eyes landed back to Sirius’s form. 

“ He made y/n rush out of class!” James turned to Sirius, sighing.

“ Padfoot- what could you have possibly said to the poor girl?” Sirius wasn’t afraid of telling them, in fact he had wanted, no- yearned for months to give you a piece of his mind. 

“ I asked her what the bloody hell was wrong with her- why she ignores us like we’re bloody mudbloods-” That really set Remus off, but he couldn’t help but to rush to find you rather than fight with his ignorant best friend.

“I’ll be havin a fucking word with you later.” Remus spat at him, before rushing off to find you. 

-

He had searched nearly everywhere within the castle for you, it would have been much easier with the map, but it was within James’ possession. He had no idea where you were, missing his other class in attempt to search. 

He neared an empty classroom with caution, soft whimpering coming from inside, a cry he was almost sure had to be yours. 

 Slowly opening the door, stepping in with the lightest foot, before calling out your name, “y/n? love?” You didn’t call out, or make yourself known, waiting for him to come to the corner you had situated yourself in. 

When doing so, he acted fast, wrapping his arms around you. Saying nothing, just rubbing his hands up and down your back, attempting to make you focus on his touch rather than the panic attack that washed through you. 

Actions had always spoken louder than words between the two of you, and in this moment it had spoken volumes, as you shook and sobbed against him. 

-

This was really emotional for me to write and I’m sorry it lacked of any fluff. I needed some angst tonight. It isn’t too descriptive either, as I have exams next week and a project due in the morning but hopefully this suffices. Perhaps I could write a part 2 to this? Also I didn’t mean to make Sirius act like such a prick, I just needed some angsty plot.

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship (4): The Gargoyle Graveyard

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Again, thank you all for being patient with me and I apologize for having a very inconsistent writing schedule. I'm going to make it my goal to update on a bi weekly basis instead of leaving you all in silent limbo. Also a reminder I suck at figuring out which warnings to put so if there's something that needs to be forewarned that I failed to disclose please lmk!

Warnings: Mentions of heavy bodily injuries | childhood trauma/neglect | discussions/mentions of discrimination | mentions of virginity/sexual history

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AO3 version

Clay. Stone. Porcelain. Plaster. Metal. There are even gargoyles carved entirely of wood! Some statues are stand-alone works of art while others are part of a clear collection or series of similar inspiration. They even come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; as small as an apple or a towering height to rival Malleus himself. No matter what, each grotesque has been crafted with the utmost consideration, by well seasoned and knowing hands. Even the ones that have clear defects and cannot serve their intended purpose are free of overabundant ivy, weeds, or dust. There’s a clear degree of love and care the family who makes these statues has for their craft that makes him feel less alone in his interest in an uncherished form of art.

“It should be around here somewhere,” you muse aloud. Ever since he expressed interest in seeing more sculptures made with non-traditional materials, you’ve been keeping your eye out for a particular one that would fulfill his yearning. You eventually find it and eagerly point to it. “There it is!”

Malleus watches as you approach a massive-sized statue covered with a thick and half-wet tarp. He helps you remove the cover, revealing a winged and slightly humanoid canine. There are many more grotesques with a similar design, but what makes this one stand out the most is the material it’s made out of.

“Amazing!” Malleus awes. “I’ve never seen a grotesque of this size made entirely of glass! They’ve even managed to maintain their attention to detail despite such an abnormal material choice.”

“You can even see the inner channel where the water would flow in and redirect out of its mouth,” you notice.

“They even went out of their way to make it functional despite it being unfit for actual installation?” Malleus inquires with disbelief. “Such a shame.”

“If you’re looking to buy anything here, I’m afraid it's a lost cause. One of the first warnings the grandfather gave me is that none of these are for sale.”

“What was his second warning?”

“If we damage anything, even as small as a scratch, he’ll kill us.”

“How charming,” he chuckles. “I cannot blame him. These statues must take weeks to complete. Time is a human’s greatest enemy.”

“For some, sure. But when I went to visit the family and talked to the old man, he was lunging around all this heavy equipment like he was still in his prime,” you recall. “He lives for his craft. If there’s anything humans are at risk of their entire lives, it’s a lack of motivation and reason to live.”

“I suppose that’s true, but the lifespan of humans and the inevitable effects of aging is difficult to live with, especially once it begins to hinder one’s ability to do what one could previously do without issue. ”

“You’re not wrong,” you acknowledge. “But I think I’d rather live a short life with fulfillment than a dull, long-as-shit life.”

To show that he’s entirely on your side, Gunter lets out a guttural bark while his tail rapidly wags and thumps the damp ground, coating the ends of his bushy tail in specs of dirt and dirtied, remnant snow of the north that has managed to stay frozen on the isles warmer south end.

“You’re only agreeing with them because you’ve been promised food,” Malleus chastises. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on your grumbling stomach.”

“And don't think I didn't pick up on your stomach rumbling either your highness," you quip back at him. "The family has a small cottage nearby we can use. We'll settle down for a bit and eat before sightseeing some more."

Before you turn and walk in the direction towards the aforementioned lodgings, you reach your hand out for Malleus to take and he latches onto you with restrained enthusiasm. He's taller than you, but he takes care not to take his normal strides as to not leave you struggling to keep up with him. Gunter doesn't know the way, so he trots beside you every step of the way up until the destination is in plain view. The cottage is small but well-attended. There’s a rustic flair to its construction that makes it feel familiar and safe despite never stepping foot in it before.

"Those gargoyles were something, huh?" you remark to him while you tap and shake off the gunk wedged into the soles of your heavy boots against the frame of the door.

"Indeed," he nods, taking your cloak off for you and hanging it on the wooden rack nearby. "I don't think I've ever seen that many gargoyles in one day. Just when my eyes land upon an intriguing one, there's several more that catch my attention."

The way he gets all wide-eyed is outright adorable. It makes you grin just as enthusiastically too. "I bet your club is going to have a field day once you tell them about this!"

His child-like smile turns into one of disappointment. "I'm certain they would, if I wasn't the sole member that is."

Your hands halt from pulling out and setting down all the premade food out of your pack. "Seriously? You're the only one?"

When he nods his head, you feel a twinge of hurt in your heart. Poor guy. You can only imagine how disappointing it must be to go through all those lengths to start a club (you would know since you're technically a staff member of the school and have been given a rundown on some of the school's functions and regulations) only for no one to show interest. Of course, you completely understand that gargoyles aren't exactly all the rage within the minds of teenage boys. Still! He goes through so much effort to build relationships with his peers but they always cower away, either due to his status or even because of the way he looks. You won’t deny that he does come off as rather intimidating at first glance, but he's a sweet guy once you give him the chance to speak.

But to expect teenagers going through social pressures and demanding academics to be as understanding and willing to understand someone like Malleus is an impossible demand. Given that everyone in the school can be a bunch of self-centered and easily agitated bunch of pricks, it's understandable that most of the student body isn't keen on trying to take into consideration the proper etiquette one needs to consider in the presence of a young and noble fae. Deuce has met and talked briefly with Malleus on one occasion, but even he visibly shakes whenever his name is mentioned, even in casual passing.

Wait until they found out who you've gone and gotten buddy-buddy with behind their back. They probably think they're slick or that their intentions are well swept under the rug, but it's clear they feel some semblance of responsibility for your well-being, as both a magicless individual as well as a close, albeit older, friend. You dread the day people begin to make the connections between Malleus and you, but you still can’t help but wonder what their reactions might be. You also dread the high probability those two idiots are going to find out and embarrass the living hell out of you, which you know you do not have the patience or tolerance for.

Gunter jumps up and sits himself down in one of the wooden dining chairs, pushing the small ceramic plate towards you with his nose, as if telling you "Alright, I’ve done what I said I'd do, now feed me what I'm owed." You tell him that you'll give him what he's well earned after you get a small fire started in the brick fireplace. Just because it's warmer near the southern half of the island and not as heavily blanketed with snow, doesn't mean the cold has completely vanished, Winter is still winter after all.

"Where did these scars come from?"

Malleus' unexpected question and closeness nearly make you drop the iron rod you've been using to stoke the growing fire. You've since taken off your boots and rolled up the bottoms of your pants just above your knee as the room starts to warm up enough for a thin layer of perspiration to accumulate and roll down your skin. The scars he's referring to are the ones on your right leg, both side by side at an awkward angle and discolored. You have a lot more scars than these, some much more gruesome in appearance than these two. Malleus has never asked about your scars, but sometimes you catch him looking in the general area of some that peak through your clothes. He likely keeps quiet about their existence out of courtesy.

Yet out of all the markings on your body, why did these two stand out enough that he'd finally ask about them?

"It's a long story," you say in an effort to stall the topic. "Sit. I'll feed you two once the fire is stable."

He doesn’t push you for an answer, instead simply doing as you say and lets you poke at the burning logs until they're properly aflame on their own. You made mostly some of your morning favorites; Creamy and thick potato stew with diced carrots and peas and some eggs, ham, and crispy hash browns sandwich between homemade halved croissants. You teased him about having picky taste buds earlier, but Malleus is content to eat anything you serve him so long as it is not comparable to the likes of Lilia's atrocious cooking.

(Seriously, how does a man as old as Lilia not know the basic fundamentals of cooking? And why does everything he makes end up burnt and tasting like something rotten? You will never understand.)

"Don't eat too quickly," you warn Gunter as you pour a bit of light-colored soup onto his designated plate. Your words are ignored, as the equally marred wolf sloppily slurps and munches on the few bits of potatoes and vegetables you generously scraped out of the thermos. His food is gone as quickly as it’s put in front of him and he looks at you expecting more.

"No. The rest is mine," you scold. "And don't beg Malleus for some either! I know you do it behind my back, you little shit!"

He turns to look at Malleus with an accusatory glare, thinking that he ratted him out to you. Malleus’s response towards the silent imputation is to turn and look out the window as if something caught his interest all of a sudden, cup raised to his lips as he politely sips away at his meal without an air of calmness. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hide the amusement that overtakes your senses.

"Malleus, stop that!"

"Stop what?" he innocently asks.

"Stop making me want to laugh!"

He sets his cup down onto its matching serving dish. "It's not my fault you have an easily satiable sense of humor."

"Wow!" you say incredulously and put your arms up in offense. "And here I was thinking we were friends!"

His distant demeanor breaks and you both devolve into a fit of laughter together. Gunter unfortunately takes advantage of your joint distraction and slips away with a warm sandwich between his jaw, your sandwich in particular.

"That damn wolf!" you curse. "I knew I should have trusted my gut and pack extras.”

Malleus pities your distress before moving over to sit closer. "Worry not. I'll split mine in half with you,” he reassures.

"No, it's fine," you immediately dismiss his offer. "Have it for yourself."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," he firmly states. “Don’t be stubborn. It’s far too early for that.”

"I thought you liked it when I was stubborn?” you pout.

He shakes his head with a smile. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t”

"At least someone likes my attitude,” you say after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of soup. “Sebek certainly doesn’t."

"The boy is stubborn as well. When two equally stubborn individuals cross paths, you will witness nothing but discord between the two."

"Add the fact I'm human into the mix, and we'll be exchanging fists instead of words sooner or later," you scoff. "I get that some faes don't like humans, but what's his deal with acting like he’s got a vendetta against me?"

"Sebek doesn't hate humans for the reasons you might think," Malleus admits. "It’s more like he finds them difficult to think that highly of. Did you know that he is half-human?"

You nearly choke on your own breath over the sudden revelation. "Really?"

"Indeed," Malleus finds amusement at your disbelief. "Have you ever wondered why his ears aren't pointed like Silver, but his eyes are like mine and Lilia’s?"

"Damn,” you scratch the back of your head with embarrassment. “Now I feel stupid.”

"You aren't. Given the way he speaks, not many would assume he had human blood in his veins. His mother was highly regarded within her social circle, but her marriage to a human man tarnished her reputation a great deal. She's happy and does not seem to care what others think of her these days. However, when Sebek set out to be a knight, his mother's marriage and his lineage were often brought up as a way to scrutinize his character and capabilities rather than any of his actual shortcomings as an individual."

"Poor kid," you sigh. "Lilia told me those sorts of things still happen in The Valley, but it sounds so outlandish that I couldn’t take it that seriously."

"Many faes hold old traditions above all else, to a degree that the purity of one's blood stands above all other merits." His eyebrows pressed together in annoyance. "Even my grandmother thinks it's archaic, but as the reigning queen she has to embody a persona of neutrality between the social divide."

"It sounds like you have your work cut out for you in the future," you say, almost apologetically. "What do you plan to do about it once you're the king?"

There's a brief flash of surprise over your question, but Malleus easily answers it as usual. "I think my first course of action as king would be to properly knight Sebek and Silver."

"Bet my rifle that Sebek is going to cry the entire ceremony!" you remark with certainty. "That's all he ever goes on about, being a knight and all."

"He's devoted countless hours and efforts since he was a child. If there's anyone who deserves to join the knighthood, it's him."

"Definitely," you nod to further cement your agreement with him. "He could stand to lower his voice a bit. He'll give you tinnitus before long.”

"At least we won't have to worry about losing him in a crowd," Malleus jests.

"That's to say we'll lose sight of him to begin with," you remark. "He'll gladly lose me in a crowd. You? You'd be lucky to get out of arm's length."

"You underestimate me, dearest," Malleus smirks. "Ever since I've met you, I've perfected the art of avoiding Sebek's insistent searches."

"Have you now?" you razz back. "Don't let him catch onto the fact. He'll have my head."

He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Each second his skin touches yours makes you tingle. Time slows down ever so briefly if only to savor the small instance of physical connection for as long as possible. "What of your aunts?" he inquires. "Are they as overprotective of you as Sebek is of myself?"

"They’re a trio of mama bears," you proudly admit. "I'm old enough to drink and well equipped to fend for myself, but in their minds, I'll always be the little tyke that couldn't even eat their meals without looking at them for approval. Especially my aunt Gia."

You have three aunts. There's your aunt Marisol, the mother of most of your cousins and the main caretaker of the household. Your second aunt Lucia was well into her studies at university when you came to live with them, but her stress and long hours of mulling over her course materials paid off in the long run. Your gardening skills wouldn't be what they are now without her expertise in agricultural botany.

Then there's your aunt Gia. Oldest of the three. An absolute tank of a woman. No spouse. No kids of her own. She lived off the land like an absolute titan. The woman raised you as if she was the one that carried you for nine months and not your actual birth mother.

How would you describe your parents? If your parents were told to list out their priorities in life, their careers would be at the top of the list and you would be put at the very bottom. Why they carried you to term is beyond your understanding. You later learned that Gia had even offered to take you under her care well before your birth, knowing that your parents might not be well-suited to take care of you in the way she thinks would be beneficial for you. It was a convenient offer that would have saved everyone the trouble years down the line when you had your accident. They worked in a cutthroat industry and were constantly moving up the executive echelons. They had no time for you, yet their pride as a pair of young, successful business magnates made them incapable of seeing past the reality of the situation. That left you mostly in the care of last-minute caretakers and your aunts, but only if they had time from their own busy and preoccupied lives to come out into the city and visit.

You were eight years old when things started to get better, but it was upstarted in the worst possible way. Your parents had to go away for the upcoming weekend for work and left you in the care of a babysitter as per the norm. The babysitter never showed up however and your parents apparently couldn’t be bothered to check up on you even once the entire trip. Their silence wasn’t surprising. You just went on about your business for the next three days on your own like nothing was wrong. Your aunt Gia had even called at one point to check up on you, but you didn’t bother to tell her that your parents had left you to fend for yourself. She would have exploded if you did, but not as much as she did when you woke up in the hospital after falling down the stairs and lying helplessly on the ground for several hours with a dislocated shoulder and a compound-fractured leg. You were lulling in and out of consciousness due to all the medication pumped into you, but what little you do remember seeing and hearing when you regained consciousness will forever stick with you for the rest of your life.

If people think your level of swearing is bad, they should have heard your aunt that day. She swore so viciously that it could set an innocent bystander's eardrums on fire. What will forever stand out the most to you was the fact that your parents didn’t even look the least bit apologetic or regretful. They didn’t even approach you once your aunt was done giving them a piece of her mind to check up on you. They simply talked with the awaiting social worker and doctors and then left. It was for the better, but the small part of you that continued to hold onto the desperate belief that your parents would come around one day sent you into a thrashing frenzy and you had to be sedated before you could hurt yourself anymore.

The next year was spent recovering from your injuries, meeting regularly with your caseworker, and going through therapists like a pack of cigarettes. By the time you were back on your feet and the legal proceedings of your custody case were concluded, all you wanted was to move on with it all. Nearly a decade of neglect left you this unattentive, uncertain husk of a person who couldn’t take a single step forward without looking for some sort of guidance or assurance. Your family was exhausted by the entire ordeal and over speaking with third parties. Your aunts took it upon themselves to help you regain your sense of self in the comfort of your new home, no matter how difficult or demanding it was going to be.

“It took some time, but eventually it clicked in my mind that I was in a better place and I started to get better. As for my parents, I have no clue what they’re up to these days.” You lean back into your chair and let out a shaking yawn. “I like to think they’re getting on well like I am.”

“I don’t understand.” Malleus looks at you with unbelievable confusion. “Your parents treated you poorly, yet you don’t sound the least bit resentful. Why is that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “What’s the point? I'm in a better place now, so I've let bygones be bygones. 'Doesn't mean I don't harbor any anger against them anymore. I do, but getting upset won't change what's happened to me."

Gunter, having sensed your discomfort over the matter, trots over and rests his head on your lap. You gratefully rub the top of his head, carding your hands through his thick, coarse hair. "I'm just glad they let me go without a fuss. Family court was hell for my family.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Expensive too.”

Crackling wood fills the momentary silence that befalls the small cottage. What you've recollected to Malleus is a lot to take in, and if you're being quite honest you'd prefer if he just dropped the subject and talked about literally anything else right now. You hope he doesn't say he's sorry or any other type of apologetic comment. That's all you were ever told that entire year it all happened, during court proceedings, your rehabilitation, by both strangers and distant family members alike.

"I'm so sorry. What happened to you was unfortunate. You didn't deserve it."

No shit you didn't deserve any of that. You were a kid. You don’t need one pity party after another to realize that what took place then had fucked you forever. But as you said earlier, you're in a better place now, with a loving and supportive family that's moved on alongside you. A family you need to get back to as soon as possible.

"I love you."

Well, if he was hoping to take your mind off the past. that certainly did it. How can it not? It came out of nowhere and as good as you are at holding your composure when need be, you're sure you look no less like a gaping fish when warm and plush softness presses right against the corner of your lips. A kiss. His kiss.

"What's wrong?" Your voice sounds shaky. You’re nervous.

"Nothing," he smiles reassuringly. "I simply said what I felt needed to be said."

"Fair enough" you concede easily. He was going to say it sooner or later. He already has actually, now that you think about it. Yet here you are trying to process his words like it’s rocket science.

"Am I going about this too fast perhaps?" he genuinely asks. His hands that have been busy massaging your calves that have settled across his lap somewhere during your long retelling gradually slow down, but his hands never go completely still. "This is my first time experiencing something like this."

"What?" You sit up a bit straighter. "A relationship?"

"Yes."

Your head tilts to the side. "Really?"

He nods hesitantly "Yes?"

For a moment, you go completely quiet. "I don't believe you,” you doubtfully say, head shaking to further showcase your refusal to believe him.

He must not have liked your remark, frowning with clear offense in his eyes. When he dislikes something, the vertical slits in his eyes contract into a thin line. "I cannot lie, yet you still doubt me?"

"I know you can't lie, but I find it hard to believe you haven't been with anyone else before," you explain. Before you can consider the appropriateness that was your newfound curiosity about Malleus's apparently non-existent love life, you blurt out, "Are you still a virgin?"

You slap your hand over your mouth the moment those words come out of it. He's equally caught off guard and nearly drops his warm cup of coffee. Even Gunter is surprised by your question, olive-colored eyes looking at you as if you've lost your mind. It's an invasive question, inappropriate even. You and Malleus have been dating for a little over two days. A question like that is way too early to bring up just yet.

"You don't have to answer that," you tell him behind your palm. "I shouldn't have even asked it. Forget I ever brought it up-”

"I'm not," he interrupts you, leaving you even more shocked than you already are. You’re practically gaping like a fish by now. "I'm not a virgin,” he further insinuates.

A deafening silence, but it’s eventually broken by yourself. “I still don’t believe you.”

Malleus gets further annoyed at your refusal to accept his truth. "I'm not lying!" he insists.

"Bullshit!"

"Do you want me to recount my history to you?" he asks, exasperated as you are at the shift the conversation is taking. "Will that satisfy your doubts?"

"You know what? It will!" you loudly declare. "Who'd you sleep with?"

"He was a young page at the time,” he reminisced. “It happened before I was a century old.”

Your eyebrows raise with intrigue. "Was he cute?"

"Yes," he hushedly agrees. The disconcerting admittance paints his face a pinkish-red glow. "But that's not why I bedded him."

"But surely his looks are what made you interested in the first place?” you make blatant regard of the fact.

“You’re not wrong,” he acknowledges, expertly avoiding agreeing with you outright. “But his looks aren't the sole reason I was drawn to him. He was bright-eyed and ambitious, to the point you’d think him insane given his position in the court. It was also the first time I ever truly met with a group of humans, and my young mind was eager to get a more accurate perspective of humans that wasn’t through the lens of my tutors.”

“An ‘accurate perspective’?” You make playful air quotes, eyebrows wiggling because you know the fact that he knows what you’re implying. The playful comment is met with a sharp pinch on your leg that makes you jump and shriek out in pain. Did he have to dig his nails into you? Apparently so, and now you have small crescent indents on your skin. “I bet Lilia had a good laugh when he found out.”

“He doesn’t know, actually,” he admits to you with what is obviously a proud smile.

“Now I know you’re lying to me,” you scoff. “Nothing escapes the old man’s radar.”

His hands begin to rub out the marks he’s left on you as a form of apology. “Lilia is sharp, but he had lost most of his vigor by the time I was born.”

You go wide-eyed again. “You mean his hearing and eyesight was better than it is now?”

He nods affirmatively. “From what I’ve been told, terrifyingly so.”

Lilia is already frightening as is. His short stature and boyish looks make him perfectly unassuming to those who don’t know any better. You once watched him beat up a couple of bulky, twice-his-height students from Savanaclaw without breaking a sweat, yet moments before he was jokingly scolding himself for dozing off so easily. You never once thought he was ever out of his elements. A cold chill runs down your spine thinking how much more perceptive the older fae may have been back during his prime years.

“Wonder what Lilia’s gonna think,” you ponder out loud in a quick effort to banish out the skin-prickling mental imagery your mind was invoking. “About us, I mean.”

Malleus seems surprised that you would change the topic to that of all things, but his initial shock goes away as quickly as it came. “As you may have guessed, he’s an open-minded individual, but he’s also very realistic and unafraid to say what’s on his mind.”

“So what does that mean for you and me?” you question with a bit of hesitation.

“Well,” he trails off and ponders for a moment. “He’ll surely like the scandal our relationship would invoke. However, as my caretaker and mentor, he won’t hesitate to put an end to it if he feels it necessary.”

Had it been anyone else sitting beside you, you’d have found that comment way too extreme and outright ridiculous. However, you are not speaking to anyone ordinary. You are not sitting before someone normal. It doesn't matter how well you get along with him. It sure as hell doesn't matter how deeply in love you are with him, and him of you. The moment you have been deemed a shortcoming, the outings, the closeness, it all stops. All of it will come crashing down and both you and him will be left wondering what could have been done differently.

Malleus is truly your best friend, because already he can tell that your mind is beginning to spiral even when you go quiet. He calls for your attention by gripping his hand around your bare ankle and carefully tugging the end of your limb. “Don’t fret over it too much,” he soothes, yet also sounding like he’s scolding you for letting your mind wander off so negatively. “Lilia is an exceptional judge of character. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve well exceeded all his marks. He trusts you, and to gain such a thing from someone as old and wise as him is an extraordinary feat.”

You brew over the attempted compliment he tried to pay to you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t snub out all these festering thoughts in your head. It doesn’t even give you temporary relief. Perhaps it would have brought you a sense of peace a few months ago, but with everything that has happened thus far, you doubt even Malleus can alleviate the storm that rattles inside you, even if what he speaks is without a doubt nothing but the truth.

Surely he can see that you are still having some hangups. When you lift his hand and plant a chaste kiss on the back of his hand, you hope he can decipher the gesture as a pitiful request for his forgiveness for dampening the once energetic mood. He is not at fault for your loss and inability to think optimistically at the moment and you need to make sure he knows it.

Today is about him, not you. Even if it’s just for today, you’ll put on a pleasant facade and worry about the rest at a later date. It’s just you and him, and for now, that’s enough.

You do a mental countdown starting from three, before finally giving him a late response to the three words he uttered in confidence to you earlier. “I love you too, by the way.”

You love him. You love him. You love him. That’s all his mind can think of for the rest of the day. He replays your reciprocation over and over like it’s sacred and all-powerful.

He had planned to return to his dorm before the sun began to set, but he found the mere idea of detaching from you deeply unwanted and made the last-minute decision to spend the evening at the Ramshackle dorm. He already has a few articles of clothing and personal essentials set up in one of the many empty rooms, so neither Lilia nor you had any objections at his sudden request.

“Don’t worry!” You shout across the room so that Lilia can hear you over his phone. “I’ll make sure he gets to bed on time!”

“You have my gratitude!” Lilia’s muffled voice responds gratefully. “Don’t cause too much trouble now, you two.”

“No promises~” you sing in jest before Malleus hangs up. Once the call ends Johnny, Benji, Franky, and you turn their attention back to their ongoing game of poker. Malleus watches and occasionally laughs to himself over the friendly banter shared between the quartet. At the end of every round, the winner is assaulted with colorful profanities whilst they take their newly won gambling chips with ebullience. Yet with each new dealing of cards, the animosity goes away and they’re all back to being friendly. He finds your interactions with your incorporeal roommates more entertaining than the book he’s been reading to pass the time.

“Hey, fairy boy,” Franky informally calls out toward him. “Don’t be a stranger now. Play a few rounds with us.”

“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in card games,” he admits, yet he still finds himself setting his literature aside and moving over to join them.

“Don’t worry,” you give him a reassuring smile. “They’ll go easy on you.”

“For how long?” he knowingly asks.

You give him an impressed smirk at his quick uptake. “I give it three rounds before they start to pull back their sleeves.”

Malleus is well-adjusted to the need to quickly learn a new topic and the expectation for him to fully comprehend it in full. None of them are harsh on him for his minor mistakes like some of the tutors he’s had in the past. Answers that he believes may be obvious or not as complicated as he thinks they are being answered with enthusiastic patience. The smallest achievements he makes are met with a proud response. When he makes a surprise turnabout and wins his first game, he’s rewarded with an encouraging round of applause by everyone.

“Not bad,” Benji praises as he shuffles the deck of cards. “You’re a fast learner.”

“So I’ve been told,” he humbly replies. “Is this the part where you all stop going easy on me now?”

“Don’t provoke them,” you half-heartedly warn. “Otherwise we’ll be up all night duking it out otherwise.”

Franky sets his glass of iced liquor down on the edge of the table. “Don’t you little lovebirds worry. We won’t take up too much of your well-needed time together.”

Annoyed at the clear jab at his relationship with you, you throw one of your chips towards his head. It passes through his body and clatters on the floor behind him. Your fawn Blossom jumps down from their spot on the couch and goes to sniff it, thinking it to be food, but walks away with a disappointed strut when he realizes it isn’t anything edible.

“I didn’t tell them a damn thing,” you defensively clarify. “It was so obvious what was going on between us that they figured it all out before we made it official.”

He lets out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s...I can’t say I’m too pleased to hear about that.”

“We won’t say anything,” Franky reassures. “Just make sure to put a sock on the door whenever you guys want some alone time.”

“Franky!” you hiss at him. “What the hell?!”

“What?” he looks at you, unbothered by your clear embarrassment. “Do you honestly expect us to think you guys went out just to look at a bunch of statues?”

“Oh, I’m sure they were looking at something,” Johnny smirks. “It wasn’t made of stone though.”

“I hate you guys,” you growl out, arms crossing and leaning back into your seat with an angry huff. You don’t mean it. He can see the tremble of your lips as you try to contain the urge to grin. “Even if we did end up rolling around in the sheets, I wouldn’t be yapping about it for all to hear, much less you guys!”

“What happens in the gargoyle graveyard stays in the gargoyle graveyard, eh?” Franky winks at both Malleus and you, nudging you with his elbow.

“Exactly!” you affirm, batting the large ghost away from you for some much-needed distance. “Now stop being so damn nosy.”

They cackle one last time and everyone seamlessly goes back to their ongoing game. Conversations like the one that just concluded are commonplace in your dormitory. Even if he contributed next to nothing to the discussion, he enjoys watching them interact. You come from a world where ghosts are hardly as overt as the ones in this world. Ghosts are said to entertain themselves by picking on the living, to the point that it can be fatal. Your ability to come up with witticisms at a moment's notice is something he enjoys seeing in action. He feels great satisfaction not only knowing that he has secured your love but to also see you in a state of tranquility and within your elements.

As Benji and you have a hushed conversation on the sidelines, he reaches over and places his hand on your knee beneath the table. You quietly reach over and put your hand over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb like it’s instinctual. Unfortunately, the heart-fluttering moment is ruined by the sudden buzzing of his phone. He has half a mind to ignore it, but when he gives the screen a glance he realizes ignoring the caller is not an option.

“I’ll be out for a moment,” he excuses himself once he sets his hand down and stands himself upright. “This shouldn’t take that long, hopefully.”

They all stop to look up at him inquisitively for half a second. In unison, they ask, “Sebek?”

“Sebek,” he affirms.

There are simultaneous displays of annoyance, pity, and silent wishes of good luck directed at him. He’s tempted to ask where all this contempt for the boy comes from, but then he remembers the many times Sebek barges his way into their dorm at the worst possible moments. It is either when everyone is beginning to settle down after a long day or in the middle of an important house project, the former more so than the latter now that the dorm is much more stable and in need of less restoration. Malleus learned the hard way how ill you and the ghosts will react when your peace is unwantedly interrupted and your space invaded by an unwanted guest.

Sebek is also quick to scrutinize whatever he sees out loud without a filter. You never seem to mind half of the time, merely rolling your eyes and moving past Sebek’s ill-meaning remarks as if you never heard them. As you are someone Malleus highly regards and holds close to his bosom, he hopes Sebek can one day set aside his strife with humankind and give you the due diligence you deserve.

...Though, he completely understands that reaching that point will take time. While you can endure Sebek to a certain degree, there are times where he, unfortunately, pushes you past that threshold and, without flinching, you will tell him to “Shut the fuck up”. Your words, not his.

“Young master!” Sebek's transmitted voice peaks and he has to half pull it away to give his pained eardrums some relief. “I was informed by Lord Lilia that you will be spending the night over at the Human’s dorm. Have you all your accommodations at their estate? If not, I will swiftly-”

“That won’t be necessary,” he half laughs at his enthusiasm over such a small task. “I have enough to keep me comfortable and well for a few days. Your offer is still very much appreciated.”

“Y-Yes, of course,” he stutters. “If there’s anything you should ever find a need for, please inform me at once! I will fulfill your every wishes no matter the hour!”

He’s enthusiastic and ready to act at a moment’s notice, even during the middle of a cold and dark hour. Malleus doesn’t necessarily dislike this part of Sebek, but he’s starting to understand why someone like you would find such subservience difficult to deal with. At any moment, Malleus could ask Sebek to grab some insignificant item of his and tread through the thick snow to deliver it to him, and the boy would do so with jubilation and utmost timeliness. You on the other hand wouldn’t be caught dead ordering someone to do something on your behalf when you believe you are well and capable of doing it yourself.

You don’t put expectations onto the backs of others, choosing to trust yourself first before anyone else. He knows now that it’s a result of the one instance where you expected something from someone, only to be thoroughly let down and left wondering if it was you who did something wrong.

Malleus cannot make up for the pain you’ve been subjected to, but he hopes that he can become the outlier in your life that surpasses any preconceived notions you may hold onto others. He hopes...No, he absolutely will be the one who brings you your well-earned and deserved joy and repose, just as you have done for him and continue to do so.

You love him, and he will ensure he is worthy of every last drop of your fidelity.

[asweetprologue]

(no such thing as) an uncompromised touch

Octoberfest 14: Cuddle (flufftober #25, + ace awareness week)

Jaskier was getting drunker by the minute, and with each drink he occupied more and more of Geralt’s carefully managed physical space. Jaskier was, Geralt had quickly learned, an exceptionally touchy drunk. As an enthusiastic crowd passed him mugs of ale and cups of sweet wine, he would become more and more handsy. It would start with grabbing a hand here and there when they reached for him, shaking one and kissing another, all humor and flashy smiles. Then came lingering touches to shoulders or elbows, morphing into full embraces as he draped himself over someone’s chair or flung an arm around their back. As the evening wore on, he would begin to focus on one or two people that caught his fancy, and by the end of the night he would more often than not be in their beds.

Lately, these end-of-night affections had been directed more and more at Geralt, which was both flattering and unsettling. While he grudgingly welcomed the bard’s attentions, Geralt had little interest in becoming one in a long line of bedpartners. 

Tonight was another of those nights, Jaskier making his way closer and closer to Geralt’s corner of the tavern until he was practically sprawled out in his lap. It was fairly innocent, as far as these things went, just an arm slung around Geralt’s shoulder while Jaskier leaned close to giggle in his ear about the barkeep’s ridiculous braids. They were pressed together from shoulder to hip, their legs half tangled below the table, and Geralt was torn between basking in the comfort of the easy touch and his mounting anxiety about what it all meant. Looking down at the bard as he muffled a laugh at his own joke in Geralt’s shirt, he wondered why he couldn’t just, for once, be normal about something. Everyone else seemed to want Jaskier, and it seemed, based on observation, that Jaskier wanted Geralt. So why couldn’t Geralt want him back?

Witchers were, in general, creatures of few needs. Geralt could function on a third of the sleep that a human did, keep pushing himself for days on only a handful of rough jerky or scavenged berries. He didn’t need to be present at large gatherings or shove himself into a throng of people to stave off loneliness like so many humans seemed to. And he rarely felt the need or desire for sex. 

He wasn’t sure if that last bit was a him thing or a witcher thing. Sex was fine, he supposed; just another thing his body was capable of doing. Sometimes it was pleasant, sometimes it was less so. Generally he didn’t go out of his way to find it, and he never looked upon any man or woman with the thought of taking them to bed. He’d not paid it much mind before he’d met Jaskier, who made bedroom eyes at people across taverns and tumbled back into their shared room hours later reeking of sex. Geralt didn’t have the urge in the same way Jaskier did, or the way others seemed to have for Jaskier. Perhaps witchers were just built different in that regard - the attraction burned out of them along with their humanity. 

The issue was that, despite his ambivalence towards the sex itself, Geralt was fond of what came after. He’d pay extra, sometimes, for a whore to just hold him for a while, tracing his scars and running gentle hands through his hair. It was nice, to be close to another, even if he was buying the time. The itch under his skin that demanded touch surfaced only rarely, and was easily dismissed with a night of pre-paid lovemaking. It wasn’t what he wanted, really, but it was the only way anyone would lie down with a witcher. 

Jaskier didn’t truly change anything, not about that. Geralt wasn’t jealous of Jaskier’s bedmates because they got to experience his supposedly legendary skills in the bedroom. No, Geralt was jealous because Jaskier touched them, and they got to touch in return, and Geralt wanted it like he couldn’t remember wanting anything in his life. 

The issue was that Jaskier did touch him, quite a lot. In the morning as they prepared their breakfast Jaskier’s fingers would skate over his when passing the cookware. When he spoke he would throw lighthearted jabs to Geralt’s shoulder or ribs to emphasize a joke, giving him a lopsided grin. When he was hurt or coming down from a hunt, Jaskier would comb lightly through his hair, removing tangles here and there as he traced over Geralt’s scalp. Twice, he had massaged oil into Geralt’s back and shoulders when he’d strained a muscle during a fight. On the Path by himself, Geralt turned his mind away from warm hands and kind eyes and was typically fine going without. With Jaskier traveling by his side, it was impossible to forget this small, yearning part of himself that ached for touch. The itch under his skin roared to life anytime Jaskier got too close, demanding that he sweep the bard up and touch every bit of him that he could reach. 

But Jaskier wasn’t one to take such gestures lightly, and such intimacy in Geralt’s experience was always purchased through sex. And he didn’t want to sleep with Jaskier. He did, but - he didn’t. It would be nice, he knew, probably perfectly pleasant, and something warm always swept through him at the thought of pleasing the bard. But that wasn’t what Geralt wanted. He wanted to hold Jaskier close and wake with him each morning and feel those soft hands pressing tenderly into his skin. It was too much, he knew. Not at all what Jaskier seemed to be seeking, when he went to touch others like he was doing to Geralt now. He wanted sex, and Geralt wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse for his heart in the long run if he went along with it.

Carrying the bard upstairs was an ordeal, Jaskier seemingly uninterested in removing himself from Geralt’s side. He was half carried up to their room and dumped unceremoniously on the bed when they finally - finally - reached it. Geralt, being an exceptionally good friend, let Jaskier get his bearings while he pulled off his boots, setting them aside. Jaskier, for his part, stared blearily up at the ceiling as if he were trying to place it. Geralt stepped away to remove his own boots and shirt, leaving his loose pants on. Jaskier was still mostly clothed, only the doublet discarded earlier in the night detracting from his typical pomp. Geralt stood for a moment, just looking at him. His hair was flatter than normal after hours of sweating and running his hands through it downstairs, and it flopped into his eyes. His fingers picked idly at the blanket under him, distracted. He was, Geralt thought, exceptionally beautiful, backlit by the moonlight coming through the window, his features sharpened by darkness and wine. 

When Geralt didn’t return, Jaskier turned to look at him, his eyes overbright from drink. He pouted and reached out a hand in Geralt’s direction. “Come to bed,” he said, in what was probably meant to be a bit seductive but instead came out whiny. Geralt sighed and moved to his side, pulling back the thin blanket to crawl into the bed. Jaskier immediately turned to face him, arms thrown around Geralt’s waist and nose buried at his throat. The slight scent of happiness and arousal wafted around him, almost buried under the smell of alcohol. Geralt shifted, wanting to set his own arm around Jaskier’s back and hold him close, but not sure if it would be interpreted the wrong way. 

He had to say something. It wasn’t fair to either of them, to drag this out. “Jaskier,” he said, warily, exhausted. “I don’t - I can’t give you what you want, here.”

Jaskier hummed against his neck, a confused sound. “What do you mean, dear?” he asked. One finger skated along Geralt’s ribs, a lazy trail that made him shiver.

“You want - When you get like this, with others, you always want to sleep with them. I’m not - I don’t -”

Jaskier, with what seemed like monumental effort, pushed up onto one elbow so that he could glare down at Geralt. “I don’t always sleep with them,” he said, defensively. The pout was back. “I just… like it. I like being close to people. To you, specifically.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to sleep with me,” Geralt said dubiously. The subtle scent of Jaskier’s arousal still filled the air around them, like a warm mulled wine. He couldn’t deny it.

“Well I wouldn’t say that,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. In his intoxicated state the gesture seemed to extend to his entire upper torso. “I think you are… very attractive, and if you ever wanted to I would definitely share your bed, but mostly I just like this. The touching… thing. Being next to you. I know you don’t look at people, not the way I do, and we don’t need to do any of that if it’s not what you like. But I like touching you, just like this.” He ran a broad palm across Geralt’s ribs, hesitantly. “If you like it too, I’d like to keep doing it.”

Geralt hummed, a soft affirmative sound, and Jaskier gave him a pleased smile in return. He settled back against Geralt’s side with a contented sigh, and Geralt allowed himself to settle a hand between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. “We’re discussing this in the morning,” he said. 

“Mm,” Jaskier agreed. “When ‘m not so drunk. Yeah.”

Geralt laughed, a low rumble that shook them both. “Yes. When you’re not so drunk.” Placing a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s hair, he said, “Goodnight, bard.”

They stayed wrapped up together throughout the night, and Geralt fell asleep thinking that maybe, just maybe, this really was enough.

[sugako]

c+k: hinata

hinata x f!reader

sum: a long day of many dates with hinata 

cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, smut, lots of fluff, mentions of food/eating, fingering, slight exhibition, outside, implied sex, established relationship, l-bombs

wc: 2.2k

a/n: am i posting this 30 minutes before the end of valentines for c+k..yes,,

February 14th with Hinata was always a full day, so it came as no surprise when he shook you from your sleep early in the morning. Even though it was a yearly event you never grew tired of the special moments created each time. You had barely stirred an hour or so ago when he had silently risen to go for a run before the long day ahead. 

“Wake up, cutie, I made breakfast.” He kept his voice low to not disturb you too much, but the excitement was still evident in his tone. Sleep pushed aside you used his strong arms to help yourself sit up and stretch before slinking out of bed. 

“Thanks, Shoyo, I love you.” You clear the sleep from your throat and wrap your arms around him. With your head resting against his chest, still trying to blink the sleep away, you can’t see how big he’s beaming. He holds you close, rubbing away the tension and stress from your back and shoulders. After a long, quiet moment, you pull away and kiss him tightly on the cheek. “Let me brush my teeth and I’ll out, mmkay?” 

“Of course! Just hurry so it doesn’t get cold.” He urges with those perfect puppy dog eyes. You wouldn’t dream of dawdling around or taking your sweet time when you had such a perfect, hardworking boyfriend who obviously put far more effort into everything he did than maybe he should.

He pushed himself in all aspects of life. You hadn’t known him in high school, but he told you stories of his time playing volleyball with the Karasuno team, the first time they lost, all the times they won, and when they went to Nationals his first year. Some of the stories broke your heart to hear. He was hard on himself, something he covered up by his bright demeanor, but you always saw it. 

Sometimes your relationship was just as much of an effort for him as volleyball. He went over the top, pushing himself just a little too far, but it always worked out in the end even if he did stress you out every now and then. So you brushed your teeth a little too quickly and rushed out to the tiny dining area you shared. 

The small spread of your favorite breakfast food, most shaped or cut into messy little hearts. He was sitting, a little impatiently, absentmindedly typing on his phone. A warm smile lit up your face as you made your way over and sat across from him. Before you could even ask who he might be talking to, he threw his phone face down and spoke up. 

“Kenma.” He answered your unspoken question. “Was asking him about something I wasn’t sure about.” 

You nodded, taking a sip of the drink he had set out for you. The two of you dug in, mostly in silence until Hinata spoke up again.

“After this, we can go to the park to walk. If you want.” He half-asked and half-said through a bite.

“That sounds perfect, but can I give you my present now if we’re going out?” You stepped away from your finished plate before he had a chance to answer. 

“Yeah, sure!” He nodded quickly. 

You nearly jogged to the guest room where you had hidden his present, hoping that maybe this time he hadn’t snooped. Every year it was more of a game to hide his presents than it was to pick something out for him. This time when you found his gift the careful stack of odds and ends you had placed around it was completely intact and not a thing was out of place. Excited to see him genuinely surprised this time, you quickly shuffled back down the hallway.

You plopped beside him on the floor and handed over the medium-sized box, wrapped up as best you could in your favorite paper. 

“I forgot a card,” you explained as he ripped the paper back, “but I hope that’s okay.” 

His smile nearly dropped when he saw the outside. 

“These...How did you?” He sputtered out, throwing the paper to the side and tearing open the slick cardboard of the shoe box. Under the soft light of your house, his pretty, amber eyes grew glassy and his smile twisted up. “These are sold out everywhere and they were so limited. I don’t… I don’t understand…” 

They were pretty simple sneakers even if they were incredibly nice. He had picked them out forever ago, but they sold out in minutes and after that were near impossible to find. Thankfully, you had been one of the people who got them in the brief seconds they were available. According to the description, they were everything he was looking for in terms of shape, support, function, and even style. 

“I got lucky. Ordered them the second they dropped because I knew you wanted them and it was too late for Christmas and I couldn’t wait for your birthday.” You watched as he pulled them out and carefully inspected every little detail. 

“They’re perfect. They’re so perfect. I could have never imagined… I mean just growing up…” he cut himself off with a small shake of the head and threw himself around you before he got any more choked up. Hot tears stained the shoulder of your shirt as he let himself silently cry it out. He took a big, deep sigh to catch his breath and held you back at an arm’s length to admire you for a moment before pressing a long deep kiss against your lips. Cheeks still damp brushed against yours sweetly. “Thank you. I love you.” He finally said when you pulled away, brushing a stray tear from his cheekbone. 

“You’re welcome, I love you too.” 

...

The walk in the park was short and sweet. Really, he was just taking you to a little spot hidden by some trees and bushes so he could lay out a couple of thick blankets. It hadn’t been quite long enough since your breakfast for a full lunch for you at least, but he was happy to dig into the array of snacks he had packed.

After a second, much longer and slower walk around you found yourself in front of a movie theater. The only thing not sold out was a rough-looking action movie, but it didn’t matter much to either of you. Sitting through the movie, Hinata started stealing little kisses every now and then. Although he was the one who planned these long dates, he found himself wanting to just go home and growing impatient about halfway through every time.

His muscled hand kneaded and toyed with the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh. It wasn’t too distracting at first, but you practically choked on your water when his pinky slipped up and brushed against your clothed center. With a small smirk, he pulled his hand away and opted to lace his fingers with yours instead to hold himself back. 

As soon as the movie ended he rushed you out of the theater and back toward your home. You struggled to keep up with his pace, nearly tripping over your own feet. 

“Sho!” You giggled as he dragged you along behind him. “Sho, slow down, why are we running?!” 

“You’ll see! We have to be on time though.” He grinned back at you, not giving up his speed. 

When you got home he dragged you into the bedroom and made you cover your eyes - asking multiple times and, you assumed, checking to see if you were peeking. 

“Really, I promise. My eyes are closed.” You whined as he helped you sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Okay, okay. One second!”

Staying true to your word, you kept your lids shut, listening to him shuffle across the room. You hummed in confusion when you heard him fiddling in the closet before he headed back to stand before you. In your head, you carded through every possibility, but even though what happened next made so much sense, you were still a little surprised.

“Now open!” He commanded. You moved your hands away and blinked your eyes open, smiling as soon as you saw what he had displayed in his hands. 

“Shoyo…” Held up for you was the prettiest dress you had seen. It was far more expensive looking and far more eloquent than anything you currently own. “Thanks,” you said at last taking the slick fabric into your arms, “but why? I don’t even know where I would wear this.”

He rocked on his heels, trying to hold back a grin. “We had to hurry home because I got reservations at a really nice restaurant. I hope you like it, I didn’t think you had anything to wear, and I wanted to actually get you something real too so it felt right.” 

“How long until we need to leave?” You’re already shucking off your clothes to throw the dress on. Hinata tried to tear his eyes away from your bare chest and body in order to answer you, but it felt impossible. When you shimmied your panties off under the dress, going to the dresser to get different ones, he nearly came undone. “Shoyo?” You asked again, sitting down at the vanity and rushing to get ready. 

“Oh, yeah, uh like twenty minutes.” He managed to squeeze the words out, heading toward the closet for his suit. 

...

You thought dinner might be the end of the night, but you were mistaken. Hinata insisted that he drive home even though you had driven to the restaurant. As soon as he turned out of the parking lot you realized you weren’t going home. 

“Where are we going?” You asked a couple of minutes into the ride. 

“You’ll see, it’s not far. Just to the top of the hill.” 

“The overlook?!” You pipe up excitedly. He knows you love to sit out and look at the stars, especially with him by your side. 

“No, maybe, stop guessing.” He grumbles, putting a hand over your knee. 

The feeling of his rough fingers through the soft fabric of your dress, rubbing little circles into your skin, distracts you from ruining his last portion of the day. A little tired from the day, the two of you remain mostly silent for the rest of the short ride up the hill. 

It was exactly as you expected. Thankfully, the sky was completely clear, and away from the bright city lights, it was much easier to see the stars up here. They glistened and sparkled like little gems against black velvet. Hinata laid out the same blankets from earlier, grabbing out a third to combat the cool night air. 

You snuggled next to him under the plush quilt, pushing your cold fingers under his neatly tucked dress shirt and against his warm, toned stomach. He squirmed under your touch but didn’t make any move to make you stop. 

“C’mere if you’re cold.” He mumbled out, pulling you closer. His hands settled under the swell of your breasts, distracting you from the pretty constellations. Fingers tapped against your skin and fiddled with the fabric of the dress until your breathing was uneven. No one was around, but you couldn’t help feeling a little ashamed that you were panting in his arms out in the open. 

“Sho…” You sigh when he hikes up the skirt around your hips and slides a finger against your clothed slit. 

“You’re really wet, what were you thinking about, hmm?” He groaned, pushing the thin fabric to the side. 

You let out a little gasp when you heard the quiet squelch from between your thighs. The roughened tips of his fingers slipped up and down, spreading the slick around your lips. Not bothering to tease you, he focused in on your clit. Along with putting an amazing amount of effort into the romantic part of your relationship, he did the same with the sexual parts as well. It wasn’t really a bother that he wanted to ‘practice’ that part so much. 

Keening against him, you felt yourself growing closer to the edge. Your pants were coming out louder and whinier now, echoing in the silent night. He eased two fingers in, making sure to press his palm against your throbbing bud. They expertly curled and pumped inside of you, hitting every spot you couldn’t quite get on your own. 

“Come on,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, “cum on my fingers.” 

His words were the last thing you needed to push you just over. When your cunt clenched and pulsed around his fingers he accidentally let out a low moan, imagining how your pretty pussy would feel around his cock. Hips twitched against his hand as he slowed his motions, easing you off your high. You called out his name in a hoarse whisper, grabbing onto the fabric of his pants to steady yourself. 

As you caught your breath, he helped to smooth your dress back out. You rolled over to press a messy kiss against his neck and loosely hold him. 

“Did you have a good time?” He asked quietly, sitting up and helping you with him. The question was sincere, but you could tell he couldn’t wait to get home to finish what you had started. 

“Amazing.” 

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal – she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

--

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

[starry-eyed-omo]

Since you mentioned Genshin, do you happen to have any hcs for Albedo?

ahhh nonnie you hit me right where it hurts, albedo is one of my absolute favourite characters!! I would love to share a few headcanons 💜

Albedo is one of those people that really doesn't understand a lot of the shyness people have around human bodily functions. To him, it's a very natural thing that's easily understood by science, so he's not particularly shy about going to the bathroom. He tends to be on the quiet side in general, however, so he doesn't often vocalize his needs and is more likely the type to simply get up and leave to go to the restroom without an explanation.

Not to mention all the time he spends alone in the middle of nowhere! He's very used to just being able to go whenever he wants, wherever he wants (as long as it's sanitary and safe of course—he's not a heathen, and his equipment needs to stay unharmed)

All this to say, when he actually has to keep polite company, it's a pretty dramatic change to his habits. He has to get used to not simply leaving in the middle of a conversation with no explanation, and he has to learn to adapt his schedule to the whims of others.

Combine this with his tendency to get lost in his work for hours on end, and there have been many, many close calls. Oftentimes, these come in the form of him only abandoning his work when he physically can't concentrate anymore, trying to rush to the nearest restroom, and getting stopped along the way by someone or another.

While he's not exactly embarrassed by his need, he still doesn't like to show vulnerability often, and will struggle to hide any sign of his desperation from others if he's being forced to engage in conversation.

Quite honestly, although he usually has the freedom to take as many bathroom breaks as he likes, he chooses not to, as they disrupt his work flow. When he gets invested in a project, he doesn't want to stop for anything, including basic bodily functions, and as such, will find himself on the brink of desperation on many occasions. Part of him enjoys seeing just how long he can hold it, and enjoys the challenge.

When he gets particularly desperate, it can show through in his work. Most notably, his motions become jerkier and his hands will shake a little, his entire body tensing up at any unexpected touch. Anything he creates with his Vision during this time is particularly fragile and will break easily, since he is unable to concentrate fully.

Much to his frustration, he finds it impossible to read when he's desperate enough to notice it. He simply can't focus well enough, and will find himself skimming the same bit of text over and over, never able to comprehend it. Needless to say, to the observant, despite his efforts, it's incredibly obvious when he's desperate even if he rarely vocalizes it, just because he seems so off.

He rarely gives in to normal signs of desperation like moving around a lot or grabbing himself. Instead, he tends to get more rigid and jumpy, focusing all his energy on staying still and holding it in. His biggest tell is in the moment before he entirely loses control, as he will finally give in and allow his hands to dart down to hold himself in a last ditch effort, but it is almost always too late at that point, and he'll already be leaking too much to stop it.

It's not something that he has ever considered sexually, or even as something that someone might be into, but if he had a partner that was into omo, he would likely be willing to indulge them and would be very fascinated by the concept! He's not one to judge.